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vunblr · 7 months ago

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Roots and Branches

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

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

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

Word Count: About 18.6k.

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

Lumberjack AU Masterlist

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

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky x curvy!reader #Lumberjack!Bucky

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gojosconsort · 1 month ago

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“you’re gonna get us killed,” satoru says, gripping the steering wheel of his sleek porsche, city lights flashing past as you lean over the center console, lips hovering over his lap as you tug his zipper down.

“then focus,” you tease, freeing his cock, already hard, thick against your palm. the car hums, engine purring, and you stroke him slow, watching his jaw clench. “fuck, baby,” he mutters, glancing down, blue eyes dark with want, but the road pulls his gaze back. you lean in, tongue flicking over the tip, and he jolts, a low moan escaping, one hand flying to your hair.

“easy,” he warns, voice rough, but you don’t listen, taking him into your mouth, lips sliding down. the car swerves slightly, and he curses, straightening it fast. “shit, you’re trouble,” he pants, fingers tightening in your hair, guiding you gently but desperate. you bob, sucking deeper, tongue swirling, and he’s already so close, thighs tensing, trying to keep the porsche steady.

“so good,” he groans, eyes flicking between you and the road, the risk making it hotter. you hum, the vibration pulling another moan from him, and he’s losing it, hips twitching up, pushing deeper into your mouth. “fuck, keep going,” he begs, reduced to a mess by your lips.

you go faster, sloppy, and he’s close, breath hitching. “gonna—fuck—gonna come,” he warns, and you take him deep, swallowing as he spills, a loud groan filling the car. he’s panting, then laughs, soft. “oh, you’re so regretting this when we get home.”

#—amy writes : satoru gojo ★#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk smut #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujustu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut

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goodoldbandit · 1 year ago

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Unleashing Power: A Guide to Increasing Engine Performance in Your Vehicle

Dive into the world of turbochargers and intercoolers, where engineering brilliance meets automotive performance. Uncover the secrets behind maximizing engine power and efficiency with this comprehensive guide. Keywords: turbocharger, intercooler, engine performance, automotive engineering, forced induction, combustion efficiency, turbocharging technology, intercooling advancements. In the realm…

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swainauto · 1 year ago

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Best Answers to FAQ About How Much Horsepower Does a Cold Air Intake Add?

Best answers to frequently asked questions about how much horsepower a cold air intake add. Most modern automobiles provide a choice of many powertrains. While bigger, more costly engines may prioritize power, smaller, more affordable ones often prioritize fuel efficiency.

#swainauto #car #guide #viral #trending #engine

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m1autorepair · 1 year ago

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#mitchell 1 #mitchell1 #auto repair #auto repair information #car repair #automotive #car care #vehicle care #estimate #estimate guide #quote #prodemand free trial #mitchell prodemand #prodemand login #ondemand #car repair estimate #check engine light

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remmicksmuse · 3 months ago

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rafe being protective of shy!pogue!reader not proofread!

you usually hate going to party, especially late ones at 7:30 PM, unless rafe is with you, he makes you feel safe. rafe texted you that he’ll be there in 5 so you didn’t really have to put on makeup so you put on low rise jeans and a black hoodie. you rarely wore revealing clothes anyways so this was a regular outfit for you. buzzzz! rafe was calling, “i’m outside” he said as you heard his engine from your window. you put on your uggs, grabbed your small purse, and walked out the door. click! rafe unlocked the door and lets you in, “we won’t be there to long princess, only 1 or 2 hours” rafe likes to check with you before taking you anywhere to make sure you know what’s going on and feel comfortable with where he’s taking you. it didn’t take rafe like to get there, only 15 minutes to arrive at the party. rafe gets out before you to open the door for you, holding your hand to help you out the car. as he guides you inside the house with his hand on your lower back, he looks around to make sure nobody dangerous or weird would bother you for the rest of the party. “aye, stay near me the whole time or if you get tired of walking, i’ll find you somewhere quiet to sit” rafe gave you specific instructions because he never knows who to trust at these parties with all the drugs and alcohol, especially when his special girl is with him. you turn to him and nod. rafe walks through the crowd and keeps you infront of him, not taking his eyes off you and keeping his hand on your waist. he talks to topper and some other friends while you just next to him awkwardly, topper tried to offer you something but before you even see the drugs or hear him ask, rafe gives him a stern look and roughly pushes his hand away, “she doesn’t do that typa shit” rafe getting mad at his friends made you feel bad and you thought it was your fault but you remember how he promised to never let anything bad happen to you. rafe takes your upstairs and finds an empty room that he’s sure no one will go in or disturb you. “stay here, i’m going to get you a drink, somethin’ you’ll like” he says before kissing you forehead and leaving the door shut.

you laid back on the bed and scrolled on your phone, hoping rafe would come back sooner. you heard the door knob twist and you sat up excitedly, expecting rafe but it was some random guy walks in smiling at you. “hey beautiful, are you waiting for someone?” he asked as he sat down next to you on the bed. as he scooted closer to you, you backed away from him uncomfortably, “i’m waiting for my b-boyfriend” you said shakily, wishing you could just disappear. he nods and tries to touch your hair, but you flinch and lean away from and he chuckles at your response, “hey listen, if he was really a good boyfriend, he wouldn’t leave you alone in some random room all alone as gorgeous as you are” he coos, trying his hardest to get you to trust him. he realized that his sweet talk isn’t working, he tries to pin your arms down by your head. you suddenly feel trapped and hopeless as you kick and cry for rafe. finally your prayers have been answered and the man above grunts as gets punched off of you & you feel your eyes dwelling upon tears. rafe quickly looks at you to makes sure you’re ok and continues to pound the guy. he doesn’t stop until the guys is knocked out then gently pulls you next to them. “did he hurt you anywhere?” he says before holding your chin up to check for any bruises or marks. you shake your head and he pulls you onto him, hugging you tightly. “i promised you i wouldn’t let anyone or anything hurt you sweetheart” he whispered. you cling onto him, wanting nothing but to stay close to him the rest of the night. he picks you ip and holds you up with one arm as you lay against his chest and he walks out the door. once you get to the car, he places you inside the passenger seat and buckles your seatbelt. rafe likes to do things for you and give you everything you want when you want it. as he gets in the drivers seat & starts the car, he turns the heat on. his anger is still visible because his jaw is clenched and his hands are still tight. you look at him in worry, wondering if it’s right to speak yet. “i’m sorry you had to go through that baby, i won’t leave you alone that long ever again” he spoke suddenly after a few seconds of silence. “it’s ok, it wasn’t your fault” you said assuringly. he gently holds your shaken hands and rests his on your thigh, “are you hungry” he asks. you felt a smile creeping upon your face before you nodded slowly up excitedly. rafe smirks and pulls out his car from the side of the driveway, rafe always knows how to cheer you up.

#rafe x reader #rafe cameron x reader #𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐱 𝐬𝐡𝐲!𝐩𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 #𝐚𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐚'𝐬 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠📚#rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #rafe #rafe x you #outer banks rafe

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verstappenverse · 6 months ago

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Knight of My Heart

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: After one too many drinks, a protective Max arrives right when you need him most.

1.7k words / Masterlist

It was nearly 2am when Max’s phone buzzed on his nightstand dragging him from the edges of sleep. The faint light from his screen illuminated the dark room, and he reached for it with a haphazard hand, squinting at the text that appeared.

She’s drunk. Like realllly drunk. Can you come get her?

Max sat up, his heart already sinking. The message was from one of your friends, someone whose name he only half-remembered from the countless times they’d insisted they’d “watch out for you.” Max knew better by now.

He sighed, raking a hand through his messy hair, before throwing the sheets off and quickly pulling on a hoodie and jeans.

The drive to the club was quiet, but Max’s mind wasn’t. He hated these nights. It wasn’t just the thought of you being drunk and vulnerable, it was the idea that you were so carefree and beautiful, and people always noticed. Too many times Max had seen guys try to get too close, their smiles too slick and intentions too obvious.

When he finally pulled up outside the club he saw you almost immediately. His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

You were leaning against a lamp post near the curb swaying slightly in your heels, a dazed smile on your face as a man hovered beside you. Max’s chest tightened at the sight. The guy was too close, his body angled toward yours as he spoke animatedly, gesturing with his hands. You laughed softly at whatever he said, your voice carrying over the low thrum of the music spilling from the club’s entrance.

Max killed the engine and climbed out, his jaw set. His strides were purposeful, closing the distance between you in seconds.

“Maxie!” you squealed the moment you spotted him, your arms flinging open in delight.

“You’re here!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around his torso and nearly toppling yourself over in the process.

The guy looked over at Max, not at all intimidated, but Max didn’t care. His jaw tightened, his fists clenching by his sides as he stepped closer.

“You good?” Max asks you, his voice a little rougher than usual.

The man gave Max a once-over, clearly sizing him up. “She seems fine to me,” he said, his tone too casual for Max’s liking.

Max’s eyes narrowed, the jealousy coursing through him now unmistakable. He took a step closer to him. “Oh because you know her so well, right?” he asked the guy, voice clipped.

With a taunting smirk, the guy raised his hands in mock surrender. “She was just telling me about her night. She looked like she needed some company.”

Max wasn’t having it, he stands tall, his body blocking your view of the man now. “Right, I don’t think you understand,” Max replied dryly, placing a firm hand on your waist. “I’m her boyfriend, she's with me. Thanks for your concern, but I’ll take it from here.”

The man’s lips twitched as though he wanted to argue, but something in Max’s gaze seemed to convince him otherwise. With a tight nod, he muttered a quick, “Whatever man,” and walked off into the crowd.

As the guy disappeared, Max’s frustration didn’t completely fade, but he focused right back on you. Guiding you towards his car, hand never leaving your side. You leaned into him, your cheek resting against his shoulder the alcohol making your limbs feel heavy.

You looked up at him, your face slightly flushed, your eyes half-lidded. “You okay?” you asked quietly.

Max’s lips press together tightly, trying to ignore the flare of jealousy still lingering. “I’m fine,” he said, even though he’s anything but. "Just... I want you to be safe alright?"

You nod, though your head wobbles slightly. "I know... just wanted to have some fun… long week."

Max exhaled slowly, his tension only easing slightly as he turned to you. You were beaming up at him, clearly oblivious to the small confrontation that had just unfolded.

“I get it,” he said softly, his hand steadying you at your waist. “But where are your friends?”

“They’re inside,” you mumbled, waving a hand vaguely toward the club entrance. “Or somewhere. I don’t know. I came out to get some air.”

Max sighed, scanning the area for any sign of your group. Just then a few of your friends emerged from the club giggling.

“Max!” One of them called her tone far too cheery. “She’s all yours.”

Max’s brows furrowed, his frustration bubbling over. “Why did you let her get this drunk?” he snapped. “Anything could’ve happened to her out here!”

Your friend blinked, her smile faltering. “She’s a big girl Max. Besides, we knew you’d come.”

“That’s not the point,” Max said, his voice sharp. "You should’ve made sure she was safe.”

Your friends exchanged glances mumbling something, he exhaled heavily running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m glad you've all had fun, but next time just… watch out for her yeah? She’s very important to me.” He gazed down at you.

Your friends exchanged glances, some looking sheepish, others visibly annoyed at his tone.

“We had it under control Max,” one of your friends said, her tone defensive. “We weren’t going to babysit her all night.”

Max’s jaw clenched. “Being there for your friend isn’t babysitting, it’s just what you do.”

Another friend, the quieter one of the group spoke up “Okay Max. We’ll keep a better eye on her next time, promise.”

“Thank you,” he said simply, looking back down at you. Your eyes were half-closed, a lazy smile on your lips as you mumbled something unintelligible against his chest.

Max shook his head, a mix of exasperation and fondness crossing his face. “Alright,” he said to the group, his tone a little lighter now. “I’m taking her home. Get back safely.”

“We will,” the quieter friend said, giving him a small, apologetic smile.

Max turned to you with a sigh of relief. “Let’s get you home.”

Max guided you to the car, his hand never leaving your waist. You leaned into him heavily, giggling at every little thing, the way his hand steadied you, the low muttering under his breath, even the way he opened the car door for you like you were royalty.

“You’re being so nice to me Maxie,” you said, settling into the passenger seat with a content sigh.

“I’m always nice to you,” he replied, pulling the seatbelt across your body and clicking it into place.

“You are,” you agreed, your voice soft and dreamy. “You’re my favourite person, you know that?”

Max froze for a moment, sure his heart skipped a beat, before he shook his head and closed your door.

The drive home was quiet, save for your occasional hums and mumbled comments about the pretty city lights. Max glanced at you every so often, his hand gripping your thigh, your eyes fluttering shut for brief moments.

When he finally pulled into his apartment’s parking garage you stirred, blinking sleepily. Inside you clung to him like a lifeline, your arms looped around his neck as he guided you to the bathroom.

“You’re so tall,” you murmured, your head resting against his chest. “Like a tree. A strong, handsome tree.”

Max chuckled despite himself, shaking his head as he set you down on the bathroom counter. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But you like me anyway,” you said, your grin lazy and smug.

He didn’t respond, instead reaching for a makeup remover wipe from the cabinet. You watched him curiously as he carefully cupped your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“Taking your makeup off,” he said simply.

You stared at him, your expression unreadable, as he carefully wiped at your face. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as he avoided your eyes, focusing instead on the task at hand.

"You take such good care of me." You whispered, reaching up to touch his hand. “You don’t have to, you know?”

“I know,” he said with a slight frown, his eyes finally meeting yours. “But I want to. You deserve it.”

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” Max carried you to the bedroom, letting you climb him like a koala as you giggled into his shoulder. He set you down gently, pulling the covers over you before crouching beside the bed. You blinked at him sleepily, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“You’re like a knight,” you mumbled, your voice thick with drowsiness. “My very own knight in shining armour.”

Max chuckled, shaking his head. “A very tired knight,” he replied, brushing a stray hair from your face. “But you’re going to hate me in the morning if I let you go to sleep without water and something for your hangover.”

“I don’t hate you,” you slurred, blinking up at him with glassy eyes. “I could never hate you.”

His chest tightened at the sincerity in your tone, “Stay awake for just a few more minutes okay? I’ll be right back.”

You made a soft noise of protest as he stood, but you didn’t try to stop him. Max moved quietly through the apartment, grabbing a glass from the kitchen and filling it with cold water. From the bathroom he grabbed a pack of paracetamol, the domesticity of the routine bringing a faint smile to his lips.

When he returned you were still half-propped against the pillows, your eyes fluttering open at the sound of his footsteps.

“Here,” Max said, sitting on the edge of the bed. He handed you the glass and pressed two pills into your palm. “Take these and drink some water. Trust me, you’ll thank me in the morning.”

You squinted at the pills like they’d personally offended you. “Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Max replied firmly, his lips quirking upward. “No arguments.”

“Bossy,” you muttered, but you popped the pills into your mouth and swallowed them with some water. “Happy now?”

“Very.”

You handed the glass back to him, and he set it on the nightstand before leaning forward to pull the blankets higher around you.

“I’m so lucky you’re my Maxie,” you sighed.

“Sleep,” he said softly, stroking your cheek.

“Stay,” you murmured, your eyes already half-closed.

Max hesitated, his heart twisting with adoration, before nodding. “I’ll be right here.”

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smileysuh · 4 months ago

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hotel california

🌙 starring. Choi Seungcheol x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “Time is a funny thing in this place. I know it’s been days, weeks, years even- that I’ve been here, but I don’t know for how long. I eat, I sleep, I drink- I repeat. I don’t grow old, I don’t get sick. I just am. It’s fucking boring if I’m behind honest with you, or at least it was. It’s been a while since we had someone new show up at the hotel, and even longer since that someone was as gorgeous as you.”

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, fingering, pussy eating, blow job, roughhousing, dirty talk, praise, finger sucking, multiple sex positions, spanking, mentions of pain kink, mentions of masturbation, breast worship, watching yourself in the mirror while you fuck, etc… I pet names: (hers) gorgeous.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 9.9k

🍭 aus. Non idol au, strangers to lovers, song as inspo, etc..

☀️ mlist + an. I’ve wanted to tackle ‘The Hotel California’ song by Eagles for ages, and after months of thinking about how to do it best, I think I finally did it justice. I wanted to also draw some inspiration from the tv show ‘The White Lotus,’ with the first season (and the first season’s Hotel Manager) being particularly interesting to me. I’m really excited about this fic, and I hope you guys enjoy it!

One:

Driving across the Californian desert after a twelve-hour shoot had not been your plan, but being double booked by your agent had left you with little choice in the matter. You’re still a blooming model, and you can’t yet afford the luxury of easy flights- no, you have to do it yourself, and it’s determination that’s driving you as you speed down the highway with the sun beginning to set.

You’re exhausted, and you can feel your body beginning to tire from your long hours, but you push on. In an effort to keep yourself awake, you put on some music, doing your best to focus on the long winding roads as you take the liminal path between one civilization to the other.

It’s a pretty drive if nothing else, at least as the sun sets, but once the purple and pink sky has faded to black, the whole thing feels monotonous.

You yawn loudly, pushing harder on your gas pedal. There are no cops out here this deep in the desert, and if it saves you even ten minutes to speed, it will be well worth it.

It’s hard to concentrate, and you can feel yourself getting drowsier and drowsier, your eyelids getting heavier with each passing breath, but you’re in too deep to pull off on the side of the road.

Your body is relaxing, succumbing to the exhaustion. Your eyes begin to close- and just as you’re on the precipice of falling asleep at the wheel, your car makes a rough sound.

Body lurching with anxiety, your heart thumps wildly in your chest, and once again, your car makes a noise it shouldn’t be making.

With a loud groan, you slowly pull off to the side of the road, and that’s when the engine begins to billow smoke out from under your hood.

You reach for your phone, only to find it’s dead, and with a loud, “Fuck!” you get out of your car.

It takes you a second to remember how to pop the hood, after all, you’re a model, not a mechanic. As the hood lifts, a gust of hot smokey steam flairs up at you, and without your phone to use as a light, you can only rely on the rays of the moon to guide you as you fiddle with your car on the side of the road in the middle of the desert.

After five minutes of panic, you decide to give up. As you look around, you realize there’s a light in the distance. It’s a faint light, but a light nonetheless.

You return to your car, sitting there for a while as you decide what to do.

Leaving your vehicle on the side of the road isn’t exactly the best-case scenario, but neither is staying with it overnight- you’ve heard that the desert can get cold when the sun goes down, and you’re already feeling chilly.

You weigh your options. After a while, you collect your things from the trunk and begin to make the trek down the long desert road toward the lights that symbolize civilization of some sort.

Two:

“Welcome to The Hotel California,” a peppy man smiles when you approach the front desk.

It turns out the lights you’d seen from your car had belonged to a cute one-story terracotta hotel. You didn’t realize there were hotels along this stretch of road, but relief floods through you as you approach the man whose badge says ‘Jeonghan. hotel manager.’

“Hello,” you smile, releasing a sigh. “My car broke down a little ways up the road.”

“Well that’s not very good,” he frowns, empathizing with you.

“I need a room for the night, and I’d appreciate it if I could use a phone to call for someone to come and look at my car in the morning,” you explain.

“I can get that settled for you,” he assures you, writing something down in the notebook in front of him. “A room for one?”

“Yes, it’s just me,” you confirm.

“Name?”

You give him your information, reaching into your bag for your credit card.

“We won’t need any form of payment until check out,” Jeonghan assures you. “Anything you eat or drink or do will be added to your tab, and you can deal with it another time.”

“Thank God, you have no idea how exhausted I am.”

“I’ll have our bellhop escort you to your room and help with your bags,” the hotel manager smiles. He waves over a man, whose nametag reads ‘Seungkwan,’ and with another nod and a grin to you, the manager watches you walk off.

You take a moment to look around. While the exterior of the hotel had been very rustic, the interior is Art Deco. There are many mirrors, and the lobby has a few red velvet couches strewn about. It’s actually kind of cute for a hotel in the middle of nowhere, and you’re thankful you’d come across it.

If your car had broken down even five minutes before, you doubt you would have seen the lights of The Hotel California, and then where would you be?

Three:

You wake as light peaks through the blinds of your room. With a yawn, you sit up in bed, immediately reaching for your phone on the bedside table.

Although you’d plugged it in to charge the night before, the screen is still dead.

Your heart sinks in your chest, and with a groan of exasperation, you stand up.

After putting on clothes and making yourself feel presentable, you head out in search of the lobby, where you find Jeonghan behind the front desk as he had been last night.

“Hi,” you greet him. “I was wondering if you have any news about my car?”

“We called a towing company, they had to come out from the nearest town. No word yet on what’s wrong with your car or how long it will take to fix.”

It’s hard to hide your disappointment as you release a deep breath. “So… I’m stuck here.”

“It would appear that way,” Jeonghan smiles politely.

As you’re about to leave, you remember the other point of contention on your mind, and you turn to look at the hotel manager again. “I tried to charge my phone last night, and I’m not sure if it’s a problem with my charger or your outlet, but it didn’t charge.”

“I can take your phone for you for now, and I’ll see if one of the chargers or outlets we have here will work,” he suggests.

You stare at him. The idea of giving up your phone doesn’t sit right with you, but at this point, you’re too tired to care. Although you’d gotten sleep, your body still feels exhausted- how many hours had you even gotten in bed?

“What time is it?” you ask.

“I think it’s time for you to get a watch,” the hotel manager teases.

“Right…” you trail off, pulling your phone out of your pocket to hand to him. “Please get this back to me once it’s charged, I’ve gotta call my agent and maybe rearrange a mode of transportation or something.”

“Go relax and I’ll deal with all of this,” Jeonghan assures you. “We’ve got a morning buffet in the dining room just down the hall, I suggest you go and get your strength up.”

“Thank you.”

You follow his direction down a few corridors to a dining room. It’s a lovely space, with one line of glass walls that look out at the desert. The style choice is as art deco as the lobby, and while you’d found it charming at first, you’re already getting sick of the mirrors everywhere.

A large table lines the far wall, and there are many silver trays with food on them. Heading over there, you find a plate and begin to choose what you want to eat.

As you make a dish for yourself, you look around, noting that there aren’t very many guests in the hotel. You suppose that it’s a very odd location for a hotel, and its remote nature is probably the reason you only see a handful of people around.

Once your plate is full, you approach one of the many empty tables, taking a seat and looking around once more.

There are two men dressed in suits, and you immediately assume they’re in business of some sort. You wonder what they’re doing here of all places, but you don’t dwell on it for long, not when you notice that their table is covered with plates.

They’re both rather lean men, so you wonder how they plan to eat all the food in front of them, but you decide not to be a person who pries. After all, you’re only going to be here a short time, you don’t have to care about what others are doing around you.

Your gaze shifts to a man seated near the windows. His hair is dark and curly, and he has a pair of glasses on. His gaze is focused on a book in his hands, and you notice the only thing on his table is a lemon water.

For some reason, he gives you monk vibes, and you wonder how a man so young and attractive can be so peaceful in his way of living.

The hair on the back of your neck prickles, and you realize someone is watching you. There’s a man in the corner of the room, and on second glance, you realize he’s next to a record player. He stares at you for a few seconds, then lifts an entire bottle of whiskey to his lips.

He makes you uncomfortable, and after that, you just focus on your own plate, repeating to yourself that this will all be over soon.

Four:

After breakfast, you head back to your room, and when you get there, you’re surprised to find both your laptop and all your charging cords are missing.

You scramble through your bags, hoping you just misplaced them- but no, your electronics are gone, and it makes your heart race with anxiety.

You all but run back to the lobby, but when you arrive, Jeonghan is not there.

Looking around, you realize there’s a bar set up in the corner, and you quickly make your way over, stopping in front of the bartender. “Hi, I checked in last night, my car was having issues, and then so was my phone- I gave my phone to your hotel manager to charge, and when I got back up to my room my laptop and charging cords were gone-”

He stares at you blankly, and you read the name on his shirt.

“Look, Joshua, I just need help. I need something. I have to call my agent, I have to do something-”

“Have a drink,” he suggests, lifting a bottle of tequila from behind the bar.

“I don’t need a drink,” you groan. “I need my phone, I need my laptop, I need my car- I need you to help me sort this out!”

“Calm down, gorgeous, Joshua just works here, you’re not going to get a lot of help out of him unless you want a mean cocktail.” A deep voice makes you turn, and you find yourself staring at the man who you’d seen by the record player at the buffet earlier.

He’s still carrying his bottle of whiskey, but it’s only about half full now.

“He works here, so he should know what to do or who to call-”

“Like I said, the most you’re going to get out of him is a wine and steak pairing recommendation,” the man in front of you laughs. “I’m Seungcheol, by the way.”

You tell him your name with a sigh, and you don’t miss the way his gaze rakes up and down your body.

“So what’s your story?” he asks.

“My car broke down, I walked here, my phone is dead, my laptop is stolen, I’m having a really shit day.”

“Sounds like it.” He brings the bottle of whiskey to his lips, taking a large gulp. “Maybe you should take Joshie’s advice and have a drink.”

“What I need is a nap,” you state. “I’m going back to my fucking room, to have a fucking siesta, and when I’m done, that fucking hotel manager better have my phone charged and my car fixed.”

Five:

You have no clue what time it is when you wake up from your nap, all you know is the sun is beginning to set and your whole body hurts. You groan to even sit up, and you realize you feel as exhausted as you had this morning before your nap.

Are you getting sick?

Deciding you don’t have time to dwell on the state of your body, you head to the lobby, where once again, Jeonghan is nowhere to be seen. So instead, you head to the bar, where the ‘Seungcheol’ man is sitting and chatting with Joshua.

You take the seat next to him and he turns to look at you with a grin.

“Hi, gorgeous, how was your nap?”

“Uneventful,” you state. “Look, I need a ride to town.”

“Which town?”

“Any town, I don’t care, I just need to get out of here.”

“Well, I don’t have a car.”

“You don’t have a car?” you stare at him in shock.

“Nope, just a motorcycle, and I doubt all your shit would fit on it.”

“I will literally leave ‘my shit’ here and come back for it once my car is fixed.”

“Well…” Seungcheol taps his fingers on the bottle of whiskey in his hand. “My motorcycle broke down on the way here.”

You blink as you look at this man. He’s stunning, with a strong jaw, broad shoulders, curly hair- but fuck, he’s a bit dense. “Well?” you ask. “Was it towed? How long have you been waiting for it to get fixed?”

Seungcheol only grins, taking a sip of his whiskey. “A while.”

For some reason, the way he says it is ominous. You don’t know if he’s playing with you, or what- but you’re done with all of this bullshit.

“I’m going to bed again,” you announce.

“Didn’t you just wake up?”

“I am going to bed!”

Six:

When you wake up the next morning, the first thing you do is go to the lobby. You can’t help the relief that floods through you when you see Jeonghan standing behind the front desk.

“Thank God,” you almost laugh with triumph. “Do you have news about my car? Or my phone? Also, someone stole my laptop yesterday!”

“Unfortunately I have no news about your car, and it seems none of the chargers are working with your phone,” Jeonghan frowns.

It feels like the breath has been knocked from your lungs. “What?”

“Also, I don’t know anything about your laptop, but I’ll look into it.”

You’re tired of this hotel manager taking charge- tired of being at this Art Deco hotel in the middle of butt fuck nowhere.

“You know what, I’d like to check out,” you tell him. “I’d like to grab my things, call a taxi, and just go to the next town and wait for my car to be fixed.”

“I’d love to help you with that,” Jeonghan says, “but unfortunately there are no available cars to take you to the next town.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, no taxis come out this far, you couldn’t bribe them with a hundred bucks to come grab you.” Jeonghan laughs as if what he’s just said is a joke. “And unfortunately all the actual cars on the property belong to people who work at the hotel, all of whom are on shift and can’t drive you.”

“Can’t I wait till someone’s off shift?”

“Everyone on shift lives here in the staff quarters and I can assure you that no one wants to drive to the next town, which is over two hours away, after a twelve-hour shift.”

“So…” Your heart is racing. “What are my options?”

“Well, you can check out if you’d like,” Jeonghan says, “but unfortunately, I don’t think you’ll be able to actually leave the premises unless you walk, which would be very dangerous.”

“Fuck. Give me my phone back.”

You watch Jeonghan reach down and pull your cell out of a drawer, and then you snatch it from his hands.

“Have a lovely evening!” he calls as you turn and storm to the bar.

“What was that about?” Seungcheol asks as you come to stand next to him, releasing a breath of exasperation as you set your hands on the bar top.

“Joshua, give me a bottle of something.”

“What do you like to drink?” the bartender asks.

“Anything.”

“Looks like you’ve changed your tune, gorgeous,” Seungcheol grins next to you.

“I’m going to get drunk, and then I’m going to walk back to civilization if it’s the last thing I do.”

You note the way Seungcheol’s expression falters. “For real?”

“Yes, for real.”

Joshua places a bottle of tequila on the bar and you snatch it up, flicking off the lid and taking a large chug.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Seungcheol muses. “He doesn’t either, do you, Joshie?”

“I just work here,” Joshua shrugs.

“Unless one of you wants to drive me back to town, I’m walking!”

You can feel Seungcheol studying you, and then he sighs. “Fine. I’ll go with you.”

“I never asked you to come.”

“But I’m coming anyways, it wouldn’t be responsible to let a cute girl like you go out into the desert alone. There are aliens and shit.”

“Sure there are,” you roll your eyes.

You have a few more sips of your drink, getting yourself jazzed up for this- and then, you turn to look at the door that leads out of The Hotel California. “Okay, let’s get out of this fucking hellhole.”

Seungcheol releases a chuckle, shaking his head, and then he stands, following you out into the desert beyond.

The first half hour or so is you walking with determination, but as time ticks on, you begin to falter.

“Finally ready to turn back?” Seungcheol asks.

“Why did you even come with me?” you snap.

“I told you, it wouldn’t be safe to send you out here alone.”

“Because men who ride motorcycles really care about safety,” you roll your eyes.

Seungcheol only laughs, and he says nothing else, allowing a silent trek for another hour or so.

Is it an hour? Fuck, you can’t really tell. There are no clocks, no phones to check the time- you have no clue how long you’ve been out here, and anxiety is beginning to bubble up in the pit of your stomach.

Then- just as you’re feeling close to your breaking point, you see lights in the distance.

“Oh my God! We made it!” you practically scream, turning to look at Seungcheol, who doesn’t seem nearly as excited as he should be.

Your pace picks up, in fact, you begin to run toward the light, toward salvation-

You’re out of breath, your muscles screaming at you, but you push on… and that’s when you realize, these lights are familiar.

The excitement begins to die down, and when you’re close enough to see the source of the lights with clarity, you sink to the ground next to the highway in shock.

Gravel and sand crunches as Seungcheol comes to join you, standing a foot away.

“But- that’s- that’s the hotel!” you say.

“It is.”

“But- we went straight! We followed the highway! How are we back here again?”

You’ve never felt defeat like this, and you’ve been rejected by modeling agencies a number of times in your career. This is something different, it’s not just a momentary lapse- this feels more permanent, it feels more otherworldly, and you can’t wrap your head around any of it.

“I think…” Seungcheol releases a sigh. “I think it’s time I told you a few things.”

Seven:

Seungcheol had insisted on going back to the bar to get a bottle of whiskey before divulging into a conversation with you. As you’d entered the lobby, Jeonghan had called out a bright ‘welcome back!’ and you were too defeated to acknowledge him.

You feel like a shell of a person as you lead Seungcheol back to your room, collapsing on your bed. “What the fuck is going on?” you ask.

“This is all going to sound a bit weird,” he admits.

“Weirder than us walking in a straight line for two hours only to find ourselves right back where we started? I doubt it.”

Seungcheol smiles, shaking his head a little as if this whole situation is somehow humorous.

“I think… everyone is stuck here.”

“Stuck here?” you question.

“You and I, we have similar stories. I remember driving my motorcycle, something happened, I pulled over, and then I saw this place,” Seungcheol explains. “I’ve talked to a few people who live here, and they all have the same story.”

“I don’t understand- Seungcheol,” you swallow thickly, “how long have you been here?”

“You see,” Seungchol chuckles, but there’s a sad note to it, “Time is a funny thing in this place. I know it’s been days, weeks, years even- that I’ve been here, but I don’t know for how long. I eat, I sleep, I drink- I repeat. I don’t grow old, I don’t get sick. I just am. It’s fucking boring if I’m behind honest with you, or at least it was. It’s been a while since we had someone new show up at the hotel, and even longer since that someone was as gorgeous as you.”

You can’t believe he’s taking this opportunity to flirt with you, so you pull yourself back on track. “Someone has to know how long we’ve been here,” you insist.

“No one I’ve talked to knows.”

“Well,” you take a breath. “I want to talk to those two men, the ones in suits who are in the buffet.”

“Why?”

“They strike me as the kind of men who would know things,” you tell him. “I can feel it.”

Eight:

You find the two men where they always are in the buffet. Tonight, they’re playing chess, using up a large table so the space not covered with the game board can be full of food and drinks. You still wonder at their glutenous ways, but that’s not why you’re here right now.

“Hi,” you say, trying to be friendly despite the day you’re having.

The two men look up at you, then at their chessboard.

“I’m Y/N, and this is Seungcheol,” you introduce yourself only to be met with silence. “What are your names?”

“Jun. That’s Minghao,” one of the men says dismissively.

“Do you guys happen to have the time?” you ask next.

They’re both quiet, and it’s making you angrier by the second, but you force yourself to keep your cool.

“Would you guys be able to tell me how long you’ve been here?

Still silence.

You look around for that man you’d seen, the one with glasses and a lemon water, but he’s nowhere to be found.

“Look,” you kneel down so you’re about level with the seated men, lowering your voice. “I just got here, something weird is going on, and I need answers.”

The two men exchange a glance, and it’s Jun who finally turns to you. “We won’t discuss this in the open.”

“Come to our room,” Minghao sighs. “But don’t make it obvious you’re following us.”

You wonder why the theatrics are necessary, but with a nod, you and Seungcheol move away. You take a seat at a table across the space, and after a few minutes where the two men converse in whispers, both stand up.

You wait for them to leave, and after a few seconds, you and Seungcheol slowly follow.

Jeonghan watches you cross the space, and that’s when you realize why these men are being so weird. This hotel manager has an odd hold on everyone in this place.

When you make it to Jun and Minghao’s room, they open the door for you, saying nothing. As you enter the space, you’re ready to bombard them with questions, but when Jun moves to the coat closet, pushing fabrics aside, all your words die in your throat.

The entire wall, which had just been hidden, is covered in small tally marks.

“We were keeping a tab with a pen and paper, but the cleaner kept taking it away,” Jun explains. “I don’t think they want us to keep track of time.”

“And these tallies-” you begin.

“They mark the days the two of you have been here,” Seungcheol finishes.

“But,” you swallow thickly, “that’s thousands of days- that’s years!”

“Over sixty years,” Minghao says quietly.

“How can this be real?!” you ask. “You both don’t look a day over thirty.”

“When we’d arrived here, we weren’t,” Jun says sadly, “but that was in 1963.”

“Nobody grows old here,” Minghao tells you, “because we’re in Hell.”

“So you both think that pansy hotel manager is the Devil?” Seungcheol scoffs.

You can see Minghao’s eyes immediately narrow in annoyance. “We just mind our own business, and we suggest you do the same.”

“Have you ever confronted Jeonghan?” you ask.

“Nobody confronts him,” Jun says sheepishly. “I guess, even though we’re all in Hell, lots of us are… scared of the consequences.”

“Well, he already took away my phone and my laptop,” you sigh, “I guess I have to be the man in the room and go deal with this.”

Nine:

After spending the night thinking about it, you decide as the sun comes up that you’re going to rip the bandaid off.

Everyone in this fucking hotel is so evasive, but you’ll take this head-on. You’re a twenty-first-century woman, and you’ll be damned if some hotel manager ruins your entire life.

There’s a power in the way you walk as you head straight for the front desk, and you try to look intimidating despite your rapidly beating heart.

“Good morning,” Jeonghan greets you with a smile.

“What’s the deal?” you ask.

“Hmm?”

“The deal with this place, what’s going on?”

He flashes you a knowing smile, and the words that come out of his mouth next are an obvious load of shit: “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You size him up, and you realize that, at this precise moment, you’re not going to get any information out of this man, so you decide to switch to plan two.

Turning on your heel, you head deeper into the hotel, and in the back of the dining room, you see Seungkwan slipping into a corridor.

Catching him is easy since he’s not exactly running from you, and the man stops to politely nod at you. “Good morning.”

“What’s going on with this place?” you ask.

“Excuse me?”

“This stupid hotel, what’s the deal? All my electronics are missing, there are no clocks, and I left yesterday, I left! I walked down the highway for two hours only to end up right back where I started!” You can’t help the way your voice is rising in annoyance, and you partly hope that you can actually successfully intimidate this man-

As you look at him, you realize intimidation is off the table, because he releases a laugh.

“Look at you, little miss demanding.”

“Please,” you sigh, your heart practically wilting in your chest. “I just need to know.”

“Talk to the hotel manager, he can answer all your questions.”

“Except he can’t, or maybe the word is won’t-” You struggle for a moment. “Look, don’t you want to gossip with me?”

You can all but see his ears perk up at the word gossip.

“You’re a bellhop, you like secrets, right? You enjoy tea?”

His eyes narrow at you. “I’m more of a coffee drinker.”

“Tea, as in gossip, gossip is tea-” God, you wonder how many of these people are from the last century and have no idea what you mean when you use current lingo.

“I’m listening.”

“I’ll tell you some tea,” you insist. “Gossip for gossip, deal?”

“I want something else,” Seungkwan tells you, and that’s when you notice his eyes lingering on your throat, your necklace. “I want that.”

You sigh, reaching behind yourself to unclasp the silver chain. “Take it and tell me what’s going on in this stupid hotel.”

As soon as the jewelry is in the bellhop’s hand, his entire demeanor changes. It’s as if he’s gone from a young man, and turned into an old woman telling you about her neighbors and how she snoops at her window to collect information all day. There’s an air to his essence that tells you you’re about to find out exactly what’s happening in this so-called ‘Hotel California.’

“What have you heard so far?” he asks. “What do you think this place is?”

“I don’t know? Someone said it might be Hell, but I doubt Hell is an Art Deco and terracotta hotel in the middle of the desert.”

Seungkwan’s expression shifts with an all-knowing sort of twist of his lips. “This isn’t Hell. It’s purgatory.”

“What?” You feel your breath leave your lungs in shock.

“And Jeonghan, well, he’s not a hotel manager, he’s a grim reaper. His domain is this desert, and every guest at this hotel, they died in his desert, so their souls were his to pass judgment on.”

“Wait a minute, what do you mean we all died here?”

“Keep up!” Seungkwan snaps. “This is purgatory! Of course you’re dead!”

Your entire body deflates now. “But… how?”

“Fell asleep at the wheel, didn’t you, little miss model? Seungcheol’s motorcycle hit a pothole. Minghao and Jun were high on coke and drove off a cliff by the ravine not far from here, thinking they were invincible. Every guest has a similar story, it’s a dangerous stretch of road after all.”

“So… who are you? And how do you know all the people I’ve talked to since I got here?”

“I’m a nobody, a highwayman. But trust me when I tell you, the staff here keep tabs on everyone.”

“Are all the staff... Highwaymen?” you ask.

“In one sense or another.”

“And… and Jeonghan chose to put us in purgatory?” you question. “Why didn’t he take us to a final place?”

“Because your unfinished sins were too great to gain you entry above, but not dark enough to gain you entry below.” Seungkwan pauses for a moment. “It’s best if you try to overcome your original sins, you might just make it out of here.”

“Overcome my sins?” you repeat, on the verge of laughing in an odd sort of complete hopeless hysteria that you’ve never felt before. “Has anyone ever made it out of here?!”

“One man,” Seungkwan says thoughtfully. “In fact, you saw him. The man in glasses, Jeon Wonwoo. He was a powerful man back when he was alive, lustful and glutenous. But in his time here, he’s overcome, and you were his final test.”

Anger bubbles inside of you. “I was a final test? You mean I was brought here to test some horny guy!?”

“Not many women die on this stretch of highway, not many who are so grey and muted as yourself. Jeonghan found you to be particularly… puzzling.”

“Puzzling?” you scoff.

“You’re a model,” Seungkwan shrugs. “Lust, envy, pride, greed- you belong here like everyone else. Those businessmen, overwhelmed by pride, greed, envy, gluttony, sloth, and even wrath. They’ve only conquered lust in their eternity here, but that was to be expected with no women to enchant them. They treasure their own company now, far more than they’d ever treasure yours.”

“And Seungcheol?” you ask.

“Seungcheol?” Seungkwan actually laughs. “A rockstar from the seventies? Lust, pride, greed, wrath- in his day he had an enjoyment of starting mosh pits at his own concerts, of fighting people, of drinking and sleeping with many, many women. No, Jeonghan chooses the right people. You’re all here, and you’ll likely all stay here.”

Ten:

You’re sitting with Seungcheol in a secluded part of the buffet room, and you’ve just given him a rundown on all things Seungkwan. For a moment, he just sits there, and then, his brows furrow. “That little fuck says I’m here because I used to start moshpits at my own shows?”

“And sleeping with lots of women I’d assume.”

“I’m gonna beat that fucking bellhop’s ass-”

“This is what he’s talking about!” you insist. “Wrath!”

Seungcheol steadies himself, and then he sighs. “Who would have thought the seven deadly sins were a real fucking thing.”

“People who believe in the bible and stuff?”

Seungcheol shoots you an unamused expression and you have to stop yourself from smiling.

You look down at your hands, fiddling with your fingers. “So… are we going to try to overcome our sins or whatever?”

The man next to you exhales deeply. “I’ve been here a long time,” he admits. “I don’t think I’m going to magically change because some bellhop said I’m a horny fuck with anger issues.”

“True.”

“Besides, Jeonghan brought you here to test the whole lust thing, and I think we both know I’m failing in that one.”

Your skin tingles. Is this seventies rockstar admitting he’s into you?

I mean… you’d suspected as much, but to hear it confirmed like this…

Do you want to be good? Do you want to work on yourself?

Or do you want to give in to these lusty feelings? Do you want to go wild and make the most of this place since you’re probably going to be here forever?

You feel completely torn, and you clear your throat. “I think… I think I need to go clear my head.”

Eleven:

You find your way to the pool after some deep soul-searching. You’re in need of somewhat of a cleanse, and you think water could be a good way to do that.

It’s the evening, but the air is quite warm as you make your way through the open spaces of the hotel. The sky is dark above you, but stars twinkle, as does the moon. It’s oddly peaceful, if you forget the fact that you’re in some fucked of purgatory liminal space.

When you get to the pool area, you realize there’s a man you’ve never seen before, and he’s sitting by the hot tub. His feet are submerged in the bubbling water, and his head is tipped back, eyes closed. There’s a bong next to his right hand, and you can smell weed.

You stand and watch him for a moment, then decide to approach.

“Hello?” you say, drawing his attention. “Are you new here?”

“No, but you are,” the man muses.

“I am… but I’ve never seen you before.”

“You wouldn’t, I’m nocturnal. Might as well be, since there’s nowhere to go but here.”

Obviously this man has his own opinions of The Hotel California, and you take a seat next to him, crossing your legs. “What do you think of this place?”

“It’s whatever.”

You risk another look at him, and you realize he’s closed his eyes again, looking as relaxed as ever. That’s when you realize this man’s main sin is glaringly obvious; he’s sloth.

“How did you find weed here?” you ask.

“Brought some when I arrived, started growing it when I realized I wouldn’t be leaving.”

So… this man is growing weed, sleeping all day, and smoking all night in purgatory. Sounds about right.

“Do you want to leave?” you question.

“It’s whatever.”

“Some man named Wonwoo left,” you point out. “Seems like there’s a possibility.”

The man laughs. “That fucking monk finally got out? He’s been trying to be a good boy for years.”

You swallow thickly at the reminder that even if you try to be good, you’re doomed to be here for years. It’s not an ‘okay I’ve been good for a day, let me out now’ sort of situation. The whole thing leaves a bad taste in your mouth, and you clear your throat.

“I’m y/n by the way.”

“Vernon.” There’s a stagnant pause, and then he stretches. “You know, it’s nice here. You don’t have to cook or clean. There are no responsibilities. You just get to relax.”

“Kind of like an indefinite vacation.”

“Exactly.”

He seems nice enough, and if it wasn’t clear he was such a sloth with a thing for marijuana, you might expect him to be next on the list of viable options for getting out of this place.

“Just, enjoy yourself,” Vernon sighs. “You might as well.”

Twelve:

After a night of thinking, you’ve finally made your decision on what to do in this God-forsaken hotel, and you head down to the lobby. One look at Jeonghan makes you rethink asking him for information, but you spot Seungkwan heading toward the buffet, and you quickly follow him out of sight from the manager.

“Hey,” you greet the bellhop, “have you seen Seungcheol today?”

“I believe he runs at this time,” Seungkwan explains. There’s a small rocky hillside out behind the pool, Seungcheol made a trail there for exercise, but between us, sometimes I think he’s hoping to get bit by a rattlesnake and die for a second time.”

From the small chuckle that leaves his lips, you can tell he’s trying to joke around, but you’re just not at the stage in your acceptance of this place to find dead jokes comedic.

“Thank you,” you nod, heading off in the direction he’s pointed you in.

The trailhead behind the pool isn’t very difficult to find, and you start up the path.

You have no clue what time it is, but you know it’s early morning. It’s just starting to get warm, but despite this, you have a fire inside of you driving to find the seventies rockstar.

This urge - call it lust maybe - it drives you forward, and finally, you find the man you’re looking for.

He’s in running shorts, and he’s shirtless. A sheen of sweat covers his muscular form, and God, he’s never looked this beautiful. His hair is curled from precipitation, and he’s panting, his hands on his hips as he stands at the top of the small hilly cliff that looks down at The Hotel California.

“Seungcheol!” you call, drawing his attention immediately.

“y/n?”

You can tell he’s confused to see you here, and his brows furrow. Walking closer, you take a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking,” you tell him.

“Yeah?”

“I was thinking… if we’re going to be here forever, we might as well make it fun.”

Your words hang in the air, and on this tiny hill, you accept your fate. You accept that you’re dead, that you’re in some odd form of purgatory. And you accept the fact that you’ve found a partner to share this whole delusion with, for better, or for worse.

“So you’re saying…” Seungcheol swallows thickly, stepping closer to you.

“Just kiss me,” you laugh, shaking your head at him.

A massive smile appears on his face, and then he’s grabbing your hips and tugging you tight to his chest. His lips are on yours a moment later, and while you’d expected him to be an eager, lust-fueled maniac, he’s oddly slow with how he approaches this first interaction.

However, the kiss deepens when you wrap your arms around the back of his neck, your tongue swiping his bottom lip desperately.

Seungchoel lets out a deep groan, matching your rising energy with an enthusiasm of his own.

It feels so good to be doing this with him, and for the first real-time since you got to the hotel, you feel your anxiety slipping away. Your entire body is focused on this man, and this man alone- and then his hand slips down to your ass, grabbing it roughly.

“Hey,” you laugh, pulling away from the kiss. “We’re not fucking out here on some rock.”

“We’re not?” Seungcheol chuckles.

“Not in a million years, which it sort of sounds like we have.”

“Back to the hotel then,” Seungcheol tells you, and just like that, the two of you head back down the trail to the hotel.

It seems there are different routes to take, and you find yourself in the lobby as opposed to the pool, which is where Jeonghan stops you with a wave. “y/n,” he calls. “I’d like a word.”

Seungcheol groans, and you release a sigh, turning to look at him. “I’ll meet you later?” you suggest.”

“I’ll go shower, find my room after, I’m in number seventeen,” Seungcheol nods.

You watch him disappear, taking a moment to appreciate the muscles of his broad shoulders as he walks away, and then, you turn to face the hotel manager.

“Looks like you’ve made a decision,” Jeonghan muses.

You wonder what exactly he’s talking about. Is it a decision to pursue Cheol? To sin?

You’re not quite sure, but at this point, you don’t care.

“I’ve made my choice,” you tell him, trying to sound confident about it.

“So you’ve chosen to be a part of The Hotel California.”

“I don’t think you left me with much choice,” you point out.

A large smile appears on Jeonghan’s face. “I guess I have to agree with you there,” he admits. “Go. Enjoy Seungcheol. You might be able to help with his… less desirable traits if not his sexual habits.”

So everything here really is a set of scales. Cheques and balances. A lesser evil of cleansing Seungcheol of minor sins while fanning the fire of his lust. You suppose you can’t win them all.

Thirteen:

You wander the hotel until you find room seventeen, and when you get there, you don’t even bother to knock. You simply push the door open, entering the space.

Seungcheol’s hotel room is different from your own. It’s significantly larger, with a den and a door that you assume leads to the bedroom. You make your way through the space, looking in at where he sleeps, which is where you find the man himself standing.

He has a towel wrapped around his hips, his hair is damp and curly, and God, he looks even sexier than he had on the hill. He’s so well muscled- part of you wants to lick his entire body and moan while you do.

Seungcheol turns to look at you, and when he smiles, you swear your knees feel weak.

“What did dickhead want?” he asks.

“Jeonghan?” Your mind goes blank. “He uh, I guess he wanted to see if I’m set on staying here or not.”

“And?”

“Well, we’re about to sin, aren’t we? So… guess I’m a permanent resident now.”

Seungcheol laughs. “Who wants to go to heaven if you can’t fuck there?”

“A lot of people I think,” you giggle.

“Well, not us.” He steps towards you, hands settling on your hips. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you to show up.”

His words are nice, but you have some doubts lingering inside of you. “Would you fuck any girl who came here though?” you question. “Or am I special?”

“You’re special,” Seungcheol confirms. “You’ve got fire in you, I could tell from the moment we met.”

“Some people have called me a bitch before.”

“Well they can go fuck themselves,” he retorts quickly.

You laugh, looking around. “This is a nice room.”

“It wasn’t my original room, but once I realized I was staying here, I scouted out all the empty places to find my favourite.”

Your gaze shift up, and you notice that the ceiling is covered in mirrors. “I can’t escape these fucking mirrors.”

“These ones are fun though,” Seungcheol insists.

“Yeah? How’s that?” You wrap your arms around the back of Seungcheol’s neck, pulling him closer with a grin.

“Because… I can watch you when you’re riding me. You can see my sexy back when I’m fucking you. It’s just a good set up.”

“And I guess you haven’t really had a chance to test it out before,” you muse.

“Not with another person.”

It takes you a second to realize what he’s saying, and then you laugh. “Cheol, are you telling me you watch yourself jack off with these mirrors?”

“It’s not like I have access to porno mags or anything!” he defends himself.

God, he’s from the seventies- did they even have easily accessible porn then?

You push the thought out of your brain as you move closer to him, until your lips are just milimeters apart. “Now you have me.”

“I do, don’t I,” he grins, tightening his grip on your hips.

“Uh huh,” you nod. “And I haven’t been properly fucked in a while.”

“I bet I have you beat on that one.”

“Better make up for your lost time, big guy.”

“Better make this sin worth it,” he counters, and with that, he presses his lips to your own.

You smirk into the kiss, pressing your chest against his own as you wrap your arms around the back of his neck. It’s a mad flurry of tongue and teeth, no being cautious as he had been on the hill earlier.

No, this time, you know exactly what you want from each other, and there’s a freeing feeling in that.

He’s quick to guide you toward the bed, and when he gets you there, he pushes you down onto it. His hands quickly tear at your shirt and you raise your arms to allow him to easily take it off of your body.

Seungcheol sinks to his knees on the ground, his lips attacking your throat and descending down to your breasts. Two large hands grab at your tits, massaging them through your bra. He’s practically motorboating his face against you now, groaning into your cleavage.

“Take off my bra,” you tell him. “Suck on my tits.”

Seungcheol chuckles, but one swipe of his hand behind your back has your bra coming undone, and you realize that despite his forced celibacy, he hasn’t lost his touch.

Your bra slips off, and Seungcheol immediately picks up where he left off, but this time, he has access to your bare skin,

He grabs your breasts, pulling one nipple into his mouth while you throw your head back and moan.

It takes you a second, but you have the idea to open your eyes, and when you do, the mirrored ceiling gives you the perfect view of this man kneeling on the ground and sucking your breasts.

There’s something sexy about the view, and when you thread your fingers through his curls, it makes things even hotter.

Seungcheol groans, roughly tugging your nipple between his teeth and making you cry out.

“Shorts next,” he instructs, pulling away so you can both work on getting you fully naked for him.

It’s a little shocking how fast this is all going, but you don’t mind. Lust is fueling every cell of your body, and before you know it, Seungcheol is pushing you so you’re flat on your back. He places your thighs on his shoulders, and then he dives into your core with his mouth.

You whimper at the sensation of him sucking on your clit lewdly, and again, when you look up, you can see the view.

Fuck, with him now bending half over the bed like this, you can see his shoulders even better.

He’s so broad and strong and sexy, and it makes your core pulse with pleasure as he eats you out like he’s been starved for fifty years, which he has.

“Just like that,” you tell him, bringing your hands up to play with your nipples, loving the view of it all.

Seungcheol shifts, and then you feel a finger push into your entrance. He doesn’t go slow with it, he immediately starts pumping, fucking you while he licks and sucks on your clit roughly.

There’s no tact in his motions, no precision, he’s a wild man, and you suppose that fits his rockstar soul.

There’s something so sexy about this animalistic way he’s treating you, and when he groans against your clit, your entire body lights up with pleasure.

He has you closer to the edge than you’d ever imagined possible in such a short time, but you wonder if perhaps your body has been in need of some stress relief like this after such a crazy few days.

Another finger slips inside of you and you moan, reaching one hand to tangle in his hair again.

As much as you want to close your eyes and enjoy this, you can’t bear to look away from the view.

God, it’s absolutely glorious.

This gorgeous, beefy man, is practically ravaging you on a bed with silk sheets, worshipping your pussy with his tongue and fingers while you watch, enthralled with it all.

You can hear your core getting wetter, and with each thrust of his fingers you can feel your juices. His tongue circles your clit in the perfect way and your stomach muscles begin to clench, signaling your impending high.

“I’m gonna cum,” you tell him, swallowing thickly even as you pinch your own nipple, writhing against the bed.

Seungcheol only growls in response, and the sound turns you on even more.

Within a few seconds, you’re coming undone, releasing a cry of pleasure as your body is flooded with euphoria.

Your hips push up against Seungcheol’s face, but his free hand pins you down, his tongue unrelenting on your clit.

Now, you have to force your eyes shut. It’s all you can do to contain the ecstasy he’s providing you, an electric feeling that’s surging through your entire body unlike anything else.

“Fuck, fuck- Cheol!” you gasp, wriggling in his grasp.

He pulls off your clit with a pop, and you can feel him looking up at you as he removes his fingers.

Then he stands, and you open your eyes to look at him.

“Here,” Seungcheol leans over you, and then he pushes his fingers into your mouth, “want you to taste yourself.”

All you can do is stare up at him in shock, lust overtaking you as you suck his digits off diligently. You even grab his hand to steady him, not wanting him to pull away until you’ve licked him clean.

“That’s a good girl,” Seungcheol groans.

When you’re done with him, you release his hand, and Seungcheol pulls away with a deep breath.

“Can you suck cock like that?” he asks, undoing his towel so it can fall to the floor.

His hard length immediately slaps up against his abdomen, and you can see beads of precum dripping down his shaft. God, he’s super turned on, and your pussy pulses at the mere sight of him.

“Gonna give you the best head you’ve had in fifty years,” you promise.

“Ha ha,” Seungcheol says, but there’s little humour in it.

You sit up, and then, you stand. He gives you a confused look, but when you push him down onto the bed, things seem to click for him.

You take your spot on your knees, where he’d just been, and this time, it’s your turn to push his legs slightly open, giving yourself space as you grab the base of his cock.

“Don’t cum in my mouth,” you warn.

“No?”

“Want you to cum inside me, don’t wanna waste a drop.”

“Fuck,” Seungcheol groans as you put your mouth onto his tip, sucking and licking with all the enthusiasm he’d just given you.

His hands immediately grab at you, pushing your hair out of your face. He holds you gently as you sink more and more of him into your mouth, swirling your tongue to tease every inch of skin that you can.

“Shit, feels good,” he tells you, collecting your hair into a ponytail to make things easier.

You hum against him and his hips twitch at the stimulus.

“Fuck-” he says again, and you’d bet your life - or maybe your afterlife - that he’ll be swearing a lot.

He’s a man who hasn’t felt the touch of a woman in fifty years, you would blame him if he’s quick to bust?

“Keep going, fuck,” Seungcheol groans, applying some pressure to your head.

You don’t mind that he’s beginning to get rough with you, and you diligently sink further onto his cock, taking him all the way to the back of your throat. You gag a little around him, and Seungcheol releases his loudest moan yet, tightening his grip in your hair.

“Keep doing that, fuck, keep doing that!” he encourages you.

You do your best to relax your throat, wanting to please him, to give him the best blowjob he’s ever had. You have always found satisfaction when pleasing others, call it a trauma thing or whatever you want to call it, but his pleasure is your pleasure, and you can feel yourself getting wetter by the second as you listen to his moans.

“Shit, I’m close,” Seungcheol tells you.

With those words, you immediately pull off of him, and he looks down at you in shock.

“You’re not cumming in my mouth, remember?”

“Please?”

“No.”

You stand up, staring down at this man, who suddenly looks very needy. Then, you push at his chest, prompting him to lay flat against the bed while his knees are still bent, feet on the ground.

One of your own knees makes contact with the bed, and then the other, so you’re straddling him now.

“You said you wanted to watch me ride you,” you remind him. “So watch me ride.”

You grab the base of his cock, lining it up with your core, then you sink down onto him fully.

He’s big, and you feel the stretch, but you’re so wet from this that your lubrication makes the actual taking of his cock much easier than you’d imagined. God, when you pause for a moment, fully seated on him, you both groan from the pleasure… then you begin to bounce.

“Jesus Christ,” Seungcheol whispers, one hand grabbing your hip while the other latches onto your breast. He pinches your nipple between two fingers and you whimper, throwing your head back.

You look up at the ceiling, watching yourself ride this beautiful man.

The view makes your core throb, and you can feel your pussy clamping down around him, which earns another groan from the man you’re riding.

“You look so fucking good like this,” Seungcheol tells you, sitting up and using his hand as a brace against the bed so he can wrap his mouth around your nipple.

You grab him, threading your fingers through his hair and using him as an anchor as you move on his cock, bouncing to the best of your ability even in this position.

Again, you find yourself looking at the view, and you realize maybe this is a completely new kink of yours that you’d never discovered before.

“Okay, okay,” Seungcheol grabs your hips, making you stop. “My turn now.”

“Your turn?” you scoff.

“My turn,” he confirms.

Then, he’s standing up, and taking you with him. His hands grab your ass, keeping you pinned to his body while you squeal with delight, latching onto his shoulders.

“Wanna fuck you doggy first,” he tells you.

“So original,” you roll your eyes.

“Gonna make you regret that, gorgeous,” Seungcheol laughs.

“Then do it.”

With a shake of his head, he throws you onto the mattress, and with one quick manhandle, he has you on your knees with your ass in the air.

He’s standing at the foot of the bed, and he grabs your hips with one hand, his cock with the other. His tip finds your entrance, and with one rough thrust, he’s buried inside of you again.

“Fuck!” you whimper, arching your back and bracing your cheek against the sheets.

“Feels good, huh?” he asks, immediately picking up a pace that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“Fuck, so good!” you moan, loving how deep he’s hitting, how rough he’s being.

A harsh smack erupts through the room, and you realize as the pain blooms like heat along your skin that he’s just spanked you.

“Did you like that?” he asks.

“Maybe?” You’re not sure how you feel about the sensation, but when a second smack comes, you jolt, your pussy clamping tight around Seungcheol’s cock.

“You liked it, didn’t you?” he teases.

“No!” you insist, but you can’t help the fact that you had enjoyed it, and you can tell from the gush of wetness you feel in your core that it will be clear to Seungcheol that you liked it as well.

“Keep lying to yourself,” he laughs, his hand returning to your hip so he can fuck you even harder.

You enjoy the feeling of this for a while, but soon, you’re practically itching for another hit of pain.

“Spank me again,” you tell him.

“Hmm? Didn’t quite hear you.”

“Spank me!” you say, louder this time. “Please!”

Another chuckle escapes the smug bastard behind you. “Only because you asked so nicely.”

One more spank becomes three, and you’re a whimpering mess at the end of it, clawing at the blankets like a whore.

“Guess we’re going to have to explore this pain kink of yours,” Seungcheol teases. “But first, I think I’m gonna cum in this perfect pussy and mark it as mine.”

You’re so overwhelmed by how good this has felt that you can’t even find the words to respond, but you don’t have to.

Seungcheol pulls out of your pussy, and then he adjusts you on the bed, pushing you closer to the pillows so when he joins between your legs, he has space to plank over you in missionary.

His cock enters you, his lips finding your throat, and as you stroke his powerful shoulders, you find yourself blinking up at your reflection.

You’re watching yourself sin, but you’re entirely okay with it.

You’re listening to him pant in your ear as he gets closer and closer to the edge, but you kind of love it.

This hotel might be a place to overcome sins, but you’re not sure how anything this perfect - this natural - could ever be considered wrong.

“I’m close,” Seungcheol whispers, sucking on your earlobe.

“Then cum inside of me, give me all of it,” you tell him, tightening your grip on his shoulders.

“Fuck,” Seungcheol groans, pressing his lips to your own. He kisses you desperately as his hips falter, his pace becoming erratic.

You can feel the moment he explodes, can feel his cock throbbing hard as he shoots his cum deep inside of you. He fills you up with warmth, and it feels like completion as he groans, half collapsing on top of you from the effort.

The kiss breaks, and you stroke his hair as he pants against your throat. Your eyes never leave your own in your reflection of the mirror over the bed.

Jeonghan might have put you in this place, but you’re the master of your own fate, and this is the direction you’ve chosen.

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! I'm going to miss this au.

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🔮 preview. When Seungcheol thrusts, it pushes you onto Mingyu, and when he pulls back, he pulls you with him, effectively controlling the pace of absolutely everything. Seungcheol might be working on his envy streak, but he’s as controlling as ever… although, you kind of love that about him. Sure, he’s a flawed man, but he’s your flawed man, and as he begins to fuck you rougher and harder, you know that you’d never give this up, not even for Heaven itself.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, threesome, pussy eating, blow job, fingering, multiple reader orgasms, use of mirrors, masturbation, controling/dom Seungcheol, dirty talk, praise, slight degradation, spanking, deep throating, eiffle tower/spit roasting, etc… I petnames. (hers) gorgeous.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.1k I teaser wc. 150

🌙 starring. Seungcheol & Mingyu x afab!Reader

bonus

You’re sitting at The Hotel California bar with Seungcheol. The two of you enjoy having a few drinks before a night of raunchy sexual escapades, and at first, this is a night like any other… until, you hear a new voice and turn to see a stranger talking to Jeonghan by the front desk.

You can’t help the look you immediately exchange with Seungcheol.

The two of you have spent months- years even, enjoying each other, and one thing you’ve always discussed bringing into the bedroom to spice it up, is another person. However, no one currently at the hotel has ever caught your eye, so you’d agreed that if anyone new showed up… you two might give them a try.

Now, with a tall, dark and handsome stranger standing just meters away, you think you may have found your new third, and excitement bubbles up inside of you.

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vacationbimboschool · 4 months ago

Text

Everybody knows I’m a good girl, officer.

Cop!Rafe Cameron x reader

Content below: smut, ass slapping, oral (m receiving), rough intercourse.

Words: 2.1k

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Rafe muttered as he turned you around, securing handcuffs around your wrists.

"Now, what did I tell you about running off? Haven’t you learned by now that you should do as I say?" he continued, his tone laced with amusement.

You huffed in frustration, rolling your eyes. "This is unbelievable! I wasn’t even the one who threw that party!" you protested.

Rafe swiftly turned you back around, forcing you to face him while keeping your hands restrained behind your back.

"You were the only one who ran when you saw me. That’s illegal, you know?" he remarked with a smirk, his grip firm on your shoulders.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you hesitated, unsure of how to respond.

"But don’t worry," he added, opening the back door of his car. "I’ve got just the thing to make you learn."

"Get in," Rafe commanded.

Taking a deep breath, you complied, stepping into the police car. It was official—your parents were going to kill you.

As Rafe got into the driver’s seat and started the engine, you gazed out the window. However, confusion set in as you noticed you had passed the station.

Your brows furrowed as the car approached a house instead. A two-story white beach house came into view, its luxurious exterior standing out even in the dim glow of the night.

Rafe pulled up in front of the house and stepped out, making his way to the back door of the car. As he opened it, you remained seated, staring at him in confusion, unsure of what to do.

"Come on, get out of the car," Rafe commanded.

Slowly, you stepped out, your gaze fixed on the grand house before you. The cool night breeze tugged at the fabric of your white sundress, making it sway gently.

"Shouldn’t we be at the station?" you questioned, your voice laced with uncertainty.

Rafe merely smirked, unlocking the front door. "Don’t worry," he said nonchalantly. "My methods of discipline are just as effective."

He opened the door, stretching out his hand insinuating for you to walk first.

“Thank you, sir” you thanked him as you walked in

“No need to thank me yet” he said, walking right behind you suddenly gripping on your wrist. They were still handcuffed and guiding you through his home.

When you finally made it upstairs, you could see there were four rooms: Two on each side, all with open doors. Rafe guided you through the third door, which was on the left. You both entered his bedroom.

You looked around. It was simple but elegant. Everything was perfectly clean and organized. His room was pretty big, just like the rest of the house.

. A king-sized bed sat against the wall, covered with a black duvet. There was a desk and chair in the corner, and a dresser with a flat screen TV on top.

Rafe closed the door behind you and let go of your wrist, gesturing towards the bed.

"Sit down," he commanded, his voice firm but with a hint of excitement.

"I said sit down," Rafe repeated, his voice firm. You reluctantly obeyed and sat on the edge of the bed, your eyes darting around the room nervously. He stood between your legs, looking down at you with a mixture of authority and desire.

"Good girl," he said, placing his hands on your hips and pulling you closer to him.

"You're going to be a good girl for me, aren't you?" he asked, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your thighs. "You're going to listen to everything I say and do as I say, right?"

You nodded silently, unable to form words as his touch sent shivers down your spine. He chuckled, clearly enjoying your submission.

"That's what I like to hear," he said, his hands moving further up your thighs.

He suddenly stood up and grabbed your wrists, pulling you up with him. He bent you over his lap, your chest pressed against the bed. You gasped in surprise as he roughly pulled your dress up to your waist, exposing your backside.

"This is for not obeying," he said, his hand coming down hard on your ass with a loud smack.

"Oh," you gasped, your body jerking forward from the impact. It hurt, but there was something else there too - a mixture of pain and pleasure that made you want more.

He chuckled again, rubbing your sore skin with his hand. "Count for me," he ordered.

"One," you said shakily, trying to keep your composure. He brought his hand down again, even harder this time.

"Two," you gasped out, your body trembling. You were starting to feel a heat pooling between your legs, despite the stinging pain.

He continued to spank you, each hit landing harder than the last. Your mind was reeling, a mixture of pain and humiliation flooding your senses. You could feel your arousal growing with every strike, and you were beginning to crave more.

"Five," you moaned, unable to hold back any longer.

He stopped spanking you and ran his hand over your red, sore skin. "Good girl," he said again, "Taking your punishment so well."

He leaned down and whispered in your ear. "Do you want me to make you feel good now?"

You nodded desperately, the sting of the spanking still fresh in your mind. "Yes," you whimpered.

"Please."

He chuckled and flipped you over so that you were lying on your back. He spread your legs apart and positioned himself between them.

"You're such a needy little thing," he said, his eyes roaming over your body. "I love seeing you like this."

He began to slowly pull up the hem of your dress, exposing your legs to the cool air of the room.

Once the dress was fully unbuttoned, he slid it off your body and tossed it aside. He took a moment to admire you in just your underwear, his gaze lingering on your breasts.

He reached down and traced a finger along the edge of your underwear, his touch sending shivers down your spine. "I think it's time to take these off too," he said, his eyes dark with desire.

You lifted your hips up slightly to allow him to slide your underwear down your legs. Once they were off, he tossed them aside as well, leaving you completely naked beneath him.

He pushed you down onto the bed and pinned your arms above your head, moving his face close to yours, his breath hot against your skin. "You know how much I hate when you disobey me."

He flipped you over and grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back roughly. “I’m gonna make sure you listen this time”

You nodded, your heart racing with a mix of fear and excitement. You knew that when he was angry, he was rough, and you loved it.

He guided you down to your knees, his eyes locked on yours as he watched you settle between his legs.

"Open your mouth," he commanded, his voice firm.

You obeyed, parting your lips and sticking out your tongue, eager to please him. He ran his fingers through your hair, guiding your head towards his cock.

"Mhm," he praised as you took him into your mouth. "Just like that."

He held your head in place as he began to slowly thrust into your mouth, savoring the feeling of your warm, wet mouth around him.

"That's it," he groaned. "Take it all. I want to feel the back of your throat."

He held your head in place, thrusting into your mouth at a speedy pace. He was hitting the back of your throat with every thrust, and tears started to stream down your face as you struggled to breathe.

"You look so pretty like this," he grunted.

He continued to fuck your throat, his grip on your hair tightening as he got closer to his climax.

You could feel your own arousal building again.

"I'm going to cum down your throat," he warned, his thrusts becoming erratic. "And you're going to swallow every last drop."

You nodded as best as you could, your eyes locked on his as you braced yourself for his release. He suddenly pulled out of your mouth and began to stroke himself quickly, looking down at you with a predatory gaze.

"Open," he ordered again, and you obeyed, sticking out your tongue and waiting for him to finish.

With a deep groan, he came, shooting ropes of hot cum onto your face and into your mouth. You swallowed what you could, but some of it dripped down your chin and onto your chest.

He watched as you licked your lips clean, a satisfied smirk on his face.

"Such a messy little thing," he said, reaching down to wipe the remaining cum off your face. "You did well. But we're not done yet."

He pushed you onto your back again and spread your legs wide. "Now it's my turn to have some fun," he said with a wicked grin.

He positioned himself between your legs and wasted no time in thrusting into you. He grabbed your thighs and pushed them up against your chest, folding you in half as he pounded into you relentlessly.

"You're so tight," he grunted. "I could fuck you all day long."

He was hitting your G-spot with every thrust, and you were moaning and writhing beneath him in pleasure. You were already sensitive from the earlier throat fucking, and you knew you wouldn't last long.

"I'm close," you panted. "Please, let me cum."

He leaned down and whispered in your ear, "Cum for me, and maybe I'll consider letting you off easy."

His words sent you over the edge again, and you came hard, screaming his name as your body shook. He continued to fuck you through your orgasm, his pace never faltering.

"Good girl," he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

"But we're not done until I'm satisfied."

He flipped you over onto your stomach and pulled you up onto your hands and knees. He gripped your hips and began to pound into you from behind, his thrusts even harder than before.

"I want to see your ass bounce as I fuck you," he growled, smacking your ass hard.

You let out a cry of pain and pleasure, your ass stinging from the impact. You pushed back against him, trying to meet his thrusts, and he rewarded you by smacking your ass again.

"You like that, don't you?" he asked, his hand coming down on your ass repeatedly.

"You like being punished like the naughty girl you are."

You could only moan in response, your mind hazy with a mixture of pain and pleasure. Your body was sore, and you knew you wouldn't be able to walk properly for days after this, but you didn't care. You were completely at his mercy, and you loved every second of it.

He continued to spank you as he fucked you, leaving red handprints all over your skin. "You're going to feel this tomorrow," he promised. "Every time you sit down, you'll remember who owns you."

He finally stopped spanking you and grabbed a handful of your hair again, pulling you up so that your back was pressed against his chest. He reached around and started rubbing your clit again, his fingers working you roughly.

"I want you to cum one more time," he commanded. "And I want you to say my name when you do."

You were a mess, your body trembling with exhaustion and overstimulation. But you obeyed him, his fingers working their magic on your sensitive clit.

"Rafe..," you stuttered out, barely able to form the word. "Please, I can't take anymore..."

He chuckled, amused by your pleas. "Oh, you can take it. You're my good girl, remember? You'll do as I say."

He bit down on your shoulder, his teeth sinking into your skin as he continued to rub your clit.

"Cum for me one last time."

The combination of pain and pleasure was too much, and you came again, this time harder than ever before. You screamed his name at the top of your lungs, your body shaking uncontrollably as you reached your limit.

He held you tightly as you came, his grip on your hair loosening as he felt you go limp in his arms.

He finally pulled out of you and laid you down on the bed, admiring his handiwork.

"Hope you learnt your lesson."he said again, stroking your hair.

You lay there, panting and exhausted, your body aching in all the right places.

He leaned down and kissed your forehead. "I'm going to get you cleaned up and I’ll take you back to your parents house," he said softly.

#smut #writers on tumblr #fanfiction #fanfic #rafe obx #rafe cameron #rafe fanfiction #drew starkey smut #drew starkey #rafe outer banks #obx #outer banks #rafe cameron smut #rafe x reader #obx season 4 #obx fanfiction #jj maybank

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moonlightwritingf1 · 4 months ago

Text

18 Minutes | LN4

۶•ৎ summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N is terrible at time management and is chronically late to every event or meetup. She tries to change this habit. Lando and she make a deal: for every minute she is late to an event, he gets to edge her. And he’s clearly enjoying it much more than she is.

۶•ৎ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

۶•ৎ word count ━━━━━━━ 5.7k

۶•ৎ warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, unprotected sex, accidental creampie, oral sex (f receiving), edging, orgasm denial

Based on this request.

Sitting on the edge of her bed in nothing but a robe, Y/N looked at the clock on her nightstand. She sighed. It was already 7:48 p.m., and they were supposed to leave by 7:30 to meet some of Lando’s friends at a new restaurant in Mayfair. He was in the living room, presumably checking his phone or messing around on social media to kill time. Maybe he was looking at track data or chatting with friends from Monaco—she wasn’t sure. What she did know was that she’d promised him she wouldn’t be late again.

And she’d failed.

Her phone buzzed: a message from Lando, ever the tease even though they were just rooms apart.

Lando: You’re 18 minutes behind schedule. That’s 18 minutes of fun for me, by the way.

She groaned, reading his text. A few weeks ago, in a joking attempt to correct her chronic lateness, Lando proposed a playful deal: for every minute she was late, he’d get to ‘edge’ her for exactly that length of time. When he first suggested it, she’d rolled her eyes. But she also couldn’t deny the spark of excitement that lit beneath her rib cage. She’d agreed, partly amused and partly intrigued.

It turned out the idea was far more torturous (and exhilarating) in practice. The last time she’d been late by ten minutes, she’d ended up with shaky knees and breathy pleas by the end of it. Edging, as Lando was so gleefully discovering, was something that he enjoyed dishing out far too much. She claimed she hated it. She secretly loved it. The anticipation, the pleas, the electricity in the air—it was all so heady.

And it was about to happen again, for a full eighteen minutes if she didn’t hurry.

She hopped around her bedroom, rummaging for a pair of earrings. She quickly threw on her dress—a fitted black one with a modest neckline, long sleeves, and a playful slit up the side. The kind of dress that made her feel both comfortable and alluring. She grabbed her purse, threw on some quick lip gloss, and dashed out of the room.

She found Lando in the living room, leaning back on her couch, legs lazily stretched out, wearing a crisp white button-down and dark jeans. He had that faint smirk that made her stomach flip.

“Finally,” he teased, looking her up and down. “You look stunning.”

Her cheeks warmed. “I know. Sorry. Ready?”

His smirk widened. “Eighteen minutes, love.”

Her eyes darted guiltily to the clock on the wall. “Couldn’t we just… skip it this time?”

He raised his brow. “Mm, absolutely not. A deal is a deal.”

—

Dinner was surprisingly smooth. Y/N smiled politely and answered as briefly as possible, reminding herself that at the end of the day, she was going home with Lando—and she knew how much he genuinely cared for her, far more than any shallow distractions.

A while later, dessert was served, and the conversation turned casual, filled with laughter and a few tipsy exchanges among the group. Y/N reached under the table to gently squeeze Lando’s thigh—a quiet thank-you for his constant support.

He met her eyes with a playful sparkle that seemed to say, “You’re welcome.” Then he nudged her knee with his, and she nudged back. This little silent exchange felt more intimate than anything else all night.

When dinner came to a close, they said their goodbyes, and Y/N felt a sense of relief heading out.

Once outside, Lando guided her back to the car. He started the engine and let it idle, turning to face her with a grin that made her cheeks burn.

She crossed her arms, pretending to be annoyed. “Stop looking at me like that. I know what you’re thinking.”

He laughed, low and warm. “Oh, I’m not sure you really know what I’m thinking. But I can guess you’re thinking about the arrangement.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes as she sank into the passenger seat. “It’s so unfair.”

“It’s completely fair. You agreed to it,” he countered, his tone playful yet firm.

Biting her lip, she turned her head to stare out the window. The city lights whirled around them. She felt the tension spark in the enclosed space, his presence so near. His hand settled on her thigh. She could almost feel the heat of his gaze on her cheek.

“You can’t back out now,” he said softly, his touch trailing a small circle on the thin fabric of her dress.

Her heart thudded. As much as she dreaded the torturous wait, her body lit up at the thought of his hands, his lips, his voice at her ear drawing out every sensation until she could barely stand it. A shiver raced through her.

She turned and met his gaze. “Let’s go home,” she whispered.

Back at her flat, the moment they stepped through the door, Lando wasted no time. He pressed her against the entryway, one hand braced against the wall near her head, the other tilting her chin toward him. His lips hovered over hers, teasing, not fully claiming her mouth.

“Eighteen minutes,” he recalled, voice husky.

She breathed out shakily, her hands sliding up his chest. “You actually timed me?”

He gave her a wry smile. “Of course. It’s a matter of principle now.”

His breath ghosted over her lips, and she parted hers, expecting a kiss—but he pulled back at the last second. That made her let out a small whine in protest, which only seemed to encourage him more.

Gently, he took her hand and led her down the hallway to her bedroom, which was dimly lit by a small lamp on the dresser. The familiar environment, the hush of the late hour, and the pounding of her own heart made everything feel heightened. She was acutely aware of how close he was, how every subtle shift of his body seemed to radiate warmth.

He guided her to sit on the edge of the bed. He stayed standing, looking down at her with that signature cocky tilt of his head. “I’m going to set a timer,” he said, pulling out his phone. “Eighteen minutes.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, but her grin betrayed her excitement.

He bent down, brushing his lips just once, featherlight, over hers. “You love it,” he teased, then reached behind her to place his phone on the nightstand. She heard a soft chime as he presumably set an alarm to go off.

She swallowed hard. “And what if I try to… shorten it?”

He laughed, a deep, throaty sound that sent another wave of warmth through her. “Good luck, love. I’m pretty sure I’ve gotten better at making you wait.”

The bedroom seemed smaller than usual, the air thick with anticipation as Lando stood over her, his gaze sharp yet playful. Y/N’s heart raced as she sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers gripping the sheets nervously. She knew what was coming, and though she’d never admit it out loud, the thought of it sent a thrill through her body.

“Eighteen minutes,” Lando murmured, his voice low and smooth, like velvet brushing against her skin. He reached down, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of her jaw. “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

She huffed, trying to sound annoyed, but the flush creeping up her neck betrayed her. “I’m not going to make it easy? You’re the one who came up with this… this torture.”

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm, and leaned in closer, his breath tickling her ear. “Torture, huh? Funny, because from where I’m standing, you seem to enjoy it just as much as I do.”

Her lips parted to argue, but he silenced her with a soft, lingering kiss. It wasn’t enough to satisfy her—it never was with him—but it was enough to make her toes curl and her breath hitch. When he pulled away, she instinctively leaned forward, chasing his lips, but he took a deliberate step back, his smirk widening.

“Oh no, love,” he teased, holding up a finger. “You’re not getting off that easy. Eighteen minutes. Every. Single. One.”

She groaned, letting her head fall back in mock exasperation. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are, still with me.” He knelt down in front of her, his hands sliding up her thighs and pushing her dress higher. His touch was deliberate, slow, and Y/N couldn’t help the shiver that ran through her. “Now, let’s get started.”

His lips brushed the inside of her thigh, the contact featherlight but deliberate, the faintest pressure that sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core. She sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers tightening in the sheets as he lingered there, his breath warm against her sensitive skin. Slowly, as if savoring every millisecond, he pressed another kiss just slightly higher, his tongue darting out to graze the surface in a way that made her legs quiver.

His hands moved to her hips, fingers digging in with enough force to keep her grounded but not enough to hurt. He held her still, his grip firm yet controlled, as he dragged his lips farther up her thigh, each kiss a slow, torturous progression. She could feel the dampness between her legs, the ache growing with every passing second, but he was methodical, unhurried, his every movement calculated to keep her on the edge.

Just when she thought he might finally close the distance, he paused, his lips hovering just above where she wanted him most. He exhaled softly, the warmth of his breath sending another wave of need crashing through her. She arched her back, silently pleading, but he chuckled low, the sound reverberating against her skin.

“Patience,” he murmured, his voice rough with restrained hunger, before he pressed a lingering kiss to the other thigh, starting the agonizing process all over again.

Her breath hitched, a frustrated whine slipping past her lips as he pulled back, denying her once more. Heat pooled in her stomach, the fire building to a nearly unbearable level, yet he stayed just out of reach, leaving her trembling and desperate, the promise of release taunting her with every breath he took. His hands shifted, his thumbs brushing in slow circles against her hip bones, and she could feel the tension coiling tighter, tighter, threatened to snap with one more touch, one more kiss—but Lando wouldn’t crack. Not yet. Not while the timer still counted down.

The heat of his mouth pressed against the damp fabric of her underwear, and Y/N gasped, her hips instinctively lifting toward him. His hands held her firmly in place, his grip unyielding, as he kissed her through the thin barrier.

“Lando,” she whispered, the word trembling on her lips. His name was a plea, a prayer. His lips moved deliberately, each kiss leaving behind a trail of fire, until her underwear was soaked, clinging to her skin, and still, he didn’t stop.

“Mm, you’re dripping already,” he murmured, his voice rough. He paused to glance up at her, his smirk wicked. “What do you want, love?”

She shook her head, unable to voice it, but her body answered for her: her legs parted wider, her hips arching closer. He chuckled, low and knowing, before sinking his fingers into the sides of her underwear and pulling them down in one slow, torturous motion. The cool air kissed her heated skin, but it was his gaze that burned, his eyes raking over her as if memorizing every detail.

His lips pressed against the soft, sensitive skin of her inner thigh, and she gasped, her fingers twisting into the sheets. He lingered there, his breath hot, before moving higher, his mouth trailing a slow, deliberate path toward her center. Each kiss was a tease, a promise he wasn’t ready to fulfill just yet. His tongue flicked out, tracing the curve where her thigh met her hip, and she shuddered, her legs trembling beneath him.

He kissed lower, his lips brushing over the delicate crease of her pubic bone, and she let out a sharp, desperate sound, her hips lifting instinctively. But he didn’t stop there. His mouth moved with agonizing slowness, kissing every inch of her, his lips grazing the swollen, aching flesh of her pussy. She could feel the wetness of her arousal coating his lips now, slick and warm, and the sensation made her head spin.

His tongue darted out, teasing her clit with the lightest touch, and she cried out, her back arching off the bed. He chuckled, low and dark, before pulling back, leaving her trembling and desperate. “Not yet,” he murmured, his voice rough with restraint. His lips returned to her inner thighs, kissing and nipping at the tender skin, as if savoring every second of her torment. The heat between her legs was unbearable, her body begging for release, but he kept her on the edge, his every touch a cruel, delicious reminder of what she couldn’t have—yet.

His tongue finally made contact, a slow, deliberate drag through her slick folds that had her gasping, her body twitching involuntarily. He didn’t rush, didn’t give her the relief she craved. Instead, he let the flat of his tongue glide over her entrance, pressing just enough to make her hips jerk toward him, but not enough to satisfy the ache that had been building since he first knelt between her thighs.

Her breath hitched as he lingered there, his breath hot and wet, the faintest puff of air brushing against her sensitive skin. His tongue teased at her entrance, a soft, insistent dip that made her whimper, her fingers clawing at the sheets as if they could anchor her against the tidal wave of sensation crashing through her. He flicked his tongue against her clit, light and quick, and she cried out, her back arching off the bed, her insides coiling tighter.

He didn’t stop. His tongue moved in slow, deliberate circles around her clit, each swirl sending jolts of electricity straight to her core. She could feel the heat building, the pressure mounting, her body right on the edge of release. But just as she felt herself tipping over, he pulled back, his lips pressing a soft, torturous kiss to the swollen bundle of nerves instead.

Her hips lifted, desperate, pleading, but he held her down with one firm hand on her stomach, his other gripping her hip to keep her still. His mouth moved lower again, his tongue tracing the outline of her entrance, his lips kissing the slick skin as if savoring every drop of her arousal.

He was relentless, his tongue flicking against her clit in quick, teasing strokes one moment, then flattening against her in slow, languid laps the next. His breath hitched against her, warm and uneven, and she could feel the tension in his shoulders, the way he held himself back even as he pushed her closer and closer to the brink.

Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, her chest rising and falling like she’d run a marathon. Her thighs trembled uncontrollably, her knees pressing together as if to trap the sensation, to hold onto the fleeting euphoria he denied her.

His tongue circled her clit again, the pressure just enough to make her cry out, her body tightening like a coiled spring. But he stopped, his lips hovering just above her, his breath hot and ragged, leaving her on the edge of release, suspended in a state of agonizing bliss.

“Lando,” she whimpered, her voice ragged, her nails digging into her own palms. “Please...”

He chuckled, low and dark, the sound vibrating against her skin. “Not yet,” he murmured, his lips brushing hers again, teasing her with the promise of what was to come.

But the timer wasn’t up, and neither was he.

“Please,” she whimpered again, her voice broken. “Please, I’m so close. Just—just let me—”

Lando leaned back, licking his lips as if savoring her taste, a glint in his eye that was pure mischief. “Not yet, love. Eleven minutes left.”

“No,” she breathed, her voice unsteady, her body still coiled tight, wavering on the edge. “You can’t—you didn’t let me—“

“Exactly,” he said, leaning in to brush his lips against her ear. “That’s the point, isn’t it?”

She groaned, frustration and arousal warring inside her. Her hands reached for him, but he caught them easily, pinning them back against the bed. “You’re a menace,” she muttered, but the way she said it—breathless, charged—gave her away.

He grinned. “And you’re mine. Now be patient. I’m not done with you yet.”

She didn’t respond, mostly because she knew he was right. There was something intoxicating about the way he controlled her pleasure, the way he could reduce her to a trembling, begging mess with just a few touches. She hated how much she loved it.

Lando’s lips found hers again, this time more demanding, and she melted into the kiss, her hands tangling in his hair. He deepened it, his tongue exploring her mouth as his hands roamed her body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. She moaned into his mouth, her hips bucking involuntarily, but he pulled away again, leaving her breathless and desperate.

“Still ten minutes,” he whispered against her lips, his voice rough with desire. “Think you can last?”

She glared at him, but there was no real heat behind it. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

He grinned, his hand slipping between her legs and teasing her with featherlight touches. “Guilty. But can you blame me? Look at you—beautiful, writhing, completely at my mercy. How could I not enjoy it?”

Her breath hitched as his fingers found her clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. She arched into his touch, her hips moving of their own accord, but he pulled his hand away, leaving her gasping for more. She could see the amusement in his eyes, the way he reveled in her frustration, and it only made her want him more.

“What’s the matter, love?” he teased, his voice laced with mischief. “Can’t handle a little teasing?”

She grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him down to her level. “You’re going to pay for this later.”

He laughed, a deep, throaty sound that sent shivers down her spine. “Promises, promises.”

Before she could retort, his lips were on hers again, his hands roaming her body with a possessiveness that made her head spin. She let herself get lost in the kiss, in the way his body pressed against hers, but just as she was starting to lose herself, he pulled away again, leaving her panting and frustrated.

“Nine minutes,” he murmured, his lips trailing down her neck. “Think you can hold out?”

She let out a shaky breath, her hands gripping the sheets tightly. “I don’t think I have a choice.”

He chuckled, his breath hot against her skin. “Good girl.”

His lips left her neck, and she felt the shift in his weight as he stood. Her eyes fluttered open, watching as he unbuckled his belt with deliberate slowness, the sound of leather sliding through the loops sending a shiver down her spine. He pushed his trousers down just enough to free himself, and her breath hitched at the sight of him—hard, thick, and already glistening at the tip.

“Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he knelt between her legs again, his hands gripping her hips as he positioned himself. The head of his cock brushed against her clit, slick with her arousal, and she gasped, her back arching off the bed.

He didn’t push in. Not yet. He dragged the tip of his cock back and forth over her swollen clit, the friction maddeningly light, teasing her until she was squirming beneath him. Her hands fisted the sheets, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps as he continued to torment her.

“Please,” she begged, her voice breaking. “Please, Lando, I can’t—I need—”

He chuckled, low and dark, his grip tightening on her hips. “You need what, love? Tell me.”

She whimpered, her body trembling with need. “You. Inside me. Now.”

He smirked, his eyes gleaming with mischief, and finally, finally, he pressed forward, the thick head of his cock stretching her open inch by agonizing inch. She moaned, loud and unrestrained, her nails digging into the mattress as he filled her completely. He paused there, buried deep, and she could feel every pulse of him inside her, the way her walls clenched around him, desperate for more.

“Lando,” she whined, her hips lifting instinctively, trying to coax him into moving. But he stayed still, his hands holding her firmly in place. “Move. Please, move.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear. “Patience, love. We’ve got time.”

She groaned, frustration and arousal warring inside her. “You’re killing me.”

He laughed softly, the sound vibrating against her skin, and finally, finally, he began to move. Slowly. Painfully slowly. He pulled out almost all the way, leaving just the tip inside her before pushing back in with that same torturous pace. Each thrust was deliberate, calculated, designed to drive her wild without giving her the release she craved.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, her body trembling with every slow, deep stroke. She could feel every ridge, every vein of him as he moved inside her, stretching her, filling her in ways that made her head spin. Her hands reached for him, clutching at his shoulders, his arms, anything to anchor herself against the overwhelming sensation.

“Faster,” she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please, Lando, faster.”

He shook his head, his lips curving into that infuriating smirk. “Not yet. You’re doing so well, love. Just a little longer.”

She whimpered, her body writhing beneath him, but he held her steady, his pace unchanging. Every thrust was a tease, a promise of what was to come, but not enough to push her over the edge. She was a mess, her mind fogged with pleasure, her body aching for release, but he was relentless, drawing out every second of her torment.

“Lando,” she cried, her voice breaking. “Please, I can’t—I need—”

He leaned down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss, swallowing her pleas as he continued to move inside her, slow and deep, driving her closer and closer to the brink. And when he finally picked up the pace, it was only to leave her hanging once more, right on the edge of ecstasy, completely at his mercy.

His thrusts deepened, quickened, the rhythm shifting from slow and deliberate to something harder, more urgent. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, her moans rising with every snap of his hips. She was close—so close—her body tightening, her breath hitching as she wobbled on the edge. And then he stopped. Just like that. He froze, buried deep inside her, his cock throbbing against her walls as she clenched around him, desperate for release.

“No,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “Lando, please—don’t stop. I’m so close. Please, just let me—”

He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear, his voice low and teasing. “Not yet, love. Five minutes left.”

She whimpered, frustration bubbling up in her chest, her nails digging into his shoulders. “Forget the deal. Just fuck me. Please, I can’t take it anymore.”

He chuckled, the sound dark and amused, his hands gripping her hips to keep her still. “You know I can’t do that. A deal’s a deal. Besides...” His smirk widened as he stayed buried deep inside her, his cock throbbing against her walls, unmoving. “I love seeing you like this. Begging. Squirming. Completely at my mercy.”

Her eyes flashed with defiance, and before he could react, she squeezed her inner muscles, clenching around him with everything she had. The pressure was sharp, electric, and his cock twitched in response, throbbing hot and heavy within her. She watched his jaw tighten, the amusement in his eyes flickering for a split second.

But he caught himself, his hand darting between her legs, fingertips brushing her swollen clit to stop her. “Nice try,” he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement. He shifted back, kneeling up slightly but keeping himself inside her, his cock still stretching her wide. He gripped the base of himself, stroking slowly, slick with her arousal, as if taunting her with what she couldn’t have. His gaze bore into hers, unrelenting. “You think squeezing around me will make you come? Clever, but not clever enough.”

She glared at him, her body trembling with the effort it took not to buck her hips, but she didn’t respond. Her defiant silence only seemed to amuse him more.

Finally, he pulled out completely, leaving her empty and aching, his cock glistening with her wetness as he knelt between her thighs. “Four minutes,” he said, his voice low and teasing, as he began to stroke himself with agonizing slowness. “Think you can last?”

She groaned, her head falling back against the pillows, her body trembling with need as she closed her legs. "You're impossible."

“And you’re mine,” he said, leaning down but deliberately staying just out of reach. His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Now, spread your legs for me. You’re not allowed to cheat your way out of this.”

When she hesitated, his free hand slid to her thigh, pushing it open with firm, deliberate pressure. His cock twitched in his hand, the tip glistening as he stroked himself again, teasing her with the sight.

She glared at him, but her breath hitched—a telltale sign that she was hanging on his every movement.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his thumb flicking over her clit once more before he leaned even closer, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Now, let’s make those last four minutes count.”

She groaned, her head falling back against the pillows, her body trembling with need. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re mine,” he said, leaning down to capture her lips in a searing kiss. His tongue explored her mouth, hot and demanding, while his cock pressed against her clit, the friction maddeningly light. She arched into him, her hips lifting off the bed, but he held her steady, his grip unyielding.

“Please,” she whispered against his lips, her voice ragged. “Please, Lando, I can’t—I need—”

He kissed her again, silencing her pleas, his lips trailing down her neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. His cock rubbed against her clit in slow, deliberate circles, the pressure just enough to make her whimper but not enough to push her over the edge. She was a mess, her mind fogged with pleasure, her body aching for release, but he was relentless, drawing out every second of her torment.

“Three minutes,” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. “Think you can last?”

She shook her head, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “No. I can’t. Please, just let me come.”

He chuckled, low and dark, his lips brushing hers again. “Almost there, love. Be patient.”

Her hands fisted the sheets, her body writhing beneath him, but he held her steady, his touch firm and controlled. Every brush of his cock against her clit sent jolts of electricity through her, the sensation building, coiling tighter and tighter until she thought she might explode. But he didn’t let her. Not yet. Not until the timer went off.

He pulled back, his lips leaving hers with a soft, teasing pop. Her eyes fluttered open, confused, as he shifted his weight off her and knelt between her legs. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her skin flushed and gleaming under the dim light.

Lando’s hand wrapped around his cock, slick and throbbing, and he began to stroke himself slowly, his gaze locked on hers. His eyes raked over her body—the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts, the way her thighs trembled as they spread wider for him. But it was her pussy that held his attention, glistening and soaked, needy and waiting.

She whimpered, her fingers clawing at the sheets as she watched him. The sight of his cock in his hand, stroking steadily over her dripping core, sent another wave of arousal crashing through her. She could feel the heat building, the ache growing unbearable. “Please,” she begged, her voice shaky, almost hysterical with need.

“Almost there, love,” he murmured, his tone dark and teasing, his eyes dropping to where his cock nearly brushed her clit with every slow stroke. He tilted his head slightly as if studying her, his smirk widening at the flush spreading down her chest, the way her legs twitched with every agonizing pass of his hand.

She arched her back, her hips lifting instinctively toward him, desperate for contact. But he held himself just out of reach, his strokes deliberate now as if pushing her closer. “Look at you,” he said, his voice rough with restraint. “Soaked. Begging. Mine.”

Her breath hitched, her teeth sinking into her lower lip to stifle another whine. His thumb circled the swollen head of his cock once before dragging it down, the tip brushing against her clit so lightly it was torture. A small cry escaped her, her fingers gripping the sheets tighter. She couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t hold on much longer.

The timer’s chime shattered the heavy silence, loud and sharp. Y/N gasped, relief and anticipation flooding her system. Lando didn’t hesitate. He grabbed her hips firmly, positioning himself at her entrance, and plunged into her in one deep stroke.

She cried out, her back arching off the bed, her walls clenching around him as he filled her completely. He didn’t waste time. His thrusts were hard and merciless, each one driving her higher, sending sparks shooting through her veins. She clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders as he fucked her with relentless abandon.

It didn’t take long. Three thrusts in, the pressure inside her snapped, and her orgasm crashed over her in blinding waves. She screamed his name, her body convulsing around him, her legs trembling uncontrollably as pleasure consumed her.

It didn’t take long. The moment he buried himself inside her, the tension that had been coiling in her core for what felt like an eternity snapped. On the third thrust, her body gave in completely, and her orgasm tore through her with a force that left her breathless. She screamed his name, her voice raw and unfiltered, as waves of pleasure crashed over her, one after another, relentless and all-consuming. Her back arched off the bed, her fingers clawing at his shoulders, her legs trembling uncontrollably as her walls clenched around him, milking every inch of his cock.

Lando groaned, deep and guttural, his grip on her hips tightening to the point of pain as he felt her convulse around him. His rhythm faltered for a moment, overwhelmed by the intensity of her release, but then he surged forward again, driving into her with renewed urgency. Four, five, six thrusts—each one deeper, harder, more desperate than the last—and he came with a growl that seemed to rumble from the very depths of his chest. His release spilled into her in hot, pulsing waves, filling her completely as his hips jerked against hers, prolonging the sensation for both of them.

He collapsed onto her chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his skin slick with sweat as it pressed against hers. Their heartbeats pounded in unison, a chaotic rhythm that slowly began to steady as the aftershocks of their shared climax ebbed away. The room was silent except for the sound of their breathing, heavy and uneven, mingling together in the aftermath of the cruel, delicious game they had just played.

Her breath was still ragged, her chest rising and falling like she’d just run a marathon. Lando’s weight pressed into her, his skin hot against hers, but the tension had melted into something softer, more intimate. Her fingers absently traced the curve of his shoulder, her body still trembling with the remnants of her release. He lifted his head slightly, his lips brushing her shoulder in a slow, lingering kiss that made her shiver.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, her voice uneven, throat raw. “I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard in my life.”

He chuckled, the sound low and self-satisfied, his breath warm against her skin. “Good to know I’m still capable of surprising you.”

She tilted her head to meet his gaze, her lips curving into a half-hearted glare. “Don’t get too cocky. I’m low-key annoyed at you for making me wait that long. Like, genuinely. Didn’t think you’d actually go full eighteen minutes. Torture much?”

He grinned, unapologetic, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, come on, love. You knew exactly what you were signing up for when you agreed to the deal. And let’s be honest—you loved every second of it.”

She groaned, swatting at his chest weakly. “I’m never admitting that out loud.”

His smirk widened as he shifted slightly, nudging her legs apart to rest more comfortably between them. “You don’t have to say it. I can feel it.” His hand trailed down her side, fingertips brushing over her ribs in a way that made her shiver. “Maybe this’ll be the motivation you need to stop being late to everything. Because, trust me, if you keep testing me like this, I’ll only get better at edging you.”

She rolled her eyes, but the flush creeping up her neck gave her away. “Oh, so now you’re threatening me? Classy.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing hers in a teasing kiss. “Not a threat, love. A promise. So, what’s it gonna be? On time from now on? Or... more of this?” He punctuated his words with a slow roll of his hips, his cock still buried deep inside her, and she gasped, her hands gripping his shoulders instinctively.

“You,” she said breathlessly, “are the worst.”

“And yet,” he murmured, his lips grazing her ear, “you’re not saying no.”

She let out a laugh, the sound warm and unrestrained, and he pressed his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling. “Fine,” she said finally, her tone mock-defeated. “I’ll try to be on time. But if I’m late again, you better be ready to deliver. That was... intense.”

He chuckled, the sound dark and warm. “Oh, I’m always ready, love. And next time, we’ll make it even better.”

She groaned, but her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him down for a kiss that was less teasing and more heated. He smiled into it, his body pressing into hers as he murmured, “Eighteen minutes very well spent.”

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