#x curvy reader

[drabblesandsnippets]

Imagine... (‘fake dating becomes too real’)

Bucky Barnes x Plus-size female reader

December Daze Challenge - Day 19 - @the-slumberparty

Warnings: (500w) Best friends. Repressed feelings.

Imagine Bucky insisting on being your wingman. You’ve been friends for years, and he’s had to watch you repeatedly get your heart broken, the guys you chose inevitably turning out to be assholes. He doesn’t blame you, but it’s been unbearable standing by, trying to be supportive, all the while living in denial about being in love with you. After your latest horror story of a date, he reaches his limit and formulates a foolproof plan of helping you find someone. With his skills of easily reading people, it’s not hard to convince you, your agreement coming before either of you can really think it through.  You don’t even question it when Bucky seemingly finds red flags with all the guys you’re interested in, the dating apps known for letting you down. Going to public places is just as fruitless, most of the men frequenting bars not up to either of your standards.  When he can sense your growing frustration, about ready to swear men off completely, he finally stops grasping at straws. Instead of coming up with excuses as to why someone’s the wrong choice for you, he lowers his impossible standards and puts more effort into finding you a good potential partner. Still deep in denial about his feelings for you, Bucky convinces himself he’s just looking out for a friend, wanting nothing more than for you to be happy. He’s only pacing his apartment because he’s concerned about your wellbeing, your date now entering hour two. The nearly crushing grip he has on his phone isn’t because he’s jealous, he’s just praying for an update. Your eventual text does little to ease the rollercoaster of emotions the night has taken him on, the date turning out to be a flop, the blame falling on you. You’re so used to dealing with the wrong men that when a possibly good one comes along, your own awkwardness ruins it. Because Bucky’s a glutton for punishment, he offers to take you on a pretend date, intent on helping you over this additional hump, wanting you to have a good experience. It’s definitely not because you’re all he dreams about and this is the only way he’ll ever get to flirt with you. Whatever limitations you thought were hindering you, Bucky doesn’t see them, finding all your little quirks endearing. The obvious blush on your cheeks and soft stuttering when you’re caught off guard with a compliment. The occasional fidgeting with the silverware when the silence starts to build. The way you cover your mouth when you erupt with laughter. The realization of how fucking in love with you he actually is hits him like a force, his bite of food having to be choked down, your bright smile leaving him breathless. He never wanted this to happen, but as Bucky gazes upon your innocent questioning look, he knows there’s no coming back from this. The only thing he can do is hope that maybe he’s the one you’ve been searching for all along.

Day 18 | Imagine... Masterlist | Day 20

Banners by @cafekitsune - Divider by @saradika-graphics

[bluesidez]

Can I request a Miguel O'Hara x Curvy reader where they both get intoxicated from sex pollen ??

[Sticky-Icky]

lab taster: @waterinthefire 🩻

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Curvy!Reader

summary: He's a lot less irritating when he puts his mouth to better use.

content warning: a PWP but you guys know me (there's a little plot), this is so 18+ that it's crazy so MDNI, sex pollen (or more like Miguel is playing around and doesn't know wtf he's doing), unprotected p in v sex (WRAP IT UP 🫵🏾) manhandling, temperature play if you squint, standing 69, facefucking, creampies, wrong use of webs, biting, breeding, spitting, squirting, cunnilingus, fellatio, fluff if you squint...I think that's it. my god.

word count: 4.3k, halfway proofread

a/n: Listening to Sticky by Ravyn Lenae inspired part of this. Also watching several episodes of Kitchen Nightmares, Hell’s Kitchen, and Law & Order: SVU in the bg kept me sane. And one more rewatch of ATSV.

My duty as a fanfic writer is fulfilled as I give you this mandatory trope. 🫡

When you first started working at Spider HQ, you were amazed by the fact that one man was able to create all of this.

It was astounding, beyond what the gray tones of Nueva York could ever present to you.

Now, you think back to your glittering eyes during the first year working here and laugh.

Working for Miguel O’Hara was like squeezing a watermelon through a straw. He was impossible.

Nothing you did was ever satisfactory for him. Something could always be fixed. Sometimes, you wonder why he still kept you employed here.

Currently, he was turning his nose up at a salve you were working on for spiders whose healing time wasn’t nearly as quick as others.

“Run a new test. This batch is no good.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“The formula could be better, it’s too thick, and why does it smell like that?”

The scent was similar to one you wore often and a lot of the spider-people that swung by the pharmacy seemed to like it.

“Uh, jade tea.”

The pinch in Miguel’s eyebrows deepened as he sniffed the air.

“Switch it to something else.”

You huffed, already tired of this conversation, “Well, what smell do you suggest?”

“Anything but this.”

“How about lavender, then? Perhaps peppermint.”

“And now, you’re being childish,” Miguel put the tin down before placing his hands on his hips. “You know there’s spider-people who can’t smell too much of that.”

“Yeah, I got it.”

He plopped a giant file on your desk, “Deal with that later. I need you to work on something else. For some reason, villains across dimensions are obtaining access to a substance similar to rapture. Every time there’s a mission, the spider-person of that dimension has been left affected. I need something to subside the effects until we can get them back here.”

“Ok, well do you have the substance with you?”

“No. But I’ll get you something soon. For now, I have a year’s worth of research on rapture. It should be of some use.”

You took the rubber band off of the manilla folder, something so old school for this era of tech.

You saw a line of formulas that started to make your head spin.

“Are there a lot of people affected right now?”

“Only a few. They’ve used the leftover solution I made a long time ago. It’s only going to work for so long,”

“Good. I need to sleep on this.”

Miguel’s head knocked back an inch, “Are you refusing work? The state of the heroes of different universes relies on this research. It’s not some science project-“

“I understand completely, Miguel, but I’m off the clock.”

He stopped and checked his watch, the red six o’clock burning back on him.

“I only work the hours you pay me, Spidey,” you reach to pat his arm and regret it when his stern face doesn’t move.

“Not interested in paid overtime?”

You bit your cheek to stop the laugh from coming out.

“That’s nice and all, but I’ve got plans.”

“Like what?”

“Like resting, sleeping, not touching lab work with a you-sized pole. All of these are things you aren’t familiar with. Plus, I have a date.”

A pause went through the room as you started to gather your things.

“Since when do you date?”

You push your chair under your desk harder than you mean to, “Since when do you care?”

“I,” he follows to the elevator, “care about my employees.”

“Sure, Miguel.”

If it weren’t for your tired state, you would think he looks a little sad at your statement.

“See you tomorrow, then?”

The doors start to close as you nod your head, Miguel’s gaze stuck just above your head.

Weird. Just like his frequent stops to your lab.

The feeling doesn’t leave your gut even as you’re smiling in your date’s face.

One minute, you’re laughing at a story about some amateur skateboarders Downtown, and the next, an electric billboard is being covered in tiny nano-spiders across the street.

“So the guy just takes one step on the board and then he’s flying. A straight line across the park.”

“That’s,” the spiders start to crawl into different lines. Then a logo forms, displaying the spider on Miguel’s suit next to an exclamation point. “So hilarious.”

Your date chuckles then follows your gaze, the silence too long, “Is there something wrong?”

The nano-spiders flipped around, the regular billboard showing like normal. You squint.

“No, I thought I saw something. Must have been my imagination.”

“You did say you were a little tired from work. Should we raincheck? We can always catch a movie another time.”

You wanted to say no, you’d been looking forward to tonight.

The billboard flickered to a little picture of Lyla with “SOS” above her head.

“Yeah, I should probably get going. Sorry about this.”

The way he doesn’t sweat you practically ditching him makes your heart pang. You’re already dreading another night exhausted and alone. Your date seemed promising.

You wave at him from your taxi, the route leading back to Spider HQ feeling like torture. You unclasp your purse and check your gizmo.

40 missed messages.

It’s not until you’re walking into the regular lobby that you turn it on.

“What is so important that you waste Margo’s time to interrupt my time?”

Lyla pops in your peripheral, hands up and wary, “I’m only doing what boss asks! Don’t get mad at me.”

“Lyla, why am I back here right now?”

“Well, Miguel has gotten himself in some particular trouble.”

You punch the elevator button, “Get to the point, please.”

“He went into your lab to try and start the solution he talked about earlier. After his first accident, he’s never had any luck with lab work, so uh. He’s kind of made a mess.”

The elevator moves and you look at Lyla, “What kind of mess?”

The doors open and you can smell it before you see it.

It’s poignant, like perfume soaked roses and patchouli. The scent hits you hard enough to make you grip the metal opening as you come out.

“What exactly did he do?” you breathe out.

Your limbs start to shake, nerves drumming from the inside out. A weight feels like it landed on your core, your stomach twitching as you continued to take in whatever had transpired.

“Something about DNA splicing and plants. I can trace his movements back if you’d like, but I’m also currently trying to figure out how to reverse it.”

“Great.”

You swing open the door to a disheveled Miguel. He’s sweating profusely as he tries to clean up your lab desk.

Before you can even begin to yell he’s fussing, “Lyla, I told you not to call her!”

“But you obviously don’t know what you’re doing.”

He bites his lip as he tries not to look at you, fingers trembling as he starts to store materials back into their drawers.

“Thought you had a date.”

“And I thought I told you stay away from my station,” you feel like a baby deer walking over to him.

When you get closer he sucks in his breath like you cut him, stopping in his tracks.

“I don’t think you should be near me,” he grunts. His eyes are dark, lips swollen with the way he’s biting them.

“What are you talking about? I’m trying to help you.”

You round the corner of the desk, the image of you two almost comical. Miguel moves to the edge of the desk, chest moving faster, while you chase after him trying to get a hand on his forehead.

He felt extremely cold compared to the numbness of your palm, despite how flushed he looked. His eyes close as your hand slides from his head to his neck, muscles there tensing.

“Please. Don’t,” he whispers.

“Who else is coming here to save you?” you ask, frustrated. “What did you do anyway?”

He doesn’t answer as he peers at you. Your heart is beating faster and you can’t tell if it’s because of the air or because of the way he looks like he’s about to climb you.

Every move you made felt like sharp pricks in your skin, the tight material of your dress digging into your hips. It felt like the ends of burning flames and you wanted it off. Your breaths were picking up and you couldn’t quite comprehend what was going on other than Miguel being your cooling solution.

“Miguel,” you sounded like you ran a marathon when all you did was step into his space.

“It’s the shocking formula that I screwed up. That’s why everything feels-“

“Like I need you,” you interrupt. “Like I want you on top of me.”

The insides of your thighs were fighting against themselves to stay together, the urge to let your legs fall around him strong.

“That’s just the chemicals talking. W-we can get somewhere safe and separated.”

You grab the back of his neck and pull yourself even closer, his hands gripping the table like a lifeline as he groans.

“So you don’t want me?” you press against him, caging a knee around him right next to his hand. “You don’t think about me?”

You can almost feel his heartbeat matching yours as you pull yourself up.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t wonder how I feel when you come into my lab snooping around? How I feel when you come in here barking orders?”

Your face is in his neck and you feel yourself clench around nothing as you take a deep breath. He smells like coffee and fabric softener, but there’s an underlying wave of musk. Of something so unbelievably him and you want to keep that scent close forever.

“I imagine you’re annoyed. But a job is a job.”

“But you still come in here asking for things you know someone else can do,” your panties are soaked, and from the way his nose flares, you know he knows. “Why?”

His teeth grit as you start to grind on him, the feeling giving you an inch of relief that only makes you want more.

“I, I don’t- It’s because I,” the counter began to crack under his hands. His muscles were pulled taut. “Dios, ayúdame.”

Maybe you were wrong, and your hazy mind only brought thoughts from the subconscious one.

“Fine. I get that you don’t like me but could you at least give me some type of relief?” you were whining in his ears at this point, a complete 180 of how you left him earlier today. With every grind of your hips, you left noises in his skin, desperate.

The desk made a terrible sound as Miguel finally lets go and grabs around your waist. Your breath is slammed out of you as your back hits the wall, Miguel’s hand holding your head to stop it from crashing into the wall too.

Your throat makes a gargled sound as Miguel licks down your jaw, his talons ripping into your dress. His tongue swipes into your mouth, breaths rapid as he finally gets a taste.

“I do like you. More than I should,” his words were passed right into you. “You and your smart mouth.”

“Then stop talking and do something about it.”

A yank in your hair stops your complaints, Miguel kissing down your side. Every press of his lips left a chilly flutter. Your hips are moving frantically, patience wearing thin. Right as you’re about to say something again, he flips you, the layers of your dress falling as he rips into your panties.

The blood rushes to your head as he takes a bite into your thigh, sucking as your legs fall to his shoulders.

You moan his name, hands gripping at his thighs. His kisses led to your lips, swollen and dripping. From your clit to your entrance, he groaned as he covered you, drinking like you were water in the middle of the night.

You felt like you were going to slip, but Miguel’s arms were looped around your legs, not letting go. His suit was in your way, your mouth salivating as his crotch stared back at you. Your fingers could only dig as far as his suit allows and you have half a mind to call Lyla to disengage it.

“Please,” you sigh as you rub his bulge with your cheek. “I need it so bad.”

“Cállate,” he hums, face delving deeper into you. The sound of him licking up every drop echos off the cool walls and the light of his suit dims away letting you see what you’ve been waiting for.

His length hits your chin, precum spilling down and you’ve never been more excited for a man to go commando. You open your mouth and let your breath hit him as you take a swipe down to his balls.

Miguel’s grunts and shifts his hips back. His tip swerves around your face as he tries to find your mouth without unlatching his jaw from your sex. You help out with the last bit of sanity you have, and once you wrap your lips around him, his hips snap hard onto you.

All you can feel is Miguel entering you from top to bottom, his hands keeping you stationed in your position. There’s no room to do anything as he’s devouring you and taking your breath away at the same time. Two of his fingers sink into you, and you jerk from the difference between his skin and his tongue.

Miguel nibbles at the hood of your clit, urging you to be still. Whenever his fingers leave you, his pelvis fills your senses. Your throat gags around him, spit building to keep up with his thrusts.

“So good,” he hums. His pace picks up and the tears in your eyes fall to the floor. “Made for me. Only me.”

Your fingers wrap around his thighs and squeeze tight, your vision fading as you try to take in pockets of air. The shake in your legs and the broken moans that escaped your lips only ignited him.

“Bebé,” his hips stutter. He’s sloppy as he drools over the entrance, voice loud. “Bebé, you’re so, ngh.”

He cums down your throat, balls twitching against your face. You close your eyes and try to swallow everything, jaw aching. Miguel groans your name as he slides his dick out to the tip, a few spurts still landing on your lips. You cough, position making everything go north.

The taste of him was delicious, but you needed more of him elsewhere. Your mouth was as drenched as your cunt and yet you still felt empty.

When Miguel flips you back upright, you’re ready to pounce on him again. The state of you both is alarming. Your breasts have completely fallen out of your dress, that black thing barely holding on by its zipper. Miguel’s suit is phasing in and out in the most obscene places. There’s slick up to his eyebrows and his cum is all over your cheeks.

He grabs your jaw and runs his tongue over your face, cleaning up his mess. You let him live in his own bubble before that burning in your core came back.

Your nails dig into his shoulders and your whispers of “more” come to light. You’re clawing at him like a cat begging him to do something, anything, to make this feeling go away.

“Miguel,” you gasp as he sinks his teeth into your skin. “Miguel, it hurts. Fix it, Miggy, please.”

You guide his hands down your body and place them on your ass. His touch sates you for only a moment, but your body reacts as if he needs to be deep in your bones. He spreads your ass and groans as the sound of how eager you are for him follows.

“You’re not ready,” are the words that make you even more frustrated. Your hands pushing and pulling at him, ready to try and put him where you want him to go.

He clicks his teeth and flexes his wrists. His webs tie your wrists together, neon red strings leaving a buzz on your skin. He yanks your dress off and you stumble with the motions.

The clinical room doesn’t aid the building heat you feel, but Miguel turning you around and pressing you into the wall as he cuts the rest of your panties off does.

He squats and grabs two hands full of you.

He spits onto your hole, mesmerized as he watches it slide to your entrance. “Qué hermosa,” he whispers.

You bend, whimpering as your folds cover his nose, clenching and grinding.

“God,” you sigh. Something this small was going to bring you to the edge so quickly. “D-don’t stop.”

“Greedy,” Miguel says as if he’s not moving the fat of your ass to nudge his face into you. The arch in your back deepens as he continues and your whines get higher.

He smacks your right cheek, sound echoing off the metal tables, and you shout his name as you coat his tongue.

Tranquility clears your mind for a second, one where the flowery scent in the air is less strong.

The peace leaves just as fast as it came when Miguel gets rid of his suit and stands behind you in all of his glory.

His eyes followed from your dewey face to the curve of your hips to bitten thighs to feet with one heel still on.

“He didn’t deserve to see this,” he says.

“W-what?”

Miguel ignores you and pulls your wrists up straight, a confused noise leaving you. He wraps another web around your ankles and huffs. He sets your arms under your chest, your hands in front of you like a prayer.

When he picks you up by your waist, his dick lines up with your ass.

He groans as he grinds, watching himself disappear and reappear.

You try to move with him, “No, not there. Inside.”

“You’re always so distracting,” he growls. He slides his length between your thick thighs and you nearly scream as his hips hit your ass, his tip just barely passing over your clit. “Can never think straight when I see you.”

He rubbed over the bite he left on your shoulder, “So pretty. My pretty baby.”

His low voice right in your ears only made you wetter. He was holding you like you were his toy, fucking the inside of your thighs with ease.

Miguel could cry watching your ass bounce on his stomach. Your legs were soft and warm and he just couldn’t stop.

“Want you so bad. Need to fuck you again and again and again,” he said as your thighs quivered around him.

“Please, Miguel. Make me yours,” your voice crowded the sound of his grunts as he held you up and pounded away.

Those were the magic words to get him to lean back with a firm grip on you and release all over the wall. It was everywhere, from your legs to the wall to the ceiling.

He set you to the floor with shaky arms, and you started to sob.

All of this and you still wanted more. If this was making you feel this insane, you can only imagine the small relief Miguel was feeling after being exposed for longer.

“C’mere,” he pulls you to the bare floor and cuts the webs. You immediately try to climb him, legs wrapping around his waist.

He was painfully hard for someone who came twice now.

Your cries of “inside” slur together, tears running down your face. Miguel was no better, fangs dripping with venom and the hairs on skin raised.

The two of you tussle as Miguel tries to keep your hips to stay stationary. You kept jerking in order to get some sort of friction but he was baring his teeth to get you to quit.

You dip your nails into his shoulders and arms while he drags a talon down your sternum to snap your bra off.

A clatter of your stiletto sounds off across the room as he pinches your thigh, “Easy, beautiful. Let me take care of you, yeah?”

“Fucking hurry,” you whine.

He shushes as he plunges inside of you, the noise you both make as loud as a choir.

Your eyes roll back as Miguel presses, bending your body in half.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Miguel leans to whisper onto your lips.

Tight is the first thing that comes to mind and heat is the next.

He moves his hips up and slams back down, your ass shifting from the pressure.

“Miguel!”

“That’s it. Talk to me.” All of that chatter earlier and now you can barely get out a word.

“H-harder,” your hands don’t know where to go. They’re grabbing Miguel, they’re falling next to your head, they’re grabbing at your breasts as Miguel jerks your body.

Miguel goes to open your jaw, lips pulling on your tongue to suck. It’s tender and sensual compared to the way his balls are slapping against you. There’s a ring of white on his shaft getting thicker and thicker as he continues.

“Pretty thing,” he says as he lets your tongue go, a string of saliva falling to your neck. “Watched you on the cameras. Always.”

That stirs something in you, a spark in your chest as you see stars.

“Did you want to do this to me when you watched me?” you manage out.

“Yes.”

“I can put on a show for you next time.”

“Yes.”

“You can come in here. ‘N fuck me over the counter.”

“Sí, sí, baby,” his hands push your knees next to your head and he ruts against you. His thighs were straining as he took and took.

A yell pulls itself from your core, that burning feeling getting a crash of cold water. The dam bursts and you’re running all over Miguel, essence leaving every time he inches out and back in.

“Gonna fill you up,” he rasps, eyes glazed over.

You nod your head, clenching and pulsing around him.

His eyes don’t leave yours as he shudders against you. You suck him in, gaining a deep moan from him, “Así, bebé. Take it.”

It’s like you can finally think as his cum overflows, your heart rate finally slowing.

He stares at you as you both come back to reality. Your body is limp, the weight of Miguel making itself known.

“Holy shit,” you wiggle and he catches the hint. He lifts a bit and pulls out. The swirl of you two falls out of you in waves. “What. The fuck.”

“God,” Miguel mumbles. “No shocking way we just did that.”

“You can’t say that when the evidence is leaking out of me.”

Miguel groans as he watches you, your face pouty and your hole glistening. It was intoxicating.

His dick twitches, coming to life again the longer he watches.

“���M sorry in advance,” he says as he pulls you into his lap.

“Just take care of it, O’Hara.”

The two of you sat in the middle of the floor, breathing hard. Pieces of consciousness were starting to come back.

“You looked stunning tonight,” Miguel said. He looked at your shredded dress on the floor. “I’m glad he won’t see you in that dress anymore.”

The snort that leaves your nose turns into a full-blown laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“You just took my soul ten times over and you’re worried about a guy I just met less than a week ago. I fear I’m ruined for anyone else.”

“Oh,” he smiles. “Good.”

“You still should take me on a date. You’ve got a lot to explain.”

Flashes of him confessing to his habit of watching you from afar come back, “O-of course.”

“And you owe me a new dress.”

“On it.”

Lyla pops up next to you both, a blindfold over her shades, “Is it safe to talk to you guys now?”

Miguel checks his gizmo, “I think we’re good for about forty minutes. The effects are starting to wear off.”

“Excellent!” She throws the fabric to the side, “Oh my god, this room is a mess.”

You look at the array of substances over the room and grimace. The entire hall will have to be on lockdown.

“Well, I managed to vent out the solution. You two should be ok soon.”

You lean on Miguel’s chest and close your eyes, happy to hear good news.

“Kind of sad that this is what it took for you to confess, Miguel,” she comments.

“Lyla!”

You laugh again, “Some confession.”

“That’s enough,” Miguel scowls.

Your giggles die down as you pull yourself onto Miguel’s thigh, bubbles in your chest molding into moans as you start to grind over his thigh.

“I’m starting to think you guys are just bluffing,” Lyla gags before she disappears. “Let me know when you’re done.”

“I think,” you nuzzle into his neck, “this’ll be the last time. I’m tired.”

“If not, we can take it to my house.”

The world blurs again as you and Miguel connect under the white lights.

Take a shot every time I say breath or breathe 😭. Anywho, as always, if you enjoyed, please like, reblog, and COMMENT!

[chaichaiiskai]

Hello, can I request a Baki x male reader smut

Like baki was in class and they were doing a quiz and he didn't do it and never even wrote on his paper because he was staring at reader who sat in front of him, and reader is a really pretty boy and pretty thick and smol like bunny And baki kinda has a thing for him, so the teacher assigned pretty boy as bakis tutor and they go to bakis place, and baki admits his feelings and they do the dirty 👉👈

baki hanma! x pretty boy! male reader

note: i’ve never written for baki before but fuck yeah i accept this request!! (if you see repeated paragraphs, its a tumblr glitch and i cant delete them w/o fuckin’ up the actual post so im sorry in advance 😭)

warnings: amab reader, male reader, he/him pronouns, homophobes dni, anal, fingering, unprotected sex,

How can a guy be so pretty? It doesn’t make sense.

Not to Baki at least, and he’s a pretty smart guy when he wants to be, which reminds him of the empty quiz paper on his desk.

For just a split moment he looks down at the paper after tearing his eyes away from you, sitting in front of him, diligently completing your quiz like the good student you are. Baki thinks you’re cute. Fuckable, actually, but he wouldn’t mind getting to know you better…

Eventually, his mind begins to wander as he stares at you, daydreaming, and sometime after, the teacher comes by and snatches his unfinished quiz from the desk, observing it. Baki hadn’t even written his name on it, let alone fill out of any of the answers. And what’s worse, pretty much everyone had already left the classroom for break besides Baki, you, and the teacher.

With a frustrated sigh, the man rubs at his forehead with one hand as Baki turns his attention from you for the first time in an hour to stare lazily at the irritated man in front of him.

“What’s the problem, old man? You’re gonna get wrinkles if ya keep thinkin’ too hard.” Baki smugly teased, crossing his arms over his well-built chest that’s a little too built for a third year High Schooler, leaning back in his seat with the most carefree look present on his face.

The irritation on the instructor’s face only gets worse but then he sighs, shaking his head. “If it weren’t for you, the class average wouldn’t be so low. You need a tutor…” His eyes roamed around the room for a split second before they landed on you, currently tapping away at something on your phone, completely unbothered and not listening to the other men chat in the classroom. That was until your heard your name being called, causing you to look up in curiosity at your teacher who’s now standing in front of your desk, motioning to your fellow classmate who’s now shamelessly staring you down with a smirk on his face.

Somehow, you’d ended up accepting your teacher’s (pleading) request to tutor the laziest (and hottest) student in your class. Now, you were walking by his side, looking like a tiny little thing in comparison to his hulking form despite being the same age and you were pretty sure you were a couple months older than him.

As Baki suggested, you would be tutoring him at his place and so here you were, walking with him to his home. As you approached, you took note of the egregious amounts of graffiti on the walls as well as the outside of his house, which piqued your interest. This seemed to not go unnoticed by Baki whilst you began to approach his front door as he spoke up, explaining the meaning behind the vandalism.

“‘s lot of people out there that I’ve fought who’ve lost, or people who want to fight me but know they can’t win, so this is the next best thing, the only thing they can do to save face. I don’t really mind, ‘s not a big deal.” He said, shrugging his shoulders as he took out his key to slide open the door and led you inside, taking off his shoes near the front door to start walking further into his home. You nodded sheepishly at his explanation, frowning a little at the thought of people being such cowards to do such a thing instead of facing him head on.

As you followed him deeper into his home, you realized the place was a lot cleaner than you’d anticipated and before you knew it, you were in his bedroom.

Baki watched curiously as you sat down on the floor at the table beside his bed and started to slowly unpack things from your bag, setting them on top of the table. He could practically smell how nervous you were and it amused him greatly. He was also thinking about other things (like how soft and pliable you look) but he saved those thoughts for later.

Following your example, he sat down at the table right beside you, barely leaving any space between the two of you, your knees knocking together. Subconsciously, you shivered and set the last of your things down onto the table, not daring to meet his observant eyes as he stares at the side of your face, waiting for you to do something. In your peripheral you can see him with his elbow resting on the table now, his chin propped up in the palm of his hand, staring at you with amusement lingering in his gaze.

Your tongue darts out of your mouth and swipes at your lips in an attempt to wet them which doesn’t go unnoticed by Baki. In fact, he wonders what it would be like to kiss you, better yet, to get beneath your school uniform.

Before he can open his mouth to /insinuate/ these thoughts, you’re already speaking up.

“So.. I suppose we should work on homework first for class and… and you can ask me for any help i-if you need it..?” You suggested, though it sounded more like a question than a set plan of action.

Baki grinned lazily.

How cute.

He thought about it briefly but then hummed in acknowledgement, deciding to play along for now before he could put his own plans into action.

Surprisingly, to you at least, Baki had started working on his own homework beside you, what was even crazier was that he’d finished before you and now he was just staring again. Almost like he was waiting for you to finish up with your responsibilities before he’d swipe down and attack you. The thought made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, but it wasn’t exactly out of fear.

Some time passed, the room filled with strangely comfortable silence aside from the sounds of your pencil and your breathing. Noticing you finish off the last question, Baki set his plan in motion.

“L/N-san… anyone ever tell you how pretty you are?” Baki nonchalantly asked, watching as you skittishly flinched at the compliment, snapping your gaze towards to him to look at him in bewilderment, reminding him of a startled animal.

Unable to help himself, he reaches towards you and cradles your chin in his hand, swiping his thumb over your bottom lip in curiosity. His eyes are studying your face as he looks down at you, once again reminding you just how easily he could snap you in half even if he barely lifted a finger. However, the hold he had on your chin was gentle and caring, he was mesmerized by the feel of your lips over the rough skin on his calloused thumb, along with your skin.

Soft. Pillowy. Moisturized. You take care of yourself. He likes that. It is a strike contrast to his skin that’s been hardened by brutality and overzealous training that’s turned his entire body into borderline stone. You were just so soft, he wanted to see what other parts were the same.

And despite not getting a verbal and coherent answer from you regarding his previous question, he continues.

“Prettier than any girl I’ve seen. I’d call ya handsome but…” He watches as you blink in surprise, your cutesy lashes kissing your cheeks as you look back up at him, slightly pouting at the start of his backhanded compliment. “— don’t think that fits you. Y’know… ya kinda remind me of a little bunny. You’re skittish like one. And you’re tiny. Bet I could pick you up with one hand.”

His sultry voice and the teasing tone makes something stir inside of you, along with an unneeded erection in your pants. Were your pants always this tight? Sure, they always fit a little snug around your hips and thighs but— What was he trying to say? It would probably be in your best interest to ask him.

“A bunny…? Is that a compliment or.. or an insult?” You softly ask, awaiting for his answer, hanging onto every word that leaves his mouth. For some reason, your gaze has dropped from his eyes to the little beauty mark above his his top lip, and then down to his lips as they move, speaking sweet things to you.

“A compliment, of course. I wouldn’t insult the guy I like, after all.”

You paused, looking back at his eyes, your nose scrunching up along with your eyebrows as you decipher his words, the shock apparent in the look you’re giving him.

Baki smiles.

You really are a little bunny. Makes him want to protect you at all costs, even though he’s sure you can take care of yourself, which is something he also likes about you.

And then you parrot his words right back at him, mainly in disbelief as you feel the heat rise in your face and the rest of your body.

“You… you like me? Like— romantically or..?”

“Pfft. Yeah, romantically. I think you’re cute, smart, adorable, pretty… I wanna get to know you better, and I think I know how to get started.” His words make you curious, eyeing him in suspicion as you may or may not have an idea at what he’s hinting at. “Is that so? Alright, well, I’m open to whatever you have in mind..” You whisper, not rejecting his advances in the slightest without directly stating that you felt the same way about him.

Truthfully, you’ve had a tiny bit of a crush on the class’s sweetheart, but who didn’t? You weren’t even sure if he liked guys, especially not with the rumors of him having a girlfriend or two. But here he was, leaning in and smashing his lips against yours like he was trying to steal the oxygen straight from your lungs and give you the oxygen from his own.

You’d never been so passionately kissed before so it was easy to get lost in it, not even minding the way he effortlessly lifts you into his lap, your fingers tangling up in his cherry red hair, scratching at his scalp, causing him to moan at the unexpected affection.

As he’s holding you in his lap and your kiss turns into a flurry of open mouthed kisses, the sound of your soft pants being swallowed up by the larger man as he kisses you, his hands move down to squeeze at the plush of your ass, enjoying the feel of it in his hands. Rarely does he get to experience such softness beneath is fingers, he was going to cherish every second of this for as long as it went on.

With a little maneuvering from the both of you, you’re both soon rid of your school uniforms and were now in nothing but your boxers, bulging tents furiously rubbing against each other. Baki continued to fondle your ass while guiding your hips, rocking them back and forth so that were dry humping his cock with your own, his lips now connected to your neck. The sweet sounds you’re making spur him own as he litters your neck in love bites and marks that display that you’re his and only his.

The impatience between the two of you steadily grows but Baki takes the first step, standing up with you in his arms as he takes you to his bed and lays you down on top of it, moving to hover his bulky and muscular frame over your small but curvaceous one. In a moment of clarity, watching as he goes into the nightstand beside his bed to pull out a bottle of lube, you speak up.

“W-wait, what about your parents…?” You worriedly ask, not wanting to be caught in the middle of your risqué behavior by the adults in Baki’s home, to which he only chuckles and tugs your boxers down, exposing your bare lower body to his eyes. “I live alone. Don’t worry.” You squeak in surprise when you feel a rush of cold air brush over your cock, your shaft twitching as a bead of precum lands on your belly.

Baki grins at your reaction, finding you even more adorable as he tugs his own boxers down but not fully off, giving you a clear view of what he’s packing.

It’s big just like the rest of him. Should you really be all that surprised?

You gulped worriedly, instinctively backing up a little further up the bed away from him. “I— woah woah woah, I don’t think that’s gonna f-fit me.. Uh.. maybe I could just—“ “Ah ah ah. C’mon Y/N-sama,” he says, purring your first name in a way that instantly turns you into butter, “I’ll prep you first. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?”

Wait, boyfriend? Did that mean you two were exclusive now?

You had no time to ponder the thought when you felt something thick and slippery in your hole, instantly making your back arch off of the bed, a mewl of surprise, pain, and pleasure erupting from your parted lips.

“Haah..!”

Looking down to see the culprit of this strange feeling, you see that Baki’s lubed up his right hand and had stuck one of his calloused fingers in your ass, stretching you out with the meaty digit. After giving you a little time to adjust to the intrusion, he starts to pump it in and out, purposely hitting your prostate each and every time while he watched you squirm and call his name, begging him to slow down and give you some more time to adjust.

Baki does the opposite, in fact, he doesn’t stop fucking you stupid with his fingers until he watches you spray cum all over your belly, decorating your skin in your own white sticky nectar. Then, he slowly pulls his fingers out, watching you pant and tremble on top of his bed, your eyes glossy with blissful tears. You then watch as he scoops up the cum from your belly and sucks it from the fingers he’d just finished fucking you with.

“Fuck, you’re so cute… Think you can flip over on your stomach for me or do you need some help?” He asks you, watching as you looked up at him, still trying to calm down from your first orgasm of the evening, as well as seeing him eat your cum. When he gets no response, he laughs lowly and decides for you, promptly grabbing onto your plush hips and flipping you onto your stomach, propping you up on your knees so he can get a full view of your ass.

Pumping his cock a few times, he bites down onto his lip and grabs up the forgotten bottle of lube that was dropped onto the bed a little earlier, he pops it open and squirts a generous amount onto his cock and on your hole.

Then, he leans over you, pressing the tip up against your puckering hole while pressing his hand onto the bed beside your body, caging you in as he leans over to whisper in your ear. “I’ll go slow, just relax for me, will you? I know you can, bunny. You’re my good boy after all.” He whispers, kissing between your shoulder blades. The gesture and his words make your cock harden again even after cumming and you shake a little in shock at just how easily your body responded to him.

And that’s when you felt it, the ridiculous stretch of his tip as he began to push himself into your lubed up and slightly stretched hole. Baki grits his teeth as you start to swallow him up, making him groan in delight and satisfaction, going in inch by inch until his balls are snug against your perineum. He doesn’t move once he’s fully inside you and you don’t either, crying out as he’s stuffed you full. You’ve never felt so full in your life. It burned. It tingled. It hurt. It felt amazing. There were too many sensations going on at once and it was overwhelming you to the point of becoming delirious but Baki’s calming voice reeled you back down to reality with ease.

“You alright? Doesn’t hurt too much does it?”

You have half a mind to shake your mind but you know that any little movement would make the rest of your body move so you verbally responded instead, though your lips remained shut, a hum would suffice.

“Mm… mm.”

Baki chuckled and you lurched forward at the movement, making you gasp and suddenly scratch at his bed sheets, pulling at them as you buried your face into his pillow, smothering your face in the lingering scent of the shampoo he used. Sighing, he leaned back and rested his hands onto your hips, still not moving as he observes your body in this position. Your body was just as pretty as your face, he had his suspicions but this was exceeding beyond his expectations. He wanted to move, fuck you through the mattress and maybe even break the bed frame but he refrained, wanting to give you time to adjust. He knew that once he started he probably wouldn’t be able to stop or let up any of his movements so this was a the best course of options for the both of you.

However even he had his limits. As content as he was with you cockwarming him with your sweet ass, he wanted to start moving, and so did you.

Pulling about halfway out, he slammed back in, watching as your body bounced, especially your ass, and licked his lips, hearing the muffled scream come from you at his sudden movement. Then he waited a couple seconds to see if you’d protest but when you didn’t, he pulled back and thrusted again, watching in fascination as your ass rippled in waves with the impact from his hips. This earned yet another broken moan of pleasure from you, and so, he continued, rocking his hips at a slow pace, listening to your quiet cries of pleasure as he continued to grip on your hips.

The slow pace gradually increased in speed, and before you knew it, he was fucking you hard into his bed and you were pretty sure that if he wasn’t holding onto you he would have sent you right through the wall and out onto the street in front of his house.

Your little mewls and moans were music to his ears, mixing with his own groans and moans as he continued his rapid movements, his heavy balls slapping against your ass, the tip pushing against your prostate each and every time. The rigorous movement made your own cock bounce around without any restraint and you were sure you’d ended up dirtying up his sheets soon if he kept up like this.

What you weren’t expecting was him to suddenly pull back and slap your ass with his hand, making you cry out in shock, turning your head to the side so you could breath and then look back at him over your shoulder.

Looking back at you through his half-lidded gaze, he grinned at you and picked up his pace, just to watch your eyes flutter from the pleasure, your head lolling to the side as you were overcome with ecstasy and pain.

“Haah… sure this is your first time, bunny? You’re gobblin’ me right up with this fat jiggly ass of yours. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think your body was made for my cock and my cock only.” He teased, smacking your other ass cheek to leave them raw with two matching handprints.

Good luck going home after this, he’s not letting you leave, plus, its not like you’d be able to walk properly afterwards anyways. Luckily, you’ve got a loving new boyfriend to take care of you.

[changenameno]

Gym Master (One-Shot)

(Complete)

 Summary:

The concept of working out wasn’t completely new to you, but you definitely, really overdid it today. You shouldn’t have. Because now you are standing in front of the staircase to your apartment. Which coincidentally is on the fifth floor, with no elevator. And no way in hell, are you able to walk all these stairs, with your sore legs. So what are you going to do?

 

Pairing: Clark Kent x Curvy Fem. Reader

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, a few self-deprecating comments/thoughts, strength kink, p in v, breeding kink, praise kink

Word count: 3.3K

 

A/N: Okay I may have worked out longer today and I’m super (wink, wink) sore, so this came to me. All mistakes are my own. Reblogs and comments are much appreciated! Enjoy❤️✨

 

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You stood before the staircase, gym bag lying, long abandoned next to you. How on earth were you going to climb all those? You could barely stand up, legs screaming at you to sit down.

 

 

Then without warning, a whirlwind of black curls in a chequered shirt passed you. You didn’t recognize him, once he had climbed a few steps, he turned back. His face just as sightly as his behind.

Strong jawline, shapely lips forming a kind smile and striking blue eyes behind black rimmed glasses roving over your form.

 

 

Those same lips opened and a smooth voice sounded, “Hi, I don’t think we’ve met yet? I just moved in. I’m Clark, fifth floor. And you?”

 

 

You stared a moment, asking yourself how you could have missed him moving in and on the same floor no less. Once you recovered a bit, you gave him your name adding that you too lived on the fifth floor.

 

 

His charming smile widened at that, “Really? No way, I could have missed someone so beautiful, living right next to me.”

 

 

Heat began rolling through you, because this handsome man wasn’t just nice, he very much flirted with you and you had no idea how to response. Averting your eyes.

 

 

Clark noticed your slight unease, afraid he came on too strong, he continued, “Erm, well… just wanted to tell you, it’s nice to meet you. And I erm, have to get going. So see you around?”

 

 

Still a bit stumped, you only nodded, then he turned and moved up the stairs so swiftly, it had you envious, because of your predicament.

 

 

You waited a bit, not wanting him to see you, attempting to move. As you lifted your bag, you thought your arm would give out. Every single muscle you had, hurt. Very badly.

 

 

Still you had to at least try to go upstairs, gripping the bannister to your left and starting to heave your body up the first step. Then the second, and the third. Once you finally reached the second floor, you felt your glutens burn like hell, teeth clenched the whole way there, to suppress the pained whimpers wanting to break forth.

 

 

You let your bag fall to the ground again, sitting down on the first step leading to the third floor. The possibility of ever reaching the fifth floor, seemed unlikely. You slumped in on yourself, leaning your exhausted body against the cool stone wall to your right. There was no way you could walk another three stories in this condition. You weren’t even sure if you could stand up again.

 

 

After about thirty minutes, during which you hoped to gather enough strength to continue your ascend, you knew you were stuck. You couldn’t continue even if your life depended on it. Then after another fifteen minutes, you considered calling someone to save you. Not caring anymore how embarrassing it’d be to have someone see you in this state. But you had difficulties deciding on who to call. You definitely needed someone strong enough, not that you where that heavy but you didn’t trust any of your girlfriends to be able to carry you and your bag three flights of stairs.

 

 

You were so emerged in your thoughts, you didn’t immediately hear the footfalls approaching. Once you did, it was too late to hide your predicament, because you couldn’t just jump up and pretend nothing was wrong.

 

 

You cursed internally as those striking blue eyes from before, found your gaze, this time though with frowning dark brows, “Hey again…erm, are you okay?”

 

 

Now you frowned as well. Great, of course it had to be your handsome neighbour to find you stranded on the stairs. Still you were so fed up with your aching body, you decided to tell him the truth, “Well actually, no. I erm… overworked myself in the gym and… and I’m so exhausted I can’t climb the rest of the stairs…”

 

 

You didn’t hold his gaze, rather looking down at your leggings clad thighs, wishing to be anywhere else right now. Sighing as you expected him to laugh at your pathetic display, any moment now.

 

 

Instead he commented, “Mmmh that can happen to the best of us. I don’t mind lending you a hand.”

 

 

That had you looking up, in record time. He couldn’t be serious, right? But Clark actually held out his hand, you blinked at it a few times, too baffled to reach up. Kindly smiling down at you he continued cheekily, “I swear I don’t bite.” Adding more quietly, “Unless you want me to.”

 

 

Your eyes widened at his last commented, so shocked, you hadn’t had time to protest as his hand circled your wrist and without further ado, he pulled you up. Now standing so close to him, you could smell his heavenly cologne. Fuck, you hadn’t even showered before you left the gym.

 

 

“Put your arms around my neck,” he instructed you.

Suddenly a little insecure, you couldn’t stop your self-deprecating comment, “No, no…wait I’m too heavy!”

 

 

Though your protest fell on deaf ears, as Clark swung your bag over his right shoulder, while he started to lift you with his left. Mewling, you quickly did as he said, slinging your arms around his neck. The angered growl he let out, had you ruin your panties, “You aren’t, too heavy. Maybe too beautiful, but that isn’t an issue in my books. Now is it?” His blue eyes were fixed on your face, sternly awaiting your answer.

 

 

The way he’d said it, had the heat in your stomach curling happily and you whispered back, “Erm, no… I-I guess not.”

 

 

His next words, had more wetness rush into your panties, “Good girl.” Then he set into motion, making you hold onto him tighter, still a little afraid he’d let you fall. On the contrary though, Clark didn’t seem like he was carrying anything, moving just as swiftly up the stairs as before, not even slightly bothered by the added weight.

 

 

Good God, he was strong. His biceps pressed against your ass and his large hand held onto your thigh, fingers digging into the flesh, though pleasantly. You had to suppress a shiver, as you were thinking about something entirely different that these fingers could do. They were long and slender, sure to reach a lot deeper than your own, possibly stretching you for something even bigger.

 

Clark hadn’t even reached the fourth floor yet, and here you were, pulsing pussy wanting nothing more than to be pounded into by this strong, muscled man you’d just met.

 

You carefully peeked at his face, trying to gauge if he’d noticed your excitement.

 

 

You did see his nostrils flare and you could have sworn, his pupils looked more blown out than a minute ago. Electric blue irises, reduced to thin rings almost swallowed by the blackness of his pupils. This did nothing to help calm you down, especially when those orbs landed on your face. Hunger and desire plainly displayed on his chiselled face.

 

 

His gaze was back on the staircase, but a sly smirk had settled on his lips as he continued upwards. Not even two minutes later, he had reached the fifth floor.

 

 

“Which one is your door?” Clark still hadn’t set you down, like you had thought he would, so you nodded to the white door of your apartment.

 

“Mmhm right next to mine, interesting.” You didn’t know what to make of his comment so you ignored it, as he approached your door. When he came to a stop you looked at him expectantly, if a bit disappointed you’d reached your destination, “Erm… you can let me down now.” That was pretty much the opposite you wanted. But you couldn’t very well let him in, on your exact thoughts, on what you wanted him to do to you.

 

 

He chuckled, “I can yeah. But what if I don’t want to?”

 

 

Okay you were almost certain this man wanted you just as badly as you wanted him. Even if he was your neighbour, consequences be damned.

So you purred back,” If that were the case, I would invite you in.”

 

 

Adding a bit quieter, just as he had earlier, “You know to thank you…properly,” putting emphasis on the last word. His fingers gripped your thigh harder, growling just one word, “Keys.”

 

 

That had you fumbling for the back pocket of your leggings, pulling out your keys at last. His larger hand ripped it from yours, nearly jamming into the keyhole. Once he’d opened the door, he carried you through the threshold, carelessly letting your bag fall to the ground then kicking your door shut.

 

Before you could say anything Clark had you swung around in his arms, pressing your back against the door. On instinct you adjusted to the new position, crossing your legs behind his back and pulling his face closer to yours by his neck. He didn’t wait, immediately following the need to taste you, so he did. Meeting your lips in a wild and hungry kiss.

 

 

His enthusiasm, made him thrust forward, so your overheating centre was grinding against his bulge. Making him groan into the kiss. Only separating for the much needed supply of oxygen.

 

 

To grind into you even harder one of his hands had grabbed your ass. You let out a loud moan, as this had caused your clit to rub against the button on his jeans. “You sound divine, little dove. Let’s see what other noises I can pull from that sweet mouth of yours.”

 

 

And just like that he bit down, on the junction where your neck met your shoulder, making you cry out, “Yes ahh…fuck Clark, pl-please!”

 

Mouth still attached to your skin he ground out, “That’s it, let the neighbours know who’s making you feel good.”

 

Mewling again, as he suddenly hoisted you up a bit, so your body bounced up, now sitting above his straining cock. Your hands having moved to his nape, pulling lightly on his dark strands.

He grunted, then began moving down the hall, but in the opposite direction of your bedroom, so you squirmed in his hold, tucking harder on his hair to get his attention. “W-wait my bedroom is the other way.”

 

 

Clark had reached your kitchen, unceremoniously plopping you down on the countertop,” Who said I wanted to go to the bedroom?”

 

 

He didn’t wait for an answer, swiftly pulling your sport shirt over your head and tossing it onto the floor. This made you a bit self-conscious, sitting before him in your leggings and sports bra, harsh light from the kitchen window sure to enhance the small rolls of fat accumulating on your soft belly. So you quickly let go of his neck to hug your torso, trying to hide.

 

 

He tutted, taking your chin between his thumb and index, so you had to look at him, “Hey, none of that. Don’t hide. I want to see you, all of you, gorgeous.” Gentle smile on his lips telling you, he meant what he’d said.

 

 

Hesitantly nodding, you loosened your arms and then removed your hands from your body, to let him see. Clark retracted his own hand, eyes roving over your exposed skin, whispering, “Simply breath-taking.”

His warm hand slowly stroked over your shoulder, taking the strap of your bra and pulling it down your arm, you stopped his movement, surprising yourself with your new found confidence as you purred, “Let me.”

 

 

You crossed your arms at the front, taking hold of the lilac fabric of your sports bra and swiftly pulled it off. Exposing your tits to his predatory gaze. His hands reached up, engulfing them, thumbs brushing over your stiff nipples. You leaned back onto your hands, pushing your chest into his even more with the movement.

 

Soft sighs left your lips when Clark leaned down to suck one of your nipples into the hot cavern of his mouth, the tip of his tongue teasing over the sensitive flesh. He definitely knew what he was doing. Switching between your breasts, nibbling on your skin, it had your back bowing. You were pretty sure you needn’t have him prepare you any further, because between your legs a puddle had formed already.

 

 

Your right hand tried to pull him up by his nape, but the animalistic growl he let out, made you hesitate, chuckling lightly as you tried again and received the same answer. So instead you opted to lean closer to him, ducking down to whisper into his ear urgently, “Clark… I need your cock inside me, now.”

 

 

That nearly had him collide with your head as his shot up, searching your face. You smirked at his eagerness, as he tore his own shirt open and off, hands flying to the sipper of his jeans next, finally freeing his tortured rod from his confinement. He shimmied out of his pants, only clad in his black boxers now. Impressively tented. You licked your lips in anticipation.

 

 

His hands landed on your hips, growling,” Up.” Every muscle protested as you lifted yourself up to assist him, as he yanked your leggings and panties off, in one go. Leaving you completely naked. When you tried closing your legs, he prevented it by stepping closer and in between them. Opening them wider, steel grip on your knees, so he could take his sweet time staring at your deliciously, dripping cunt. He positioned you, so one foot was plated on the counter and the other hung of the edge.

 

 

“Oh, look at that pretty, pretty pussy. Overflowing. And all for me.” The muscles of your cunt visibly quivered in response to his filthy comment.

You were so desperate to have him inside, you made grabby hands at him. Clark chuckled darkly, “So impatient, my little dove.” But he did push his boxers down.

 

 

You could have sworn, your heart stopped for a second. His cock was so long and heavy it couldn’t even stand up straight, instead the red tip dipped in your direction, bowing down lightly. Oh fuck, how where you supposed to take that monstrosity?

 

He must have seen the frightened look in your eyes, because he added smugly, while placing his hands on your waist, “Don’t worry, we’ll make it fit.” You huffed, biting your lip. Then another thought bubbled up. His eyes seemed familiar somehow, but you couldn’t pinpoint where you had seen them before. You slowly reached up, stroking over his prominent cheekbones and then you gently removed his glasses, setting them down on the counter.

 

 

Frowning you took in his features, wondering how such a god like creature could seem familiar in any way. Maybe you had dreamed about him? Or you had actually seem him pass you or something, you lived in the same house after all? Yes that had to be it.

There wasn’t more time to keep thinking anyway, as you suddenly felt the thick swollen head of his cock rub through your wet folds.

 

His humming the only warning you got, before he began pushing in, one hand guiding his thick shaft. The wide head stretching you open, as he grunted, moving his hips further forward. Your hands griped his broad shoulders, head falling back as he continued to insert himself. Inch by inch he fed you his cock, your heat so slick he easily slid in. But just when you thought he’d settled fully inside, he panted, “Nearly there. Taking me so well, little dove.”

 

 

Your eyes widened, with how full you already felt you thought he was buried to the hilt. Apparently not, but then a triumphant groan left him as he pulled back a little and slammed you against him full force, completely sheathing himself inside your hot cavern. A loud wail left you, pleasure and pain mixing. Out of breath you cursed, “Fucking hell, give a girl a warning…will you?”

 

He simply chuckled, but let you adjust to him. His thumb finding your clit, teasing and rubbing slow circles to get you to relax. That made you clamp down harder, at the sparks of pleasure travelling through you. Making him curse this time, “Fu-uck, love, you feel so good. So fucking tight for me.”

 

 

Hands pulling you closer, so you could cross your ankles behind his back once more. The new positon making you see stars, as he pushed his pelvis to your special nub. Mewling loudly as he pulled out, deeming you ready enough for what would come next. The sound of him slamming into you, filthy, echoing in the tiled kitchen. It made your head spin.

 

 

Clark had just began, but you looked so fucked out already, swollen lips, closed eyes and moaning loudly. Driving him sheer insane with desire, as his balls continuously slapped against you, adding to the filthy sounds filling the room.

 

 

His normally soft blue eyes, were filled with lust as he stared down at you. Trying to keep up his quick pace and thrusting into you deeper, he pulled you off the counter, holding you up with his big paws on your ass. You shrieked as he penetrated you so wholly you were sure he’d carved a new, longer tunnel inside you, just so he could fit. “So clo-se… don’t stop.”

 

 

Clark pulled you up, so just his tip remained inside, before dropping you down his entire length once more, “Yeah, close already? Wanna be filled up, don’t you, you filthy girl?”

 

 

You cried out, “Yees! Breed me!”

 

 

That had him jerk against you so violently it nearly hurt, the most unhinged growl leaving him, “Say that again!” Your pleasure addled mind surely played a tick on you, as his eyes seemed to flash in a crimson colour for a second.

 

 

Though he didn’t leave any room for argument so you repeated your earlier sentiment, “Breed me! Please!”

 

 

Clark’s thrusts started to lose their rhythm, only goal now to make you come so hard you’d never forget what his cock felt like. So having carved out his own space within you, wasn’t for naught, meaning you could take him easier next time.

 

Your walls squeezed him even tighter, alerting him of your impending orgasm, “That’s it come on my cock, like a good girl!”

 

 

Trying to blink away the blurriness, you suddenly felt like you were floating then the taunt band within, snapped. Crying out his name over and over again, as he kept pounding you through your orgasm. “Fuck, gonna, gonna… fill you up so much...” You mewled in response, “Yes, please…”

 

And with your still convulsing cunt surrounding him, he came. Painting your insides white. Hot cum filling you up further, but there wasn’t much room left, so you felt it ooze out as he pumped his cock inside you a few more times, before pulling out.

 

Clark gently set you down on the cool counter, pressing his forehead against yours, beaming, “My sweet, sweet dove, you did so well.” Not having caught your breath yet, you nodded weakly, smiling back at him.

 

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” Clark lifted you up with ease, walking through your apartment. Both of you, still stark naked.

👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓

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[blackmarketfruitrollups]

I'm Not Sure Of Anything Anymore Pt. 2 (Remus Lupin X Reader)

Warnings: Swearing, angst, that should be it

"Shh, it's alright love." Lily cooed, gently stroking Y/N's hair while the girl sobbed on her roommate's chest. 

"I just don't understand." She sniffled, voice cracking. "I've always been there for him and he still saw me as disposable, what did I do to deserve that?" 

"Oh nothing sweet girl," Marlene rushed over to her from where she'd been pacing the room, furious. "This is all him. You did absolutely nothing wrong. Look at me," She gently pulled her friend's face out of Lily, making Y/N look at her. "You did nothing wrong. Don't let his inability to see your worth take away from how you see yourself." 

"He is an absolute idiot, a bloody moron for not seeing what an absolute treasure he had." Lily agreed, fingers starting to gently braid the hair away from the mourning girl's face. 

Y/N sniffed, smiling bitterly while wiping her eyes. "You know, he uh-" She chuckled, "He tried to lie his way out of everything. Told me he was a werewolf." She threw her hands in the air. "If he's gonna make something up he should at least respect me enough to come up with something that resembles believable." 

To her surprise, the response she got was absolute silence and blank stares, not the disgust and frustration that had been her reaction, and what she supposed would be her friend's. 

"He what?" Was all she got out of them after a stretch of silence that felt like an eternity. 

"He said he was a werewolf." Y/N repeated hesitantly. "Said that Kingsfield had been bringing him Wolfsbane."

Marlene's head swiveled over to Lily, shock written across her face. "He finally did it."

"I never thought he would have the balls too." Lily murmured. "This really wasn't the best way to go about it."

"For being so smart he sure acts stupid." Marlene shook her head.

"Anyone want to clue me in?" Y/N looked between her two best friends, frustrated. "Is there something I need to know?"

The two girls looked at each other and nodded. "I'm telling her, I'm not gonna lie for that prat any longer." Marlene stated, turning toward their hurting best friend. 

"He was telling you the truth, Remus is a werewolf." 

Everything stopped.

"What do you mean?"

"He was being honest, that's why he disappears once a month and shows back up looking half dead." Lily admit. 

Marlene nodded, reaching out to hug Y/N, only for her to pull away just out of arm's reach.

"So, you've both just, known and you let me sit there, terrified about my relationship falling apart?"

"No, no no. Love we've only known for the last two weeks, we swear." Marlene promised.

"And we wanted to tell you, really. But the boys swore that Remus needed to do it, and that he was going too within the next few weeks."

"We promise that we weren't trying to hurt you, and nobody has been pushing for him to tell you more than us. We just didn't expect him to do such a horrible job doing it." Lily comforted, watching as Y/N slowly relaxed back into them.

They all sat silently for a moment, letting the poor girl have as much time as she needed to process, before she broke the silence.

"So... he was telling the truth?" 

They nodded in response.

"And there's nothing going on between him and Kingsfield?"

"He swears there's nothing going on, and honestly, he loves you so much I don't think he's physically capable of cheating." Lily promised.

"Besides, if he does anything I'll castrate him myself." Marlene swore. "'Cause bad werewolves get neutered." 

"Hi."

"Hey.." 

This was the first interaction they'd had in a week and a half. Y/N hadn't been showing up to any of the classes they shared, and Marlene had been bringing food to their dorm, so she didn't have any need to go to the Great Hall, leaving Remus panicked and desperate.

He had done everything he could to convince Lily and Marlene to get Y/N to talk to him, but they wouldn't budge. She would talk to him when she was ready, and not a moment before, that was the only answer he could get out of them about the subject. 

It was quite obvious that neither of them approved of his treatment of their friend, and whilst he didn't want them to be angry, making sure his girlfriend was alright was his top priority. Well, that was if she hadn't decided to break up with him.

The boys weren't thrilled about how everything had gone down either, although they were much kinder to him then the girls were, and yet he couldn't be mad at them. He deserved their scorn, he especially deserved his girlfriend's avoidance, and he owned up to that. What he'd done was massively screwed up, and he should've been honest from the beginning, that was the least Y/N deserved.

But here they were, and he was so relieved that she had decided to grace him with a conversation, even if this conversation was the end of their relationship. If that's what she wanted he wasn't going to stop her, he didn't deserve an attempt at stopping her, not after throwing away her trust. 

"How've you been?" He tried, wincing when she shot him a look. "Sorry, stupid question."

"Remus-" She started.

"-Yes?" He answered immediately, accidently cutting her off with his eagerness to hold a conversation. 

"I just, I need to talk for a minute."

"Oh course-"

"And I need you to listen. Not talk, not try to make me feel better, just listen okay?" She paused, "Please?"

He nodded in response.

"I believe you, I believe what you told me about wha-, who you are." 

He let out a silent breath, relieved that she didn't think he was making cheap excuses.

"And I'm sorry if you didn't feel safe enough to tell me before now. I'm sorry if I ever made you feel threatened, or unable to be yourself around me, I'm very sorry if I didn't love you well.. But you really hurt me, and this has made me question our entire relationship since it was built on a lie." 

Remus closed his eyes and hung his head, absorbing her words like a sponge. They hurt to hear, but he would listen to every single thing she had to say, that was the least he could do. 

"I just, I need an answer and I want you to be completely honest with me, alright?"

He nodded. "I tell you anything you want to know."

"Do you like her? Do you have any feelings for Charlotte?"

This was the question. This was the question that had been eating at her, gnawing at her insides for not just the past week and a half, but the last two months. This was the thing that had torn her up with doubt, slowly creating little tears in the certainty she had in their relationship, but she loved him so much that if he said yes she would let him go.

And she would wish the best for them, wish them nothing but joy, because at the end of the day her anger at him for keeping his lycanthropy a secret would never be able to touch the amount of love she had for this boy. And loving him that much meant that she just wanted him to be happy, even if happiness for him wasn't with her. 

"No, never. I have no feelings for Kingsfield, and I never have." He slowly walked over to her, trying not to spook her away from him. "My love it has been you, all day every day since the moment I first saw you." He took a few steps closer.

"I know you don't believe in love at first sight, but sweet girl I was absolutely infatuated with the very essence of your being since that first moment." Finally close enough, he gently wrapped his arms around her whilst her big doe eyes peered up at him, lash line filled with tears she was fighting to hold onto. "I have screwed up massively, and I take full responsibility. I am so sorry to have put you through this, and to have lied to you for so many years, but my love," he pressed their foreheads together, close enough that he could smell the coconut from her conditioner and see every freckle scattered across her face. "You never did anything wrong. Your very existence is a blessing, and you have loved me better than anyone else ever has. My darling, you have loved me best, and I am so sorry to have ever made you doubt that."

Remus raised his head and pressed his lips to her forehead, feeling her subconsciously sink into him. "I will spend a lifetime making it up to you, if only you will allow me, sweet girl. But if you wish for me to disappear from your life then you'll never have to see my face again, but my darling, I love you more than I could possibly ever describe, and I beg for the chance to make this right."

Home. That was the word that was running through her mind. This is what home felt like. Home smelt like chocolate, fireplaces, old books, parchment and ink. Home felt like warm hugs and oversized jumpers, sweet kisses and comfort. Home was Remus, and Remus was taking accountability.

"It's going to take a lot of work." She murmured, staring up into his eyes. "I'm not sure how long it's going to take."

"That's alright my love." He smiled, "I'll spend the rest of eternity earning your forgiveness."

Y/N giggled, sniffing and gently wiping away the traitorous tears that had fallen from her eyes. "Alright then." She whispered. "I forgive you, and we can give this another try." 

She wasn't able to get out another word before she was being smothered in kisses, Remus being so relieved he could barely think straight. All that mattered at this point was proving to his treasure just how much he loved her. 

And the ring in his pocket was suddenly much lighter, sitting and waiting for the time when it would be slipped on her finger. ​​​​​​​ 

[vunblr]

Roots and Branches

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

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

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

Word Count: About 18.6k.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey,” he said, with a cautious tone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A storm was coming.

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

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

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

It was shaping up to be one of those nights.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, unbidden, he thought of her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Careful,” came the familiar low drawl.

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

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

“Oh, you don’t have to-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded once. “Helps to stay busy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was interested.

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then there was Bucky.

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

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

-----------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her brow lifted. “What kind of mission?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That should be illegal.

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

She blinked, startled. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don’t kid yourself.

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

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

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

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

----------

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t Dorothy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His gaze flickered briefly to the neckline of her dress, the height of his vantage point affording a view to skin that other way should be concealed by cloth. For a split second, his focus lingered on the swell of her breasts before he forced his attention back to her face with an unreadable expression.

“Thanks,” he said gruffly, reaching down to take the glass. His fingers brushed hers for a fraction of a second, the callouses rough against her skin, and she fought the urge to shiver at the contact.

“You’re, uh, making good progress,” she said, nodding toward the roof as if that would distract from the warmth in her cheeks.

“Not much to it,” he replied, taking a sip. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he drank, and her eyes dipped of their own accord, watching the movement.

When he handed the glass back, their fingers brushed again, and she swore his hand lingered just a moment longer this time.

She lingered by the ladder, holding her glass of lemonade, the condensation cool against her fingers. “You and Sam did a great job building the booths for the festival,” she said, her tone casual. “Not only a provider, huh? Seems like you’re quite the handyman too.”

Bucky glanced down at her, his lips twitching into a faint smile before he focused back on the tile he was securing. “It wasn’t just us. Plenty of other guys helped out.”

“Still,” she insisted, watching the muscles in his forearms shift as he worked, “it’s cool. You don’t see that kind of dedication every day.”

He didn’t respond right away, his grip tightening on the hammer. The compliment clearly unsettled him, and for a split second, his aim wavered. The hammer came down too close to his thumb, and he muttered a sharp curse under his breath.

“Are you okay?” she asked, stepping closer instinctively. Her brows knit together with concern as she watched him shake out his hand.

“Peachy,” he muttered with a gruff voice, though the faint pink creeping up his neck gave away his frustration, whether from the near miss or her watchful presence, she wasn’t sure.

Her lips twitched at his tone, but she held back a laugh, not wanting to poke the bear. “Alright, then. I’ll leave you to it before I distract you into taking off a finger.”

He glanced down at her, his blue eyes sharp but not unkind. “You’re not a distraction,” he said after a beat, his voice softer this time.

Her stomach did a little flip, but she forced herself to keep her tone light. “Still, I’d hate to be the reason you get hurt. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

He gave a small nod, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he turned back to his work, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

She stepped back toward the house, clutching the empty glass tightly as she crossed the threshold and shut the door behind her.

With a deep breath, she returned to the couch, her laptop waiting for her where she’d left it. But even as she opened the screen and stared down the next line of plaid-covered Highlander melodrama, her thoughts drifted back to the man on her roof and the way his gaze lingered just a second too long.

---------

The knock at the door startled her out of the repetitive loop of her manuscript edits. Leaving the laptop on the coffee table, she stood, smoothing the fabric of her dress instinctively. When she opened the door, there he was, a faint sheen of sweat on his face and his toolbox in hand.

“All done,” Bucky said, his deep voice a little quiet, as though he wasn’t entirely sure how to say more. He gestured vaguely toward the roof with his free hand. “The tiles should hold up fine now. No leaks to worry about.”

Her smile was warm as relief and gratitude washed over her. “Thank you, Bucky. Really. That was so kind of you to come by and take care of it.”

He gave a small shrug, his lips twitching into a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Didn’t take long. Figured it’d save you some hassle.”

“Still,” she said, stepping back to open the door wider, “you didn’t have to. Can I at least get you something? Another drink, maybe?”

He hesitated, his hand tightening slightly on the handle of the toolbox. “You don’t have to-”

“I insist,” she cut him off gently, her smile unwavering. “Please. It’s the least I can do.”

After a beat, he nodded, stepping over the threshold with a cautious ease, as if unsure of how much space he was allowed to take up. She led him to the kitchen, motioning for him to sit at the small table while she poured a fresh glass of lemonade.

He sat stiffly, setting his toolbox carefully by his feet and rubbing the back of his neck. The kitchen smelled faintly of citrus and sugar, a scent that mingled oddly with the outdoorsy hint of sawdust and sweat he carried with him.

“Here,” she said, placing the glass in front of him before sitting across the table. “I hope it’s still cold enough.”

Bucky nodded his thanks, taking a sip. The silence stretched for a moment, not uncomfortable but loaded with unspoken thoughts. She was the first to break it.

“So, how long have you been working with Sam?” she asked, leaning her arms casually on the table.

He set the glass down, his fingers lingering on the rim as he answered. “A few years. Helps keep me busy.”

She tilted her head, studying him with quiet curiosity. “Do you supply the rest of the workshops and stores too?”

Bucky let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “Not really, just a few. Don’t think anyone’s lining up to hire a guy like me.”

Her brows knit together. “I don’t know about that. You’re dependable, skilled... and clearly a good neighbor.”

Her words caught him off guard, and he looked down, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Just doing what needs to be done,” he mumbled.

“More than that,” she pressed, a hint of teasing in her tone now to lighten the moment. “If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I wouldn’t believe how fast you fixed those tiles.”

Bucky shook his head, his lips twitching into that barely-there smile again. “It’s just a roof.”

“To you, maybe,” she said lightly. “To me, it’s one less thing to worry about. And I really appreciate it.”

Her sincerity left him quiet for a moment, his fingers tightening briefly around the glass. He glanced up at her, meeting her eyes. “You’re welcome,” he said finally, with a low voice.

Another pause lingered between them, she smiled, leaning back slightly in her chair. “Well, if you ever need more jam -or a roof to fix- you know where to find me.”

He chuckled softly, the sound surprising even himself. “Guess I’ll keep that in mind.”

Their gazes held for just a beat too long before he stood, his hand already reaching for the toolbox. “I should get going.”

“Of course,” she said, standing as well, though she didn’t move to rush him out. “Thanks again, Bucky.”

As Bucky made his way toward the door, his gaze swept briefly over the living room, pausing on the open laptop resting on the coffee table. His steps slowed, curiosity flickering across his features. “What’s that you’re working on?” he asked, tilting his head toward the screen.

She followed his gaze and let out a soft, sheepish laugh. “Oh, just... proofreading a manuscript.”

He raised a brow, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly. “What kind of manuscript?”

Her lips parted as if she might dodge the question, but his steady, inquisitive look made it clear he wasn’t letting this one go. “It’s, uh... a romance,” she admitted, her voice almost shy.

His brow lifted a little higher. “About?”

She hesitated, fidgeting slightly under his gaze. “It’s... okay, it’s one of those super cheesy historical romances. You know, with a rugged Highlander and a maid who’s swept up in some dramatic, forbidden love affair.” Her words tumbled out in a rush, her cheeks warming as she spoke.

Bucky’s expression shifted. First skeptical, then mildly amused, and finally landing somewhere between disbelief and intrigue. “And that sells?”

“It’s a very popular topic,” She nodded, already cringing inwardly. “It’s... well, it’s got a lot of dramatic tension, flowery descriptions, and... other stuff.”

“Like what?” he asked, genuinely curious, his head tilting slightly as he leaned against the doorframe.

She bit the inside of her cheek, debating how much detail to share. “You know... dramatic misunderstandings, passionate declarations, epic sword fights... and, uh...” She trailed off, waving her hand vaguely. “Other... things.”

“Other things,” he repeated, his lips twitching like he was trying not to smile. “You mean... the spicy stuff?”

Her cheeks flamed, and she groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Yes, okay? That stuff. Happy now?”

He chuckled making her peek at him from behind her fingers. “Didn’t take you for someone who’d spend their day reading about shirtless Highlanders sweeping maids off their feet.”

“I don’t spend my day reading it,” she shot back, lowering her hands to glare at him, though her expression was more embarrassed than angry. “I’m proofreading. There’s a difference.”

“Right,” he said, dragging the word out like he wasn’t entirely convinced. “So you’re not secretly daydreaming about a plaid-wearing, hero coming to whisk you away?”

“Absolutely not,” she replied firmly, though the faint crack in her voice betrayed her mortification.

He smirked, finally stepping back from the doorframe. “Good to know.”

She crossed her arms, watching him as he moved toward his toolbox. “Not that you’re one to judge,” she called after him. “You seem to know an awful lot about what goes on in those books for someone who’s never read one.”

That stopped him in his tracks. He turned back, his gaze narrowing slightly, though there was still a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I have a sister,” he said simply, as though that explained everything.

Her mouth opened, then shut, caught off guard. “Touché,” she murmured, conceding the point. Still, she couldn’t let it rest. “But honestly, this one is so bad, I don’t get how the editors went along with it.”

His curiosity piqued, and Bucky tilted his head. “And why’s that?”

“It’s just... so cheesy,” she said, her voice dipping with exaggerated drama. “Way too fluffy, the guy won’t stop talking about his feelings, and he’s clingy in a way that makes me cringe.” She shuddered a little for effect.

Bucky raised a brow, his thumb absently tapping against the handle of the toolbox. “So... that makes it bad for the genre? Or is that your personal taste talking?”

She blinked, thrown off by the question. “I-what?”

“I mean,” he continued, leaning casually against the doorframe, “aren’t romance novels supposed to be... you know, emotional? Feelings and all that? Or is it just not your thing?”

She frowned, his thoughtful tone making her pause. “I guess... it’s not the emotions that bother me,” she admitted, her arms crossing loosely. “It’s the way it’s written. This guy is just so... over the top. He’s constantly swooning over her, saying how she’s his whole world, his sun and stars... it’s too much. Like, tone it down, man.”

Bucky’s lips twitched, and he gave a small, thoughtful nod as if chewing over her words. “So, you’re more into the... brooding types?”

Her face warmed slightly at the observation, but she shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Maybe. I like characters who... don’t lay it all out at once. You know, someone with a little mystery.”

A long silence stretched between them, his gaze lingering on her as if trying to read between the lines. “Sounds like it’d be tough to figure out what they’re thinking.” He observed.

She raised a brow at that, tilting her head. “Sometimes actions speak louder than words, you know.”

Bucky seemed to consider that, his fingers flexing lightly around the handle of his toolbox. He nodded once, then glanced toward the door. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your... highlander drama.” He shifted his weight, toolbox in hand, and turned toward the door. But as he stepped through, he hesitated, glancing back. “Hey,” he said, his tone quieter now, almost hesitant. “If, uh... if you ever need something else, just let me know.”

She smiled “I will. The same goes for you, thanks again.”

He nodded, a small, almost shy tilt of his head, before stepping fully out the door. She stood there for a moment, staring after him as the faint crunch of his boots faded down the path. The quiet of her house enveloped her as she closed the door, replaying snippets of their conversation.

She had barely made it back to the couch when her phone buzzed. The screen lit up with a text from Sam:

Hey, I’m grilling tonight. You should come by. No excuses.

A smile tugged at her lips. The idea of stepping out, getting off her screen, and being around people sounded better than staying cooped up with plaids and cringy lairds. She quickly texted back her agreement.

The gathering was small, just a handful of locals chatting around the glow of the garden lights and the firepit, the scent of burning wood mingling with spiced cider in the air.

She wasn’t expecting to see Bucky there, given he wasn’t the social type but there he was, standing slightly apart from the crowd, his hands shoved into his pockets as he listened to a conversation between Sam and another neighbor.

She hesitated, her pulse quickening at the sight of him. Sam spotted her, waving her over. “Hey, glad you made it! C’mon, grab a drink.”

She made her way to the table laden with snacks and drinks, feeling Bucky’s gaze on her as she poured herself some cider. When she turned, he was standing just a few steps away, his expression unreadable in the flickering firelight.

“Hey,” she said, her voice a touch breathless. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

His lips quirked in a half-smile. “Sam can be... persuasive.”

She laughed softly “Yeah, he’s good at that.”

They stood there in companionable silence for a moment, and then, as someone started strumming a guitar on the other side of the yard, Bucky glanced at her, his blue eyes glinting with something she couldn’t quite place.

“Walk with me?” he asked, with a low but steady voice.

Surprised, she nodded, and they left the noise and light of the gathering behind, stepping into the quiet shadows of the trees that bordered Sam’s property.

As they walked, the only sounds were the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant chords of the guitar. Finally, he spoke.

“I’ve been thinking,” he began with a cautious tone like he was testing the waters. “About what you said earlier. About liking... brooding characters.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “Oh?”

His gaze stayed forward, but his hands fidgeted at his sides. “Got me wondering if you really meant that. Or if you were just... making conversation.” The vulnerability in his voice sent a wave of warmth through her.

“I wasn’t just making conversation,” she admitted softly.

He stopped walking, turning to face her fully. The firelight was distant now, casting only the faintest glow, but she could still see the intensity in his expression. “Good,” he said, his voice rougher now. “Because I don’t want to keep wondering.”

Before she could respond, he stepped closer, his hand brushing hers, tentative but deliberate. And when she didn’t pull away, he leaned in, his breath warm against her skin as his lips captured hers in a kiss that was both hesitant and deeply certain, as if he’d been waiting for this moment far longer than he dared to admit.

She melted into him, her hands sliding up to his shoulders. That small gesture gave him all the permission he needed. Tilting his head, he traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, a gentle yet deliberate request. She parted her lips for him, granting entrance, and he deepened the kiss with a low, quiet sigh that sent warmth spiraling through her.

His hand slid to the curve of her lower back, pulling her closer, while the other found its way to her nape. His fingers tangled gently in her hair as he cradled her. Their kiss broke slowly, reluctantly, his lips brushing hers one last time as if he couldn’t quite let go. Bucky lingered close, his breath warm against her cheek, his nose skimming along her jaw before dipping to her neck. He pressed his face there, inhaling deeply, and his quiet, teasing voice sent a shiver down her spine.

“This too clingy for you?”

A soft laugh escaped her, though it dissolved into a breathy sigh as she tilted her head, exposing more of her neck to him. “Shut up,” she murmured, her fingers threading through his hair, keeping him close. Whatever witty retort she might have had melted into nothing as he pressed a lingering kiss to her pulse point.

Bucky’s lips lingered against her neck for a moment longer before he pulled back just enough to look at her. His fingers at her nape flexed, and then his gaze dropped briefly to her lips. Her heart stuttered as he closed the distance again, this time more demanding. His mouth claimed hers in a kiss that was deeper and hungrier. Gone was the tentative sweetness, this was need, raw and unrestrained. His hand slid from her lower back to her hip, splaying wide, pulling her flush against him as if he needed to eliminate even the smallest gap between them.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low, throaty sound from him that sent a thrill through her. She arched into him instinctively, and his hand slid down to the hem of her dress, his fingers brushing her bare thigh. His touch was deliberate, teasing, but his restraint was evident. Her hands left his hair, sliding down to his chest, the soft flannel brushing her palms before she gripped the fabric and tugged him closer. He responded instantly, groaning softly into her mouth as the hand on her nape angled her tighter against his lips.

When they finally broke apart, their breaths mingling in the charged silence, he pressed his forehead to hers. Neither of them moved to step away, the distant chatter and laughter around the grill fading into the background. The weight of unspoken need between them was palpable.

“We should...” she started, her voice catching slightly. Then, more firmly, “We should go somewhere.”

His head lifted slightly, blue eyes dark as he searched hers for a beat before a slow smile tugged at his lips, agreeing with a low voice.

Without another word, he took her hand, intertwining their fingers briefly before leading her away. They drifted toward the edge of the yard with casual ease, their steps slow enough to avoid suspicion but quick enough to betray their shared urgency. Once they’d slipped into the cover of the trees bordering Sam’s property, she turned to him, their bodies close in the dim light of the evening. “Your truck or...?”

Bucky’s brows shot up at the suggestion, and for a moment, the idea tempted him, briefly, wildly. Considering the insistent ache in his jeans, the thought held undeniable appeal. But then, reason settled over him like a cool breeze. Not like this. Not tonight.

His lips quirked into a lopsided smirk, and he leaned in just enough that his voice sent a shiver through her. “Your place,” he murmured, low and deliberate.

The shift in his tone left her breathless, her pulse hammering against her skin as her cheeks warmed. She nodded wordlessly, her hand tightening slightly around his as they moved with quiet purpose. The path back to her house felt electric, each step charged with anticipation.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Bucky turned sharply, cornering her against the solid wood. His hands framed her face as his lips captured hers again, more demanding this time, his body pressing into hers with a heat that left no room for misinterpretation. She gasped softly into the kiss, the feel of his hardon against her stomach sending a jolt of desire through her.

Her fingers tangled in his long hair, tugging just enough to make him growl low in his throat. The sound vibrated between them, primal and electrifying. He broke the kiss just enough to murmur, his voice gravelly, “Where’s the bedroom?”

She pointed vaguely down the hall, her breath hitching. Before she could blink, his strong hands were gripping her waist, and he effortlessly threw her over his shoulder in one smooth motion.

A surprised squeal left her lips, and she braced herself against his back, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. His hand splayed firmly over her rear to steady her, his voice teasing but thick with intent. “Easy there,” he said, the words curling with a hint of amusement.

He strode purposely through the hallway, and when they reached the bedroom, he set her down on the bed with surprising care, though his gaze was anything but gentle. He stood over her for a moment, taking her in, the way her hair fell wild around her face, her lips swollen from his kisses, her chest rising and falling with anticipation.

His tongue flicked over his bottom lip as his eyes darkened. “Damn,” he muttered, his voice hoarse with hunger, “you’re a sight.”

She shifted slightly under his intense stare, a flicker of shyness creeping in her despite her arousal. The way he looked at her, so unapologetically hungry, made her feel exposed. His lips quirked slightly as if sensing her hesitation, and he leaned down, his hand coming to rest against her jaw.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice softer now but no less intent.

She nodded, her breath hitching as his thumb brushed along her cheek. “Yeah,” she whispered.

“Good,” he replied, his lips curving into a faint smile before he kissed her again. This time, it was slower, deeper, his tongue sweeping against hers in a way that left her clinging to him, her earlier shyness melting into the heat of his touch.

Her fingers found his shirt, tugging at the hem, and he pulled back just enough to strip it off, tossing it aside without ceremony. The scars on his chest and arm caught the dim light, but the confidence in his gaze never wavered as he leaned back in, his hands sliding down her sides with deliberate, teasing slowness.

Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as her eyes roamed over him, the sheer breadth of his chest and the powerful arms flexing with restrained strength. He was a bear of a man, solid and unrelenting, and she loved every bit of it.

“You know,” he began, his voice low and rough, his fingers deftly popping open the buttons of her dress one by one. “I love seeing you in these dresses and skirts.” His lips quirked into a wicked grin, his gaze flicking up to meet hers. “Makes it so damn easy to get under them. Have my way with you.”

Her cheeks burned at his words, a mixture of arousal and shyness bubbling to the surface. “Bucky...” she breathed, but her protest was feeble at best, especially as he continued his slow, deliberate assault, parting the fabric of her dress to expose more of her skin.

“That one you wore at the festival,” he went on, his tone darkening with heat as he leaned closer, his lips grazing her collarbone. “That vintage-looking thing? Sweetheart, it drove me crazy.”

She gasped softly as his hands slid over her hips, his thumbs tracing patterns against her bare skin. “Crazy how?” she managed to ask, her voice trembling under the weight of his attention.

He let out a low, throaty chuckle, his lips trailing down to the swell of her breasts. “Crazy enough to want to bend you over the booth table,” he murmured, his teeth scraping lightly against her skin, “and fuck you right there. Pies, jam… didn’t care. Would’ve made a mess of it all just to get my hands on you.”

A desperate whimper slipped past her lips as heat pooled low in her belly. Her hands slid into his hair, tugging slightly.

He growled softly at the sensation, pressing her back against the bed. His hands gripped the fabric of her dress and tugged it down her arms, exposing her fully to his gaze. “But we’ve got all the time we want now,” he said, his voice rough, his lips curving into a predatory smile. “And I plan to take my damn time.”

Her pussy clenched with anticipation as her mind whirled, trying to reconcile the quiet, awkward man she’d come to know with this unabashedly vocal, commanding version of him. It was as though he’d been holding back all this time, and now, the dam had finally burst.

Her bra followed the dress, and his sharp intake of breath sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through her. His thumb traced the curve of her breast, slow and deliberate, before he leaned in, his lips hovering just above her skin.

“Y’know,” he murmured, his voice rough and teasing, “all I could think about this afternoon was pouring that lemonade on these.” His lips ghosted over her nipple, his breath warm. “Then drinking it straight off you.”

Her gaze widened, a sudden wave of shyness overtaking her. She let out a nervous laugh, pressing her hands over her face to shield herself.

“Don’t hide from me,” he said firmly, his hand catching her wrists and gently tugging them away. His eyes burned with an intensity that made her stomach flip. “You were the one who instigated our little escape from Sam’s party, remember?”

His words sent a shiver down her spine, and she couldn’t help the way her body arched toward him as his lips finally claimed the peak of her breast, his tongue swirling in deliberate, maddening strokes. Any remaining hesitation evaporated as he pressed his hips against hers, letting her feel just how much he wanted her.

“You don’t get to act shy now,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly against her skin. “Not after everything you’ve been driving me crazy with.”

Her voice came out barely above a whisper, trembling as she stammered, “I... I didn’t do anything...”

Bucky pulled back just enough to meet her wide-eyed gaze, his lips curving into a wicked smirk. “Oh, you didn’t?” he drawled, his tone laced with teasing disbelief. His hand slid down her side, his calloused fingers leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “That little dress at the festival? the lemonade with that neckline? The way you bit your lower lip every time we spoke? Sweetheart, you’ve been doing everything.”

Her cheeks burned, her lips parting as if to protest, but no words came out. Instead, he leaned in closer, his nose brushing the curve of her jaw as he whispered, “And I’ve been trying real hard to keep my hands to myself... but now? Now, I’m done trying.”

Her breath caught, and before she could respond, his lips were on hers again, claiming her in a kiss that left no room for doubt. His hands roamed her body with purpose, pulling her flush against him, his erection pressing firmly against her pussy.

Her fingers found their way into his hair again, tugging gently at the strands as he groaned into her mouth, the sound reverberating through her. “You’re killing me, you know that?” he murmured against her lips, his voice rough and filled with longing. “All I’ve been thinking about is this... you... for weeks.” He kissed her again, slower and deeper this time, as if savoring the moment.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” he rasped when they parted for air, his forehead resting against hers. “But you’re about to find out.”

He left a trail of open-mouthed kisses down her body, his lips lingering on every inch of skin as if committing her to memory. When he reached the waistband of her drenched panties, he paused, his hands gripping her thighs firmly to keep her in place. Pressing his face against the soaked fabric, he inhaled deeply, a guttural groan rumbling from his chest.

“God, you smell so good,” he murmured, his voice thick with hunger. His thumbs hooked into the sides of the delicate lace, slowly pulling it down her legs as he kept his eyes locked on hers. The intensity in his gaze made her pulse thunder in her ears. “You’ve been driving me insane,” he confessed, his lips brushing against her inner thigh as he tossed the damp fabric aside. “Every time I saw you in those little dresses... I thought about this. About getting under that hemline and taste you.”

Her body quivered at his words, her fingers tangling in the sheets beneath her as anticipation coiled tight in her core. “Bucky...” she breathed, her voice a plea.

“Patience,” he said again, his voice low and teasing, but there was no mistaking the edge of hunger in it. His hands spread her thighs further apart, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he held her open. His breath ghosted over her pussy, warm and tantalizing, making her gasp and clutch the sheets. “I want to take my time with you.”

And then his mouth was on her. His tongue dragged through her slick folds with slow, deliberate strokes, before barely retreating with a sinful hum. “Fuck,” he groaned, “You taste even better than I imagined.” He paused only long enough to meet her eyes, his own dark and full of promise. “And I’ve been imagining this for a long time.”

Her breath caught in her throat as he spread her pussy lips with his thumbs, baring her fully to him. His mouth latched onto her clit, his tongue swirling in lazy circles before he nursed it with intent. The sharp jolt of pleasure ripped a cry from her lips, her hips thrusting against his mouth involuntarily.

“Bucky! oh, God!” she gasped, her voice trembling as he kept at it, alternating between sucking and flicking her sensitive nub with maddening precision. His growl vibrated against her, the sound and sensation drawing another moan from deep within her chest.

“Stay still,” he commanded, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening. The rumble of his voice sent shivers down her spine. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Two thick fingers joined the assault, sliding slowly into her wet heat, stretching her as they pressed in until they were knuckle-deep. She gasped, her walls clenching around him as he paused for a moment, letting her adjust before starting a maddening rhythm.

His mouth stayed on her clit, tongue flicking and circling in tandem with the slow, deliberate thrust of his fingers. The combination was overwhelming, a perfectly orchestrated symphony of pleasure that had her crying out his name, her thighs trembling as she struggled to keep still.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he murmured against her, his voice filled with awe and lust. His fingers curled inside her, finding that sweet spot that made her hips jerk off the bed. “Right there, huh? That’s it.”

Her breathing turned ragged, her hands gripping his hair tightly as her body climbed higher and higher toward release. He didn’t let up, his tongue and fingers working her with relentless precision, coaxing her closer to the edge with every stroke.

The orgasm tore through her like an electric shock, sharp and all-consuming. Her body clenched tight, her muscles locking for a heartbeat before releasing uncontrollable spasms. Her walls clenched around his fingers, her back arching off the bed as a sharp cry tore from her lips. He growled with satisfaction, his fingers slowing but not stopping as he rode her through her climax, his mouth pressing soft, soothing kisses to her inner thigh as she shuddered beneath him.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, pulling his fingers free slowly and bringing them to his lips to taste. His darkened gaze met hers, his tongue flicking out to clean the slick from his fingers. “You’re fucking perfect.”

She barely had time to catch her breath before Bucky stood, towering over her, his eyes dark with intent. With a sharp tug, he kicked off his work boots, the thud of them hitting the floor making her jump slightly. Then came the metallic clink of his belt, the sound sending a thrill straight through her.

Her gaze was locked on him as he unzipped his jeans, the low rasp of the zipper making her stomach tighten. He tugged them down along with his underwear in one swift motion, revealing himself in all his glory. He was all broad shoulders and thick muscle. His broad chest and left arm were marred by scars that only added to the raw magnetism he exuded. And then there was his cock. Thick, hard, and so utterly intimidating that she bit her lip at the sight.

“Like what you see?” he asked, a lazy smile pulling at his lips.

She nodded, unable to form words as her cheeks flushed.

“Good,” he said, his hand wrapping around his shaft, stroking lazily as he took a step closer. “Because you’re going to feel all of me.”

Bucky climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between her parted thighs. His hands gripped her waist, firm but careful, as though he might crush her if he wasn’t mindful of his strength. His cock rested heavy and hard against her slick folds, the head teasing her entrance as he rocked his hips slowly, coating himself.

“So wet,” he murmured, his voice a husky growl that sent a shiver down her spine. She moaned softly, her thighs trembling as the thick head of his cock pressed against her opening, the stretch beginning even before he was inside. He moved slowly, agonizingly so, letting her body adjust to his size inch by inch. Her walls fluttered around him as he filled her, her slick heat clenching tightly as he pushed deeper. Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as her breath hitched. “Oh my God, Bucky... you’re so-”

“Big?” he finished for her, his tone edged with dark amusement as he paused, fully sheathed inside her. He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear as he rumbled, “That’s it, sweetheart.”

Her head fell back against the pillow as she panted, her body stretched to its limit, the delicious pressure bordering on too much. But as her hips shifted slightly, the friction sent a bolt of pleasure through her that made her moan his name.

Bucky groaned low in his throat, his hands sliding to her rear to tilt her hips upward. He withdrew slowly, almost to the tip, before thrusting back in with deliberate care. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he murmured, his gaze locked on her face as he started to move in earnest.

His pace began slow and steady, each thrust measured, but it wasn’t long before his control began to slip. His grip on her tightened as he quickened, the powerful thrusts rocking her body against the mattress. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, the wet slap of his cock driving deep into her pussy mingling with her moans and his guttural groans.

“Hold on to me,” he ordered, his voice rough with lust. Before she could process his words, he hooked an arm under her ass and lifted her effortlessly, sitting crisscrossed with her perched in his lap.

Her arms flew around his neck, clinging to him as the new angle made him hit even deeper. His hands gripped her hips, guiding her movements as he thrust up into her, the force of his cock driving her wild. Her head fell forward, her forehead resting against his as she whimpered, overwhelmed by the intensity of the pleasure building inside her.

“Look at me,” he demanded. Her hazy eyes met his as he tilted her hips slightly forward, the firm muscles just above his shaft slapping her clit with every thrust.

She cried out, her nails raking down his back as the coil inside her tightened, ready to snap. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

He groaned, his cock swelling even harder inside her as he chased her climax. “I’ve got you,” he promised, his thrusts growing rougher, deeper. “Come for me, sweetheart. Let me feel it.”

Her orgasm hit her hard, her pussy clamping down on his cock as she cried out his name, her body trembling violently in his arms, and he growled in satisfaction.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he ground out, his movements growing erratic as her spasming walls pushed him closer to the edge. “You’re mine, doll. Mine.”

With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself fully inside her, his cock pulsing as he spilled into her with a guttural moan. He held her tightly, pressing his forehead to her shoulder as they both panted, their bodies trembling from the intensity of their encounter.

For a moment, neither of them moved, the room filled only with the sound of their heavy breathing. Then, with utter gentleness, Bucky eased her back onto the bed, his body following hers as he stayed buried inside her. He braced himself on his forearms, keeping his weight off her but staying close enough that she could feel the warmth of his skin against hers.

A lazy smirk tugged at his lips as he glanced down at her, the faintest hint of mischief in his eyes. “So,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, “better than the breathtaking Highlander?”

Her breath hitched before she burst into laughter, making his smirk widen. “Oh, so much better,” she stated, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a quick, playful kiss. “I find the curt and gloomy lumberjack character more appealing.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, his smirk faltering just slightly. “Curt and gloomy, huh?”

She nodded, her voice turning softer. “Mysterious. Rugged. A little broody. Kind. Thoughtful. Handsome.”

He blinked, caught off guard by the weight of her words. A faint flush crept up his neck, blooming across his cheeks, and he glanced away, suddenly looking very much like the socially awkward man she’d come to adore.

“Didn’t know I was signing up for flattery,” he muttered under his breath, his ears reddening as he busied himself with brushing away a strand of hair hanging on his face.

She laughed and cupped his cheek, gently forcing him to meet her gaze. “Just telling the truth,” She said softly, her thumb brushing over his stubbed skin.

He swallowed hard, the blush deepening as his lips twitched into a shy, crooked smile. “Still not used to it,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a murmur.

“Guess I’ll just have to keep saying it until you are,” she replied with a grin, pulling him down for another kiss before he could argue.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

[saintkaylaa]

insecure curvy reader…

(ft. choso, kento, satoru, toji, sukuna)

note: for anon, i hope you liked! I didn’t include everyone just bc the jjk lineup is so long😢 but if i didn’t include the one you wanted just lmk! also don’t mind the horrible attempt at sukuna but I included him (and Toji) bc i feel like they go feral for curvy women. (same tho). also, after a baby!reader on choso🫰🏽

warnings: body dysmorphia?, weight/size discussions, suggestive, sexual remarks, f!reader, curvy!reader, pregnant!reader

— choso

— kento

— satoru

— toji

— sukuna

[cottonlemonade]

“Babe, have you - oh no.”

Your boyfriend Daichi stopped in his tracks when he saw you sobbing into a tissue on the couch, wrapped practically airtight in a thick fluffy blanket with only the cable from your heating pad sticking out.

On the TV a chubby seal pup was calling its mother that apparently fell prey to an orca just a few seconds earlier.

He sighed and came to stand in front of you, hands on his hips to block the screen.

“What did we say?”

You shrunk into your blanket, looking up at him with big tear-filled eyes.

“No nature documentaries when I’m on my period?”

“Then why are you doing this to yourself? This is gonna be the seahorse thing from last month all over again.”

At the mention of your previous trauma, a new wave of tears rolled down your cheeks.

“It got carried too far in the current! It was all alone!”

“And what did you make me do?”

“Hold my hand in the supermarket so you wouldn’t lose me?”

“And why was that not a good idea?”

You took a deep breath and tried to recount the gentle scolding you received afterward, “Because to safely push a cart you need two hands.”

“And?”

“And I made you swerve into a display of tomato sauce.”

“So in conclusion?”, he raised an expectant brow.

You picked up the remote and turned on a different movie.

“Thank you.”, he said and leaned down to kiss the top of your head, “I ordered take-out for dinner. Now, move over.”

You scooted a bit to the left so he could sit down next to you and pull you into his arms for comfort, large warm hand slipping into the blanket cocoon gently rubbing your soft aching tummy.

a/n: this might be the silliest one yet

[http-shield]

Bucky and Sam watch as a guy tries to hit on you at the bar.

“Shouldn’t you do something?” Sam asks, curious as to why bucky hasn't moved.

“Nah, she’s got it” he croons, eyes trained on the unfolding situation.

And you do, in fact, have it. You can handle yourself, have gotten out of much tougher spots without the help of anyone and you enjoy that feeling. Now, you can protect yourself despite having no powers nor superhero training, but when you flash Bucky a look, he walks over without a second thought. The glass shoved into Sam's unexpecting hands, metal whirring and soft clinks as plates click against each other. He isn't going to use the prosthetic; there's no need to cause a bigger scene, but he might flash the metal to give the creep a bit of a scare. he claps the guy on the shoulder, enjoying the way he jumps.

"Alright, bud. Pack it up." But the guy shrugs him off, looks at the ex- assassin over his shoulder, and then turns back to you, leaning closer despite your very obvious rejection.

The muscles in Bucky's jaw clench as he leans forward, hand now wrapping around the back of the creep's neck. "You've got two seconds to get the fuck away from her, or I'll rip your throat out."

The guy turns, face contorted in rage and itching for a fight, but as he takes in the face of the Winter Soldier, he balks. There are no apologies thrown your way as he scrambles away, head ducked in order to disappear from his sight.

Bucky turns to you, a soft smile replacing the grimace he had not two seconds ago and leans in for a soft kiss.

"Bucky Barnes, my hero." you swoon and wrap your arms around his neck. "Where would I be without you?" he returns the gesture, holding you fast against his body.

"I don't ever wanna find out."

[lyeofhell]

sooooo I’m thinking about plus-size!reader joining a pole dancing class because you’re just so bored and need something to do while John’s away on missions…

thinking about keeping it a secret when he texts you in the middle of class, asking you what you’re up to and only replying with “nothing.” thinking about John coming home after being away for months, unpacking his clothes to find your 7-inch platform heels sitting at the bottom of your shared closet, and when he picks them up with an arched brow, you only giggle and grab them from him, telling him it’s a surprise. later that week he’s being drug down to the studio, sitting in on your little dance recital and trying to keep his breathing under control as your fellow students whoop and cheer you on. the way you curl around the pole, arching your back and flaunting your hair, it all only accentuates your curves, and John’s digging his own fingers into his palms as he considers all the ways he could tear into your softness. all the ways he could fuck you senseless and feel the ripple of his force in you. and all the ways he could punish you for keeping this a secret from him when you could’ve been sending him videos all this time.

by the following week a pole is installed in your master bedroom. and after he gives your ass a proper beating, followed by a train of soothing kisses, he sits a chair in front of the pole - leaned back, legs spread and expectant, cigar hanging loose from his grinning mouth as he tosses a nod towards the pole,

“Give us a show, sweetheart.”

[cevansbrat0007]

The Anatomy of an Orgasm

Summary: You make the mistake of faking an orgasm while in bed with Ari...

Warnings: Light Angst, Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Smut, Oral Sex (fem rec), Fake Orgasms, Stubborn Reader, Hurt Feelings, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Prompt courtesy of @writer84. Takes place early in Ari and Bird's relationship. Part of my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

When you think back to the early days of your relationship, one thing that always surprises you is just how perceptive this man could be sometimes – especially when it came to you. Even now, that man continues to watch you like a hawk, taking in your every movement. 

And listening to your every word.

You know it’s because he’s trying to anticipate your needs. Every day he wakes up, Ari Levinson strives to be the man you need him to be. Your safety and security are of paramount importance to him. He’s the type of man to take on your worries as his own. The type of man to help you master your fears. Over time he’s become more than just your champion. He’s also your biggest cheerleader. 

Which is why there’s this expectation that now exists between the two of you – one forged by trust, as well as honest and open communication. And while this is something that seems to come easy to your bounty hunter, sometimes it proves to be a little more challenging for you. 

It’s hard not to bottle everything up. It’s natural for you to simply stuff things down and wait until everything exploded later.

Because up until this point, you’d never had someone with whom you could share the weight of your world – even though Ari continues to show you that nothing is too much for his broad shoulders to carry. 

Tonight you’re lying in bed on your back, your legs draped over Ari’s muscled shoulders. His handsome face is currently buried between your thighs while he makes a meal out of your pussy. Your spine arches when you feel him suck your swollen clit between his lips, applying just pressure to have your eyes rolling back in your head. 

Or at least it would…if you could get yourself to relax enough to actually enjoy it.

“Taste so good, baby.” Your man rasps once he releases you, taking a moment to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss along the curve of your inner thigh.

“Uh huh.” You mumble, throwing your arm over your eyes as he gets back to his dessert. 

Ari nuzzles your dripping cunt with the tip of his nose, growling when he’s rewarded with a soft whine from you. And you can’t stop your hips from bucking when he slowly spears two thick fingers inside you, pumping them in and out in time with his wicked tongue. 

Any other time you would’ve been well on your way to your second orgasm, if not coasting along to your third. But every time you try to give over the pleasure, your traitorous mind keeps deciding to wander...

Sales at the bookstore were down this month. And the latest series, featuring a brand new, up-and-coming author, hadn’t performed anywhere near as well as you’d initially thought it would. Which was surprising to say the least – especially since the woman had spent the last month being featured on virtually every single morning daytime talk show that promised her an audience. 

And then there was all the shit you had on backorder. Items that were effectively stuck in limbo until the day they finally arrived on your doorstep. Hopefully sometime before next year.

You remind yourself to moan when Ari picks up his pace, your hips writhing beneath him as you try to hide the fact you’re becoming increasingly distracted. But try as you might, the disconnect between your mind and your body only continues to grow. 

A sharp cry escapes your throat when you feel his fingers curl, delicately stroking that special place inside you that normally made sparks dance behind your eyes. 

“That’s it, little Bird.” Ari grunts, his eager tongue lashing against your clit. “Be a good girl and cum for me. Wanna taste it.”

Yeah, there was no way you were gonna get there tonight. Not like this. 

“Give it to me, baby.” He orders again. “Right fuckin’ now.” 

At a loss for what else to do, you bear down, desperately clenching around him in what you hope is a believable performance. “Oh god, Beast!” You repeat the action again and again, making sure to accompany it with several breathy little sighs.

“Wow.” You breathe once Ari finally releases his grip on your hips. Now that you’re free, you quickly scoot away and begin searching for your discarded panties, which wasn’t typical behavior for you. You were more the type that preferred to bask in bliss.

But not tonight. Because you’d just faked an orgasm with this gorgeous man.

Right now you felt sweaty and awkward, and you needed space to breathe. You refuse to even look in Ari’s direction as you hastily begin to redress, lest he see right through you. 

"That was great." You mumble lamely.

“What are you–where are you goin’?” A pang of guilt hits you when you note the confusion in his tone. 

“Huh?” You slip his t-shirt over your head. He wouldn’t mind that you were leaving him half-naked, since he was wearing his boxer briefs. “I’m just gonna…go clean up. Maybe work off some of this excess energy.”

That last sentence has you inwardly face palming. What a stupid thing to say to a man like Ari Levinson. 

“Hey, come back here a second…” You watch out of the corner of your eye as he sits up in bed. At times like this you were reminded that the man in your bed was also a detective, which meant he came equipped with a sixth sense for bullshit. 

Mainly yours.

“Stay here and relax.” You tell him, making your way towards the door. “I just…know I won’t be able to sleep knowing I left behind a sink full of dirty dishes.” 

“C’mere first.”

Shaking your head, you head for the stairs. At that moment, even the underlying authority in his voice wasn’t enough to make you obey. You always seemed to find a sense of calm when you cleaned. Fingers crossed that it worked tonight.

You’re gifted with a whopping ten minutes to yourself before you hear your man lumbering down the stairs. Rinsing a plate under hot water, you hope that he’s only stopping in for a glass of water and not because he wants to talk. 

Grimacing, you move on to the next soiled piece of dishware, scrubbing vigorously. Your back remains turned, just as it had upstairs. Perhaps if you avoided eye contact he would simply grab his beverage and go on his merry way. 

“Bird.” 

Your beloved pet name rumbles from somewhere deep in his chest. However, you refuse to look at him, seemingly content to focus on the task at hand. 

“Clean glasses are in the cupboard.” 

“Hey.“ You startle when you feel two large, warm hands settle on your hips, followed by the soft skim of lips along the curve of your ear. “Stop.” 

“But I’m not done.” You mumble, blinking back tears for some stupid reason you can’t quite name. “Everything needs to be dried and put away. I haven’t swept or wiped anything down. And it’s been a couple days since I mopped.”

“Baby, your kitchen is always spotless. Now I’m askin’ you to dry your hands and come talk to me.”

“I’m not sure we have anything to talk about.” You hedge, wishing he’d just leave you be – even as you dutifully move to do as he requests.

“Yeah?” Ari gives you a comforting squeeze, willing you to relax against his bare chest. “Well, you could start by explainin’ just what what the hell happened back in bed.”

“Nothing happened.”

“My entire goddamned point.” Comes his gruff response. “That wasn’t you back there, baby.”

“Not sure I know what you’re talking about.” Squirming out of his embrace, you attempt to put some distance between you and him using your kitchen island as a buffer.

Ari sighs, tipping back his head to briefly stare at the ceiling. His big body remains tense as he struggles to get you to open up and tell him the truth. “Was I too rough with you? Are you…are you sore?”

That familiar pang of guilt returns full-force now, because of course your sweet Beast would be the kind of man to blame himself for the issues you’d experienced in the bedroom. It was just who he was. 

“No.” You swiftly respond before wrapping your arms around your middle. “I’m sorry I left so abruptly. I–I was focused on the kitchen. But I swear I’ll make it up to you.” And now you feel even worse for having abandoned him with a hard-on.

“Why are you fuckin’ lying to me?”

“I-I’m not.”

Your teeth begin to worry your bottom lip as you watch his demeanor change. His clouded blue eyes narrow as his nostrils flare, followed by that signature tick in his jaw. 

“Tell me you didn’t just fake it with me earlier. Look my in the eyes and fuckin’ tell me you gave something real back in that bed and I’ll leave it alone.”

You immediately avert your gaze. Because you honestly didn’t have it in your heart to keep lying to this man. He deserved better. And frankly, so did you. 

“Eyes on me, Bird.” He orders, demanding your full attention. “Open up that pretty mouth and start talkin’.” Sometimes this man had the patience of a saint. 

“I’m sorry.” You finally admit, wincing as the words come pouring out. “You weren’t supposed to–” You clamp your mouth shut and force yourself to pivot. “I didn’t think you’d be able to tell.”

Ari is quiet for a moment as confusion and disappointment radiate from his much larger form. 

“Why’d you do it?” 

“I’m sorry.” Unsure of what to do with all your nervous energy, you remove the tie from your hair to run your fingers through your curls. “I–I’ve never done it before. And I shouldn’t have done it tonight. I…” You glance down at your bare toes, wishing that the ground would simply open up and swallow you whole where you stood.

“Eyes.” Ari demands, making you jump slightly. “Damn it, baby. We’re gonna have a hell of a time making this shit work if you go mute every time there’s an issue.”

“It has nothing to do with you!” You manage to stop yourself just short of screaming. “I already said I was sorry, okay? Like, what more do you want from me?”

“And I want you to tell me when you suddenly decided to fake your pleasure with me!” He snarls, his brawny arms crossing his chest. “You claim you’ve never done it before. So what the hell made tonight so special?”

Yeah, he was fucking pissed. And what’s worse is that he had every reason to be. Because you’d hurt him. 

“Unless you’re lying to me. Again.” He continues when you refuse to answer. 

“I’m not.” You sniffle, dragging a weary hand across your face. “What you and I have – swear to God, Beast – it’s amazing. Explosive. Sometimes it feels like it’s too much to handle.” When all you receive is a grunt for your trouble, you take that as permission to keep going. 

“And tonight was no exception, it’s just…” You pause long enough to steady your breathing. “It felt like my body and my brain were totally disconnected. And no matter how hard I tried to relax and let myself feel good, I just couldn’t.”

Ari continues to stare you down as that tick in his jaw continues to work overtime.

“I’ve faked it before, with the others. Th–they didn’t know.” Neither Mason, nor the only other man you’d ever been with had seemed to notice whenever you’d been less than honest with them in bed.

“So you didn't think that I'd know. Jesus Christ.” He hisses, bracing himself on the edge of the counter. “Well, I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but I ain’t them.” He levels you with a hard look. “I know you, know your body. I’ve memorized what you look like when you cum, the little noises you make, the way your gorgeous body bends and your pretty toes curl.”

Your eyes flutter closed as he speaks, which is why you fail to notice when he begins to round the corner – like a predator stalking his prey.

“I know what you taste like on my tongue. Know what it feels like to have that greedy pussy gush around me while your heels dig into my back. Even when you tap out, you best be sure that she always wants more.”

When you open your eyes it’s to see Ari looming over you. But you’re not intimidated, because deep down you know he would never hurt you, even though you’d just hurt him. However, you’re surprised when he reaches up to cup your face with both hands.

“I know these things…” Your bounty hunter rasps, his voice sounding almost hoarse. “Because I know you. I know my woman.” A lone tear falls, slowly gliding its way down your check before Ari dashes it away with his thumb.

“It wasn’t you, Beast.” You rush to reassure him, even as you move to bury your face in the wall of his sculpted chest. “I’ve just been so worried about the store – it’s been a slow month. And I’m still waiting on an order from two months ago. And tonight it was like no matter how much I tried to forget and refocus…I just couldn’t.”

“Hmph.” He grunts, but not before pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “Why do you think I’m always on your stubborn little ass to talk to me?”

“I know.” Your words come out muffled. 

“If you’re not in the mood, or there’s too much going on in the beautiful brain, I want you to fuckin’ talk to me about it.” Without warning, he lifts you with impressive ease to set you on the counter. 

“I know.” Another tear escapes, but Ari is quick to wipe it away. “But I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Disappoint me how?” He scoffs, briefly resting his forehead against your own.

“If you want sex and I don’t or I can’t, then –” 

“Then I’ll handle that shit like a man.” Ari swiftly interrupts. “Baby, it’s like you breathe in my general direction and I’m fuckin’ hard. But if the moment’s not working for you, either because you’re tired or you got worries, I want you to fuckin’ talk to me. Don’t fake an orgasm to try and soothe my ego.”

Wordlessly you nod as you go to wrap your arms around his neck, drawing him closer. You feel yourself relax when he pulls you into his warm embrace. It was the first time you’d been able to do so all evening. 

“It won’t happen again. Just…please don’t leave tonight.” Your voice sounds so small and fragile it takes you by surprise. 

“Aw, I ain’t goin’ anywhere, pretty Bird.” One of his hands begins to rub soothing circles along your lower back. Later, you would learn that that thought had never even crossed his mind. “Consider this water under a fuckin’ bridge.” 

You continue holding each other for a while longer, content to bask in the comforting silence. If there was never any doubt as to why you were coming to care so deeply for this man, those thoughts had all been dashed tonight.

In fact, if you weren’t careful, you just might be tempted to fall in love with this man. 

“C’mon back upstairs.” Ari murmurs a little while later, but not before capturing your lips with a gentle kiss. “Let’s get you into a shower, I’ll even help you wash your hair.” 

At his urging, you'd shown him how to do a quick co-wash a couple weeks ago, and now he was hooked. Not that you were complaining.

“Okay.” You nod, unable to stop yourself from melting.

“Tomorrow, we’ll talk about the shop. Maybe brainstorm some ideas about how to fix things, or at least cushion the blow.” Again you nod, feeling more at peace with the world than you had the last several days. 

Reaching for your hand, you lace your fingers through his and allow yourself to be led back up the stairs, leaving the dishes and the rest of your chores undone. You had more important things to see to, right now. 

And, perhaps, a little more apologizing to do.

END

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[drabblesandsnippets]

Imagine... (‘there's only one of these left and I need it more than you’)

Bucky Barnes x Plus-size female reader

December Daze Challenge - Day 20 - @the-slumberparty

Warnings: (500w) Established relationship. Fluff. Smut.

Imagine Bucky joining you in the shower. You slipped in while he was still sleeping, needing to start your day, and he comes in not five minutes later, lamenting your absence, trying to convince you to stay home. Promises of a lazy day in bed together are tempting, but things are just too busy at work - it doesn’t feel fair to saddle someone else with more responsibility because you want to spend time with your boyfriend. Bucky doesn’t immediately press the issue, deciding to appreciate what little time he does have with you, pulling you into his embrace under the hot spray. You eagerly welcome his touch, sharing playful good morning kisses in between washing off, his hands never leaving your body. Once you’re squeaky clean, there’s no delaying the inevitable, your intimate shower soon coming to an end. Your disappointing pout leads to more kisses, Bucky wishing he could erase all the stressors from your life, your happiness essential to his own. The least he can do is send you to work relaxed, his hand finding its way between your wet thighs, the water droplets soon mixing with your arousal. There isn’t much time, but Bucky doesn’t need it, his mouth sucking on your neck adding to the growing tension in your belly, his skilled touch working you towards a quick orgasm. His soft growl about how good you feel sends you spiraling, his name escaping your lips as your body shudders against him, your nails digging into his shoulders. It leaves you wanting more, his thick fingers stroking that spot deep inside of you that has you gasping, trying to prolong your pleasure as long as possible. And then you’re left empty, his mouth covering yours to drown out your needy whine, his erection trapped against your stomach, his own desire for more being momentarily ignored. There are more pressing matters, like getting you to agree to take the day off, a devious plan springing to mind as he reaches over to finally shut off the water. Before you can read the grin growing on Bucky’s face, he’s jumping out of the shower to grab the single towel hanging on the rack, calling out that he needs to feed Alpine. He ignores your initial shout of his name, your laughter dampening your actual irritation at being left dripping wet, in every sense of the term. It’s not until he hears “James Buchanan Barnes!” that he reappears, sporting an innocent smile and the damp towel secured on his hips. When his hungry gaze roams your naked body, you narrow your eyes at him, demanding a towel to dry off. Bucky has a better idea, offering to lick off every drop instead, starting with the one currently following the curve of your breast. Whatever argument you’re preparing dies on your tongue, quickly resigned to the fact that you’ll forever be weak to his advances. Besides, it's not like work can't survive without you for a couple of hours anyway.

Day 19 | Imagine… Masterlist | Day 21

Banners by @cafekitsune - Divider by @saradika-graphics

[bluesidez]

request for curvy girl and Miguel on their first date night after having a baby?

[Parents Night Out]

 Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x Curvy!Reader, Fem!Reader

summary: Miguel and his girl enjoy a night out without their baby as best as they can.

content warning: fluff, mom and dad pet names as endearment (and a hint at something more), Miguel loves reader’s body, some mentions of a horror?? film (but nothing gruesome or horrible), a little suggestive but mostly fluff

word count: 2k

a/n: It took me a while to get here, but I hope you enjoy it!

You pull your dress down at the sides, smoothing out the wrinkles, the material scrunching up every time you move. 

Dangly earrings to match the necklace on your chest, a spritz of perfume to your wrists and neck, a slide of gloss across your lips, and a final look in the mirror to see if everything was in check. 

“Honey, you almost ready?”

Miguel stepped into the bedroom, eyes focused on the cuff of his shirt.

“Yeah, I just need to put on my heels,” you peer at him through the mirror and turn around. “You look very handsome right now.”

Miguel peered up at you with a soft smile on his face. He walks over to you as you stand, “Thank you and you look stunning, Mama.” He runs his hands over your hips, squeezing the plush skin.

“No, no, no. We said no baby talk tonight!” you chide like you didn’t almost cry leaving your baby at your mom’s house. You gave her what felt like a binder full of notes just for her to lodge it back in your passenger seat with a comment on how she knew what she was doing. When you got back to your house, you wallowed for an hour before realizing that you could finally take a long, long nap without the small cries of Gabriella forcing your eyes open.

“I didn’t say anything!” He holds his hands up. “I’m just saying your name.”

You hum as your head tilts, “Is this just a scheme for me to call you Daddy?’

Miguel pursed his lips before he answered, “No. But, I’m not opposed to that.’

“Of course, you’re not,” you laugh as you move him out of your way. 

He follows you as you walk to the closet and grab your shoes, hands never leaving you when you bend down deep.

“I’m not sure if you’re aware of this,” you sigh as you snap back up and look at him from the corner of your eye. “But we have to make it out of the house today.”

“We’re going, I promise,” he kissed your lips. “Let me put on your heels for you.”

Miguel held your waist as you both walked to the door, taking constant glances at you. 

During the third trimester, you had worried that the baby would change your body drastically, a frown on your face as you rubbed cocoa butter onto your stretch marks. Miguel was always there, taking over with steady rubs and affirmations into your skin. 

You were doing something magical and remarkable by bringing another human into this world, by having his child. He was going to remind you everyday that you were beautiful. 

Plus, the baby weight only made him love your body more. He’s been holding you from the waist down nonstop for a little over a year now. 

He let you use his shoulders as leverage as he slid your strappy shoes on and kissed your knee after tying the strings tight. The movement was a habit built from your pregnancy and inability to see your feet.

“Let’s go party.”

The two of you were a vision in coordinating red and black. Miguel’s tiny details from his tie and threading matching the dark velvet of your dress. 

Getting to the restaurant is the fun part. 

He won’t let you touch a single door handle, running to every door before you can even blink. 

He holds your hand as you step into the passenger seat and buckles your seatbelt for you, grinning wide when you peck his cheek. 

On the way to the reservation, the two of you sing wholeheartedly to R&B with no fear of waking the baby with the slightest sound. 

At a red light, Miguel belts through a long riff using your hand as a mic as you laugh at his antics. When the song switches to something even more romantic, he’s gripping your thighs and rubbing circles into the top of your hand. 

When he pulls up closer to the restaurant, you gasp loud. 

“Miguel!” your eyes sparkled as you read the large sign. It was a place you were dying to try for over a year, but every time you called, they were booked. “How did you even get a reservation?”

“I have my ways.”

At the valet, he runs around the car and guides you out, holding your purse for you, not wanting to see you bothered with it. 

He handled everything tonight, from the place you were going to, to the reservations to the movie tickets. You could only see him as he gave his name to the host at the front. 

“Thank you,” you say to him once you both are inside and settled at a table. “Such a gentleman tonight.”

“Anything for you. Don’t want you to worry at all. Just enjoy this.”

The waiter came with complementary bread and water, sliding the menus in front of you both. Miguel ordered a bottle of wine, not even gawking at the price, while your eyes scanned the list of options. 

You both settled on an appetizer to share, entrees to split, and a sweet dessert to feed each other. 

“It’s so lovely in here,” you look around, the dim lighting making it a more intimate scene. A jazz band was playing softly on a stage and the centerpieces sparkled on the table. “I love it.”

“I’m glad,” Miguel reached across the table, “I know you’ve been eyeing this place for a while. I really wanted to surprise you.”

Your eyes almost tear up taking in his sincere expression, “Thank you, truly. This means a lot that you listened.”

“Listening to you comes easy. It’s only when I can’t do something to help you that I feel like everything closes in.”

“Oh,” you blink fast at his words. You look up and fan at your face, “Miguel that’s-”

He pulls out his handkerchief, not wanting you to ruin your makeup. 

“Don’t cry here, baby,” his voice is soft and sweet. 

“I won’t. I just love you lots.”

“And I love you lots more.”

By the time the food comes, you both have stated several more love declarations and recounted your younger days together. You helped yourself to glass or two of wine, the smile never leaving your face, but the giggles escaping every second. 

Now, Miguel was telling you an old story about how he busted his ass to impress you. 

“You don’t get it, cariño. I was so…adamant about getting a certain look because I was certain you didn’t even know who I was.”

“What you don’t know is that a lot of women love nerdy men. I definitely noticed you, I was just waiting on you to make a move.” 

Miguel fed you the last bits of a cream puff dessert, watching your lips slide over the fork. 

You hum and cover your mouth as you chew, “Do you remember that punk phase you had?”

“Oh, would you look at that,” Miguel glances at his watch and waves down a waiter. “If we don’t leave right now, we’re going to miss the movie.”

You cackle at the peeved look on his face.

He was cute with his uneven mullet and pleather jackets. It definitely wasnt’t his scene, though.

The night continues in a pink, warm haze. The sun is slowly setting as you both head to the theater. Miguel hands you more comfortable shoes and places his tie in the back. 

It’s fun to walk into the theater hand-in-hand like a young couple without a care in the world. Buying a popcorn bucket to share and big slushies like you didn’t just eat. 

The movie is what messes you both up. 

It starts off nice. The two of you are settled on the last row with no one else around, the perfect spot for cuddles, kisses, and more. 

Miguel moves the middle arm to bring you closer to him and you slot into his hold like butter. 

The main characters are a couple moving into a new home in the middle of nowhere with a teenager, a child, and a baby. It’s sweet and a little cliche with the couple thinking that the change in scenery would help them connect with their oldest daughter. 

However, of course, there’s something wrong with the house. It’s a bit too perfect, the area too serene. 

You hold Miguel tight as you watch the mom and dad fight for their lives to make sure whatever entity that resided in their house didn’t take their family away from them. 

The father is kicking through a bolted door, trying to pry it open for freedom. The mother is holding her daughter by the legs as she tries to keep her brother alive. You breathe easier as she pulls her brother out of the crumbling floorboards. Your heart stops its rushing pace as you see four of the family members rushing outside. 

“Where’s the baby?” Miguel’s voice snapped you back into pace. His hands were firm on your skin but his eyes were glued to the screen. 

“I, I don’t know,” you whisper.

The scenes that played after had Miguel anxiously moving in his seat. His foot was shaking by the end of the chair, his arms were twitching around your body, and his hands kept fiddling with your jewelry. 

The dad traversed his way back through the house, listening for cries. Miguel looked like he was holding back a yell, body leaning forward as he locked in on the scene. 

The father made it out alive with his baby daughter in his arms. 

By the time the movie was over, the velvet of your dress had his handprints all over. 

You look at him as the lights turn on, his face blank of emotion. 

The walk to the car is quiet, nothing to be heard but the crickets in the grass and the blast of music from someone’s passing vehicle. 

When he slides into the driver’s seat, you lean over the console with a squeeze to his arm, “Are you alright?”

“Is it,” his hand grips the wheel. “Is it ok if we call your mom? To check on Gabriella.”

“Of course, baby,” you rub his shoulders and pull out your phone, your mothers number at the top of your most-recent list.

After a few rings, she picks up. Her head shakes as she takes in both of you with your heads smooshed together in the camera’s view. 

“Look at you both,” she fusses. “Just sad.”

The camera blurs for the longest seconds of your lives, and then it shuffles over a sleeping Gabriella. Her chunky belly moved up and down with her soft breaths and her eyelashes long against her cheeks. She was like a little angel, tiny fingers twitching every now and then. 

Miguel let out a long breath next to you as if he was holding it all this time. 

The camera goes back to your mom who shuffles back to her own bedroom, “Do you two know what the definition of break is?”

“Yeah, mom. Miguel just wanted to check on her. The movie we watched frazzled him a bit.”

“It didn’t frazzle me,” Miguel sniffed. “I’m just a concerned father.”

“Well get unconcerned and don’t call me back! Me and my grandbaby are perfectly fine and you’ll see her tomorrow. Got it? Good.”

She hung up as you let an affronted sound, “I guess you heard that.”

The night ends a little easier. Miguel is more relaxed and decides to take advantage of the empty house. 

He prepares a hot relaxing bath filled with bubbles and a flowery aroma, candles lighting the bathroom while you turn on a sultry playlist and bring out some champagne. 

There’s a dark glint in Miguel’s eyes as you step into the tub, body open for him to see. You bend down and lay on him face to face. 

“This was an amazing date night. Baby-snatcher house and all.”

“We should do it again sometime,” Miguel massages his hands into your back. “While we still can.”

“But for tonight?” your hands run over his wet shoulders, eyes roaming from the curves and turns of him up to his lips to his eyes. “Let’s have fun.”

Miguel groaned as his lips met yours, the water splashing around as his legs move to the edges of the tub.

“Let’s go all night.”

As always, like, reblog, and COMMENT. Let me know how you guys feel! 🩵

[inkdrinkerworld]

hello bae idk if ur taking requests rn but whenever u are could you potentially do a spencer reid x curvy reader ?? just a true baddie and no one thinks spencer can handle all of her? i love this trope and am happy with whatever you do with it!

“You’re not being nice to me.” Spencer says as you slip into a pair of low rise jeans.

Your skin glistens, the glitter lotion you’d applied making you look that much more like a goddess.

You’re meeting Spencer’s friends from work for drinks tonight and you’d just gotten the most perfect top to make your outfit delectable.

“I’m being very nice to you, Spencer.” You slip into the top that stops just over your navel, your newest piercing out on display making Spencer swallow hard.

He’s not a prude, not your Spencer, but seeing your belly button adorned with a dangly silver dragonfly and in display fills him with an almost animalistic need to keep you in bed with him for the rest of the night.

“How do you figure?” He asks, reaching for you and smoothing his hands down your sides. You smell like burnt sugar and marshmallows. Spencer’s nose brushes yours, as he waits for your answer.

“Because I look like a peach and I’m gonna make the best impression on your friends ever.” You squeal when Spencer squeezes your bum and then captures your lips.

When you meet his friends, Spencer can tell you’re not what they were expecting. You look like a seductress- hair pinned up with pieces falling out, pretty dangly earrings to match the rest of your jewellery, your voice a siren’s call and you’re incredibly cheery.

“How does pretty boy keep up with you?” Derek asks, a smile playing on his lips as you look to Spencer who’s deep in conversation with Penelope over some new nerd game.

“Honestly, I don’t know how I keep up with him.” Derek laughs, shaking his head as he drains his drink.

Emily chimes in next, “Never thought Spencer would man up to ask you out.”

Your eyebrows knit, “What do you mean?”

She smiles, a little evilly- like a sister does when they have all the information on their brother. “Spencer’s pined after you for about three months before he said, ‘I finally did it.’”

Your boyfriend tunes into the conversation then, cheeks scarlett as you turn to him.

“You work at the courthouse right?” Emily asks and you nod.

“Spencer was always gushing about the pretty lawyer and how he wanted to ask you out but didn’t have the-“

He cuts her off with a hand over her mouth. “Emily.”

She laughs behind his hand, shrugging which only makes Spencer’s blush worsen.

Penelope shrieks and everyone turns to look at her. “You’re like Vanessa!” She says it like you’re all meant to catch on immediately; when you don’t she rolls her eyes.

“From the Little Mermaid! You look like a siren.” You smile, a barely there blush flushing over you in the dark bar.

“Your trouble is what you are.” Spencer mutters, no one but you hearing him making you smirk.

“Thank you Penelope! Though I have to be honest, this is just my going out get up- I’m much more slouchy at home.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, he doesn’t think you understand how incredibly attractive you are regardless of what you’re wearing.

You lean on Spencer’s shoulder as your drink comes to the table, a sip of Long Island Iced Tea and you’re turning to JJ.

“What’s it like working with Spencer?”

His hand falls to the small of your back as you listen with rapt attention to his friends’ every word.

Spencer can’t tear his eyes away from you and that’s all Derek needs to know as he shoots a message to Savannah to send him the number of the jeweler who made their rings.

[giddyfatherchris]

📱skz texts — feeling a little insecure about your body

| including. bang chan, lee know, changbin, hyunjin

type. not requested

warnings. f!reader, talk of weight, being a curvy/plus size girlie

a/n. as a curvy girl who’s been having mixed feelings about her appearance her whole life, i kinda wrote this for myself😬 it can be hard to feel comfortable with our bodies when a lot of the content we see glorifies skinnier bodies, i myself got so many times weird or rude comments based on my appearance and it felt good to imagine scenarios where someone would be there to reassure me about my insecurities, i hope these will have the same effect on you guys and that you’ll like them mwah <3

maknae line

[aestas---estas]

With all that we've been through, it's still you

MDNI 18+ | Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | ~3,1k words | fem!reader, plus-sized/curvy reader (few mentions), light angst, fluff, emotional sex, vaginal fingering, oral (f!receiving), unprotected PiV sex (wrap it in real life folks), creampie | if I forgot a tag/tw please tell me | Read on AO3

The first day after Simon gets back from deployment is always the best and worst 24 hours of your life.

He's home, he's alive, he's safe — and that makes your heart soar, especially after missions where he has to go dark for weeks at a time.

But it's also like living with a ghost. He exiles himself to the guest room, sleeps on the ugly pull-out couch the two of you bought specifically because it was easy on his back.

The only reasons you even know he's home are the boots by the door and the jacket hung on the hook. He doesn't talk to you, moves as quiet as a mouse, only leaves his self-imposed enclosure when he knows you're busy elsewhere in the house.

He can't bear the thought of touching you with bloodstained hands. Even when his skin is squeaky clean after several washes before even leaving for your shared home, the haunting images in his mind remind him of what he does during his time away. So he turns the shower as hot as it'll go and scrubs and scrubs and scrubs until his skin is red and raw to the touch. And even then he still waits, bides his time, until he can close his eyes and imagine you without your pretty face morphing into the bloodied and dying visages of comrades and enemies alike.

But just like clockwork, after 24 hours and 3 showers, Simon finds you and huddles up close. In the kitchen, with his arms wrapped around your middle as he crowds you against the counter, burying his nose in the crook of your neck. In the living room, laying himself down next to you with his head on your plush thighs, guiding the hand you're not using to scroll on your phone to card through his hair and scratch his scalp. In the bath, kneeling next to the tub as he begs with his eyes to help you wash your hair or just holding your hand and rubbing circles into your skin; reminding himself that you're alive, that you're safe, that you're not afraid of him despite the various atrocities he's committed.

Your favourite, however, are times like tonight, when it's the middle of the night and you wake from the mattress dipping behind you as Simon climbs in under the covers. He slides an arm around your middle, pulling you close, pressing his chest to your back until there isn't a sliver of air separating your bodies.

“Missed you, dove,” Simon murmurs, his lips hot on the back of your neck. His soft kisses make goosebumps rise on your exposed arms, and a barely suppressed shiver runs down your spine when he catches your earlobe for a quick, gentle nibble.

“Missed you too, Si,” you sigh out blissfully, body already relaxed and soft from his ministrations, anticipating the pleasure to come.

“Want you,” he says in between hot, open mouthed kisses. His hand has slid up under your sleep shirt, resting warm and heavy with intent on your stomach — waiting for permission before venturing further.

“You have me,” you promise, pressing yourself impossibly closer to his chest, one leg hooking over his.

You tilt your head, exposing more of your throat to Simon, a soft moan slipping from your lips when his big palm reaches up and grabs at a breast. It's gentle, a massage almost, and it makes your eyes flutter shut.

“My sweet girl.” Simon's voice is like liquid silk to your ears, low and sensual and full of unadulterated lust. You gasp when his rough fingers finally pay attention to your nipple; rolling and tugging at it until it's pebbled and sensitive.

You push your hips back against his, feeling the evidence of his arousal press against your ass. A low moan rumbles through Simon's chest as you move against him, his free hand pushing your shirt out of the way, up over the swell of your breasts, before rolling you to your back swiftly.

He's on top of you within a second, fitting himself in the cradle of your thighs, the vast expanse of his chest covering yours. His big paws frame your face and then you're kissing. It's soft and gentle, all lips and tongue; slow and reverent but no less passionate. 

Simon's heavy on top of you, almost crushingly so. But if this is the way you go, unable to breathe with your lips glued to the man you love, then so be it. He's your favourite weighted blanket and you'd give anything to just stay like this forever.

Your fingers wander over his naked back, tracing and mapping the scars and marks littering his flesh; both old and new. When morning comes, you'll pepper them with kisses in the soft glow of the sun, but for now you're both satisfied with just touching and feeling each other.

“I love you,” Simon whispers, and you make a reluctant noise in your throat when he pulls his lips away from yours to say it. But your complaint dies the moment his mouth trails hot down your throat, sucking and kissing and licking at your skin all the way down to your chest.

You can feel his lips move as he mutters something against your sternum — more to himself than to you — but his voice is muffled, face pressed in between your full tits making the sound swallowed and unintelligible.

With one hand still running up and down the expanse of his back, you push your other one up and into his hair, petting and scratching until Simon preens under your touch. He stays there for a moment, listening to your heartbeat under his ear; reminding himself yet again that you’re alive, that you’re safe, that you love him.

You don’t get impatient with him, never. You always let him take everything at his own pace, and tonight is no different. He whispers muffled apologies against your skin, words dripping with feelings of both remorse and conviction. He does what he does because he needs to — someone always needs to. Like taking out the trash of the world, it’s not pleasant, but it is necessary. And the fact that he’s good at his job only means he gets to come back to your side. You, with your soft body and cradling arms and loving words.

Simon mouths his way to your already pert nipple, softly kissing around it before engulfing the sensitive nub, flicking it with his tongue, letting his teeth just barely make contact. Your breath hitches in your chest and a silent moan escapes your lips. And then he switches sides, keeping the pleasure on your abandoned breast with his fingers as he rolls and tugs at your nipple, all while licking and sucking on the other.

“Simon,” you hum in satisfaction, inadvertently spurring him on. His chest rumbles, something low and hungry that vibrates through him to you. His hands get rougher, calloused fingers digging into your flesh as he kisses his way down your chest until your thighs frame his shoulders.

He doesn’t ask, not verbally, but his eyes meet yours and you can see the need, the hunger, the desperation, in them clear as day. So you smile and give him a nod, lovingly stroking his cheek before settling your hand back in his hair — not pushing or pulling, just resting there, like an unspoken anchor to keep both of you connected in the moment.

Simon kisses your cunt over your underwear, once, twice, three times, before pulling the fabric to the side to get his tongue on you.

He doesn’t eat like a man starved, despite the lust in his eyes. No, he takes his time; practically making out with your pussy, slowly and steadily, almost romantically if it weren’t for the downright pornographic noises. His tongue is lapping and flicking at all the right spots, fingers digging into the fat of your thighs to keep you spread for his broad shoulders even when your body reacts to his ministrations and instinctually tries to close them. Simon knows what he wants and how to get it, and he won’t stop until you’re shaking with pleasure.

You come undone when he sucks your clit into his mouth, your hand grabbing a fistful of his hair as you breathe “right there, god, right there, Si”. Your back arches, the muscles in your thighs lock up, and then the feeling consumes you whole — it swallows you as white explodes in your vision, heart beating frantically as if trying to escape from your chest. Your lips form the syllables of his name, but you can’t be sure what exactly came out with how loud your blood rushes in your ears.

Simon licks you through the waves, moans in satisfaction as he laps up your slick, hips rutting against the soft mattress because you’re just that sweet. Your grip on his hair just barely borders on painful, but the slight sting only gives way to the much louder feelings of pride and satisfaction.

“You with me?” he asks once the aftershocks have rolled through your body and you’re trying to catch your breath.

“Yeah,” you reply, voice shaky but no less joyous — you have Simon back, not just in body, but in mind and soul. He’s back with you emotionally for the first time since he walked through your front door 24 hours prior.

Simon gives you a smile, a true one, not one of those cocky smirks he throws other people's way, and angles his head to press a kiss to your thigh. If this was any other night he would’ve bitten and sucked a bruise into your skin, but not tonight; tonight was all about reconnection, about soft and sweet love, about celebrating that you’re both alive.

He sits back on his knees, keeping your legs spread open with his hands, just looking down at you for a moment, taking it all in. Your breathing hasn’t steadied just yet, your chest rapidly rising and falling, and droplets of sweat decorate your heated skin. The shirt is still pushed up over your breasts and your underwear are crooked from when he pulled them aside instead of off. You’ve never looked more beautiful to Simon.

“Got another one in you?” he questions, running his hands down your thighs until his fingers are hooked in elastic, ready to tug the fabric away at your say-so.

You smile at him, lovingly and warm and radiant, and nod your head enthusiastically. You help him in discarding the rest of your clothes, throwing the few pieces both of you have to a heap on the ground. He settles back beside you on the bed, one big palm cradling your cheeks as he turns your head to look at him. 

Unspoken I missed you’s and I love you’s exchange between your gazes. Words aren’t necessary right now, his and your expressions alone speak volumes about the devotion you both hold for the other.

Simon’s free hand wanders down the length of your body, slow and tender, almost teasing in its gentleness. You gasp as a thick finger prods longingly at your cunt, a few slow pumps before curling inside to massage that spongy spot that makes you see stars; his thumb rubbing firm circles over your clit in a tandem of pleasure.

“More,” you breathe, clutching at his bicep, feeling the muscles work as he obliges and stuffs you full with a second then a third finger. He works you up, pumping and rubbing at all the right spots, making sure you’re prepared for when he finally gets to slip his cock inside. He doesn’t let you fall off the edge, though, keeps you teetering on it until you’re a panting, shaking mess; like putty in his hands, so soft, so pliable, begging him for more, more, more.

It's not until you say his name, half pleading, half scolding, that he takes pity on you. The sound of his fingers sliding out of you is squelchingly wet, like your cunt is complaining, unwilling to let them go. And when he sucks the digits into his mouth it makes your face heat with a combination of arousal and embarrassment. He savours your taste, as if he didn't get enough of it, of you, while eating you out; eyes closed, throat humming in satisfied contentment, and you can't help but be hypnotised by the sight.

Simon lets his fingers go with a pop before leaning over you, opening the drawer on your bedside table to rifle through it blindly until he finds the bottle of lube he knew was there. You've taken the full length and girth of his cock without this much prep and help countless times before, always relished in the stretch and slight pinch, but on nights like tonight he wanted you to feel nothing but pleasure.

“Your hand,” he says, voice low and gruff, the lust in it unmistakable.

The lube is cold when he deposits a dollop of it in your waiting palm. The click of the cap and closing of the drawer are loud in the otherwise quiet room, only amplifying your anticipation as you heat the gel between your hands. His eyes never leave yours until your fingers wrap around his achingly hard cock, making a moan rumble through his chest as his eyelids flutter shut.

You stroke him languidly, squeezing and twisting just the way you know he likes, the way that makes him twitch in your grip as you kiss his shoulder reverently. It makes his heart ache with deep seated love, and he has to look up at the ceiling to blink away the tears that start to form from the intimate act and overwhelming emotions of finally being home, being with you.

Simon surges forward to kiss you, pressing his lips against yours so hard and passionately it nearly makes your head spin. He's already close from having grinded against the bed while licking your cunt, and your hands on him feel heavenly. So when he stops your movements and whispers that he won't last long, you tell him it's okay — because it is, because you're up there, dancing on the edge together with him. His earlier ministrations had made you sensitive to the touch and the bliss of Simon's cock sliding inside you for the first time in months already has you clinging to his form and your walls clenching around him.

His arms are hooked under yours, hands cradling the back of your head, your face pressed into the crook of his neck; like he's protecting you, shielding you from the world, keeping you safe from all of its horrors. He stays there for a moment, cock nestled all the way inside your welcoming warmth, his already near aching balls resting against your ass; both of you basking in the moment and the wonderful feeling of each other.

It's not until your knees dig a little into his sides, impatient, that Simon starts moving; slowly sliding out of you, only the tip notched happily inside, before pushing back in, making sure to go as deep as he can possibly get without hurting you with every roll of his hips. One of your hands burrows into his hair, threading your fingers through the soft locks to pet and reassure, and to grip when the pleasure overtakes. Your hips are canted just right so his every thrust hits perfectly against your G-spot, making you screw your eyes shut and cling to him a little tighter.

You know Simon gets off on getting you off, knows he loves hearing your pleasure loud and clear as your moans mingle with his. So you mumble encouragements and praise and directions into his heated skin — you tell him how good it feels, gasp loudly when his hips start snapping instead of rolling, tense in his grasp and press your knees tighter around him as you practically mewl with pleasure.

And Simon, to his credit, isn’t silent either. He’s breathing heavily, cursing every so often when you clench around his cock. “Touch yourself for me,” he manages to moan out, cock sawing in and out of your cunt faster and faster as he approaches his high. “Wanna feel you come apart.”

So you wedge your free hand in between your sweaty bodies, a feat in itself with how his entire torso is pressing down onto yours, and find your swollen clit. It takes only a few quick circles with your fingers and the orgasm he had dangled in front of you while fucking you open on his fingers comes rushing back full-force.

You don’t even have the time to give him a warning before you’re trembling and calling his name, toes curling and legs shaking. Simon’s thrusts grow sloppy and near frantic within a second, your fluttering pussy practically milking his cock as he loses himself in you, spilling inside until his spend is leaking around his length still buried deep within you.

The room is quiet except for your laboured breathing as you both try to catch your breaths, hearts beating hard and fast in tandem, your fingers in his hair curling around strands and nails softly scratching against his scalp. There’s a small wet spot next to your head on the pillow from where Simon had finally let the cathartic tears from before roll silently down his cheeks — he knows you’d never judge him for crying due to overwhelming emotions, so he doesn’t exactly hide it, but it’s not something he’s particularly used to flaunting. So he wipes at his eyes without a word, still keeping you tucked away against his shoulder, and lets your petting hands soothe him.

It takes you a near herculean effort to convince Simon to let you up so you can pee and clean up, even when all you want to do is just stay under him and trace invisible patterns on his flushed skin. He follows close behind you to the bathroom, a compromise, never letting go of your hand even when he turns around to offer you some privacy as you sit down on the toilet. Simon quickly wets a hand towel to swipe over his sensitive cock with his free hand, hissing slightly at the sensation of too much which makes you chuckle, before offering a clean one for you.

You cuddle back in bed afterwards; your back to Simon’s chest, legs intertwined, his arm curled around your middle. His nose is in your hair and you can feel every exhale on the back of your neck — you’ve never felt more safe or loved.

“I'm really glad you're back, Si.”

His hold on you tightens and a kiss is pressed to the top of your head.

“I'm glad to be back, love.”