#how to set up a small workshop | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vunblr · 6 months ago

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The Recipe for Us

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

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

Summary: Bucky sets out to surprise his girlfriend with a simple yet meaningful gesture, but quickly learns that some things are easier said than done.

Word Count: about 9k.

notes: Second Christmas story for the Roots and Branches AU

The hot water streamed over Bucky’s shoulders, washing away the day’s grime and easing the tightness in his muscles. Sawdust and sweat swirled down the drain in pale rivulets, a tangible reminder of the hours spent at Sam’s workshop. He reached for the long-handled loofah hanging on the wall, pausing for a moment as a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Seven months ago, he’d never have imagined himself using something like this. Hell, he hadn’t even known such a thing existed. But she’d gifted it to him after he’d grumbled too many times about sawdust getting into places it had no business being. “Just try it,” she’d insisted, eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and determination. “It’ll make your life easier, I promise.”

At first, he’d been reluctant, because why did he need a fancy shower tool? But now, as he scrubbed his back with the bristled brush, he had to admit that he couldn’t shower without the damn thing. It worked like a charm, reaching spots his stiff shoulders couldn’t. Another one of her small but thoughtful gestures that made his life just a little better, a little easier.

That thought lingered on his mind as he rinsed off. Christmas was coming up fast, and he hadn’t figured out what to get her yet. She was always cooking for him, spoiling him with meals that somehow tasted even better because she’d made them. Maybe it was his turn to return the favor.

His brow furrowed as he stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel and scrubbing it over his damp hair. Cookies, he thought, wrapping the towel around his waist. How hard could that be?

The bell above the library door gave a soft jingle as Bucky stepped inside, shaking off the chill of the late morning air. The faint scent of old books and polished wood greeted him, a familiar comfort. He adjusted his jacket, glancing around until he spotted Martha at the front desk.

The elderly librarian looked up from her paperwork and her face broke into a warm smile. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite mystery man,” she said, setting her pen aside. “You’re just in time, I was about to set aside a copy of All the Colors of the Dark for you. Brand-new, hot off the presses.”

Bucky cleared his throat, brushing his fingers on the edge of the counter. “Not today,” he muttered. “I, uh, need something else.”

Martha tilted her head, rising her eyebrows in surprise. “Oh? And what might that be?”

He hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Cooking books.”

There was a beat of silence before her expression shifted, and amusement crinkled the corners of her eyes. “Cooking books? My, my, that’s a plot twist I didn’t see coming.”

Bucky scratched the back of his neck, suddenly regretting his decision. “Yeah, well… I just need something simple.”

Martha leaned forward slightly, with curiosity sparking in her gaze. “Simple, huh? Expanding your repertoire, are you?”

“Not exactly.” He tugged at his jacket zipper, fixing his eyes on a spot just past her shoulder. “It’s for… someone. A gift.”

Martha chuckled, with a warm and knowing smile. “A gift, huh? Have you already decided what you’re making, or are you here to brainstorm?”

Bucky hesitated, his ears-tinged pink. “Cookies,” he admitted finally.

Her face lit up, and she clasped her hands together. “You’re an absolute sweetheart, you know that? She’s lucky to have someone as thoughtful as you.”

He fumbled again with his jacket, slipping the zipper through his fingers as he looked anywhere but at her. “Thanks,” he muttered, barely above a whisper.

“Don’t worry,” she said kindly, moving to the shelves. “I’ve got just the thing for you. A beginner’s guide, easy recipes, step-by-step instructions. You’ll do great.”

As she handed him the book, Bucky accepted it with a quiet nod, clutching it like it was a secret dossier. “Appreciate it,” he said gruffly before turning toward the door, his heart thudding a little too fast as he stepped out into the crisp afternoon.

Sitting in his truck, he flipped through the pages of the brightly colored cookbook, furrowing his brow as he skimmed the recipes. The instructions seemed straightforward enough, at least none of them required anything he couldn’t pronounce. Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, he realized he had just enough time to swing by the general store before heading back to the workshop.

The bell above the store’s door jingled as he stepped inside, the warm air carrying the faint scent of cinnamon and pine. He grabbed a basket and made his way through the aisles, collecting the essentials: flour, baking soda, vanilla essence, and a few other things he didn’t recognize but trusted the book’s guidance on.

As he reached the seasonal display near the front, he paused in front of a rack of Christmas-themed cookie cutters. There were stars, trees, and even a set of reindeer shapes. He frowned, holding up two options and debating which would look more impressive.

He was still deliberating when the familiar sound of the doorbell chiming caught his attention. His stomach flipped as he saw her walking in, coat and hair dusted with snowflakes.

Panic shot through his brain. Without a second thought, he shoved both sets of cookie cutters to the bottom of his basket, quickly covering them with the flour and sugar. He angled himself away from the entrance, his heart pounding as if he’d been caught committing a crime.

He took a breath and glanced at his basket. The cutters were well-hidden, but now he was hyper-aware of the faint clinking of metal every time he moved. Muttering to himself, he steeled his nerves and started toward the checkout, keeping his head low and his focus on not drawing her attention.

And that might have worked if Bucky’s frame didn’t stand out so much. The low shelves did little to hide him, and before he could edge toward the checkout, her gaze landed squarely on him.

Her face lit up with that familiar, heart-stopping smile, and she made a beeline straight for him. He froze, gripping the handle of his basket like it might somehow shield him.

“Hi honey,” she said warmly, slipping her hand into his free one. Her touch was light, and casual, but it sent a wave of nervous energy coursing through his body. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Hey,” he managed to squeak.

Her eyes dropped to the basket with curiosity as she leaned closer. “What do we have here?” She peeked in, lifting her eyebrows as she spotted the ingredients nestled at the bottom. “Flour? Sugar? Vanilla ext-

“It’s for Sam.” he cut her quickly, too quickly. “He asked me to grab some stuff for… for the shop. I needed to come here anyway to buy something for lunch.”

“For the shop?” she echoed, tilting her head.

“Yeah,” he said gruffly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “He forgot to pick it up earlier.”

Her eyes darted back to the basket. “Okay, but what about you? What are you grabbing for lunch?”

His chest tightened. He should’ve thought this through. “I’m not hungry,” he muttered, with a clipped tone.

“Not hungry?” she asked, “You’ve been working all day, Bucky. You should eat something-”

Her concern made his shoulders tense. He didn’t want her prying, didn’t want to screw up the surprise. “I said I’m fine,” he replied, harsher than he intended.

She blinked, taken aback. “Okay…”

He rubbed the back of his neck, as the guilt crept in when he saw the shift in her expression. Still, the panic swirling in his chest made it impossible to backtrack. “I just… I don’t have time to explain, alright?” he stated, in a hurried tone. “I need to get back to work.”

Her lips parted as if she wanted to say more, but he didn’t give her the chance. “I’ll see you later,” he added, moving past her with a quickness that felt borderline rude.

“Wait, Bucky-”

“I’ll call you,” he said over his shoulder, already heading for the register. He kept his eyes fixed ahead, avoiding the weight of her gaze as he paid and left the store.

Outside, the cold air hit his face, but it didn’t ease the heat of frustration prickling under his skin. He hated how his tone had come out. Too rough, too abrupt, but he was incapable of handling it differently.

She stood by the shelves long after Bucky had hurried out, the bell above the store’s door still faintly ringing in her ears. She replayed their conversation, or lack thereof, in her mind. His curt tone, the way he barely looked at her, it was unlike him. Maybe he was just having a bad day. She hoped that was all it was.

But then a few days passed, and she didn’t see him, and the messages were almost nonexistent.

What she didn’t know was that Bucky had been using every spare moment to tackle the recipes in that cookbook. Each attempt ended worse than the last: a disaster of burnt edges, underbaked centers, or cookies that crumbled to dust at the lightest touch.

He stood in his kitchen, staring at the latest batch, which somehow managed to be both rock-hard and sticky at the same time. He rubbed a hand down his face, the other gripping the counter as frustration curled tight in his chest. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

It wasn’t just the cookies. It was the nagging feeling that he was failing at something so simple. The harder he tried, the worse it seemed to get. Maybe there was something wrong with his brain. He threw himself into fixing it, retreating further into his house and unintentionally pulling away from her.

Each time she asked to meet, he had an excuse ready.

“I’m exhausted, darlin’.” he’d said one evening.

“Not feeling great, the migraine came back,” he told her the next day.

“Now’s not a good time,” was the worst.

When she offered to bring him lunch at the workshop, hoping for at least a few stolen minutes together, he deflected. “Shop’s too busy these days,” he had added gruffly. “Wouldn’t look good.”

Her heart sank every time he brushed her off. She tried not to take it personally, but the doubt started creeping like frost on a windowpane. Had she done something wrong? Was she being too pushy? Too clingy?

Sitting at home with her phone in her lap, she stared at his last message. The usual warmth in his words was absent. She bit her lip, scrolling back through their conversations, searching for some clue as to what had changed.

Eventually, Bucky grudgingly texted Sam's sister to ask for help. He stared at the phone screen, hovering his thumb over the send button. Every fiber of his being wanted to delete the message, but he was out of options. His fingers itched to toss the phone onto the counter and forget this ever happened, but instead, he hit send.

The reply came quickly:

Sure. Meet me at the diner during my break. You’re buying lunch.

The last part made him groan, but at least Sarah had agreed. She was the only person he could think of who could help him without making it a big deal. He’d dreaded this conversation from the moment he realized he couldn’t pull off the cookies on his own.

When lunchtime rolled around, Bucky made his way to the diner, with his stomach twisting with nerves. He slid into the booth across from Sarah, with tight shoulders and fidgeting hands.

“All right,” she said, leaning her elbows on the table. “You dragged me out here, so spill. What’s going on?”

Bucky shifted in his seat, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “I need help,” he muttered.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “With…?”

He sighed. “Cookies.”

“Cookies?” she repeated, clearly holding back a laugh.

“Yeah, cookies,” he grumbled, lowering his voice. “I’ve been trying to make them for Y/n. It’s supposed to be a Christmas gift, but I can’t get it right. Every batch is worse than the last.”

Sarah tilted her head, her expression somewhere between amused and concerned. “Wait a second. How many batches are we talking about here?”

Bucky hesitated, dropping his gaze to the table. “A lot,” he admitted reluctantly. “I’ve been working on it for… a few days now after work.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “A few days? What, have you just been locking yourself in your house this whole time? Baking?”

The remnants of his grilled cheese sat on the plate in front of him, barely touched. she, on the other hand, was halfway through her fries, a teasing smirk playing on her lips as she listened to him stumble through his explanation. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his cheeks heat. “Maybe. You know already that when I’m fixated on something I can get-”

“So let me get this straight,” Sarah interrupted, crossing her arms and leaning back in the booth. “You’ve been holing yourself up in your cabin, failing at baking cookies, and ignoring your girlfriend because you’re too proud to ask her for help?”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, no? Then what is it like?” she questioned, crossing her arms.

He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the heavy weight of her stare. “I just… wanted to surprise her. She always does so much for me, and I thought I could do something nice for her for once. But nothing’s working, and-” He stopped, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

Sarah’s gaze softened, and her teasing gave way to something gentler. “Look, Bucky. It’s sweet that you want to do this for her. But you’re overthinking it. Cookies don’t have to be perfect; they just have to come from the heart, she would love them anyway.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” he muttered.

Sarah laughed. “You think I was born knowing how to bake? Trust me, it took plenty of trial and error. And maybe a few smoke alarms.”

Bucky’s lips twitched, almost a smile.

“Okay,” she said, brushing her hands off on a napkin. “Let’s start with the basics. What recipe are you trying to use?”

Before he could answer, the bell over the diner door jingled, drawing both their gazes to the entrance. It was just a regular patron, and Bucky’s attention began to shift back to Sarah. But then, in the corner of his eye, he caught sight of her. She stood just outside the window, frozen mid-step, a paper bag from the bakery clutched tightly in her hands.

Bucky’s stomach dropped. She couldn’t hear them through the glass, but the scene must have looked... bad. Him sitting with Sarah, leaning casually across the table, with an easy smile lighting up the booth, while his phone sat untouched, with her unanswered messages still lingering in his inbox.

He swore under his breath.

Her lips parted slightly as if she was about to say something, but then she looked away.

He could see the shift, the moment her walls went up. She adjusted her grip on the bag, straightened her posture, and turned on her heel, walking briskly down the sidewalk.

“Uh-oh,” Sarah muttered, flicking her gaze between them. “Good luck with that,” she added dryly, biting into another fry as he scrambled out of the booth.

His long strides closed the distance quickly, but as he reached out to touch her shoulder, he hesitated. His hand hovered for a moment before dropping to his side. Instead, he called her name.

She didn’t stop right away, her pace faltering for half a second before continuing, though slower this time.

He tried again and she finally stopped, turning around slowly, eyes bright with unshed tears. The sight hit him harder than he expected, and for a moment, the words he had lined up fled his mind.

“I can explain,” he said, stepping closer but keeping a careful distance.

She made a small motion with her head, a tilt that told him to continue. She didn’t trust her voice to speak just yet, tightening her grip around the bakery bag.

“I was talking to Sarah,” he began, “About... about a problem I’ve been having.”

Her brows furrowed, and he stumbled over his next words. “It’s-it’s nothing serious, just something I needed... advice on.”

“Advice?” she repeated, with a soft tone but tinged with something sharper.

He nodded, avoiding her eyes. “Yeah.”

She exhaled, and when she spoke again, her voice trembled a little. “You know, I always thought I was the person you’d turn to if you needed help.” Her gaze locked on his, vulnerable yet unyielding. “It seems like it's not the case lately.”

“That’s not true,” he stated quickly, words rushing together. “I… God, I’m sorry if I’ve been... distant. Absent. It’s not you, it’s-” He paused, groaning softly as he tried to gather his thoughts. “I have my reasons.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and her next words were still calm but carried an edge. “We’re grown adults, Bucky. This isn’t one of those predictable novels where the characters dance around their miscommunication until everything blows up.” She crossed her arms, crinkling slightly the bakery bag . “If something’s going on, I expect you to be concrete with me, not feed me veiled comments or excuses.”

“I know,” he admitted, slumping his shoulders slightly. “You deserve better than that. I just... I didn’t want to mess this up.”

Her gaze softened, but she didn’t drop her stance. “Then stop treating me like I’m someone you could mess things up with, and just talk to me.”

Bucky let out a heavy breath, raking a hand through his hair. "Alright," he said, with a low but resolute voice. "I’ll just… come clean."

Her expression stayed guarded, but he could see a flicker of curiosity as he shifted his weight, looking anywhere but directly at her. "I don’t… I’m not great at this kind of thing. Talking, explaining. But I know this. You, us… this thing doesn’t mean anything if it’s making you upset." He rubbed the back of his neck, searching for the right words. "I’ve been working on something. For you."

“For me?” she asked, slightly raising her brows.

“Yeah.” He looked at her briefly before glancing away again, twitching his lips with nervous energy. "Cookies. I’ve been trying to bake cookies for you. For Christmas. I thought… you’re always cooking for me, always doing things to make my life easier. I wanted to do something for you. Something meaningful." He exhaled roughly, the words spilling out faster now. "But I’m awful at it. Every batch gets worse, and I’ve been so damn focused on trying to get it right that I didn’t even realize how I was shutting you out."

As the story progressed, she could see the tension in his posture, the way his hands flexed and fidgeted at his sides, and his eagerness to make things right even as he stumbled over his words. Her expression shifted, the initial frustration melting into something gentler as she bit her lip, her emotions caught between amusement and tenderness.

“Bucky,” she murmured, stepping forward before he could say more. She dropped the bakery bag and hugged him tightly, wrapping her arms around his waist.

He froze for a moment before leaning into the embrace, hesitantly circling his arms on her back. They stayed like that, wrapped in silence, until she broke the quiet.

"You could’ve just bought me a can of cookies, you know. Then I could’ve used it to put my sewing supplies in there.”

He let out a low laugh against her hair. "Yeah, but what kind of gesture would that be?"

"A less stressful one," she teased, pulling back just enough to look up at him, with a small smile tugging at her lips.

"Maybe," he admitted, his blue eyes searching hers. "But it wouldn’t have been the same."

“How about this,” she began, in a soft yet playful tone. “We make them together.”

Bucky blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Together?”

“Yeah,” she said, her smile widening. “I’ll teach you how to make them. We’ll turn it into a little… date. You’ll learn how to do it right, and my gift will be spending time with you.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but she silenced him with a raised brow. “Before you argue, think about it. I don’t need some perfect Christmas cookies, Bucky. I’d much rather spend time with you, and make sure you don’t burn your kitchen down in the process.”

He hesitated, then gave her a slow nod. “Alright. We’ll make ‘em together.” Then a determined smile played on his lips. If learning to bake with her would give him another shot at perfecting those cookies on his own later, it was a win-win. And this time, he wouldn’t mess it up.

That afternoon, as planned, Bucky arrived at her house. When she opened the door, she couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him standing there with two overstuffed grocery bags in hand.

“You didn’t have to bring everything-,” she started, stepping aside to let him in.

“I did,” he cut in firmly, gripping the bags. “I’m the one learning here, and I’ll be damned if you’re the one paying for my mess-ups.”

She chuckled. “Don’t sell yourself short just yet. You might have a hidden talent.”

He gave her a doubtful look but didn’t argue. Turning fully to her, he gave her a quick, self-conscious smile before she leaned up to kiss him, a soft, reassuring press of her lips against his.

“Come on,” she said, pulling back and taking his hand. “I’ve got everything set up.”

She led him to the kitchen, where bowls, measuring cups, and utensils were neatly arranged. A checkered white-and-blue apron lay folded on the counter, which she promptly picked up and handed to him.

“What’s this?” he asked, eyeing the apron like it might bite.

“Your apron,” she said simply, unfolding it and holding it up to him. “It’s going to save you from ruining that nice shirt of yours. Plus, it suits you.”

He muttered something under his breath about dignity, but he didn’t resist when she slipped it over his head and tied the strings at his back. She stepped back, tilting her head as if admiring her handiwork.

“There. Perfect,” she said with a grin.

He shook his head, but his lips twitched in a faint smile. “Alright, what now?”

“Well, first,” she began, pulling out a notebook and pen, “which recipe were you trying?”

Bucky hesitated, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. “I mean… if you’ve got a favorite, we could try that instead.”

“Nope,” she replied, crossing her arms with a playful smile. “This is your project. I want to see what you picked.”

His ears turned red as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled recipe card with his handwriting, handing it to her.

She smoothed it out, scanning the list of ingredients and instructions. “Alright,” she said, looking up at him with an amused and encouraging smile. “Let’s see if we can make some magic happen.”

Bucky grabbed an elastic band from his back pocket, pulling his hair back and tying it into a short ponytail. His movements were quick and practiced, but to her, it was a sight worth pausing for.

“You know,” she said, leaning against the counter with a teasing grin, “you look ridiculously handsome like that.”

He glanced at her, his cheeks warming as he muttered, “It’s just a hairdo for workin’. Nothin’ fancy.”

“Still counts,” she replied with a shrug, stepping closer to nudge his arm.

He ducked his head with a quiet huff but didn’t say more, focusing instead on the task at hand.

When they started reading through the recipe together, Bucky's brow furrowed in concentration. “Okay,” he muttered, “this part says a cup.” As he spoke, he reached for a mug she hadn’t even noticed sitting on the counter, a large, oversized thing that looked more suited for a vat of coffee than precise measurements. She blinked, then glanced up at him.

“Bucky,” she said gently, pointing at the mug, “what have you been using for this?”

He hesitated, shifting his weight. “Uh… one from my cupboard,” he admitted, his tone almost defensive. “The grey one with the red star?”

Her lips twitched, and she pressed them together to suppress a laugh. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said softly, shaking her head. “Not all cups are the same, especially when you’re baking. It’s not about a drinking cup, it’s about measuring cups.”

She picked up her set of cups, holding them up for him to see. “These are what you use for recipes. They’re standardized so everything comes out the way it’s supposed to.”

Bucky looked between the measuring cups and his oversized mug, and realization dawned on his face. “So… that’s why every batch turned out so bad,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Baking is like chemistry.” She added with a chuckle, “The right proportions make everything work smoothly. I guess you didn’t differentiate the size of the spoons either.” When she saw his disappointed face she reached up to gently pat his shoulder. “You’re not alone. A lot of people make these mistakes when they start. That’s why we’re doing this together.”

They moved through the recipe step by step, she perched beside him, offering guidance but letting him take the lead. Bucky tried to focus on the instructions, but each step felt like a puzzle missing a crucial piece. As he measured out flour and sugar, he couldn’t help but second-guess every motion, leveling off scoops with exacting care that bordered on obsession.

It wasn’t just the baking, it was her watching him. Her eyes followed his hands with a soft patience that should’ve soothed him, but instead left him hyper-aware of every move he made. He could feel her gaze like a weight, one he didn’t know how to carry. His shoulders stiffened further when he noticed a bit of flour scatter onto the counter.

When he started mixing the dough, frustration began to creep in. “This stuff doesn’t want to combine,” he muttered, glaring down at the stubbornly clumpy mixture.

She leaned closer, brushing her hand lightly against his back as she peered into the bowl. Her touch sent a jolt through his body not unpleasant, just… distracting. “It takes a little patience,” she said softly. “You’re doing fine, Bucky. Really.”

He wanted to believe her, but the self-doubt crept intrusive inside him. What if I screw this up? The thought lingered on a loop, heavy and unwelcome. He worked the spatula harder, tension tightening his jaw and making his movements stiff.

She noticed, of course she did. She always noticed. Setting her utensils aside, she slipped an arm around his waist, pulling herself close to his side. Her nose brushed against his chest as she nuzzled him gently, the warmth of her body cutting through the wall he didn’t even realize he’d been building.

“Relax,” she murmured, looking up at him with a soft smile. “You’re not dismantling a bomb here. No one’s born knowing everything, and you came today to learn. That’s already the hardest part.”

He let out a breath, as her words chipped away some of the tension clawing at him. “Yeah,” he muttered, though his movements were still careful and deliberate as if the dough would mock him for messing up.

She tilted her head with a mischievous glint sparking in her eyes. He recognized that look and braced himself, but nothing could have prepared him for what she did next. Without a word, she grabbed his hand, still sticky with half-mixed dough, and brought it to her mouth.

His eyes widened as two of his fingers disappeared between her lips. The room stilled, and his focus narrowed to her. Her tongue swirled over his skin, warm and deliberate, as she sucked the dough clean. His heart thudded against his ribs, his breath catching somewhere in his throat.

“What… what are you doing?” he managed, his voice raspier than intended.

She released his fingers with a soft pop and a smug expression. “Waking you up,” she teased. “And there’s no way you could disappoint me anyway. I’ve barely been paying attention to the recipe.”

His brow furrowed. “Why?”

Her lips curled into a grin as her gaze swept over him, slow and deliberate. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, her voice dripping with amusement. “Big guy in my kitchen, wearing my apron, looking way too good with his hair pulled back. Take your pick.”

Heat crawled up his neck, but he couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, shaking his head as he turned back to the bowl.

When the time to cut the cookies came, Bucky rummaged through one of the bags he’d brought and pulled out a set of festive cookie cutters. He laid them on the counter, and she squealed in delight, clapping her hands together.

“These are so cute!” she exclaimed, excited.

Bucky’s half-smile turned bigger. “Yeah?”

She nodded enthusiastically, picking up one of the cutters shaped like a snowflake. “Good choice, honey.”

His chest warmed at her praise, and for once, he didn’t feel quite so out of his depth. They worked side by side together, cutting the dough into cheerful shapes. She was quick, deftly pressing cutters into the rolled-out dough and transferring each piece to the baking tray with ease. He followed her lead, slower but methodical, determined to match her precision.

In what felt like no time, the oven was full of cookies, their sweet, buttery scent already starting to fill the kitchen. Bucky leaned back against the counter, pulling her into his side with one arm. She nestled into him, resting her head against his chest as they both stared at the timer ticking down.

“You’re getting pretty domestic.” she teased, tilting her head up, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw, letting her lips linger there for a moment. “So,” she began, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, “how are you planning to decorate these?”

He froze. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. His brow furrowed as he glanced at the trays, panic flickering in his blue eyes. “I, uh…” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t… I didn’t think that far ahead.”

Her laughter was light but not unkind. “It’s okay,” she said, patting his chest reassuringly. “I’ll take care of it.”

“That wasn’t the idea,” he protested, frowning. “This is supposed to be my thing. For you.”

She sighed. “Fine. I’ll teach you how to make royal icing, and then you’re on your own.”

The timer dinged, and they set about transferring the cookies to cooling racks. Once the cookies were ready, she walked him through the steps of making royal icing, from mixing the powdered sugar to coloring small batches with food dye.

At first, his hands were clumsy, unfamiliar with the delicate work of piping, but soon enough, Bucky found his rhythm. He focused intently on each cookie, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth as he carefully outlined a reindeer’s antlers or added intricate snowflake details.

She stood back, watching with growing amazement. “You’ve got a steady hand,” she remarked, crossing her arms as she leaned against the counter.

He shrugged, still concentrating. “I’ve had practice. Just… not with this.”

By the time he finished, the cookies were nothing short of impressive. Each one was decorated with precision, from cheerful Santas to elegant wreaths. He turned to her, brushing a streak of flour from his cheek with the back of his hand. “Well?” She grinned, walking up to him and wrapping her arms around his neck. “They’re perfect, Bucky.”

The sky was painted in soft strokes of pink and orange as the sun dipped below the horizon. Bucky stretched his arms above his head, his joints popping after hours spent hunched over the kitchen counter. “I’ll leave the cookies here to set overnight,” he said, glancing at the rows of perfectly iced cookies spread across her counter. “But I need to head over to the workshop. Got some decorations to drop off.”

“Decorations?” she asked, tilting her head.

He nodded toward the door. “Yeah, Sam thought it’d be nice if everyone pitched in this year. Made something personal for the display. I’ve got mine in the truck.”

Her face lit up. “Can I come? I’ll help you set everything up.”

Bucky hesitated for a moment, but the warmth in her gaze was hard to resist. “Alright,” he said, grabbing his jacket. “Let’s go.”

By the time they reached the workshop, the place was dark and locked up for the evening. Bucky fished his keys out of his pocket. “Here we are,” he muttered, unlocking the door and holding it open for her.

The workshop smelled faintly of sawdust and varnish, even in the chill of winter. A few decorations already hung from the rafters: wooden stars, garlands crafted from pinecones, and even a clumsily painted reindeer that had Sarah’s handiwork written all over it.

She wandered further inside, her eyes sparkling with curiosity as she took in the holiday cheer. “This is so cozy,” she said, her voice echoing softly in the empty space.

Bucky stepped past her, setting a large box on the workbench. She peeked inside, smiling as she spotted a tangle of string lights. “Oh, these are perfect! Did you really make these?”

“They’re just lights,” he replied with a shrug, and a faint blush on his cheeks.

She picked up a strand and held it aloft, the tiny bulbs catching the last traces of daylight filtering through the workshop windows. “No, I can tell you put effort into this, they are gorgeous.”

Her words made his chest tighten, with a mix of pride and awkwardness. “Come on,” he said, reaching for the box. “Let’s get these up.”

They worked side by side, untangling the string lights with care. She gently teased him when he accidentally knotted a section tighter, but as they kept at it, she couldn’t help but praise him again.

“You’re so good at manual labor,” she said, handing him the next strand. “Carpentry at Sam’s, the cookies earlier, fixing things around my place... and now these lights? Is there anything you can’t do?”

Bucky’s lips twitched into a small smile, but her words stirred darker thoughts within his mind. Oh, if she only knew what else his hands were good at. Things that involve a knife, a rifle, or worse. The memories flickered like a shadow across his mind, a sharp contrast to the festive glow they were creating.

“Bucky?” Her soft voice pulled him from the spiral.

“Hm?” he mumbled, blinking as he looked at her.

“Maybe you could make some lights for me next year,” she suggested.

He exhaled softly, forcing the tension out of his shoulders. “Sure.”

Sensing the remnants of whatever had crossed his mind, she stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his middle and resting her cheek against his chest. Her embrace relaxed him, the warmth of her touch chasing away the cold corners of his thoughts.

“You still have the ponytail,” she pointed out, glancing up at him with a grin. “I love it.”

He rolled his eyes, though a faint flush touched his cheeks. “It’s practical,” he repeated, focusing on arranging the next strand of lights.

“It’s sexy,” she countered, her grin turning mischievous.

As he worked, her eyes fell on the remaining strand of lights still in the box, and a mischievous idea sparked in her mind.

“You know,” she began, picking up the last strand, “these could do more than just decorate the workshop.”

He looked up at her, brow raised. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

She shrugged, holding the strand up and letting it dangle between her fingers. “I don’t know. They seem sturdy enough to, I don’t know... tie something up?”

His head tilted, blue eyes narrowing slightly as he caught the teasing edge in her tone. “You mean like a post?”

“Sure, Bucky. A post,” she replied, quirking her lips into a smirk.

He took a step toward her, closing the gap between them. “Or something else?”

Her grin widened. “That’s up to you, isn’t it?”

He didn’t say anything, but the shift in his expression was unmistakable. Without a word, he plucked the strand of lights from her hands and looped it loosely over her wrist. Her heart skipped, as he moved with the careful, deliberate precision she’d just been praising. Before she could react, he had her wrists gently bound together with the lights, tying them off to the sturdy handle of the workbench vice.

“Bucky,” she murmured, tugging lightly at the restraint, “I didn’t mean... here.”

His brow quirked, as he leaned back, casually admiring his handiwork. “Oh, didn’t you?”

Her cheeks flushed, and she squirmed a little, testing the hold. “What if someone comes in?”

“No one’s coming in,” he said, his voice calm and confident.

“You don’t know that,” she countered, darting her eyes toward the locked door as though willing it to stay closed.

He stepped closer, crowding her space in that way that always made her pulse race. “Well,” he drawled, one hand tracing the strand around her wrists, “you should’ve thought about that before suggesting this creative use for my handiwork.”

Her lips parted, a retort bubbling on her tongue, but it fizzled under the weight of his heated gaze. “I didn’t think you’d actually... do it,” she whispered.

“That so?” His voice was low and teasing as he leaned in and his breath brushed her ear. “Then maybe you shouldn’t dare me next time.”

Before she could muster a reply, his free hand cradled the back of her neck, pulling her into a rough, searing kiss. He took full advantage of her startled gasp to deepen it, lifting her effortlessly and laying her back on the workbench. Her arms were stretched above her head, her wrists binded to the handle, a tether she couldn’t help but tug against instinctively.

“Bucky,” she breathed, with a mix of arousal and reason. “We can’t... not here.”

“Can’t we?” he murmured, grazing his lips at the sensitive skin beneath her jaw. His hands, strong and sure, settled on her hips as he positioned himself between her legs.

Her protests faltered as his mouth found the hollow of her throat, trailing wet, deliberate kisses down to her collarbone.

“This is insane,” she whispered, though her fingers flexed against the strands holding her wrists.

“Maybe,” he rasped, his voice rough with need. “But you don’t seem to mind.” Her body betrayed her, arching toward him, inviting his touch as he continued his slow, torturous path down her neck.

As he spoke, his hand traced up her thigh, slipping beneath the woolen skirt she’d worn to keep warm in the crisp winter air. His fingers traveled with deliberate slowness, brushing over her stocking-clad legs until they reached her mound, cupping it through her already damp panties. She gasped, tugging against the makeshift restraint at her wrists as his touch sent a jolt of heat through her body.

“In fact,” he murmured, pressing his fingers more firmly against her, “you’re enjoying it.”

Her breath hitched, and she couldn’t summon a denial, not with the way her body was reacting. He smirked at her silence, leaning back slightly to survey the sight of her stretched out on the workbench.

His hands shifted to her hips, sliding her skirt up higher, bunching it around her waist. His gaze darkened as he poked at her clothed entrance, watching the way she arched toward him, needing more. His teeth sank into his bottom lip as he let out a low groan.

“The jacket stays on,” he growled, commanding. She blinked at him, a question forming at her lips, but he shook his head. “It’s cold, and I’m not letting you freeze on me.”

Before she could respond, he shrugged off his own jacket, tossing it onto a nearby stool. His hands moved to his belt, fumbling with the buckle and zipper in his urgency. “I was gonna take my time,” he admitted, his voice rough with restraint, “but seeing you like this…” His gaze raked over her, taking in the flush on her cheeks, the way her chest rose and fell rapidly beneath her jacket, and the way her legs spread just enough to accommodate him. “I need you now, sweetheart.”

Her lips parted softly “I want you too, Bucky.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. Hooking his fingers into the waistband of her panties, he tugged them down her thighs, the damp fabric clinging stubbornly before he discarded them onto the floor. His own pants and underwear followed in quick succession, pooling around his boots as he climbed back over her.

The heat of his body pressed against hers was a stark contrast to the chill in the air. His rough hands held her hips as he shifted between her legs and captured her lips in a deep, consuming kiss, grinding his cock against her slick folds. She moaned into his mouth, instinctively lifting her body toward him, chasing the friction.

“Fuck,” he rasped against her lips, dropping his forehead to rest against hers. “You feel so good, sugar. So wet for me.”

Her only response was another needy arch of her hips, and he growled softly, gripping her thighs as he lined himself up with her entrance. The tip of his cock teased her, as though he was savoring the moment despite his earlier haste.

“Bucky,” she whimpered, her voice raw with need, “please.”

His jaw tightened, his resolve barely hanging by a thread. “Don’t be impatient” he murmured. “I want to-” He broke off, swallowing hard as his cock pressed against her entrance, her heat almost enough to make him lose control. “I want to just fuck you right now, but I didn’t prep you. I’m not risking hurting you.”

She groaned in frustration, tipping back her head against the workbench. In her heated state, her filter was long gone. “I don’t care, Bucky. I want it all, right now.”

His blue eyes snapped to hers, darkened with lust but narrowing with a hint of reproach. “Don’t say things like that,” he growled with a strained voice. “You’re making this harder for me.”

Her lips curved into a sly smile, even as she squirmed beneath him. “Good.”

Bucky let out a low, frustrated groan, gripping her hips a little tighter. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, though there was no real heat in his words. She could see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, even as he fought to stay focused.

He shifted, moving one hand between them to guide himself, while the other kept her firmly in place. Slowly, carefully, he began to push inside, stopping to let her adjust with each inch. Her walls stretched around him, the delicious burn making her moan, pulling her bound wrists reflexively against the lights as she arched her back.

She whimpered his name, wrapping her legs around his hips to pull him closer. “More,” she pleaded, her breath coming in short, needy gasps.

“Darlin' I’m trying,” he rasped, pausing to catch his breath, pressing his forehead against hers. “But you gotta let me take care of you.”

Her head tilted, locking her eyes with his, and there was so much trust and desire in her gaze that it almost undid him. “You are, Bucky,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “But I need it now.”

His restraint cracked, and with a low groan, he pushed deeper, sinking into her inch by inch until he was fully seated inside her.

Bucky groaned as her walls clenched around him. She mewled softly, tilting her head back, her bound wrists tugging at the lights as she instinctively moved her hips upward, desperate for more.

“See?” she murmured, brushing his lips with hers. “I told you I could take it.” She teased.

His jaw tightened, and a low growl rumbled in his chest. “You’re gonna drive me crazy,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to thrust forward again, deliberately slow despite the tension tightening every muscle in his body.

Her whimper sent a jolt of desire straight to his cock as her legs tightened around his hips, meeting his shallow movements. “Please, baby,” she gasped, her voice trembling with need. “I need you to move.”

“Just… wait,” he ground out, his jaw tight as he tried to keep himself in check. His restraint was hanging by a thread, but he was determined to go slow, to make it good for her despite the fire licking at his nerves. The way she shifted beneath him, her hips rolling against his, hot, wet, and utterly desperate, was unraveling him inch by inch.

And then she did it, arching her back, pressing her chest against his, and nipping at his bottom lip before her tongue darted out to soothe the sting. “Please,” she pleaded, locking her eyes onto his with wild abandon.

He snapped.

With a guttural groan, he slammed into her, hard and deep. She cried out, a sharp sound that made him freeze with guilt.

“Shit,” he muttered, his body taut with tension. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head furiously, her eyes glassy with need as she squirmed beneath him. “No. God, no,” she whimpered, her voice broken. “Don’t stop. Please, Bucky, don’t stop.”

He exhaled slowly, rough and ragged as he fought to steady himself. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmured, with a strained voice.

He started again, his movements slow at first, but the way her body responded to him, -arching, trembling, pushing- had his resolve crumbling all over again. He tried to quicken his pace, thrust harder, deeper, but the workbench beneath them was unforgivingly hard, and he growled in frustration, halting mid-thrust. With a muttered curse, he pulled out and flipped her onto her stomach in one swift motion. His hands gripped her hips, lifting them slightly as he pushed her skirt higher and entered her again, this time setting a punishing pace, the new angle pulling a sharp cry from her lips.

“Better?” he growled, his voice thick with desire. “You just couldn’t wait, didn’t you?” he grunted, gripping her hips tightly as he drove into her.

Her only response was a desperate moan, rolling back her hips against him as though to urge him deeper.

The sight of her body rippling down his, her restrained hands trying to hold onto something, and her flushed face pressed against the wood was enough to drive him wild. “Look at you,” he muttered. “So perfect like this, all laid out for me.” He pulled back, straightening, and gripped her hips hard enough to leave marks as he plunged into her with renewed force. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, as he pushed her higher and higher.

Every time she gasped his name, every shudder that ran through her body, spurred him on. He felt her tense and start to tremble, and he knew she was close. His fingers slid down to where they were joined, brushing against her clit, and she nearly screamed, trembling and spiraling closer to the edge.

“Come on,” he murmured, rough and coaxing. “I know you’re close. Give it to me, sweetheart.”

Her body obeyed before her mind caught up, crying out his name, dragging him into his own release with a hoarse groan as he buried himself deep inside her one last time.

They stayed like that for a moment, with his body draped over hers, ragged breaths mingling in the chilled air of the workshop. He pressed a soft kiss at the back of her neck, and gently nipped the sensitive skin peeking through her jacket.

As the heat of the moment faded, a flicker of practicality broke through the haze clouding Bucky’s mind. His gaze drifted to the polished surface of the workbench beneath her, and the realization hit him like a bucket of cold water. If he weren’t careful, they’d leave an undeniable -and very permanent- mark on the wood.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, pressing another soft kiss to the nape of her neck.

She turned her head slightly. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice soft and hoarse from her cries moments ago.

“The bench,” he grumbled, steadying her hips with his hands. “I didn’t think it through. If we…” He hesitated, just the thought of explaining the stain on the workbench’s varnish was almost as mortifying as the act itself.

Her chuckle was low and warm. “Are you serious?” she teased, her body still pliant under his hands.

“Very. Sam’ll notice, and I’m not about to answer questions about this.”

“Fine,” she giggled, smirking over her shoulder. “So, what’s the plan?”

First, he tugged at the string to sever it and free her from the handle, then, instead of pulling out abruptly, he eased back, hands steady on her hips as he helped her shift, guiding her carefully to sit on his lap. Her knees wobbled, still weak from the ordeal

“Bucky,” she began, her voice playful but still breathless, “if this is your way of sweeping me off my feet-”

“Shut up,” a soft laugh rumbled from his chest. He adjusted his grip, shifting slightly until he was closer to the edge of the workbench. With a deliberate steadiness, he leaned forward and gently lowered her until her feet touched the cold floor.

She gasped at the chill against her bare toes, instinctively leaning back into his warmth. “Not exactly a graceful dismount,” she quipped, curving her lips into a smirk as her hands found his forearms for balance.

Bucky winced, a hint of pink creeping up his cheeks. “I can’t believe you just said that,” he muttered, half under his breath.

She grinned, brushing back a stray lock of hair. “You can thank the Wild West novel I’m working on for that one.”

His brow arched as he helped her steady herself. “Oh, so you traded the laird’s sword for the cowboy’s long gun, huh?”

Her laugh bubbled out, leaning into him as her shoulders shook. “You know,” she teased, poking his chest lightly, “you’re catching on a little too quickly to these tropes.”

Bucky’s gaze dropped to her wrists, still loosely bound by the string of lights he severed from the bench. His lips quirked into a mischievous smirk as he reached down, gripping the strand and giving it a gentle tug. “Oh, maybe I’m just entertaining the idea of you being my captive, in retaliation for the sheriff messing with my business,” he said, his voice low and playful.

Her laughter cut off with a soft gasp, and she feet her cheeks starting to heat. “Y-you talk about your sister’s novels,” she stammered, narrowing her eyes at him. “But I’m starting to think you’ve read this kind of thing. As a horny teenager, or… I don’t know!”

He chuckled. “You think I spent my teenage years reading romance novels?

“Well,” she said, with a playful tone, “not everyone had the internet back then, and I’m sure there was a limit to how many dirty magazines a boy could buy with his allowance. Especially in a small town.”

Bucky’s brow shot up. “Dirty magazines, huh?”

She grinned, shrugging as she leaned into him. “What can I say? I can totally imagine young, innocent Bucky Barnes, desperate for... enlightenment, flipping through anything he could get his hands on.”

“I didn’t-“

“Don’t try to deny it. It’s not like you had endless options. A boy’s gotta make do.”

Bucky shook his head, his ears visibly red as he muttered, “We are not having this conversation.”

“Oh, we absolutely are,” she teased, her grin widening as she poked his chest again, delighting in his flustered expression. “Come on, enlighten me. What did you do for fun in a town like this as a teenager?”

“Worked,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest as if that would end the conversation.

“Worked?” she echoed, incredulous. “That’s it? No sneaking out, no rebellious shenanigans, no awkward first crushes?”

Bucky sighed, dropping his gaze to the floor as if avoiding hers might shield him from the conversation. “I guess eventually you’ll find out,” he muttered, “since it seems the people of this town love to gossip like it’s a local sport.”

She tilted her head, intrigued by his sudden reluctance. “Oh? And what juicy tidbit am I missing out on?”

He hesitated, pressing his lips into a thin line before finally relenting. “I was... erm, popular with the girls ’round here,” he confessed in a low and gruff tone, like he was confessing a crime.

Her eyebrows shot up, and she barely contained a laugh. “Popular? Like, homecoming king popular or...?”

“Not exactly,” he cut in quickly, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. “Let’s just say I didn’t exactly have to grab a magazine to see... you know...” He trailed off, making a vague gesture with his hand that only deepened the flush on his cheeks.

Her mouth fell open in mock shock, one hand flying to her chest. “Bucky Barnes,” she gasped, “are you telling me you were the town’s resident heartbreaker?”

“I didn’t say that!” he shot back, his ears turning red.

“You didn’t not say it,” she teased, leaning closer with a wicked grin. “Now I need details. How many hearts did you leave shattered? How many windows did you sneak out of at the crack of dawn?”

He groaned, dragging his hand down his face. “It wasn’t like that,” he insisted, though his flustered tone betrayed him. “And I didn’t sneak out of anyone’s window, thank you very much.”

Bucky’s hand dropped from his face, his expression shifting into something more subdued. “Anyway,” he said, his voice quieter, “it was a long time ago. Sometimes it feels like it was another life.”

Her playful grin softened at his tone, her teasing instinctively halting as she watched him carefully.

“I left the town when I enlisted,” he continued, glancing away as if looking for the right words. “And only came back after fifteen years. When they...” His jaw tightened for a moment before he finished, “...decided I wasn’t enough anymore to be serving.”

Her heart ached at the weight of his words and she stepped closer, reaching for his hands as she studied his face. “Bucky…”

He shook his head slightly, offering a small, forced smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “’s fine,” he said, though the tightness in his tone suggested otherwise.

Her grip on his hands tightened. “You’re more than enough. To me. To everyone who really knows you.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at her with an unreadable expression. Then, his shoulders relaxed, and his smile turned genuine, though still tinged with a trace of sadness.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.

Suddenly she sneezed, suddenly and sharp, breaking the fragile silence. Bucky blinked as if pulled out of a trance, and his gaze swept over the two of them.

He was naked from the waist down, her feet still bare on the cold workshop floor. His brows knitted together as he tousled his hair, flush creeping up his neck. Without a word, he reached for his boxers, handing them to her in a silent but clear gesture.

She took them, understanding immediately, and began to clean herself as he turned away slightly, reaching for his pants. The sound of fabric sliding and belts clicking filled the space, and for a moment, neither of them said anything.

Once his jeans were on and fastened, he turned back to her with a soft expression. “We should go. We already did what we came to do…” his lips quirked in a faint, amused smirk, “and more. I don’t want you catching a cold.”

She stepped closer and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek. “Do you really have to go back to the cabin?” she asked, “My house is closer to the workshop. You could sleep a little longer before work... and you’d get a proper breakfast.”

Bucky paused, studying her face as if weighing her offer. “You trying to bribe me with food?” he asked, a small smirk playing at his lips.

She arched a brow, feigning indignation, “Do I really have to bribe you to convince you to sleep with me?” she asked, crossing her arms and tilting her head.

“I-” He opened his mouth, then closed it, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze darted to the floor. “T-that’s not what I meant,” he muttered.

She tiptoed and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, “I know, honey,” she murmured, affectionally. “I was just messing with you.”

“Still,” she continued, her gaze searching his as her hands settled gently on his chest. “Will you come? I really missed my man these days of cookie quarantine.”

Every time she called him her man, Bucky’s chest swelled with an unspoken pride. His blush crept up from his collar, painting his cheeks faintly pink as he looked at her.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice a low murmur, a small but shy smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll give my woman whatever she needs.”

Her grin was warm and triumphant, and she gave his chest a playful pat. “Good answer.”

Bucky chuckled softly, pulling her into a loose embrace. “You’ve got me wrapped around your finger, you know that?”

She tilted her head, with an amused glint in her eyes. “Is that so?” she asked, her voice lilting with curiosity. “Well, if you were a little more selfish, you’d know that you could ask me anything, and I’d give it to you.”

His brow furrowed slightly at her words, “Anything?” he asked softly as if testing the weight of her promise.

She nodded, her fingers brushing lightly over his chest. “Anything,” she confirmed warmly.

For a moment, Bucky didn’t reply. Then he gave her a faint smile, a hint of vulnerability flickering in his eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he murmured, tracing a soft arc along her back with his thumb.

His gaze flickered to the window where the night stretched on and cleared his throat. “We should head back,” he suggested. Then, after a beat, his lips quirked into a soft smirk, adding, almost shyly, “Maybe I’m feeling a little selfish tonight.”

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise, the corner of her mouth tugging into a grin. “Oh? What does that mean?”

Bucky shrugged, drifting his hand to the small of her back as he gently nudged her toward the door. “Guess you’ll just have to come home with me and find out.”

Dividers by: @/saradika

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

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misswynters · 7 months ago

Text

Steel and sunshine

sevika x ditz! reader / short drabble

no warnings just you being annoying and sevika putting up with you

requested by @gravegoer <3

Zauns sprawling streets were filled with the hum of industry, the hiss of steam, and the faint green glow of shimmer pouring from narrow alleyways. The air hung heavy with a metallic tang, and the rattle of machinery from the Undercity’s workshops created a chaotic symphony. It was chaotic, grimy, and dangerous. A place that seemed to churn out desperation as naturally as it did smog. In the heart of it all, Sevika sat at her usual corner of The Last Drop, nursing a glass of something strong enough to peel paint.

Her steel arm rested on the table, catching the flicker of neon lights overhead. She was a picture of quiet intensity: sharp eyes scanning the bar, her jaw set in irritation at the chaos around her. She could handle a fight breaking out or someone trying to swindle her. What she couldn’t handle, though, was the sound of your voice cutting through the din like sunshine piercing a storm cloud. “Sevika!”

She groaned quietly, closing her eyes for a moment as she prepared herself for the whirlwind that was you. When she opened them, there you were, skipping toward her with all the oblivious cheer of someone who didn’t belong in a place like this. “What now?” she muttered, her tone already laced with exasperation.

You plopped down into the chair across from her, beaming as if you hadn’t just walked through Zaun’s most dangerous streets without a care in the world. “You’ll never guess what I found today!”

“Let me guess,” Sevika said, her voice flat. “Something useless?”

You gasped, clutching your chest like she’d just shot you. “How dare you? It’s not useless!” You rummaged through your bag, your fingers brushing past who-knows-what before triumphantly pulling out a small, rusted music box. Its paint was chipped, and the mechanism looked like it hadn’t worked in years. “Look! Isn’t it cute?”

Sevika raised an eyebrow, her patience already teetering on the edge. “You’re risking your life out there for this?”

“Of course!” you said, completely unfazed. “I thought you’d like it.”

“I don’t like junk,” she said flatly, though her gaze lingered on the object longer than she’d admit.

You leaned forward, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re lying. I can tell you secretly think it’s cool.”

Sevika groaned, her metal fingers tapping against the table in frustration. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Keep me around forever?” you said with a grin, propping your chin on your hand.

“You’re exhausting,” she muttered, though the corners of her mouth twitched upward in a reluctant smile.

Not long after, Sevika found herself walking alongside you through the crowded streets of Zaun, her broad frame serving as a shield against the jostling crowd. She wasn’t sure how she’d ended up in this situation again, but you had a way of dragging her along. Your sheer persistence overpowering her better judgment.

“Did you eat today?” she asked abruptly, her sharp tone betraying the faintest hint of concern.

“Oh! I had some bread earlier,” you said brightly. “And maybe a candy bar?”

Sevika stopped dead in her tracks, her glare making you shrink slightly. “That’s not food. Come on.”

You blinked, confused. “Where are we going?”

“To get you something real before you pass out,” she grumbled, taking your arm and steering you toward a food stall. The smell of sizzling dumplings filled the air as Sevika ordered for you, her tone curt but efficient. She handed the vendor a few coins before shoving the steaming plate into your hands.

“Sit,” she ordered, pointing to a nearby bench.

You obeyed, settling onto the seat and swinging your legs like a child as you dug in. The first bite was heavenly, and you made a small noise of appreciation that made Sevika smirk despite herself.

“You’re amazing, Sev,” you said between mouthfuls, your words slightly muffled.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she scolded, sitting beside you.

You swallowed quickly, flashing her a wide grin. “Sorry. You’re just so good at taking care of me.”

“Someone has to,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“You’re like a big, grumpy teddy bear,” you teased, nudging her side.

She gave you a flat look. “A teddy bear?”

“Yeah! You act all tough, but deep down, you’re just a big softie.”

“Keep talking like that, and I’ll leave you here,” she warned, though the faintest trace of amusement lingered in her voice.

Later, back at Sevika’s apartment, the quiet hum of Zaun’s nightlife served as background noise. The space was sparse and functional, just like her. But tucked into corners and sitting on shelves were small reminders of your influence. There was a cracked vase you’d insisted on saving, a tiny ceramic dog you swore looked just like her, and now the rusted music box, which you’d proudly placed on the shelf next to the others.

“Look at it,” you said, stepping back to admire your handiwork. “It’s perfect.”

“It’s junk,” Sevika replied, though her tone lacked the usual bite.

“Sentimental junk,” you corrected, turning to grin at her.

She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You’re lucky I put up with you.”

“You’re lucky I’m so charming,” you shot back, sticking out your tongue.

Sevika shook her head, unable to keep the smirk off her face. “Ridiculous.”

You plopped onto her worn-out couch, kicking off your shoes and making yourself comfortable. “So, what do we do now?”

“I work. You stay out of the way,” she said, already moving toward her workbench.

“Boring,” you replied, flipping through a magazine you’d found on the coffee table. The two of you fell into a companionable silence, Sevika tinkering with her mechanical arm while you lazily read. But after a while, your thoughts drifted, and the question that had been nagging at you all day finally slipped out.

“Sevika?” You said softly as your eyes still on the maganize that you were reading.

“What?” she replied as she continued to tinker her metal arm, completely immersed in what she was doing. “Do you think I’m annoying?”

The question caught her off guard, and she turned to look at you. Putting the tool that was on her hand on the desk. “Where the hell is this coming from?”

You shrugged, suddenly finding the magazine very interesting. “I dunno. I just… sometimes I feel like I get on your nerves.”

Sevika sighed, setting down her tools and walking over to sit beside you. “You do,” she said bluntly, making you gape at her. Before you could protest, she added, “But I don’t mind.”

“Really?” you asked, your voice small.

“Really,” she said, her tone softer now. “You keep things… interesting.”

A slow smile spread across your face. “You’re such a softie.”

“Don’t push it,” she warned, though there was no malice in her words.

You leaned your head against her shoulder, letting the cool metal of her arm press against your cheek. “Thanks, Sev.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, reaching up to ruffle your hair. “Just don’t get used to it.”

But you both knew it was already too late.

banner: @anitalenia

taglist: @cewl-casper @hutaotown @lunatakashi18 @shinyshayminflower @pipirka827363829 @dragonfly41777 @themostlesbianever @abbyssgf @kissyslut @ayedomino0 @amenazaaaa @usedmilkdud @diffusebread @xxblairslairxx @marinayadayada @chx-rrryc0la @komoriiis @beewwebb @pitstopsapphic @kylorey25 @cestlaprincesa @xxblairslairxx @m00nd0v3 @arevik2345 @thesevi0lentdelights

#arcane #arcane masterlist #sevika fics ⟠ ࣪ .#sevika x you #sevika x reader #sevika arcane #arcane sevika #sevika #sevika headcanon #arcane characters #arcane x y/n #arcane x you #arcane x reader #arcane fluff #arcane fic #arcane fanfic #arcane fandom

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theambitiouswoman · 2 years ago

Text

How To Become A Brand New Person ✨✨

Self Reflect:

Journal daily.

Think about past decisions and how they impacted your life.

Meditate regularly.

Create a vision board to visualize your goals.

Review your strengths and weaknesses.

Identify your core values and beliefs.

Figure out your passions and interests.

Think about your childhood dreams and aspirations.

Evaluate your current state of happiness and fulfillment.

Set Clear Goals:

Define specific career goals, like "Get promoted within two years."

Set health goals, like "Lose 20 pounds in six months."

Create financial goals such as "Save $10,000 for a vacation."

Establish personal development goals, like "Read 24 books in a year."

Set relationship goals, such as "Improve communication with my partner."

Define education goals, like "Complete a master's degree in three years."

Set travel goals, like "Visit five new countries in the next two years."

Create hobbies and interests goals, such as "Learn to play a musical instrument."

Set community or volunteer goals, like "Volunteer 100 hours this year."

Establish mindfulness or self-care goals, such as "Practice meditation daily."

Self Care:

Exercise for at least 30 minutes a day.

Follow a balanced diet with plenty of fruits and vegetables.

Prioritize getting 7-9 hours of quality sleep each night.

Practice in relaxation techniques like deep breathing or yoga.

Take regular breaks at work to avoid burnout.

Schedule "me time" for activities you enjoy.

Limit exposure to stressors and toxic people.

Practice regular skincare and grooming routines.

Seek regular medical check-ups and screenings.

Stay hydrated by drinking enough water daily.

Personal Development:

Read a book every month from various genres.

Attend workshops or seminars on topics of interest.

Learn a new language or musical instrument.

Take online courses to acquire new skills.

Set aside time for daily reflection and self improvement.

Seek a mentor in your field for guidance.

Attend conferences and networking events.

Start a side project or hobby to expand your abilities.

Practice public speaking or communication skills.

Do creative activities like painting, writing, or photography.

Create a Support System:

Build a close knit group of friends who uplift and inspire you.

Join clubs or organizations aligned with your interests.

Connect with a mentor or life coach.

Attend family gatherings to maintain bonds.

Be open and honest in your communication with loved ones.

Seek advice from trusted colleagues or supervisors.

Attend support groups for specific challenges (e.g., addiction recovery).

Cultivate online connections through social media.

Find a therapist or counselor for emotional support.

Participate in community or volunteer activities to meet like minded people.

Change Habits:

Cut back on sugary or processed foods.

Reduce screen time and increase physical activity.

Practice gratitude by keeping a daily journal.

Manage stress through mindfulness meditation.

Limit procrastination by setting specific deadlines.

Reduce negative self-talk by practicing self-compassion.

Establish a regular exercise routine.

Create a budget and stick to it.

Develop a morning and evening routine for consistency.

Overcome Fear and Self Doubt:

Face a specific fear head-on (example: public speaking).

Challenge your negative thoughts with positive affirmations.

Seek therapy to address underlying fears or traumas.

Take small, calculated risks to build confidence.

Visualize success in challenging situations.

Surround yourself with supportive and encouraging people.

Journal about your fears and doubts to gain clarity.

Celebrate your accomplishments, no matter how small.

Focus on your strengths and accomplishments.

Embrace failure as a valuable learning experience.

Embrace Change:

Relocate to a new city or country.

Switch careers or industries to pursue your passion.

Take on leadership roles in your workplace.

Volunteer for projects outside your comfort zone.

Embrace new technologies and digital tools.

Travel to unfamiliar destinations.

Start a new hobby or creative endeavor.

Change your daily routine to add variety.

Adjust your mindset to see change as an opportunity.

Seek out diverse perspectives and viewpoints.

Practice Gratitude:

Write down three things you're grateful for each day.

Express gratitude to loved ones regularly.

Create a gratitude jar and add notes of appreciation.

Reflect on the positive aspects of challenging situations.

Show gratitude by volunteering or helping others in need.

Send thank-you notes or messages to people who've helped you.

Keep a gratitude journal and review it regularly.

Share your gratitude openly during family meals or gatherings.

Focus on the present moment and appreciate the little things.

Practice gratitude even in times of adversity.

Be Patient:

Set realistic expectations for your progress.

Accept that personal growth takes time.

Focus on the journey rather than the destination.

Learn from setbacks and view them as opportunities to improve.

Celebrate small milestones along the way.

Practice self-compassion during challenging times.

Stay committed to your goals, even when progress is slow.

Keep a journal to track your personal growth.

Recognize that patience is a valuable skill in personal transformation.

Celebrate Small Wins:

Treat yourself to your favorite meal or dessert.

Reward yourself with a spa day or self-care activity.

Share your achievements with friends and loved ones.

Create a vision board to visualize your successes.

Acknowledge and congratulate yourself in a journal.

Give yourself permission to take a break and relax.

Display reminders of your accomplishments in your workspace.

Take a day off to celebrate a major milestone.

Host a small gathering to mark your achievements.

Set aside time to reflect on how far you've come.

Maintain Balance:

Set clear boundaries in your personal and work life.

Prioritize self care activities in your daily routine.

Schedule regular breaks and downtime.

Learn to say "no" when necessary to avoid overcommitment.

Evaluate your work life balance regularly.

Seek support from friends and family to avoid burnout.

Be kind to yourself and accept imperfections.

Practice mindfulness to stay present and grounded.

Revisit your priorities and adjust them as needed.

Embrace self love and self acceptance as part of your daily life.

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meleeyz · 7 months ago

Text

┈﹒ ꒰ 𝗠𝗘𝗧𝗔𝗟 𝗣𝗘𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗦 ꒱

ekko 𝒙 fem!reader

୨୧ English is not my first language, so I regret in advance if something reads weird or is misspelled

୨୧ Thank you so much for the support on the first oneshot, this is mostly fluff because I have to heal the wounds in my heart that arc two left behind.

୨୧ I'm still learning how to use masterlists and stuff (😿) but you can send me requests if you want! For now I'm only going to write about Ekko (or until I learn how to use tumblr) then I'll post the list of characters I could write for.

୨୧ Inspired by some headcanons of @blllllllllllllllllllue

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

The Firelights’ hideout always felt alive, even in its quietest moments, but your little corner was a chaos. It was where you crafted, creating not just the masks that symbolized your rebellion but tiny pieces of identity for your comrades.

"Something like this?" you asked, holding up a rough sketch for the recruit seated across from you. He was new to the team and still shy around most people, but with you, he seemed to relax, likely due to your welcoming demeanor.

“Yeah, that’s cool,” he said, leaning in to inspect it. "But, uh, could you make the eyes a little bigger? I want it to look more… intense."

“Intense. Got it.” You jotted down the adjustment in the margins, smiling as you worked. “Anything else?”

The recruit hesitated for a moment before glancing at you sheepishly. “So, uh, are you Ekko’s girl? Like… his girlfriend?”

The question caught you so off guard that the pencil slipped from your fingers. Heat bloomed in your cheeks, and you scrambled to compose yourself.

“Oh! Uh, yeah. I mean—yes. I am.”

The recruit grinned.

“Thought so. He talks about you all the time.”

Your heart did a funny little flip, equal parts warmth and embarrassment.

“He does?”

“Yeah. Like, a lot. You’d think you hung the moon or something”

The boy’s teasing tone made you flush deeper. Before you could decide whether to be mortified or flattered, another voice broke through.

“Hey! Ekko’s looking for you!” A little boy poked his head in the door, oblivious to the conversation he was interrupting. “Said it’s important.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks.” You turned back to the recruit, already rising to your feet. “I’ve got everything I need for your mask. I’ll start on it soon.”

“Take your time,” he replied, giving you a knowing look as you walked out.

He nodded, and with a small wave, you left the workshop and made your way to Ekko’s space.

The closer you got to Ekko’s workshop, the quieter the base became, the energy from the rest of the Firelights retreating into the distance. You pushed the door open cautiously, only to find the room eerily calm. The usual clatter of tools and the whir of machinery were absent.

When you stepped inside the workshop, the quiet was almost eerie. Tools and half-built gadgets lay scattered across Ekko’s workbench, but there was no sign of him.

“Ekko?” you called, glancing around.

No answer.

A small knot of worry tightened in your chest.

“If this is a joke, it’s not funny—”

Before you could finish, arms wrapped around you from behind, lifting you off the ground. You let out a startled yelp as you were spun around, your voice mixing with laughter that bubbled up despite yourself.

“Ekko!” you cried, trying to sound indignant, but failing miserably as he set you down, his grin impossibly wide. “You scared the life out of me, you jerk!”

“Couldn’t resist,” he admitted, still chuckling. His voice carried that familiar mix of playfulness and warmth that always made your heart skip a beat. He leaned in and planted a quick kiss on your cheek. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

You swatted at his arm, trying to suppress a smile.

“What did you need me for, anyway? And don’t say it was just to scare me.”

“Relax, Firefly,” he teased, stepping back. “I’ve got something for you. Close your eyes.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously.

“If this is another prank—”

“It’s not,” he said quickly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Promise. Just trust me.”

After a brief hesitation, you sighed and shut your eyes.

“Okay, but if you throw something at me—”

“Shh. No peeking.”

You heard him moving around, the soft clang of metal and the scrape of something being picked up. Your curiosity burned, but you kept your eyes closed, hands fidgeting nervously at your sides.

“Alright,” Ekko said finally. “Open.”

When you did, your breath caught. In his hands was a bouquet of flowers, but not just any flowers—each one was intricately crafted from scrap metal, their petals shaped and welded together with incredible precision. They shimmered faintly in the light, their edges polished to a soft gleam.

“I made these for you,” Ekko said, his voice quieter now, as if he wasn’t sure how you’d react. His smile, though, was radiant, the little gap in his front teeth only adding to its charm. “You like them?”

“Like them?” you echoed, reaching out to take the bouquet. “Ekko, they’re beautiful. You made these?”

He scratched the back of his neck, looking both proud and bashful.

“Yeah. Thought you’d appreciate something… different. Real flowers don’t last long down here”

You turned the bouquet in your hands, marveling at the craftsmanship. Each flower was unique, and the care he’d put into them was evident in every detail. Your chest felt tight with emotion as you looked back at him.

“Why, though? What’s the occasion?”

Ekko’s grin returned, mischievous but endearing.

“The right way to ask my girlfriend out on a date. Tonight.”

Your lips parted in surprise.

“A date?”

“Yeah. Thought it was time we did something just for us. No missions. Just you and me.” He stepped closer, his gaze locked on yours. “So, what do you say?”

A warm, fuzzy silence hung between you, the weight of his words and the sincerity in his eyes tying your tongue. Your gaze flicked to his lips, the same thought clearly mirrored in his mind as he leaned closer.

The moment stretched as the world outside seemed to blur and fade. Just as your lips were about to meet—

“Oh, uh, sorry!”

Both you and Ekko jumped apart as the recruit from earlier barged in, a sheepish look on his face.

“I just—uh—I had another idea for the mask and thought—”

Ekko sighed loudly, his previous grumpiness overtaking his usual charm.

“Seriously?”

“I’ll just—uh—leave” the recruit stammered, already retreating back through the door.

You chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“It’s fine,” you told him. “We can talk about it later.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension melting away as you stepped back.

“Guess we’ll have to finish this later, huh?”

Ekko’s pout was almost comical.

“You owe me, Firefly.”

As you turned to leave, you blew him a playful kiss. Ekko grinned, pretending to catch it in midair and press it to his chest.

“See you later.”

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

#ekko x reader #arcane x reader

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jellitchi · 11 months ago

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hello friends heres some more artist au ,,, i have A huge infodump under the cut ... u were warned

uhm mumbo is a tattoo artist in this au, hes the towns electrician primarily but he does tattoo work too. hes terrified of needles on his own skin but really enjoys the process of tattooing. i think he mostly does geometric stuff. probably hrm.

gem runs and owns the fishing dock/bait shop. shes born and raised in this town so shes been here her whole life. shes okay at painting but her real passion is with clay- specifically sculpting. shes taking a pottery workshop w grian but she like the freedom sculpting has that the wheel cant really give her...? if that makes sense.. she still likes it. when she paints she gravitates towards gouache and watercolors, she likes the fluidity she can achieve w em. also is very fond of how gouache lets u set it down then return and reactivate it w water again lol

pearl is a relatively successful artist, shes constantly traveling for art shows and also to host workshops/look for inspiration. she used to paint a lot, thats how she kinda got her fame... she used to paint this one girl a lot idk she has curly orange hair and freckles and shes always painted really beautifully. then stuff happened and now pearl mostly sculpts now. she still paints and her paintings are her most popular works but shes more into working w clay.

hm more abt this au, pearl and grian are siblings and both grew up learning oil painting. jimmy is also in this au im still figuring out a role but hes their cousin— basically brother— i was thinking pearls manager js coz i think itd b funny lol.

the setting is a small coastal town hrmm havent thought too much else abt it, was mostly pulling from coastal norcal ish...

in this au scar and grian are really really tight and have been living w each other for like 5/6 ish years. i dont think they officially get tgt... they think theyre woke asf n say they dont like labels (kinda kidding) the real reason is just timing. whenever grian is sick of running circles and works up the courage, scar usually has some complications hes working through and grian feels like hed just be another stressor added to his plate so he just wills it away... then when scar is like Im gonna do it. Im gonna tell him. Grian is experiencing sum kinda dilemma and is rly stressed so then scar is like well it can wait... (this goes on forEver.) whenever they do sync up, usually theyre far too scared about ruining their friendship and having to find a new roommate or something. they both r very important to each other and if bottling up their feelings means they can hold onto each other and keep each other around then thats what theyll do...! yeah theyre doomed🤦‍♂️.... they still basically do romantic activities tgt- they just think its normal coz its them.... also everyone around them thinks theyre secretly dating or smth anyways Yeah this is the au in a nutshell im such a sucker for long term pinning friends to lovers or whatever😭😭😭😭😭...

#artist au #mumbo jumbo #grian #goodtimeswithscar #mcyt #fanart #lizzysart #hermitshipping

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aspenmissing · 5 months ago

Note

Hello hello!

I've been thoroughly enjoying your Arcane works and thought I'd pop by with a request!

Quite specifically Jayce, Viktor, and Vander and their reactions to accidental pregnancy (by them, no infidelity here) and reader is very nervous to tell them.

ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛꜱ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ-ɪꜱʜ ||

9822 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ (ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʙᴇ ꜱᴀꜰᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ!), ᴛᴀʟᴋꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴀʙᴏʀᴛɪᴏɴ, ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ (ᴅᴜʜ), ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ɪɴꜰᴇʀᴛɪʟᴇ, ꜰᴇᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ/ʙɪʀᴛʜ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ ʏᴀʀɴ, ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ꜱᴇᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ɴᴏᴛɪꜰɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ Qᴜɪᴛᴇ ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛɪᴏɴ!! ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ'ᴍ ʟᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀᴡᴀʀᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴀɴʏᴍᴏʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ

JAYCE

It had been a week since that passionate night where logic had given way to raw emotion. Jayce and Y/N had always been cautious, understanding the weight of their work, their ambitions, their lives. But that night... it had been just the two of them—no barriers, no interruptions, no thought of consequences. Now, as Y/N splashed cold water on her face after another wave of nausea, the memory felt heavier.

Jayce stood close by, his brows knit in worry, his arms folded across his broad chest like he was trying to hold himself together. “Are you sure you’re alright? That’s the third time today.” His voice was soft, but his tone betrayed his concern.

Y/N braced herself against the counter, her skin pale, her hair slightly damp from the water she had run over her face. “I don’t know, Jayce. I might’ve caught something. Or... it could just be stress.” Her voice wavered on that last word, and she avoided his eyes.

Jayce stepped closer, his large, warm hand finding her shoulder. “You’ve been overworking yourself,” he said gently. “Maybe you should take the day off tomorrow. Rest.” His thumb brushed lightly over her shoulder in a small, soothing gesture.

Her stomach churned again, but this time it wasn’t nausea—it was a gnawing sense of unease. What if...? The thought clawed its way to the forefront of her mind. She hadn’t voiced it yet, but it lingered, heavy and insistent.

All day, the possibility loomed over her. By the time the sun had set, she couldn’t hold it in any longer. They were sitting together in the workshop, Jayce distractedly fiddling with a new design, his brow furrowed in concentration. She looked at him, her heart racing.

“Jayce,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “I think... I need to take a test.”

Jayce looked up, confused. “A test?” He set down his tools, his full attention now on her. “What kind of—”

She hesitated, her cheeks flushing. “A pregnancy test.”

For a moment, the room was silent. Jayce stared at her, the weight of her words sinking in. Slowly, he stood, nearly knocking over his stool. “Oh. Oh.” His eyes widened, and his expression shifted from shock to something softer, something unreadable. “You think...?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N admitted, wrapping her arms around herself. Her voice cracked as she continued. “But I need to know.”

Jayce was already reaching for his coat. “I’ll go get one.”

“No,” Y/N said quickly, shaking her head. “It’s fine. I need the air. I need to clear my head.” Before he could protest, she grabbed her bag and slipped out the door, leaving him standing there, concern etched into his features.

When Y/N returned, the flat felt oppressively quiet. Jayce had been pacing back and forth in the living room, his brow furrowed in deep worry. The moment he heard the door open, he stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face her. She stepped inside, clutching the small pharmacy bag in both hands, her knuckles white from how tightly she held it.

“Did you—?” Jayce began, his voice tentative, unsure of how to finish the sentence.

She held up the bag, swallowing hard. “Not yet.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, wordlessly, Jayce stepped forward, his concern softening into a quiet determination. He trailed behind her as she walked to the bathroom, his footsteps heavier than usual. When she reached the door, she hesitated.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Jayce murmured, his voice low and steady, like an anchor in her storm of nerves. “I’ll be right here.”

She gave him a small nod, her throat too tight to speak. Closing the door behind her, Y/N unwrapped the test with shaky hands. Each crinkle of the plastic felt deafening in the silence of the flat. Finally, after doing what needed to be done, she placed the test carefully on the sink and washed her hands, her fingers trembling under the stream of water.

When Y/N stepped out of the bathroom, the test sat on the sink behind her, the weight of it feeling heavier than it had any right to. She closed the door quietly, her movements slow and deliberate, as if making too much noise would shatter her fragile composure.

Jayce was sitting on the floor just outside the bathroom, his back against the wall, his head resting against it as he stared up at the ceiling. His broad shoulders seemed tense, his hands resting loosely on his thighs, but when he heard her approach, he turned his head towards her. His eyes softened the moment they met hers, filled with concern and unwavering support.

Without a word, Y/N slid down the wall beside him, her back pressing against the cool plaster. She drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as she let out a shaky breath. Her head dipped forward slightly, her hair falling into her face as she tried to hold herself together.

Jayce shifted closer, his knee brushing hers. “Hey,” he murmured gently, his voice like a balm to her frayed nerves. “You alright?”

She let out a bitter laugh, though it was choked with emotion. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I feel like... like I can’t breathe. Like I’m trying to hold it all in, but it’s too much.” Her arms tightened around her knees as her voice cracked. “I’m scared, Jayce.”

Jayce turned to face her fully, his expression softening even further. “It’s okay to be scared,” he said quietly, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. “I’m scared too.”

That admission made her look up, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “You are?”

“Of course I am,” he said with a small, rueful smile. “This... this wasn’t exactly in the plans, was it?” He paused, letting out a soft exhale. “But, Y/N, I know one thing for sure—whatever happens, we’re in this together.”

She sniffled, her head tilting to rest against the wall as a tear slipped down her cheek. “What if we’re not ready? What if it’s positive and... and everything changes? What if we mess this up?”

Jayce reached over, his large hand covering hers, gently prying it away from where she clutched at her knees. He held her hand between both of his, warm and steady. “Y/N, we’ve been through so much already—together. We’ve faced challenges, taken risks, made sacrifices. And we’ve come out stronger every time.” His thumbs brushed over her knuckles as he continued, his voice unwavering. “This? If it’s positive... we’ll figure it out. We’ll make it work. And if it’s not, then we keep moving forward, just like we always have.”

Tears spilled freely now, but her lips quirked into a small, trembling smile. “You always know what to say.”

“Not always,” he admitted with a sheepish grin. “But I know how I feel about you, and that’s enough for me. I love you, Y/N. And I’m not going anywhere.”

She turned her head, pressing her face into her knees for a moment as a soft sob escaped her. Then, she lifted her head and looked at him, her voice unsteady but determined. “I love you too.”

Jayce smiled at her, his hand still holding hers. “Then that’s all we need.”

The timer on her phone buzzed from inside the bathroom, its sound sharp and intrusive in the quiet. They both froze, their eyes locking for a moment. Y/N’s heart thudded painfully in her chest, and her breath caught in her throat.

“Do you want to check it?” Jayce asked softly, his voice free of any pressure.

“No,” she whispered, but then stopped herself, glancing at him. “Actually... can we look together?”

Jayce nodded, helping her to her feet. Their fingers laced together as they stepped back into the bathroom. The small plastic test sat on the edge of the sink, waiting like some harbinger of their future.

Y/N reached for it, her hand trembling, and Jayce covered her hand with his, steadying her. “Ready?” he asked gently. Her heart pounded so loudly she could barely think, and her vision blurred slightly from the tears she hadn’t realised were still falling. But she nods to him, and they both tilted the test to see the result.

Two clear lines.

“It’s positive,” Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible. She looked up at Jayce, her wide eyes brimming with disbelief and overwhelming emotion. “We’re... I’m... we’re going to be parents.”

Jayce’s face broke into a grin so wide it was almost boyish, his eyes lighting up with pure joy. He let out a breathy laugh, pulling her into his arms. “We’re going to be parents,” he murmured against her hair, his voice thick with wonder and emotion. “Y/N, we’re really doing this.”

She clung to him, her tears flowing freely now as a laugh bubbled out of her, shaky but genuine. “We’re really doing this.”

Jayce pulled back just enough to cup her face in his large hands, his thumbs brushing away her tears. His eyes searched hers, filled with so much love it made her heart ache. “I promise, Y/N, you’re not doing this alone. Every step, every moment, I’ll be right here with you.”

Y/N nodded, her lips curving into a smile even as more tears fell. “I know. And I love you.”

“I love you too,” Jayce said, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “We’re going to be alright. All three of us.”

She let out a watery laugh, her heart feeling lighter for the first time all day. Whatever challenges lay ahead, she knew she wouldn’t face them alone, they would face it together—hand in hand, heart to heart.

VIKTOR

The streets of Piltover shimmered with the afterglow of celebration. The unveiling of Jayce and Viktor’s latest hextech invention had drawn everyone out in droves, and the air buzzed with the electric thrill of triumph. Viktor rarely indulged in such festivities, but Y/N had insisted, tugging him away from his desk and into the sea of light and laughter.

For once, Viktor had allowed himself to let go, sharing drinks and stolen moments with Y/N as the night stretched into early morning. The wine was sweeter than usual, their laughter softer, and the pull between them impossible to resist. When they stumbled back home together, all inhibitions faded into the haze of celebration, and what followed was a night of passion, their usual caution slipping away in the haze of their intoxicated bliss.

Weeks passed, and the memory of that night had become a fond, fleeting moment amidst their busy lives. But Y/N couldn't ignore the shift in her body. Mornings had turned unbearable—nausea clawed at her stomach, leaving her pale and unsteady on her feet. It wasn’t just one morning, but day after day of the same relentless sickness.

That morning had been the worst. She barely made it to the sink before she was retching, gripping the counter for support as she tried to catch her breath.

Viktor had already left for the workshop, sparing her the embarrassment of him seeing her like this. This has to stop, she thought, wiping her face with a damp cloth. But the nagging thought at the back of her mind wouldn’t go away.

What if…?

The idea sent her stomach into even tighter knots, and not from nausea. Y/N slipped out later that day to a chemist’s shop, her scarf pulled tightly around her face as she nervously purchased a pregnancy test. She didn’t want to worry Viktor. There was no need to, not yet. She told herself it was just a precaution.

The flat was silent when she returned, her heart pounding as she read the instructions and waited. Time seemed to stretch endlessly as she stared at the little test strip on the bathroom counter. When the result finally came through, she felt her knees buckle.

Negative.

The relief hit her like a wave. She exhaled deeply, leaning against the wall with a hand on her chest. “I’m just overthinking,” she whispered aloud. “It’s nothing.”

But the relief was fleeting. The nausea continued, her appetite vanished, and sharp, twisting pains began to plague her abdomen. At first, she tried to hide it, brushing off Viktor’s gentle questions and insistence that she rest. She smiled through the discomfort, telling herself it would pass.

Until one evening, when Viktor’s patience wore thin.

“Miláčku,” he said, setting down a delicate hextech component with more force than usual. His sharp gaze softened as he looked at her, concern etching lines into his face. “You’ve been unwell for days. This isn’t a simple illness. Please, let me take you to a doctor.” (Darling)

She opened her mouth to protest, but the sight of him—leaning heavily on his cane, his brow furrowed with worry—made her heart clench. He rarely took time away from his work, but here he was, prioritising her.

“Alright,” she relented quietly.

The clinic was eerily calm, the faint hum of machinery the only sound in the sterile room. Viktor sat beside Y/N, his golden-brown eyes locked onto hers, his hand resting gently atop hers. His touch was steady, even as his own concern simmered beneath the surface.

Y/N’s fingers curled tightly around his, her knuckles white. The anxiety she’d tried to keep at bay was now an overwhelming storm, twisting her stomach in knots. When the doctor suggested an ultrasound to investigate further, her heart skipped a beat. She nodded reluctantly, her voice caught in her throat.

“This will help us get a clearer picture of what’s causing your symptoms,” the doctor explained in a calm, measured tone, motioning for her to lie back.

The paper sheet crinkled beneath her as she settled onto the examination table. Viktor stood as close as his cane allowed, leaning forward slightly to remain within reach. The cold gel spread across her abdomen startled her, and she instinctively tensed, her free hand gripping Viktor’s tightly. He squeezed back, his thumb brushing soothing circles against her skin.

The doctor moved the ultrasound wand across her abdomen, his focus fixed on the screen. The room seemed to hold its breath, the quiet humming of the machine the only sound. Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, each second stretching into eternity.

Then the doctor paused. His brows furrowed slightly, a flicker of something unspoken crossing his face.

“What is it?” Viktor’s voice broke the silence, sharper than usual, his worry laced into every syllable.

The doctor hesitated briefly before turning the screen towards them, pointing to a small, flickering shape. “It appears you’re pregnant.”

Y/N blinked, her mind grinding to a halt as she tried to process the words. Her breath hitched, and she turned to Viktor, her wide eyes mirroring the disbelief etched across his face. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world seemed to shrink to the size of the room, the tiny shape on the screen the only thing that mattered.

“Pregnant?” she finally whispered, her voice shaky and barely audible.

“Yes,” the doctor confirmed gently, glancing between them. “Based on the size, you’re about eight weeks along.”

Her gaze snapped back to the monitor, where the faint flicker of movement glowed on the screen. Her chest felt tight, her breaths shallow as her thoughts spiralled. Eight weeks? How? The night of the celebration surfaced in her memory, but she shoved it aside, still unable to grasp what she was seeing.

“That… that can’t be,” she stammered, her voice trembling. “I—I took a test. It said I wasn’t. It was negative.” (If you are taking a pregnancy test, please do more than one!)

The doctor offered her a patient smile, his tone calm and reassuring. “False negatives can happen, especially in the early stages of pregnancy. Hormone levels vary from person to person, and over-the-counter tests aren’t always accurate. An ultrasound or blood test is much more reliable.”

Y/N’s head spun as she tried to reconcile the doctor’s words with what she was feeling. She glanced at Viktor, her wide eyes searching his face for answers. His expression was one of quiet shock, but as his gaze shifted to the screen, a flicker of something softer—almost awe—crossed his features.

“Pregnant,” she whispered again, the word foreign and heavy on her tongue.

Y/N’s mind went blank, her thoughts dissolving into a hollow void as the weight of the revelation pressed down on her. The room around her seemed to blur, the doctor’s words fading into indistinct murmurs. Even Viktor’s voice, usually so grounding, felt distant and muffled, like she was underwater. She stared at the flickering shape on the screen, her chest tight, her breaths shallow. Her body felt disconnected, like she was floating somewhere far away from it all.

The walk back to their flat was quiet. Viktor stayed close to her, his hand brushing hers occasionally as though to remind her he was there. Y/N moved on autopilot, her legs carrying her forward while her mind lagged behind, still caught in the haze of the doctor’s office. The cool evening air did little to ground her.

When they reached the flat, Y/N dropped onto the couch, her body sinking into the cushions as though weighed down by the enormity of everything. Viktor sat beside her, leaning his cane against the armrest before turning his full attention to her.

For a long moment, there was only silence between them. Viktor didn’t rush her; he simply took her hand in his, his warm palm enveloping her cold fingers. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles over her skin.

“Miláčku,” he said softly, his voice breaking through the fog that clouded her mind.

She blinked, her gaze slowly refocusing as she looked at him. His expression was tender, his golden-brown eyes filled with a mixture of concern and patience. It was the way he said her name, like he was pulling her back from the edge of whatever abyss she was teetering on, that finally brought her back to herself.

“I...” she began, her voice faltering as she tried to find the words. She looked down at their joined hands, her chest tightening. “Viktor, I’m scared.”

He nodded, his brows furrowing slightly. “I know,” he said gently, his tone inviting her to continue.

Her lips trembled as she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve always been scared of this—of pregnancy, of birth. The idea of... of something growing inside me, changing my body, the risks...” She trailed off, shaking her head. “It terrifies me. And now it’s real, Viktor. It’s happening, and I don’t know how to handle it.”

His grip on her hand tightened just slightly, steady and reassuring. “You don’t have to handle it alone,” he said, his voice firm yet kind. “We will face this together, no matter what you decide.”

She met his gaze, tears welling in her eyes. “But what if I can’t do it? What if I can’t go through with it? I don’t even know if I want this.”

Viktor’s expression softened further, and he reached up to brush a stray tear from her cheek. “You don’t have to decide right now,” he said, his voice calm and measured. “This is a decision we will make together, but ultimately, it’s yours to make. Whatever you choose, I will support you.”

Y/N’s chest tightened at his words, the kindness and understanding in his tone threatening to break the dam holding back her emotions. She inhaled shakily, her free hand coming to rest on her stomach as though the gesture might somehow provide clarity.

“What if I keep it?” she asked, her voice wavering. “What if I try? But what if I can’t handle it, Viktor? What if it’s too much?”

His eyes softened, and he leaned closer, his free hand resting gently over hers on her stomach. “If you want to keep it, we will find a way,” he said quietly. “I will be with you every step of the way. You are stronger than you think, Y/N. And if it becomes too much, we will ask for help. You will never face this alone.”

Her tears spilled over then, rolling down her cheeks as she let out a shaky breath. “And if I can’t?”

“Then we will make that decision together too,” Viktor said firmly. “There is no shame in choosing what is best for you. Your health—both physical and mental—is what matters most to me.”

Y/N bit her lip, her heart swelling with gratitude for him even as the weight of the decision loomed over her. “I’m scared, Viktor,” she admitted again, her voice barely audible.

“I know,” he said, squeezing her hand once more. “But no matter what, I will be here. We will figure this out. Together.”

For the first time since the doctor’s office, Y/N felt the faintest flicker of calm break through the storm inside her. She wasn’t ready to make a decision yet, but she knew one thing for certain—she didn’t have to face it alone.

VANDER

It was another usual evening at The Last Drop. The soft hum of the bar filled the air, a gentle mix of chatter, clinking glasses, and laughter. The kids—Vi, Powder, Mylo, and Claggor—were bouncing around, as they often did, laughing and chasing each other between tables, sneaking sips of drinks from unsuspecting patrons or sneaking into the kitchen to steal leftovers. Vander was behind the bar, wiping down a glass with a rag, when the door to the bar swung open with an intensity that rattled the hinges and sent the door slamming against the wall.

A hush fell over the room. Everyone, from the rough-looking patrons to the kids, froze, their eyes darting to the entrance. There stood Y/N, storming in like a tempest, her expression fierce and determined. The sudden silence in the bar was thick, heavy with anticipation. Her sharp, purposeful steps echoed on the wooden floor as she marched straight toward Vander, her eyes locked on him with an intensity that left no room for escape.

“Vander!” she shouted, her voice booming across the room. The sound made every patron shrink back slightly, not out of fear, but the sheer authority in her tone. The entire bar fell into a stunned silence, and every eye followed her as she marched forward, her pace unrelenting.

Vander, who was used to the chaos of the bar and the antics of the kids, froze behind the counter as Y/N approached with alarming speed. His eyes widened slightly, but before he could even register what was happening, she reached him, grabbed him by the ear, and yanked him away from the bar. He let out a surprised yelp as he was pulled forward, causing the patrons to glance at each other, confused and mildly concerned.

“Ow! Ow! Ow! Love, watch the ear, ow!!” Vander blurted out, wincing as her grip on his ear tightened. The crowd looked from Vander to Y/N, unsure whether to laugh, panic, or simply stay out of it.

“Let’s go!” Y/N snapped, her voice low but forceful, her grip never loosening. Without another word, she dragged him through the back door, hauling him into the alley behind The Last Drop. As they stepped into the cool evening air, the sounds of the bar faded behind them, replaced by the quiet of the night.

Once outside, Y/N finally released his ear with a sharp tug, and Vander staggered back a step, rubbing the sore spot with a grimace. “What in Zaun’s name has gotten into you? You can’t just—"

Before he could finish his sentence, Y/N shoved something directly in his face, blocking his view of anything else. Vander blinked in confusion, his mind racing, trying to understand what was happening. His eyes fell on the small, white object she was holding—then it clicked. The familiar lines, the small window, the clear blue results.

It was a pregnancy test.

Vander’s jaw went slack, his mind stalling for a moment as he tried to process what he was seeing. His face drained of colour, and his mouth opened and closed as he tried to form words. “W-What’s this? Y/N, you… You didn’t—"

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her arms crossed over her chest, her posture unwavering. “Oh, I didn’t? Really? Because it sure looks like I did. I’m pregnant, Vander. Pregnant.”

The words hung in the air, and Vander’s eyes darted to the test again, then back to her, as if hoping it would somehow change. “But… But you said you couldn’t… I thought—”

Y/N’s face hardened, the frustration in her voice palpable. “Yeah, well, that’s what I thought too! But here we are, Vander. I’m pregnant. And to top it all off, we’ve been living in this little corner of Zaun like we’re invincible. But guess what? I’m not invincible, and neither are you. We can’t just rely on nothing to protect us forever, especially with all that muck down in the mines.”

Vander’s face morphed from confusion to concern, and he rubbed his face with both hands, as though trying to scrub away the reality of the situation. He’d spent so many years raising his “adoptive” kids—Vi, Powder, Mylo, and Claggor—that he hadn’t even considered the possibility of having a biological child of his own. It was all so sudden, so unexpected.

“Do you have any idea what this means?” Y/N continued, her voice cutting through his thoughts. Her tone had softened slightly, but there was a sharp edge to it. “Do you know how much more work this is going to be? The kids are already the kids, Vander! And now, I’ve got this surprise to figure out. How are we even supposed to—”

Vander blinked, still processing, and then his face softened. A small, awkward smile appeared on his lips. “You’re telling me you’re going to have a baby? Our baby?”

Y/N’s eyes softened, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly as she gazed at him, trying to gauge his reaction. She had expected more panic, more shock, maybe even more anger, but there was something different about his response—tenderness. Maybe even acceptance.

“Well, it seems like it, yes,” she replied, her tone quieter now, though still tinged with frustration.

For a moment, there was a heavy silence between them, the weight of the news settling in. Vander let out a soft, nervous laugh, as if to ease the tension. “I guess we’ll need a bigger place then, huh? And maybe a bigger kitchen, too. You know how Powder gets when there’s food.”

Y/N stared at him for a long, exasperated moment, before letting out a slow, drawn-out sigh, shaking her head in disbelief. “That’s all you have to say? Not ‘I’m sorry,’ or ‘I didn’t mean for this to happen,’ or something?”

Vander raised his hands in defence, looking apologetic. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, Y/N. But I’ll do whatever it takes to make it work. I swear. We’ve handled worse, and we’ll handle this too. Together.”

Y/N’s expression softened, but she gave him a pointed look. “Yeah, we will. And you’re going to help me break the news to the kids.”

Vander’s face fell slightly, his eyes widening in trepidation. He ran a hand through his hair nervously. "I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet. You saw how they react when they get a surprise.”

“Oh, trust me,” Y/N grinned, the tension melting away as she saw his discomfort. “They’re going to love it. Vi will probably be the first to start throwing questions about what it’s going to be like. You just wait.”

Vander groaned, rubbing his forehead. “Why do I feel like I’m the one who’s about to get interrogated?”

As they stood there in the alley, the silence between them lingered for a moment, before Vander’s lips twisted into a rueful smile. “I guess this is what happens when we stop worrying about protection.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Yeah, well, we’ll see if your sense of humour survives when I’m waddling around in nine months, complaining about everything.”

Vander smirked, his confidence returning as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll just make sure I’m there to help. After all, you’ve got me. We’ll handle this, Y/N. We always do.”

And despite the chaos of the situation, the two of them shared a quiet moment of understanding. Maybe they weren’t ready for this new chapter, maybe it was going to be more challenging than anything they had faced before—but they had always faced the unexpected together. And that, more than anything, gave them the strength to know that they would make it work, just like they always did.

The quiet of the alley seemed to stretch for an eternity before Vander and Y/N returned to the bustling warmth of The Last Drop. Vander’s nerves were still on edge, his mind spinning with the unexpected news he was about to deliver. Y/N, on the other hand, was a bit calmer—she had faced surprises and chaos all her life, but she couldn’t help but chuckle at the idea of telling the kids. They were practically family, but that didn’t mean this would be easy.

They made their way to the living space upstairs, a modest area furnished with mismatched chairs and tables, the place where the kids often gathered after their adventures. The moment they entered, the kids—all four of them—looked up from where they were sprawled out, playing cards, doing homework, or lounging around in their usual chaotic manner.

Vi was the first to notice their expressions. She looked between them with a raised eyebrow. "What’s going on? You two look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Y/N shot her a weary glance, then glanced over at Vander. He looked back at her with a slightly panicked expression, as if hoping she had some sort of divine inspiration on how to approach this. But after a long pause and a deep breath, Y/N knew it was time to face the music.

"Alright, kids," Y/N started, trying to sound as casual as possible, which, in reality, wasn’t very casual at all. She paced slightly, as if finding the words wasn’t an easy task. “We’ve got something to tell you. And, uh, it’s kind of... important.”

Claggor sat up from where he was leaning against the wall, a concerned look in his eyes. “What’s going on? You’re acting weird.”

Vander shuffled his feet nervously, clearly uncomfortable with the moment. “It’s just… well, we need to talk.”

Vi’s eyes narrowed, her gaze moving between Vander and Y/N with a knowing look. "What? Are you guys getting married or something?”

Y/N and Vander exchanged a quick glance, unsure whether they should just throw out the big reveal or ease into it. Vi had always been perceptive—far more than any of them sometimes.

Y/N shakes her head, "Uhm, well no. But - uhm, there’s no easy way to say this, so we’re just going to say it. Vander and I are… uh…" She trailed off, struggling to find the words. The kids looked at each other, curious but not entirely sure what was going on.

“We’re having a baby,” Vander finally blurted out, the words tumbling out much faster than he’d intended. He winced, as if waiting for an explosion of chaos. The room went completely silent for a moment. The kids blinked, exchanging confused looks.

Before anyone could respond, Powder, who had been sitting on the floor with a toy in her lap, piped up with the innocence only a child like her could muster. “You're having a baby?” she asked, her tone filled with pure curiosity.

The room fell silent, the air thick with shock. Powder's eyes were wide with genuine intrigue as she stared between Y/N and Vander. Her innocent face broke through the tension in the room, and she tilted her head. “How do babies get made, though?”

Claggor’s head jerked toward her, and his cheeks flushed bright red. "Powder, you—!" he started, but Powder cut him off with a confused look.

"Well, you said I should ask if I didn’t know, so how does it happen?" She then turned back to Y/N and Vander, waiting for an answer, completely unfazed.

Vander's face went the colour of a ripe tomato, and he looked like he wanted to vanish into the floor. Y/N, on the other hand, pressed a hand to her face, fighting back a laugh. “Powder... you—” She shook her head, still struggling to find the right words. She wasn’t prepared for that question today.

Vi, realising what was happening, started snickering, her face flushed with embarrassment as she tried to stifle her laughter. "Oh, Powder, that's..." She couldn't finish her sentence, instead burying her face in her hands, shaking with laughter.

Claggor, though still awkward about the whole thing, glanced at Mylo, who had yet to catch on. "Wait, are you... Are you serious? This is actually happening?" he said, eyes wide, still confused.

Mylo’s gaze flickered between them, then at Powder, then back to Y/N and Vander. He scratched his head. "So... what? You’re really having a baby? Like... a real one?"

Y/N nodded with a weary sigh, trying to keep her tone serious despite everything. “Yes, Mylo. A real one.”

Mylo blinked. “Wait, so that means... we’re getting a little sibling? How’s that going to work? Can we teach it how to fight like Vi does?”

Y/N snorted, her lips curling into a grin. "Yeah, I'm sure we can start baby combat training right away."

Powder, still completely innocent, leaned in, her eyes full of wonder. “Do we get to keep it? Can I play with it like a toy?”

Vi, now a bit more composed, raised an eyebrow. "Powder, you can't just play with a baby. They're fragile."

“But I could show it my toys, and I could give it all the best snacks,” Powder insisted, her voice full of excitement. “Maybe I can teach it to make explosions!”

Vander, who had been silently cringing, finally gave in and chuckled. “I think we might need to wait a little while before we get to the explosions part, Powder.”

At that moment, Mylo seemed to realise something. He stared at Y/N and Vander, wide-eyed. “Wait… so that’s why you two were acting so weird today? This whole time, I thought you were just arguing over something dumb." But you—” He pointed at Vander. “You’re going to be a dad again?”

Claggor looked between them with a raised brow. “So... you’re telling me we’re not just dealing with more trouble from you two... we’re dealing with a baby?”

Y/N nodded solemnly, her grin returning. “Yep. Trouble, but with a side of tiny socks and diapers.”

Powder, still processing, blinked slowly and then nodded sagely. “Well, okay then. I’ll just have to figure out how to teach it to make cookies. I bet it’ll be good at that.”

The entire room burst into laughter at Powder’s innocent musings. Even Vander, who had been anxious about this moment, couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Well,” Y/N said, wiping a tear from her eye after laughing so much, “I guess that’s one way to look at it, Powder. But for now, let’s just figure out how to deal with the mess we’ve got right in front of us.”

Vander nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. “Guess we’ll need a bigger kitchen after all. And maybe some more seats around here.”

The kids were still laughing, though the tension had finally broken. Powder seemed content with her role as the unofficial "baby expert," and Mylo had come to terms with the fact that this was happening. Claggor, ever the pragmatic one, started planning how he could use his new “big sibling” status to boss everyone around.

Y/N and Vander exchanged a glance, feeling a sense of relief wash over them. The road ahead would be difficult—adjusting to the idea of a new addition, making room for the baby, and managing their already chaotic lives—but if there was one thing they knew, it was that they could do it together. And that, in the end, was enough.

The chaos and laughter of the children filled the air once again, and Vander, now with a chuckle in his voice, leaned over to Y/N. “We’ll figure this out, right?”

Y/N grinned. “Yeah. Together. We always do.”

BONUS: JAYVIK

It had been a few weeks since Y/N, Jayce, and Viktor had found their rhythm in their polyamorous relationship. The three of them shared a deep bond—both emotionally and physically. They balanced each other out, with Jayce’s impulsiveness, Viktor’s intellect, and Y/N’s warmth and intuition. However, there was one thing neither of them had anticipated: the whirlwind of consequences that followed the heat of the moment one fateful night.

Y/N had been feeling off for days, though she couldn't quite put her finger on it. At first, it was just a general fatigue, a strange feeling of nausea every morning. She figured it was probably just stress from work and the tension from the city, but the pale face and nausea kept coming back.

Viktor, on the other hand, noticed the signs immediately. His sharp eyes couldn’t ignore the subtle differences. Her usual glow had faded, and every morning when he heard the faint sound of her throwing up in the bathroom, it only deepened his concern. He’d gently approach her afterward, bringing her water or tea, and making sure she rested properly. There was no way he could let her push herself through something if something wasn’t right.

“Y/N, you’ve not been yourself lately. You’re pale, and you’re barely eating,” Viktor said softly, sitting beside her on the couch one evening. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

She hesitated, her thoughts swirling in her mind. She wasn’t sure how to even begin explaining the situation that had started to become more obvious with each passing day. But Viktor was relentless in his care, and she couldn't keep hiding it.

“I don’t know, Viktor…” she trailed off, her eyes averting to the floor. "I just feel... off."

Viktor’s concern deepened, but he held back from pushing further. He knew she needed time, but he wasn’t about to ignore it. His mind raced, but one thought kept returning—could she be…?

Days passed, and Viktor’s concern never waned. He could hear the faint sounds of Y/N being sick early in the mornings, the muffled sounds of her retching echoing from the bathroom. Each time she returned, she looked even more exhausted, trying to mask the weariness in her eyes with a forced smile. But Viktor knew better. He could see through the facade, and he couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine. The constant nausea, the pale complexion that seemed to grow worse each day—it wasn’t just a passing illness. Something was wrong, and he couldn’t ignore it any longer.

Viktor’s mind raced with possibilities, but there was only one thing that could give him the clarity he needed: a test. He could no longer sit idly by, pretending to be uncertain. He had to know for sure.

As always, Jayce was absorbed in his work, lost in the complexities of his latest project. Viktor watched him for a moment before he quietly pulled him away from his notes. The words were hard to say, but they were necessary. “Jayce, something’s wrong with Y/N. I think... I think she might be pregnant.”

Jayce’s brow furrowed, his confusion evident. “Pregnant? But how would you know that? She seems fine.”

Viktor sighed, his frustration becoming palpable. He hadn’t intended to sound accusatory, but Jayce’s obliviousness only deepened his concern. “You’ve noticed her feeling unwell, haven’t you? Her pallor, the nausea in the mornings, the fatigue—how can you not see it?”

Jayce blinked, taken aback by the sharpness in Viktor’s voice. The weight of Viktor’s words finally sank in, and his gaze softened with understanding. “Wait... are you serious?” he asked, disbelief still clinging to his tone. “You think Y/N...?”

Viktor nodded, his hands clasped tightly in front of him as he spoke with quiet certainty. “I’m fairly certain. But we need to confirm it. We need a test.”

Jayce’s expression shifted, a mix of confusion and worry crossing his face. “Alright, if you say so. Let’s go.”

The two men made their way to the apothecary, where they quickly procured the necessary items. As they walked back to their shared home, the silence between them was thick with unspoken thoughts. Viktor couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was about to change, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for it.

When they returned, the house felt unusually quiet, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. Y/N was sitting on the couch, arms crossed over her chest, an amused yet knowing expression on her face. Her eyebrow was arched, a hint of mischief in her gaze as she looked at them.

“Well, well,” she remarked with a playful smirk, “Took you long enough.”

Jayce’s heart skipped a beat as he realised she was looking directly at the pregnancy tests in their hands. A wave of realisation washed over him. Her knowing look, the twinkle in her eyes—she already knew. He felt a mix of awe and disbelief, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find the right words.

Viktor sighed, both exasperated and relieved at the same time. “You knew?” he asked, shaking his head, his voice a mix of admiration and frustration. He didn’t know whether to be angry with her for not telling them sooner or grateful that she hadn’t let them spiral with worry.

Y/N shrugged, unbothered by their reactions. “I’m not blind, Viktor. I’ve been feeling off for a while now. The last thing I need is you two running around like headless chickens trying to figure it out. I wasn’t sure until now, but I’m guessing you’ve got it right. Yes, I’m pregnant.”

Viktor stepped closer to her, his eyes softening as he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. His voice was quiet, almost tender. “You’re sure?”

Y/N nodded slowly, her gaze shifting from Viktor to Jayce. “Yeah, I’m sure. I haven’t told you guys because… well, I didn’t know how to bring it up. But now I’m scared. I don’t know what this means for us.”

Jayce’s heart ached at the vulnerability in her voice. Without thinking, he dropped down beside her, his hand gently squeezing hers. “It means we’ll figure it out, Y/N. Together. You don’t have to do this alone. We’ll be with you, every step of the way.”

Viktor’s hand brushed a strand of hair from Y/N’s face, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. His voice was low, filled with the promise of unwavering support. “We’ll do everything we can, Y/N. This isn’t just your burden. It’s ours. We’ll face it together, whatever it may be.”

Y/N felt the weight of their words sink in, and for the first time in days, she allowed herself to relax. The tension in her shoulders eased, the fear that had gripped her heart lessened by their unwavering support. She had known, deep down, that they would stand by her, but hearing it from them, seeing their genuine concern, made all the difference.

The three of them sat there in silence for a few moments, the bond between them growing stronger with each passing second. The future was uncertain, yes, but one thing was clear: they were in this together. Whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them as a united front, and nothing could tear them apart.

Y/N finally let out a soft breath, her shoulders sagging in relief. “Alright then,” she said, her voice steadier now. “Let’s do this. Together.”

After a moment, Jayce broke the silence with a grin, his tone teasing. “So, if we’re doing this together, I guess we’ll have to figure out what the baby will look like, huh?”

Viktor raised an eyebrow, looking at him with a knowing smirk. “I imagine it will look like one of us. After all, it couldn’t possibly be a combination of both of us.”

Jayce laughed softly. “Right. Well, if it does end up looking like me, I hope it inherits my good looks. You know, sharp jawline, tall, and—”

Viktor interrupted, a playful glint in his eye. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up. If the baby’s got my brain and your looks, we’ll have a truly perfect child.”

Y/N chuckled at their bickering, a hint of affection in her smile. “I think the baby will be just fine, no matter whose features it takes. It’s going to be ours—yours, mine, and ours. And that’s enough for me.”

Jayce’s face softened at her words, and Viktor’s expression turned thoughtful as he gazed at her. For the first time in a while, they were all on the same page, sharing this moment of laughter and uncertainty together. Whatever challenges awaited them, they would face them as one, united and stronger than ever.

(REQUESTED -@drunkmysticsquirrel)

SILCO

Zaun’s air was heavy tonight, a mix of smog, ash, and the faint metallic tang that seemed to linger everywhere. The hum of Shimmer production filtered through the narrow alleyways, mingling with the faint echoes of laughter, shouting, and the clang of metal being worked. Y/N had always found comfort in Zaun’s chaos, a city alive and unapologetically itself. Yet tonight, it felt suffocating—a reflection of the storm raging in her own mind.

Her fingers trembled as they gripped the edge of the worn countertop in her dimly lit apartment. The single light bulb above flickered intermittently, casting the room in sporadic shadow. On the table before her lay the letter from the clinic. It was a simple sheet of paper, but its weight was crushing, the bold lettering at the top staring up at her like an accusation.

Positive.

Pregnant. With Silco’s child.

She pressed her lips together, a sharp breath escaping through her nose as she tried to steady herself. This wasn’t supposed to happen. What she and Silco had… it wasn’t love. It wasn’t even a relationship. Just a series of fleeting nights where the weight of their respective lives became too much, and they found solace in each other. No strings, no promises, no expectations.

And yet here she was, standing at a crossroads she hadn’t planned for, a fragile string now tying her to a future she wasn’t prepared to face.

Y/N’s hands curled into fists, the letter crumpling slightly beneath her fingers. He won’t care. He won’t want this, she thought bitterly. Silco was a man consumed by ambition. His entire life revolved around one thing: Zaun’s independence. Every move he made, every word he spoke, was calculated with that goal in mind. And then there was Jinx—his volatile, unpredictable daughter who seemed to occupy whatever space his plans left in his heart.

The memory of Jinx flashed in Y/N’s mind—the way Silco spoke to her with surprising patience, the softness in his mismatched eyes when she needed reassurance. It was a stark contrast to the cold, calculating man who ruled Zaun with an iron will.

But he doesn’t feel that way about you, Y/N reminded herself.

She paced the small room, her thoughts a whirlwind of fear, doubt, and an unfamiliar ache she couldn’t quite name. Part of her wanted to keep the truth from him, to carry this burden alone. After all, what could he possibly say? Silco wasn’t the type to offer comfort, and she didn’t want to hear him dismiss her—or worse, the child.

But deep down, she knew she had to tell him.

It had been weeks since she’d learned the truth—weeks of carrying the weight alone, trapped between her own doubts and fears of what Silco might say. She had thought about telling him a dozen times, each attempt falling apart the moment she imagined his sharp, unreadable gaze.

Tonight wasn’t about confessions, though. It was about feeling something other than the crushing weight in her chest. She had stayed away from him long enough, her absence no doubt noticed, but the pull of his presence had grown too strong to ignore.

The night unfolded with a raw intensity that neither of them had planned, the barriers that had grown between them over the past weeks crumbling under the weight of unspoken emotions. Silco’s touch was both commanding and tender, a reminder of the strange, fragile connection they shared. For Y/N, it was a chance to lose herself, if only for a few fleeting hours, in something that felt steady amidst the chaos within her.

Afterwards, they lay in silence, the dim light casting soft shadows across the room. Silco's breathing was steady beside her, his arm draped across his chest as he stared at the ceiling, the faint scent of smoke and the warmth of their shared intimacy lingering in the air. Y/N turned her head slightly, watching him. For a moment, she let herself believe that everything could remain as it was—that she could keep her secret buried for just a little longer.

But the quiet of the room began to weigh on her, the emotions she had been suppressing threatening to claw their way to the surface. Slipping away as carefully as she could, Y/N padded across the cold floor to the adjoining washroom. The faint sound of running water filled the air as she leaned against the basin, staring at her reflection in the cracked mirror. Her fingers gripped the porcelain edge tightly, as though she could anchor herself to the moment.

She let out a shaky breath, splashing water on her face in an attempt to clear her thoughts. Just a little longer, she thought. I can carry this on my own. He doesn’t need to know yet.

Back in the main room, Silco lit another cigarette, the faint glow illuminating the sharp angles of his face. He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl upward as his mismatched eyes drifted lazily around the room. It was a habit of his, to notice every detail, every potential vulnerability in his space.

That’s when he saw it—a small paper bag tucked beneath the chair where Y/N’s belongings had been casually placed. It was partially hidden, the edge of it crumpled as though it had been hastily shoved aside.

Curiosity flickered in his gaze as he leaned forward, retrieving the bag with careful precision. His sharp fingers unfolded it, pulling out the contents inside. The faint crease of his brow deepened as he turned the object over in his hands.

Then he saw it.

Positive.

The word hit him like a silent blow, stark and unrelenting against the stark white of the test. Silco’s jaw tightened, his mismatched eyes narrowing as he stared at it, his mind working quickly to piece together the implications. He didn’t need confirmation; he knew. He could feel it in the way Y/N had been pulling away, in the tension that lingered in her every glance.

The faint sound of water in the adjoining washroom stopped, and he immediately slipped the test back into the bag, placing it exactly where he had found it. His expression remained unreadable as he leaned back in his chair, the cigarette burning forgotten between his fingers.

By the time Y/N emerged from the washroom, Silco’s features were as composed as ever, his mismatched gaze fixed on her as she crossed the room.

“You should rest,” he said, his voice low and smooth, betraying none of the revelation that now sat heavy in his chest.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, her eyes searching his face, but she nodded, slipping back into the bed beside him. As she curled beneath the covers, Silco remained where he was, the glow of his cigarette the only light in the darkened room.

He didn’t sleep that night.

The following morning, Y/N woke to an empty bed, the space beside her already cold. It didn’t surprise her—Silco’s absence was as much a part of him as his sharp words and calculating mind. He wasn’t the type to linger, not when there was always something demanding his attention in the underbelly of Zaun.

Still, the faint scent of his cologne clung to the sheets, a reminder of the night before. She lay there for a moment, staring at the cracked ceiling as her thoughts tumbled over each other. Her chest felt heavy, the weight of the secret she’d been carrying for weeks pressing harder now than ever.

Finally, she sat up, the dim light filtering through the grimy windows casting muted shadows across the room. Her gaze fell on the table nearby, where a neatly folded piece of paper caught her attention. The handwriting, sharp and precise, was unmistakable.

“Come to my office when you're sorted.”

The words were simple, scrawled in his sharp, precise handwriting, but they landed in her chest like a stone sinking in water. Silco wasn’t the kind of man to waste time on pleasantries or meaningless gestures. If he had left her a note, it wasn’t out of politeness—it was deliberate, purposeful. It meant he was waiting for her, and not just in passing.

Her fingers tightened around the note as unease flickered in the pit of her stomach. She tried to push it aside, convincing herself it was nothing more than his usual air of cool detachment, the aloofness she had grown used to.

After all, she knew him. She had learned his habits, read his moods, and become familiar with the fortress he built around himself. Walls she could sometimes breach but never truly dismantle.

And yet, this time felt different. A tension hung in the air, unspoken but impossible to ignore. She wasn’t sure if it was her own nerves twisting the moment or if something had shifted between them, but the weight of it pressed heavily on her.

One thing was certain: whatever awaited her in that office wouldn’t be simple.

Later that afternoon, Y/N found herself standing outside Silco’s office, her palms clammy despite her efforts to steady herself. She had known this conversation was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door, stepping inside. The space, familiar and yet foreign, felt colder than usual.

Silco sat behind his desk, as composed and commanding as ever. His mismatched eyes flicked up to meet hers, and while his expression remained unreadable, the air between them felt charged, heavy with unspoken words.

“Close the door,” he said, his voice calm but deliberate.

Y/N hesitated, her stomach twisting at the sharpness in his tone. She obeyed, the faint click of the latch feeling unnaturally loud in the quiet room. The distance between them seemed vast, even as she moved closer to his desk, her steps faltering.

“Y/N,” Silco began, his gaze unwavering. He gestured for her to approach. “We need to talk.”

Her heart thudded in her chest as she neared him. She froze when he opened a drawer and pulled out something small, placing it deliberately on the desk between them.

Her breath caught in her throat. The sight of it—the test—sent a jolt of panic through her, making her blood run cold. She had thought it hidden, had hoped she could put off this moment a little longer.

“I believe this belongs to you,” Silco said, his voice steady, but carrying an edge that made her pulse race.

Y/N swallowed hard, her hands trembling as she gripped the back of the chair in front of her. “I—I was going to tell you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Silco raised an eyebrow, his calm composure unnervingly sharp. “When?” he asked, his voice deceptively soft. “After the child was born? Or perhaps never at all?”

“I didn’t know how,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “I didn’t want to burden you with this—not when you have so much to deal with.”

He leaned forward, his sharp gaze locking onto hers. “You think I wouldn’t care?”

“I didn’t want to distract you,” she said, her voice trembling. “Zaun, Jinx, everything—your work... I thought it was all more important than me. More important than this.”

Silco’s expression hardened, but there was something more beneath the steel—something softer, something she hadn’t expected. “That was your first mistake,” he interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. “To assume I wouldn’t care. That I wouldn’t want to know.”

Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to spill over. She had convinced herself for so long that she was alone in this, that Silco wouldn’t want to be burdened with a child—their child. But his words, his gaze, chipped away at those fears, piece by piece.

“I was scared,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “I still am.”

Silco regarded her for a long moment, his mismatched eyes searching hers. Slowly, he rose from his chair, rounding the desk to stand before her. His hand reached out, gently tilting her chin up so she had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“You’ve faced worse than this, Y/N,” he said quietly, his voice resolute. “And you didn’t run then. Don’t run now." He reached for her shoulder, his touch steady and grounding. “This changes things,” he said, his tone firm but not harsh. “But it doesn’t change my priorities. You and this child—our child—are part of my future now. Do you understand?”

Her breath hitched as she nodded, the full weight of his words settling over her. For weeks, she had carried this secret, this fear, but now, with him standing there before her, she felt as though the weight had lifted. Slowly, she allowed herself to believe it—she wasn’t alone in this.

“I should have told you sooner,” she whispered, her voice shaky.

Silco’s hand moved to rest lightly on her shoulder, his touch soft but resolute. “You should have,” he said, his voice softening slightly. “But I won’t hold it against you. From now on, Y/N, we face this together. No more secrets.”

The tension she had carried for so long finally began to ease, the walls she had built around herself cracking under the weight of his promise. Silco wasn’t perfect—far from it—but in that moment, she felt something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in far too long.

Hope.

#Arcane #arcane fandom #arcane fluff #reader insert #jayce x reader #jayce talis x reader #jayce x you #jayce x y/n #viktor x reader #viktor x you #viktor x y/n #vander x reader #vander x y/n #vander x you #jayvik x reader #jayce x reader x viktor #silco x reader #silco x you #silco x y/n

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moongreenlight · 2 years ago

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Have you ever seen that corny ass skit where it’s the girl talking to her husband asking him to fix things and he says “I’m not a plumber” “I’m not a carpenter” bla bla bla and then one day he comes home and the girl’s like “oh yeah I had the neighbor come over to fix the things you wouldn’t” and the neighbor says she can either bake him a cake or sleep with him as payment so the husband asks “so what kind of cake did you bake him?” And the girl says “I’m not a baker?”

Very much Neighbor!Price x stay-at-home-mom!reader coded :)

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

Neighbor!Price who’s found a quiet little cul-de-sac to settle in when he’s got some time off. It’s a little neighborhood, mostly older people who’re thrilled to have a man like him around to help bring out bins and offer to mow their lawns or rake their leaves or shovel their drives when he’s around.

But somehow he’s found the only other younger family in the area living directly next to him. Parents are a few years his junior, and they’ve got two young kids. He assumes the boy, the older one, is early elementary age- sees you herding him into the car in the morning with a pack lunch and a backpack that’s nearly the same size as he is to and from the house in the morning and afternoon. And the girl, the younger, must be in pre-k, because she’s only out for half the day and doesn’t get the same pack lunch her brother gets.

He’s gotten to know you pretty well. When he’s around, the two of you will chat while you’re tending your garden and he’s working in his garage carrying out some odd project or another. He thinks you’re sweet. Likes the way you wear overalls with a little top when you’re planting flowers in the beds out front. How when you bend over or stand at the right angle he can imagine you’re not wearing a top at all.

He hates your husband. He’s crass and rude and never waves hello to any of the neighbors- odd for such a friendly little community. Leaves for work early and comes home late and leaves you to fend for yourself all day. Doesn’t know how to interact with you or your kids. And Price is almost certain he doesn’t fuck you the way you deserve to be fucked because his bedroom window looks over your living room and he’s caught you on the couch with your hand down your pants more times than could have been coincidence.

He’s known to be the neighborhood handyman. Got a little workshop set up in his garage and a general knowledge about nearly everything, so it’s not uncommon that he gets a knock on the door a few times a week. Usually it’s some of the older neighbors popping over to see if he can fix their TVs or help their grandkids connect to the Wi-Fi, but it’s a pleasant surprise when you turn up on his porch mid-morning.

You’re scrunching the ends of your soaking wet hair in a towel. Apologizing as soon as you hear him turn the deadbolt. Feverishly going on about how you must have blown a circuit in the bathroom trying to dry your hair and you’d usually be able to manage but your husband shoved a bookshelf in front of the breaker and you can’t get through to it.

He’s sweet about it. Always is, but especially for you. Follows you over to your place and promises you no less than ten times that it’s really no trouble. He’s happy to help. It’s a quick fix, but he drags it out as long as he can. Insists on following you up and down the stairs from the basement to the top floor twice to make sure everything’s working properly.

He notices that the bathroom door sticks and that the fire alarm in the hallway is chirping from a low battery. You apologize for the toys in the living room and the clean laundry pile on the couch and the state of your house. Say that your husband is racking up a hefty to-do list with a small laugh that’s just a bit too forced.

He’s thrilled to tell you that he’s got some free time later in the week and says he’ll come over if only to help out your husband. Makes some backhanded remark about how your husband is clearly a busy lad. You refuse- of course- sweet thing that you are, but he turns up the next day after you’ve taken your kids to school anyway.

He tails you up the drive so there’s no way you can shut him out. Shushes you when you try to apologize for one reason or another and takes off to fix not only the sticky bathroom door and the fire alarm batteries, but also the dripping kitchen faucet and the garbage disposal that’s been broken for months.

You try to stay clear of whatever room he’s working in, chirping short responses to whatever nonsense question he asked in an attempt to lure you over. It was only when he was about to head out and he saw you leaning on the dryer to keep it shut that he saw his golden opportunity.

You were clearly trying to hide it, but even with a small load of clothes in, it sounded like you’d thrown a pair of boots into a tin garbage pail and shook it hard as you could. You tried to shoo him off, but he wasn’t having any of it.

There’s enough skirting around the subject to give you chance to turn down his advances, but when he realizes you’re not outright telling him to go fuck himself, he’s essentially taking it as a challenge to see if he can’t push you to that point.

Hoists you up on the still clanging machine and pushes between your legs on the weak pretense of needing you there to keep the door shut while he works. The machine shook the straps of your top down off your shoulders and made him acutely aware of the fact that you hadn’t had the time to put on a bra yet. It made his pants near painfully tight on the crotch.

He’d try and make idle chat. Your kids and plans for the day, but it’s entirely too hard for him to focus on anything other than the way your thighs are pressing together as the dry cycle started to bang the machine around more. He makes a light comment about how he’s not sure how you get anything done around the house with the dryer in this state. Your laugh is breathy.

And when he leans over you to reach to the back of the machine, he can feel the way your soft panting breaths fan his neck. Confirms his suspicions.

“Alright?”

You’re chewing the inside of your lip while you nod. Clearly starved for stimulation if all it takes is a dry cycle to get you off. Poor thing.

It’s stuffy in the laundry room. Adds to the appeal. Makes your shorts ride up and stick to your legs. Your thighs are dewy and glide together when you shift under his gaze.

“You sure, doll?”

The two of you are almost nose-to-nose. You’re leaned back, caged in by his big arms that look even bigger in his almost obscenely tight shirt. He’s smiling. Letting his eyes wander to your collarbones. The way your throat bobbed when you swallowed.

Before you could choke out your answer, the dryer stopped. Chimed the alert and slowly stilled. You took a shaky breath and nodded once more, looking like you couldn’t decide whether to be disappointed or relieved. He backed off, stretched out his hand to help you down.

You lead him to the kitchen. Ask if you can get him anything. Tea or food. He declines. You say something about stopping to get cash when you’re out picking up your daughter in a couple hours. He declines again.

“John, really, I appreciate your help. You have to let me get you back.”

You’re filling the kettle with water anyway, leaned just slightly over the sink. He knows it’s impolite to stare, but he’s never had very good manners when it came to things like that.

“Bake me a cake or somethin’, then. Sleep with me. Won’t take your money, though.”

You whirl around and end up sloshing some water down your front. Doesn’t seem to phase you. Your eyebrows are damn near at your hairline.

“I don’t know if that’s appropriate, considering…”

He snorts a soft laugh. It’s kind- not at all suggestive. Like he’s playing off a clever joke.

“What? Baking me a cake?”

You purse your lips and set the kettle on the stove.

“Never been a very good baker.”

He about hurdles the kitchen island like he’s running track.

“That right?”

You make a thoughtful sound before clicking on the burner. He can see you biting back a smile. You finally turn to face him. Leaned back on your hands with your head cocked slightly to the side.

“I just don’t know that it would be appropriate given our- my- situation.”

It’s his turn to hum and nod. Take a few steps forward, slow and slinky like a predator stalking toward its prey.

“Sure.”

You chew your bottom lip. Try to find some resolve in fussing with your wedding ring. It’s horrible. Small. He can’t help but think about how he’d be able to get you a much better one. He takes a few more steps forward.

“It’s complicated, John.”

Your voice is mousy now.

“I know.”

A few more steps forward and he’s back nose-to-nose with you. Pinning you against the counter.

“I just-“

“Then tell me to go home.”

The button of his jeans grazes your groin and sends sparks up your spine. You recoil slightly, but he’s got his massive hands on your wrists to keep you in place.

“My husb-“

“Don’t. S’not what I said. Tell me to go home. Tell me to go home, and I’ll leave. S’easy as that.”

The coarse hair of his beard brushes along your jaw. Visible goosebumps rise all the way up your neck and down your arms.

“John, he-“

A throaty growl from him.

“He’s not getting a lick of you.”

And then somehow he’s got you on your back on the couch. Shoved off the pile of laundry and pushed you down. His eyes are near pitch black and hungry. Ravenous. He tears off your shorts. Doesn’t wait for you to hoist your hips, just yanks so hard that you’re a little worried you’ll get thrown off the couch with them.

He is wretched. Planting wet kisses from the inside of your knee all the way up to your sex frustratingly slow. Big hands splayed over your hips to keep you from bucking up into his mouth. He’s got this maddeningly smug smile on his face like he’s waiting for the perfect moment to say I told you so. Like he knew this was going to happen from the start, you were just too stupid to see.

Your underwear is embarrassingly wet from your little go on the dryer. Your pussy puffy and sensitive underneath. You whine when he kisses over the damp spot. Laves his tongue over your folds without pulling them to the side. He makes some comment about the state of you that borders on snarky, but you choose to ignore it.

When he finally does rid you of your panties, there’s a moment of clarity where you realize what you’re doing. You push up on your elbows and try to roll out from under him, but he gives your clit a mean slap that forces you back onto the couch and ends your protest. Sends you to that liminal, clouded headspace where all you can focus on is how desperately you need to come.

It’s clear he’s savoring the moment. Running the point of his tongue through your folds. Teasing at your hole. Artfully swirling around your clit, but never close enough to give you the friction you’re so desperately craving. Planting hot, wet kisses on your inner thighs. Leaves a few love bites in his wake like he’s boasting; so certain your husband wouldn’t get close enough to notice that he had no problem decorating you as he pleased.

You’re a mess. Being taken apart stitch by stitch. Panting and whining and begging for more. Your orgasm is coiling tight under your belly without him having to do much. Any other time you’d have felt a little pathetic, but you were too preoccupied to care now.

He finally brings his hands up and you think he’s about to stuff you full, but he only lets his fingers drag slowly along your sensitive sex. Collects some of your arousal and pulls it up toward your naval. Watches the goosebumps form under his touch.

He rucks your shirt up with his free hand and immediately wraps his lips around your pebbled nipples. Tongues at them. Lets his teeth graze teasingly over them. And whatever one he’s not got currently in his mouth, he’s working his fingers over. Pinching and flicking until you’re teary eyed and squirming under him.

And then finally, fucking finally, he ducks back down and fixes his mouth on your clit. Sucks gently on the swollen bud for just a moment and then companies his mouth with two fingers bullying their way inside you.

The stretch is almost uncomfortable in its suddenness, but you quickly get used to it. The pleasure is blinding. Forces you to throw your head back against the cushion and screw your eyes tightly shut. A string of high, needy moans float through your gaped lips.

He’s sweet, Jesus, is he. Hums and groans with his mouth still on your bundle of nerves. Pulls away just enough to tell you how pretty your pussy is taking him before going back to work on your sensitive clit. You want to scream. You think you may actually come entirely undone on this couch if he doesn’t stop.

And then your orgasm coils so tightly within you that it explodes outward. Tears through you and leaves every square inch of your skin sizzling. He doesn’t let up. Pins you down by the stomach with his forearm and continues down his warpath. The sounds his fingers make when they sink into you are so pornographic that it makes your face hot.

You eventually find it in you to warble out something that sounded like please, too much. And he pulled off, still with that smug grin pulling his lips now surrounded by glistening slick caught in the hair of his beard.

He gives you one last kiss. Lewd and wet and so searing hot you’re worried it will actually blister the sensitive flesh of your cunt. He’ll sit back on his haunches and fuss with the button and zipper of his jeans before saying something horrible and cheeky like

“C’mon, doll. Thought you were set on payin’ me back.”

#he sees a family with a present but shitty father and says ‘it’s free real estate’ I hate him #moongreenlight #moongreenlightwrites #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #141 headcanons #captain price smut #captain john price smut #captain john price x reader #captain john price #captain price #price cod #john price #cod price #141 x reader #x reader

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slaaverin · 6 months ago

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2024 Drarry Recs Wrap Up

Since the year is ending, I thought I would make a little list of all the fics I bookmarked this year. I absolutely adored all of them. Please read them if you haven't and thank you to our wonderful authors!

Never Mind the Bollocks by @the-sinking-ship [E 188k]

If someone told Harry six months ago that by autumn he would be single, living on whisky and toast, and dancing the night away with Draco Malfoy, he would have told them to get their head checked. And yet, here he was.

Foreplay by @lqtraintracks [E 6k]

Getting a raging hard-on on the duelling room floor, pinned under Harry Potter’s sweaty body, is not how Draco saw his day going, but… Well, here he is.

Brief Encounter by @maraudersaffair [E 45k]

Harry was happy, goddammit; he’d gotten everything he wanted in life. Why then could he not stop thinking about Draco Malfoy?

The Usual by @aibidil [T 9k]

Harry finally tries the new magical coffee shop on Diagon Alley. A story in which Draco is Up To Something™ and Harry is going to get to the bottom of it, and to the bottom of that sixteen ounce to-go cup.

This fic is simply hilarious. Best laugh I had in years.

Of easy wind and downy flake by @starquestingfordrarry [E 14k]

It’s snowing in July, and it’s Malfoy’s fault. Or, the one where the house wants the boys to kiss.

Probationary Action by @toomuchplor [E 63k]

As part of the terms of the probationary contract, DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY shall submit for inspection his WAND on the last day of every month, such inspection to be carried out by a duly registered and fully qualified AUROR in the employ of the MINISTRY OF MAGIC, and such inspection to include a PRIORI INCANTATEM spell to ensure that no PROHIBITED MAGICS as heretofore described have been practised by the aforementioned probationer.

Rookie Moves by peu_a_peu [E 75k]

Aurors Potter and Malfoy crack the case.

The Way You Say My Name by InnerLilith [E 5k]

In which Malfoy calls Harry pet names to get him flustered and riled up, and Harry gets flustered and riled up because he secretly likes it. The problem is that Malfoy is only teasing…or is he?

The Boy from the Piano Shop by @soliblomst [M 89k]

After going blind in a reckless attempt to avenge Ginny's death, Harry battles with severe depression. One day, he stumbles upon a quaint piano restoration shop in the heart of London and meets the owner, a kindly old man, and his introverted young apprentice, whose voice sounds strangely familiar. As Harry and Draco slowly reconnect through private piano lessons, the small workshop becomes Harry's refuge, offering him a glimmer of hope in a world without eyes. /Set five years after the Battle of Hogwarts/

HIGHLY recommend

Aletheia by @lazywonderlvnd [E 8k]

Draco finds out Daphne's been shagging Potter and it turns out it's really not that difficult to get a piece of her hair.

Too Good At Raising Hell by @the-sinking-ship [E 87k]

When Harry Potter walks into Draco’s nightclub looking like trouble, Draco can’t stop staring. He really ought to train his dick not to react so enthusiastically to red flags, but where would be the fun in that?

Say When by @lqtraintracks [E 24k]

When Auror Harry Potter is sent in undercover to determine if Draco Malfoy is laundering money through his BDSM club, will he be able to keep up the ruse and close the case? Or, more to the point, will he keep from falling in love?

Now I Know In Part by @dodgerkedavra [E 39k]

Harry Potter is the savior of the wizarding world. Draco Malfoy is a reformed Death Eater turned Ministry Curse-Breaker. Five years after the war, they're brought together by another mysterious curse.

Got Me Started by @itsphantasmagoria @kamaela [E 8k]

Malfoy said in a rush, “I don’t care about you.” “Uh, same?” was the only response Harry could come up with. Or: An unexpected partnership leads Harry and Draco to a sex club in Berlin. Harry doesn't quite know what to do with himself.

Raising Hell! by @wolfpants [E 21k]

Harry and Draco are sent undercover as a married couple to investigate a dodgy Muggle love cult. Something evil is lurking in Glastonbury… but to get to it, the reluctant partners must be initiated first. And this is, after all, a love cult…

The Superfluous Man by peu_a_peu [E 24k]

A child for Harry Potter is a miracle of magic. And it's the second act of Draco Malfoy's sorry little life.

your braids like a pattern by @hoko-onchi-writes [E 31k]

Harry soldiers on with the get-to-know you activity, noting each counsellor's interests and repeating their names. Harry’s eyes land on Malfoy. He’s the last counsellor in the circle. One blond eyebrow is arched, his smirky mouth turned up at the corners. That can’t be good. Harry clutches his clipboard; lets the edge of it dig into his skin. When did Malfoy’s hair get so long? It had only reached his chin the last time Harry saw him. “Counsellor Malfoy.” “Potter. Fancy seeing you here.” Malfoy has the same drawl, but it’s deeper. Richer. Like he has in fact grown in the intervening years. Harry taps his pencil against his clipboard. “Care to share your name and an interesting tidbit?” “So many of my tidbits are interesting.” Malfoy’s hair falls in loose, golden waves over his shoulders. Harry regrets the use of the word ‘tidbit’ with every fibre of his being, but he nods gamely at Malfoy. Whatever he says can’t be that bad. “I’m Draco Malfoy, and I was a teenage Death Eater.” ~~ Or: Harry runs a camp. Malfoy is the new counsellor, and he's driving Harry to the brink of insanity.

I live and breathe for this fic.

Nobody Pinch Me by @dracoladon @lazywonderlvnd [E 17k]

A mysteriously locked door keeps Harry and Draco trapped in the room where they're serving detention.

i knew you when i knew nothing by fiella [G 74k WIP]

The plan was simple. Absurd, but simple. He’d wait until Draco left for his usual late-night library run. When the coast was clear, Harry would sneak over to Draco’s side of the dorm. He wasn’t going to do anything. He wasn’t a complete lunatic. But Draco’s pillow? His blanket? That was fair game, wasn’t it? Just for a moment, just long enough to feel… Harry groaned, dragging his hands down his face. This is insane, he thought. I’m insane. But even as he berated himself, the plan solidified in his mind. Steal Draco Malfoy’s pillow. Or: In which Harry Potter loses a portion of his memories during the Battle of Hogwarts. When he returns for Eighth Year, he finds himself roomed with Draco Malfoy—a boy he doesn’t remember is supposed to be his enemy. And Draco Malfoy doesn’t know how to handle a Harry Potter who has forgotten to hate him.

Little Prince, Kneel by @coffeedrgn87 [E 478k]

Almost immediately after the war, Harry Potter took his godson and Andromeda and left England behind. He returned some five years later, changed, healed, and a completely different man altogether --- in every sense of the word, and then some. Now an extremely handsome bachelor in his late(ish) twenties, and with a promising career at the Ministry, he suddenly finds his life turned upside down after unexpectedly bumping into his former school nemesis, Draco Malfoy, Prosecutor Extraordinaire. Is Harry going to be able to stay away from Draco? Does he even want to? And exactly how will Draco react once he discovers how the Saviour prefers to spend his free time?

One word for this fic : YES!!!!

Thank you so much to everyone for an amazing year of drarry!

#drarry #drarry fic rec #harry potter #draco malfoy #draco x harry #2024 was a very good year

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deonsx · 6 months ago

Note

helloo there!!♡, I really love the way you write. I'm wondering what it would be like if sae,rin,kaiser, have a gf who is a cosplayer, tyy♡!

Hiii dear!! Have a nice read and thank youuu^^

Rin Itoshi

Rin had come home early from practice. As soon as he opened the door he heard strange noises coming from the living room. When he walked in he found you sitting on the floor trying to shape a large piece of cardboard. The room was a mess with hot glue guns paints fabric scraps and oddly shaped foam pieces scattered everywhere

“What are you doing?” Rin asked with a curious expression. You looked up at him. With a smudge of paint on your face and messy hair you smiled brightly. “I’m working on a new cosplay. This is going to be a piece of armor” you said holding up the cardboard. Rin raised an eyebrow. “Armor? That thing needs a lot of work before it even looks like armor.”

“Don’t tease me!” you retorted. “This is just the base layer. It still needs painting hardening and detailing. Rin chuckled. “Alright alright. But why does the entire house look like a battlefield? Do you even know what you’re doing?”

Though you looked a bit offended you could tell Rin was getting interested. “I watched some YouTube videos and read a few guides. It’s a bit challenging but I’m learning. Plus it’s fun”

Rin sat down next to you and picked up the piece of cardboard you were working on. “If you’re going to put in this much effort at least do it properly. You need to cut this cleanly with a craft knife” he said grabbing a knife and showing you how to do it

After that day Rin couldn’t help but get involved in your project. Sometimes he’d point out mistakes saying “You’re doing it wrong” and other times he’d grab a paintbrush to help you add finishing touches

When the cosplay was finally ready you put it on and showed Rin the completed look. As you posed excitedly you noticed the surprised look on his face. “Alright” he said after a moment “I thought it was silly at first but… it actually looks really good”

“Really?” you asked your eyes sparkling with hope. Rin shrugged. “Maybe. But after all that effort I guess I can’t say anything against it.” At the convention your armor caught everyone’s attention. People stopped you to take pictures and compliment your work. Rin stood a step behind you a small smile on his face keeping an eye on the crowd to make sure no one crossed any boundaries

Sae Itoshi

when you first mentioned your passion for cosplay he didn’t think much of it. “Cosplay? You mean dressing up as fictional characters?” he asked one day his tone calm but slightly curious “Exactly!” you replied with excitement. “It’s a lot more than just dressing up though. I design the outfits build props and sometimes even compete. It’s a hobby but it means a lot to me”

Sae gave a small nod. “If it’s important to you that’s fine. Just don’t expect me to dress up” You laughed at his response knowing it was his way of acknowledging your interests without diving too deeply

A few weeks later you were preparing for a convention. Your living room was a workshop with fabric glue guns and foam scattered everywhere. Sae walked in and paused his sharp gaze taking in the scene “You’ve been at this for hours” he commented setting his bag down

“Yup” you said not even looking up from the detailed painting you were doing on a prop. “The convention is in two days and I want this to be perfect” Sae sighed softly walking closer. “Does it really need to be this detailed? No one’s going to notice if it’s off by a little”

You shot him a playful glare. “Oh they’ll notice. Trust me cosplayers have an eye for detail” He didn’t reply but leaned down to pick up one of the finished pieces. “It’s impressive” he admitted after a moment. “I didn’t realize you made all of this yourself”

The day of the convention Sae offered to drive you there. As you stepped out of the car in your fully completed costume he couldn’t help but let his eyes linger for a moment. You looked stunning the outfit perfectly capturing the character you were portraying “You’re really into this aren’t you?” he said his voice softer than usual “I am” you replied with a bright smile. “And I love it”

At the convention Sae stayed in the background watching as people approached you for photos and compliments. He observed the way your face lit up every time someone admired your work. Despite his usual stoic demeanor he felt a subtle sense of pride

Later as you both sat down to eat he spoke up. “You’re talented. I don’t think I could have the patience to do something like that” You grinned. “Coming from you that’s a big compliment.” Sae smirked faintly. “Don’t let it go to your head”

Kaiser Michael

“You dress up as fictional characters and make all this stuff yourself?” he asked, spinning one of your half-finished props in his hand like it was a trophy.“Yes, Michael” you replied, rolling your eyes at his tone. “It’s not just dressing up. It’s crafting, designing, and bringing something I love to life. And no, you can’t break that it took hours to make”

Kaiser smirked and placed the prop back carefully. “Relax. I’m just admiring your… creativity” A few days later, he strolled into the room while you were sewing fabric for your next costume. His golden hair was slightly tousled, and he leaned casually against the doorway, watching you work. “So, when’s this big event of yours?”

“This weekend” you answered, not looking up from your work “Perfect. I’ll clear my schedule” he said with a grin. You looked up at him, surprised. “You’re coming?”

“Of course” he said as if it were obvious. “I have to see how good you are at this. Besides, you’ll need someone to make sure your fans don’t get too close”

The day of the convention, Kaiser arrived in style, dressed impeccably as always. When he saw you in your finished cosplay, his usual cocky smirk shifted into something softer. “I’ll admit” he said, circling you like a critic. “You look incredible. Almost as good as me” “Almost?” you teased, raising an eyebrow “Fine” he said with a mock dramatic sigh. “You look better than me for now”

At the convention, Kaiser stayed by your side, his presence impossible to ignore. People stared as much at him as they did at you, but he didn’t seem to mind. Whenever someone asked for a photo with you, he’d step aside, arms crossed, observing like he was the one managing your image

“You know” he whispered at one point as you posed for a group shot. “You should’ve told me earlier. I’d have joined you in costume. Imagine us as a power duo unstoppable” You laughed, shaking your head. “This is my thing, Michael. You already have football”

“But you’re my girlfriend” he said with a wink. “That makes everything you do my thing too” By the end of the day, you were exhausted but happy. Kaiser drove you home, still talking about how “you stole the show” and how “everyone was lucky to witness your brilliance”

Enjoy!

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vunblr · 3 months ago

Text

Even the Tallest Pines

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff. Slight Angst.

Summary: Bucky is used to pushing through, working until the ache fades, going on until his body just starts functioning as it should again. But when illness knocks him down this time, he learns that even the tallest pines need someone to lean on.

Word Count: 5k.

note: Part of the Roots and Branches AU

Bucky barely had time to turn away before the sneeze hit him like a damn freight train.

“Fuck!” He braced a hand on the workbench, sniffling hard as a shiver made his body tremble.

“Jesus, man.” Sam’s voice came from across the workshop, charged with equal concern and disgust. “That was violent.”

Bucky grumbled something unintelligible, rubbing a rough hand down his face. His head felt stuffed with cotton, his throat was raw, and his joints ached like he’d been thrown off a roof. He ignored it. There was still work to be done.

But five minutes later, another sneeze ripped through his body, and it was so forceful it made him stumble.

“Alright, hell no.” Sam dropped the plank of wood he was carrying, pointing at him. “Get your plague-ridden ass outta here.”

“M’fine,” Bucky muttered, grabbing a rag to wipe his nose.

Sam stared at him like he had finally lost his damn mind. “Man, look at you. You’re dripping. Ain’t nobody tryin’ to catch whatever biohazard you got.”

Bucky sniffed hard, straightening. “I can still work.”

Sam let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “You sneezed so hard just now I thought you were about to bust a damn lung.” He crossed his arms. “Go home, Buck. Before I make you.”

Bucky scowled, tensing his shoulders. He hated being benched, hated feeling useless. But the fact that his knees were actually wobbly was probably a bad sign. He exhaled sharply, mumbling, “Fine,” before turning and grabbing his things.

As he trudged toward the door, Sam called after him, “And text somebody when you get home, man. Let ‘em know you’re still alive.”

Bucky just lifted a hand in half-assed acknowledgment, pushing the door open and stepping into the cold. The wind hit him like a slap to the face, and he bit back a shiver.

He wasn’t telling anyone shit.

With heavy steps, he made his way to his truck, already planning his next move, go home, take a scalding shower, pour a generous glass of whiskey with lemon and honey, and then sleep the damn flu off.

No need to make a big deal out of it.

-----

He slumped onto the couch the second he got home, his body throbbed with exhaustion. His muscles ached, his joints felt stiff and useless, and his head pounded in time with his pulse. But the worst part -the absolute worst- was his arm.

It always acted up when he was sick, a cruel reminder that no matter how much time passed, it still was going to give him trouble, and always will. The ache ran deep, seeping into the tendons mingled with metal, an uncomfortable weight that pulled at his shoulder, making everything feel wrong. He rolled it absently, wincing when the dull throb sharpened and radiated up to his neck.

He sighed, dragging a hand over his face, trying to muster the energy to move. He still had to shower and still had to set up near the fireplace since his bed would feel like an icebox tonight. But first-

He pulled out his phone and sent her a text.

Doing alright?

Simple. Normal. No reason for her to suspect anything. He knew if she heard him, she’d know immediately that something was off. His voice was half-gone already, scratchy and hoarse, and he wasn’t about to deal with her fussing.

A second later, his phone vibrated with her reply.

Yeah, all good! You?

Bucky smirked faintly, already knowing what she’d say if he did tell her the truth. Come over. I’ll make you soup. You need medicine, Bucky. Have you even taken anything?

He exhaled through his nose, typing back:

Mhm. Just sitting by the fire.

Not a lie, technically.

She sent a heart emoji in response, and Bucky huffed a small laugh before mirroring the action and setting the phone aside. He pushed himself to his feet, groaning when his back protested, and forced himself into the bathroom.

The shower helped, but only a little. The scalding heat loosened his stiff muscles, and let some of the aches drain away, but the fever still burned beneath his skin, making him feel both too hot and too cold all at once. He stood under the spray longer than necessary, pressing his forehead against the tiles, letting the steam work on his stuffed nose.

Eventually, he shut off the water, wrapping a towel around his waist as he padded into the kitchen. His body craved sleep, but first, the whiskey.

He grabbed the bottle from the cabinet, pouring a generous amount into a glass before adding a squeeze of lemon and a spoonful of honey. It was an old habit, something he’d done back in the war when there weren’t fancy medicines to knock out a cold. The honey soothed his throat, the lemon cut through the congestion, and the whiskey? Well, the whiskey made sure he wouldn’t be awake long enough to care about how miserable he felt.

Drink in hand, he moved to the fireplace, tossing another log onto the dwindling embers before settling onto the floor. His mattress would feel too big tonight, too cold, too empty. The fire would keep him warm enough, and the heat might help with the damn chills.

He downed half the glass in one go, and the burn spread down his throat and settled deep in his stomach. His body thanked him for it moments later, as the tension eased just enough to let his muscles relax.

The last thing he remembered before the sleep took him was the way the fire crackled softly, and how its warmth flickered over his skin, lulling him into heavy, dreamless oblivion.

Somewhere in the night, his phone vibrated from the coffee table, once, twice, three times. Then, his battery went dead.

----

She was finishing her morning coffee when her phone rang. She glanced at the screen, Sam.

“Hey, Sam,” she greeted, tucking the phone between her ear and shoulder as she grabbed a slice of toast.

“What’s up?” Sam replied. “Hey, is Bucky with you?”

She frowned. “No, why?”

“Because he left his wallet at the shop yesterday. I’ve been calling him, but he’s not answering.”

She straightened in her chair. She thought back to the night before, he had texted her like he normally did if he was tired, and nothing seemed off… but now that she thought about it, he never responded when she sent a goodnight message.

“What?” she asked, her voice sharper now. “He didn’t go to work today?”

Sam let out a short huff. “Nah, I sent his ass home yesterday. He looked like hell, sneezing all over the damn place. Told him to rest up.”

Bucky hadn’t told her.

Of course, he hadn’t.

“I’ll go check on him,” she said, already pushing back her chair and reaching for her jacket.

“Yeah, do that,” Sam replied. “And if he gives you any attitude, knock some sense into him for me.”

But she barely heard him as she shoved on her boots and grabbed her keys.

Bucky was sick. His phone was off.

And she knew damn well he wasn’t taking care of himself.

---

Before driving to Bucky’s place, She made a quick stop in town to gather supplies. Vegetables for soup, jelly powder in case his throat was too sore for real food, and a few non-prescription meds to help with the symptoms.

Stubborn man.

Still reluctant to show vulnerability, still keeping things to himself, using his own damn words, don’t wanna be a bother. Like he hadn’t spent his entire life carrying burdens that were never meant to be his alone.

She suspected it had everything to do with what happened after he was discharged. The arm, the way people looked at him, the other things he never talked about. Being abandoned, discarded, and left to figure it all out on his own. No wonder he still acted like needing help was some kind of failure.

Her grip strengthened on the steering wheel as she pulled onto the winding road leading to his cabin. She exhaled slowly, shaking off the frustration. No use being mad at him for something so deeply ingrained in his brain. She’d just have to remind him, again, that he didn’t have to all alone.

When she finally reached the cabin, she pulled into the driveway and immediately noticed the curtains were drawn, but his truck was parked there. So, he was home.

She knocked first, out of courtesy.

No answer. Not that she expected one.

With a sigh, she pulled out her spare key and let herself in.

The moment she stepped inside, she was hit with the heavy warmth of the fire, the thick scent of whiskey in the air. Her stomach twisted as her eyes landed on him.

Bucky was sprawled out on the floor near the fireplace, tangled in a mess of damp sheets, his bare body slick with sweat. His face was flushed and his brow was furrowed even in sleep. And beside him, within arm’s reach, was an almost empty bottle of scotch.

She exhaled through her nose, setting the bags down before crouching beside him. “Jesus, Buck…” she muttered, brushing her fingers over his burning forehead.

His skin was scorching, his breathing deep and heavy, completely dead to the world.

She sighed, shaking her head, but there was no real anger behind the gesture, just worry.

Stubborn idiot.

She took a moment to think about her next move, rubbing a hand over her face as she glanced between Bucky’s fever-flushed body and the mess of his living room floor.

First things first, his bed.

She made her way to the bedroom, flipping on the lamp. As expected, the sheets were still mostly untouched, a little rumpled but nowhere near as messy as they should’ve been if he’d actually been using them. A few pieces of clothing were scattered over the mattress, along with some clutter, proof that he’d been avoiding the space -again-.

With a sigh, she got to work. She stripped the bed, shaking out clean sheets and pulling up fresh blankets, making sure the space was comfortable enough for when she dragged his stubborn ass in here. Once that was done, she grabbed a glass of water, filled it to the brim, and placed it on the nightstand along with the medicine she bought. At least that would be ready when he finally woke up.

And now, for the hardest part, getting him up.

She stepped back into the living room, crossing her arms as she stared down at him. He hadn’t moved, still deeply asleep, with sweat clinging to his skin, breathing slow and heavy.

Alright, big guy, she thought. Time to move.

Crouching down beside him, she reached for his shoulder, giving it a firm shake.

“Bucky,” she called, keeping her voice gentle. No response.

She shook him again, a little harder this time. “Come on, Buck. You can’t sleep on the floor like that.”

A low, irritated grumble escaped his lips, but he didn’t open his eyes.

She sighed, pressing her lips together. She patted his cheek lightly, and her voice took on that patient but no-nonsense tone. “Bucky. Wake up.”

Another grumble, and this time, he shifted slightly, furrowing his brows even deeper. His lips parted as he let out a hoarse, barely coherent, “Wha’?”

She huffed. “You need to get up and go to bed. Come on, I’ll help.”

He cracked one eye open, bleary and unfocused, before immediately shutting it again. “M’fine.”

She let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, sure. You look fine,” she deadpanned. “Come on, darling. Work with me here.”

Bucky groaned, clearly not interested in cooperating, but when she tugged at his arm, he didn’t resist. Slowly, sluggishly, he let her pull him upright, and his body swayed slightly as he fought to keep his balance.

She gritted her teeth, wrapping an arm around his waist to steady him. “Jesus, you’re burning up.”

He let out something between a grunt and a sigh, leaning into her more than he probably realized. “Jus’ lemme… stay here,” he muttered, his voice scratchy, heavy with sleep.

Y/N rolled her eyes, adjusting her grip. “Yeah, no chance, love. We’re moving.”

And with that, she began the slow, grueling process of getting a fevered, half-conscious Bucky Barnes to the damn bedroom.

After the titanic effort of getting him into the room -half-dragging, half-guiding his deadweight frame down the hall- she finally managed to shove him onto the bed with one last push. He landed with a tired grunt, barely making the effort to adjust himself before his body sank into the mattress.

She wasted no time pulling the blankets over him, making sure he was tucked in

She didn’t question him. Instead, she exhaled softly and said the only thing that mattered.

“You should have told me, Bucky.”

His brows pinched slightly, and his lips parted like he was going to argue, but before he could get a word out, she pressed an ibuprofen pill into his palm and handed him the glass of water.

“Only water for now,” she said, firmly but gently.

He hesitated for a second, then averted his gaze, clearly catching the meaning behind her words. She didn’t have to spell it out. He swallowed the pill with a slow sip of water, then rested the glass on his chest, staring up at the ceiling. A beat of silence passed before he muttered, “You should go.”

She arched a brow. “Oh?”

“You’ll get sick,” he rasped, his voice was barely above a mumble. “No point in both of us feeling like shit.”

She let out a small, knowing huff. Typical. Even half-dead, he was still trying to push her away, still convinced he was protecting her from something.

“Oh, we can be miserable together,” she said smiling, as she smoothed the blankets over him. “It’s kind of romantic.”

Bucky barely opened his mouth to argue before a violent sneeze tore through his body, making his whole body jolt. He groaned, sniffling, then cursed under his breath when he felt the dampness sticking in his beard.

She handed him a box of tissues and then smoothed a hand over his burning forehead, brushing damp hair away from his face. “I’m gonna make you some soup,” she said softly.

“Jus’ leave it in a tupper or somethin’ and go,” he muttered with exhaustion.

She exhaled through her nose, leveling him with a look. “You know, the more you try to play the lone wolf, the more I want to stick around. So, you won’t convince me.”

She felt his chest rise with a deep inhale, like he was about to protest, but he didn’t. Whether it was the fever, the exhaustion, or maybe the smallest part of him that liked having her here, he just let out a rough, wordless hum instead.

Satisfied, she gave his arm a gentle squeeze and stood. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

----

As she chopped the vegetables, she let out a low chuckle, shaking her head at the ridiculous thought that had crept into her mind.

All those soapy romance novels and cheesy TV dramas always had that moment, the fevered guy, burning up and vulnerable, somehow managing to get miraculously horny while the female lead doted on him. It always led to a heated, unhinged sex scene, full of fever-induced desperation and raw passion.

She snorted, slicing through a carrot. Yeah, right.

Her gaze flickered toward the bedroom, and her thoughts drifted to the bear of a man she had as a boyfriend. Bucky, miserable and feverish, half-buried under blankets, sweaty and grumbling like the world had personally wronged him.

Meanwhile, he was in the bedroom, barely clinging to consciousness. He hated being stuck in bed, hated the way his limbs felt like lead, the way his head swam every time he moved.

But maybe -maybe- if the ibuprofen kicked in soon, he could get up, stand on his own two damn feet, and make it to the main area. He wasn’t about to let her see him as some bedridden pussy. He’d take that damn soup at the table like a normal person, even if it killed him.

And that was the origin of the predicament he was facing now.

The moment the scent of the soup hit his nose -warm, rich, comforting- something in him refused to stay in bed. His body ached, his fever still burned, but the thought of being stuck under those damn blankets while she took care of everything? No fucking way. Because if he let it happen, if he let himself indulge in such fussing, eventually she…

So, he forced himself upright.

The first step was shaky, but he gritted his teeth and kept moving, dragging himself toward the main area like a man on a mission. His vision swam slightly, and his balance was off, but he ignored it.

Until he couldn’t.

The dizziness hit hard and fast, and his stomach lurched as his knees buckled. Instinctively, he threw out his left arm, pressing his palm against the nearest wall to catch himself-

And fuck.

White-hot pain traveled through his shoulder, down to the metal joints of his arm, making his grip faltered. His breath hitched, his muscles locked up, and before he could stabilize himself, his weight slipped out from under him.

The next thing he knew, he was on the damn floor. The loud thud echoed through the cabin, sharp and jarring against the crackle of the fire.

From the kitchen, she startled, nearly dropping the spoon she was holding. “Bucky?” she called, alarmed.

No answer.

Just a sharp inhale, followed by a muttered curse.

He was on the floor, with one knee bent awkwardly beneath him, and his right hand gripping his bad arm, his face was tight with pain. His breathing was uneven, and for a moment, he just sat there, blinking sluggishly, like his body was still trying to process what the hell had just happened.

She dropped to her knees beside him, her hands already reaching out to him. “Jesus, Buck,” she breathed, scanning him quickly. “What the hell were you thinking?”

He clenched his jaw, shifting slightly as he tried -and failed- to push himself upright. “Was tryin’ to get to the table,” he muttered. “Didn’t wanna be-”

She cut him off with a sharp look. “Don’t even finish that sentence.”

His lips pressed into a stubborn line, but he didn’t argue. Mostly because he was too damn exhausted to fight her on it.

She sighed, brushing a hand over his damp forehead before gripping his good arm. “Come on, big guy,” she murmured. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

It took effort -more than she’d admit- but eventually, she got him standing, letting him lean into her body as she guided him down the hall. He was heavy with fever, and his movements sluggish, and by the time she finally got him onto the bed, he all but collapsed into it, as his muscles gave out completely.

His tired eyes flickered open just a little, hazy and unfocused. His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but all that came out was a rough exhale.

She folded her arms, fixing him with a look that left zero room for argument.

“Listen here, James,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “You are going to remain in that bed and will only leave it to go to the bathroom. You got it?”

Bucky scowled. “But it’s-”

“No.” She cut him off before he could even try. “You’re going to stay right there, I’m going to bring you the soup, and I’m going to feed you. And you’re going to eat all of it without protest. Do you understand?”

His tired brain lagged for a second. Then his brows furrowed, and his fever-flushed face twisted in disbelief. “Feed- what?”

“Yes, feed,” she said, matter-of-factly. “You’re going to open your mouth and let me feed you that soup like a little bird.”

His jaw dropped slightly, and indignation flashed across his exhausted features. “Dammit, woman, I-”

“Do you want me to call Dr. Roberts?” she asked sweetly, tilting her head. “Hm?”

Bucky froze.

She could see the war happening inside his fevered brain. On one hand, his pride was taking a massive hit. On the other, the last thing he wanted was for the town doctor to come poking around, fussing over him worse than she was, to surely stab in his rear with an injection.

With a long, suffering sigh, he dropped his head back against the pillow.

“Fine,” he grumbled.

She sighed slowly. “Baby, I know that because of reasons you have a hard time letting yourself be seen vulnerable, but I thought we had passed the stage where you hide that from me. Why is it so bad to let yourself take a break and let me take care of you?”

She reached for one of his hands and squeezed it softly. He averted his gaze, and tensed his jaw, clearly wrestling with something. He was tired of hiding things, things he knew he should have told her but still didn’t know how to address.

She was right.

He was dragging ghosts from the past into their relationship, letting old wounds dictate how much of himself he allowed her to see. And it wasn’t fair to her. So, he forced himself to open up.

“I was engaged once,” he said, still not looking at her.

She blinked, taken aback by the sudden confession. Well, she hadn’t expected that.

Bucky kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling, and his fingers twitched slightly in her grasp, but he didn’t pull away.

“For about a year,” he continued, and his voice was hoarse, whether from the fever or the weight of the memory, she wasn’t sure. “Back when I got out. Thought… I thought I was doin’ the right thing. Settling down. Moving on.” He let out a humorless chuckle. “Didn’t exactly work out.”

She stayed quiet, letting him talk at his own pace.

“She stuck around through the first couple of surgeries,” he said, finally glancing at her, but only briefly. “But the pain, the therapy, the… the way I was back then…" He shook his head. "She didn’t sign up for that.”

“She left?” she asked softly, gently squeezing his hand.

Bucky swallowed, and his eyes went dark with something old, something raw. “Didn’t even say it to my face. Just a note on the counter when I got home from PT one day.” His fingers curled slightly around hers. “Said she couldn’t watch me waste away. That I wasn’t the man she fell for. That… that was hard for her.”

She felt something twist uglily in her chest.

“And… ever since then,” he went on, voice quieter now, “bein’ sick, bein’ hurt, feelin’ weak, it all just… reminds me of that. Of how easy it was for someone who supposedly wanted to spend the rest of her life with me to walk away when I wasn’t at my best.” His breath was shallow like he’d just finished a fight. But he didn’t let go of her hand.

She exhaled slowly and deliberately, trying to rein in the sharp flare of anger on his behalf. “Bucky,” she murmured, shaking her head. “You know I’m not her.”

His gaze finally met hers, and she could see wariness there, the part of him that wanted to believe her but was still bracing for something else.

She reached up, brushing a few damp strands of hair away from his forehead.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” she said. “Not your strength, not your worth, nothing.” She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I’m here because I love you. Not just the good days. All of you.”

Bucky closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling a breath he must’ve been holding onto for years. When he finally opened his eyes again and met hers, some of the resistance had faded. “I- I know. Objectively, I know. But my mind doesn’t seem to care about that, and… I just shut down.” His throat worked around the words, and his jaw tightened before continuing. “And it’s not just-” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I keep thinking… If I’m not strong, if I’m not useful, people leave. And maybe that’s fair.” His fingers curled into his free palm, and his knuckles paled. “After everything I’ve done -after all the good men who never made it home- why should I get to be taken care of?” His voice went quiet, rough. “They deserved to come back. Not me.”

“Never say that, Bucky.” Her fingers clenched around his hand. “You carry so much weight on your shoulders, and you are such a kindhearted man. We haven’t talked about… certain aspects of your past, but I know you. I know that even if it pains and haunts you, you did what you had to. Not because you wanted to, but because there was no other choice. And I refuse to believe that anything you did was out of anything but survival.”

Bucky swallowed hard with an unreadable expression, but his fingers tightened around hers this time, like he was afraid to let go. “I’ll try to remember that,” he finally said, finding her gaze with a tired smile.

She pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles. “Will you let me feed you like a little bird, then?”

He huffed, drifting his gaze to the side. “…If you wanna.”

“Oh, I want to,” she murmured, with a teasing lilt in her voice. “I want to feed you, maybe help you shower, tuck you into bed…”

He let out a dry chuckle. “What’s next? Powder my ass? Stick a pacifier into my mouth?”

She smirked. “Well, smart mouth, I happen to have two pacifiers you seem to enjoy a lot.” With that, she guided his hand to her chest, letting him cup her breast from underneath it.

Despite the exhaustion weighing his body down, his eyes darkened with interest. “Fuck, if I could move, I’d show you not to tease like that, sweetheart.”

She smiled, giving his hand a little squeeze where it rested, making him press his fingers harder against her flesh. “Too bad you can’t,” she teased, to gently pull away, standing up with a stretch.

Bucky let out a grumble but didn’t argue, only watching as she disappeared into the kitchen. He could hear the clatter of dishes, the faint bubbling of the soup as she stirred it. The warmth of the cabin, the scent of vegetables and broth, and the sound of her moving around the kitchen settled something nice inside him, soothing him.

When she returned, she was carrying a steaming bowl of soup, and a spoon in her other hand. He was still propped up against the pillows, looking a little more awake but no less exhausted. His fever-flushed face softened when he saw her.

She sat down beside him, shifting closer until her thigh pressed lightly against his. Without a word, she dipped the spoon into the soup, blowing on it before bringing it to his lips. He opened his mouth without hesitation, letting her feed him.

“There we go,” she murmured, pleased. “See? Not so bad.”

He hummed in response, swallowing slowly. The warmth of the broth must have felt good because some of the tension in his shoulders eased a little. She scooped another spoonful, repeating the same slow, careful process, and he let her. The action of feeding him, tucking the blankets closer around him between bites, brushing his hair back when it stuck to his damp forehead, it was intimate in a way that went beyond anything physical, and he had to admit he liked it. A lot.

By the time the bowl was nearly empty, his eyelids were starting to droop. The fever was still there, but the soup, the warmth, and maybe even the comfort of letting someone care for him were doing their job.

She set the bowl aside and brushed her fingers lightly over his cheek. “Get some rest, Buck,” she whispered.

His hand found hers on top of the blankets, giving it the smallest squeeze. “Would you stay, darlin’?”

She smiled gently at him. "Alright, just... let me change into something more comfortable, hm?" She didn’t wait for a response, already making her way to his closet. Pulling out one of his old flannels, she quickly slipped out of her clothes and into the worn fabric, relishing his lingering scent on the soft material.

By the time she climbed into bed, he had already shifted toward her instinctively. The moment she settled, he let his head rest against her chest, half-draping himself over her like she was his personal pillow. She knew this position well, when he was overwhelmed, when the weight of his mind pressed too hard, this was how he found peace. But tonight, it felt different. Less about fighting distress and more about simply wanting closeness.

She adjusted against the mattress, lacing her arms around him as her fingers traced slow, soothing circles along his broad back. His long, damp hair clung to his scalp, and she combed through it gently, and pressed a light kiss to the top of his head. “Comfortable now?” she murmured.

He hummed in response, nuzzling just a little closer. “Mhm.” A beat passed before he mumbled, “You always smell nice.” His voice was thick with exhaustion.

Her hand kept caressing his head, threading her fingers through the strands of hair in slow, gentle strokes. He let out a long exhale, loosening his grip on her waist as the sleep started claiming him.

“Sleep, handsome,” she whispered. “I’ve got you.”

And this time, he didn’t fight it.

Permanent taglist: @civilbucky

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

#bucky barnes x reader #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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