This was a fun episode to rewatch knowing that Ramphueng has gotten to Khem and Khem is just going through the motions. Though there is hope in the beginning, soon Khem is just going along with Jet and Charn, all the while, believing there is no point. But he wants to give them this. Khem wants to let them have hope even if it comes at the cost of prolonging his own torment by Ramphueng.
Jet: I've never had a friend in my life, but helping someone, protecting them, and knowing they can count on me... it makes me feel so appreciated.
So Khem smiles for his friends, but Jet and Charn don't know Khem is saying a silent goodbye.
Khem is so tired and scared, wearing a mask in order to bring comfort to everyone around him, all the while waiting for the inevitable. But just when Khem can't bear to hold on any longer, Peem enters his nightmare and bring him hope again.
Khem: Why did you come after me? Please let me go. I've given up.
Peem: No, you can't.
Khem: I don't want to live anymore.
Peem: No Khem. You need to live, for your friends, for your parents, and for me. We must stay together in this life. Trust me, Khem. *the spark of hope* No matter what happens, we will find our way back to each other.
The way a fragile Khem reaches for Peem who gently nods his encouragement... only then does Khem dare to let himself hope enough to give him strength to hold on to what he wants.
Favorite Scenes from episode ten:
It was HARD to narrow down this list! And we pretty much failed.
Favorite creepy element:
Possessed Khem is SOOO FUN and well done! But the security camera added a nice touch to the creepy factor!
Favorite eye candy:
Naga Peem!
Favorite glimmer of hope:
The darkness of Khem's nightmare being chased away by beautiful lights. This scene was visually stunning 😍
Favorite friendship:
Every precious scene that showed how much these three mean to each other!
Favorite Goodbye:
The lantern scene on the roof was devastating the second watch. We weren't going to do this scene because we already had so many, but we can't stop obsessing over it. It was so visually captivating, the moment of friendship both beautiful and painful at the same time. Every frame was incredible. Jet and Charn's hope. Khem heartbreak while keeping a brave face as he hugs his friends goodbye. *insert ugly crying* The brittle smiles and cracks in his mask that can be explained away as feeling moved by the moment… the acting is beyond excellent!
Favorite things we obsessed over during the rewatch:
Because everything can't be a "favorite" scene... right?
"I even hate myself. I can't bear losing anyone again." 😭
Khem+Jet+Charn friendship is everything
Khem almost impaled by metal and losing hope... Ramphueng is there
Khem lying to his father. Khem's hopelessness showing when he is alone.
Khem happy to see Jet w/Charn, knowing they will have each other when he is gone
The lantern scene 😭
The reveal that Ramphueng had been tormenting Khem since the near accident was such a shock the first watch and loved seeing it all again.
Possessed Khem!
Peem waking from the vision
Naga Peem! Thank you for this gift.
The knife... we knew this was going to come into play in the finale
The villagers coming to show their support and love for Peem
Khem's nightmare, hope
Khem's soft sobs as Peem hold him... Jet and Char running in thinking the worst 🤣
Everyone finding out Ramphueng was with Khem all along... "I didn't want to worry you."
Net's cameo as Kachen! This was such a fun surprise the first time!
I’ve been a Kpop fan for a long time now and with how many groups I’ve known, I’ve never seen dynamics like this.
It’s so fascinating how fiercely they’ve adapted a family dynamic so quickly.
Considering they adapted this same formation flying in and out of China—their first overseas travel as a group—this was clearly intentional. This was planned.
Some fans call it a “wolf pack formation” and I’m inclined to agree: the strongest ones on the outside protecting the vulnerable ones inside.
The amount of thought and consideration that went into positioning Daisuke too—their maknae, who is nine years younger than their leader, Steven—to be protected from all sides by all his hyungs is both touching and clever.
Steven and Woongki being at the front and back of the pack is intentional too, as the longest active idols in the industry, because they have the experience to act if things go south.
And the fact that they’re a group made up of six nationalities—Australian, Filipino, Chinese, Korean, Taiwanese, and Japanese—it’s riveting to see how they all come together to protect each other.
They clearly don’t have enough bodyguards (yet), so it seems as if the hyungs took it upon themselves to protect their dongsaengs—even making sure that a hyung is literally partnered with a dongsaeng to protect: JL to Juwon, Han to Daisuke, Shuaibo to Chihen.
And Jeongwoo, the only one among them who has already completed his military service, positioned in the front of the pack with Steven.
And their maknae. God, no one is touching Daisuke without going through all eight of his hyungs first, and I’m so grateful a kid like him—who shouldn’t even be in this industry so young—has all eight of them looking out for him.
a/n: this is my first published fic in a very, very long time so constructive criticism is welcomed! I have an idea for an angsty pt. 2 so lmk if u want it hehe
Training under Luke Skywalker was difficult.
Despite being a polite and gentle man, his methods of teaching were strict and calculated - each lesson was designed to have a specific outcome and he always made sure she came out of it with the skill and knowledge he intended. This often meant early mornings and late nights, aching muscles and a brain that felt like jelly after focussing on strengthening her connection to the Force.
The most difficult part of training under Luke Skywalker, however, was Luke Skywalker himself.
She had been new to this galaxy when he found her. She honestly doesn’t quite know how she even managed to get from Earth the planet of Tatooine. It involved her bizarrely finding a broken down ship in the woods near her house and somehow getting taken into space by the inhabitants of said ship, ending up galaxies away and missing the primitive planet Earth.
The men that brought her to the desert planet were smugglers, who swore they saved her life because they were certain that whatever debt collectors they had chasing after them would’ve killed her if they knew that she’d seen them. And yet, after many weeks of travelling and not getting along, they just left her on this rock to fend for herself with no knowledge of where she was or how to get home, like true saviours.
Thankfully, however, due to having to help her kidnappers fix their ship after every firefight they got into, she'd found a talent in mechanics, and managed to get by working for Peli Motto, fixing up whatever rust buckets came through her hangars in Mos Eisley Spaceport.
Peli’s hangars were usually home to bounty hunters and smugglers, working for the Bounty Hunters Guild or the Hutts and were just as rough and grimy as you’d expect them to be. And while the odd everyday traveller would come through, it was rarely a special occasion and usually ended with the older woman she called her boss scaring them off with her no-nonsense attitude, always telling it like it is.
So when a ship landed and Peli stopped mid-curse when she turned and saw the x-wing sitting in her Hangar, back straightening when she saw the pilot, the Earthling woman knew he had to be serious business.
She moved to stand beside Peli, watching the lid of the ship lift to reveal who was possibly the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen unbuckling himself from his seat. She found that her own back straightened without realising it as she watched him, clad in black, perfectly fitting robes, pristine black boots and a single gloved hand. She side eyed Peli for any hint or explanation as to who this was and why he seemed so important.
Peli caught her gaze but ignored her, boisterously walking over to the ship, welcoming him as the mystery man lifted himself out of the cockpit.
His feet hit the ground and he regarded her boss with a polite smile, resting his clasped hands behind his back as he gave her a small bow in thanks.
She decided to walk out after Peli, moving out from under the shade of the tool shop and into the sunlight of the open hangar. The blonde man's eyes lifted to meet hers, as if knowing she’d been there all along and gave a small nod, a look on his face that seemed almost… determined. Like he had something planned.
After a while of Peli talking his ear off and offering him any repairs he needed or even a service on his ship free of charge, he finally explained that he was there for a reason. And boy, was it not what she expected.
He introduced himself as Luke Skywalker and the young woman shared a look with Peli, eyes wide. She recognised the name from the Holothrillers she and her boss would watch together late at night in the tool shop, as they ate their bland dinners with greasy hands while Peli elaborated on some of the plot points, explaining how the actions in the films had actually affected the rest of the galaxy in real life and where she was and what she was doing when the events happened.
The younger woman had quickly grown enamoured by the story, asking Peli a million and one questions about the Empire and Luke Skywalker and she’d since only known him as the farm boy who became a Jedi and defeated the Empire. A Historical figure. A man she’d never meet. And yet, here he was.
He explained that he was on a mission to rebuild the Jedi Order, and that he had been searching for others who were Force-sensitive to help rebuild it with him. He said he’d already contacted many. Used the Force to find them and travelled to ask them for their assistance, offering to train them if they needed. But they’d all turned him down.
There had been rumours of a band of Inquisitors, Jedi Killers, still on the hunt, despite the Great Jedi Purge ending over 6 standard years ago, not long before the fall of the Empire. This rumour had made the surviving Jedi, Force-users and parents with Force-sensitive children anxious to reveal themselves for fear of their lives.
It was an understandable fear, one that the lone Jedi found reasonable. Though, it was tiresome to travel to so many different planets to make the same speech, only to get turned down out of fear.
Luke explained that he could feel the Earthlings' connection to the Force. It was distant and lacking strength, but still, there was something there that could be worked upon, that could be strengthened with the correct training. He’d travelled there, to her workplace and makeshift home just to ask her to join him, to train with him and become a Jedi Knight and use her knowledge to train others and keep the Jedi Order alive. To rebuild what was lost to the Dark Side for many years.
Maybe it was her ignorance on the matter due to her brief time in this galaxy, or maybe it was simply the desperate look in his beautiful eyes. But after a bit of convincing and advice from Peli to do what she felt was right - she’d accepted his offer.
The next day, they’d travelled to Ossus where Luke and many builder droids had been and were continuing to build a new Jedi Temple, to be fit with enough rooms and space to train whole generations of Force-sensitive children when the time was right. But for now, the only occupants of the large Temple were just her and her new Master, Luke Skywalker.
He’d had servant droids take her measurements and get her fitted for her own set of Padawan robes as well as a whole new wardrobe of sleep and casual attire, suitable for the Temple. And despite being thankful for the new, perfectly-fitted apparel, she fought tooth and nail until the droids finally allowed her to keep her ill-fitting, grease-stained overalls in the back of her wardrobe, only after they had been deep-cleaned. She knew she may never get the chance to wear them again, much to her dismay, but she couldn’t bear to part with them.
She was a lot older than most Padawan ever were. Most were trained as young children through to adulthood, where they’d be deemed true Jedi Knights by the age she already was, but desperate times called for desperate measures. There were only a handful of Jedi left, after all, and even less who were willing to aid the New Jedi Order.
So, in an attempt to make up for lost time, she tried her absolute hardest, diving head-first into her training. She spent her days learning from her Master and her nights in the Temple library, studying the history of her predecessors, staying up much too late and waking up much too early just to do it all over again.
She was passionate and hardworking, things that she prided herself on. Her work ethic prevailed over anything else… Usually.
See, she had an issue. She was great with history. She’d gotten to a point just mere weeks into her training that she could recite a play-by-play of the Clone Wars if asked to, and found herself absolutely enthralled by every piece of information that she absorbed in that library, going through the thickest history books within a single day if she ever got the privilege of having one off - which was rare. But she excelled in this area because she could do it alone.
Connecting with the Force, physical training or anything else she had to work on with Master Luke was where she struggled. Simply because, well…
She found him so distracting.
At first, it was nearly unbearable. She would flush every time he would touch her to position her body during training. She'd get caught up thinking about him when she was meant to be meditating. She'd stutter when he'd ask her questions that should've been simple to answer, like how she slept or about the book she’d stayed up too late reading.
It was like she was in high school again, crushing over a boy so badly that even the mildest of interactions had her smiling goofily at herself when she lay in bed that night, excited to go to sleep just so she could see him again the next day. But this was worse. Much, much worse.
Because not only was this man her teacher, her Master. It was also written, directly into the scriptures that she read every night before she went to sleep.
A Jedi does not act for personal power or wealth.
But only seeks knowledge and enlightenment.
This scripture, whilst it encourages selflessness and promotes the importance of preserving the knowledge of not only the Jedi, but the galaxy itself, the things that make up the environment around them, also means something deeper, more complicated. And it’s everywhere - all throughout the Jedi Code.
There is no emotion, there is peace.
When master Luke had first shared the Mantra with her a few weeks ago, and recited the oath she must take, she had asked him to elaborate. To explain every rule she was meant to follow and every promise she had to keep. She’d been excited. Eager to learn more of her new life, and the things that lay within it.
But the news had been crushing to her. When she realised that attachment was not frowned upon, not thought of as taboo, but forbidden entirely, she’d gone quiet.
The thought rolled through her head over and over, until it didn’t sound real anymore and Luke's usually relaxed face fell into a small frown, watching her absorb the information.
”I…” She began, a lump forming in her throat that she had to swallow. “I’m to never get married? … Never have children?” She asked, tears welling in her eyes.
He was hesitant to respond, able to see, able to feel the sadness within her. The weight of this new knowledge, crushing. He sighed, saddened to have to hurt her further by reconfirming;
“Emotions can cloud our thoughts. These clouds can lead us into unfathomable darkness.” He’d responded, bluntly. “Only those who find a way to rise above the darkness are deemed worthy to become Jedi.”
It was a hard hurdle to get over, to accept, having always thought of herself as the kind to fall in love, get married and settle down. Become a mother, start a family. Eventually. When she met one who was worthy of her love and her, theirs.
But over time, she grew to accept her new way of life. As her connection to the Force grew, so did her understanding of the Dark Side and the necessity of that rule.
With her academic knowledge of the Force, her determination and the uphill battle that was shoving her crush down. Way deep, deep down. She began excelling at her training. She was able to meditate fully with little to no distraction, had found their day exercises across the creeks and forests of Ossus easier to handle and she even managed to blush only a little when he touched her body during their hand-to-hand combat lessons.
It was now, only in her free time that she found herself thinking of him. After he dismissed her for the day and she was no longer required to have to think of him professionally. It was only in the safety of her quarters, in the dark of night as she lay in bed, that she allowed herself to think of his bare hand touching her skin and the fire she felt in her stomach whenever it did. His chest, warm and inviting, vibrating with his voice as he told her how to position her hands to produce the most amount of force in combat. His biceps, that she’d only seen once, on a particularly hot day on the sunny planet they inhabited and he had been stretching after training, muscles flexing with the movement of his arms.
She groaned with frustration, pressing her pillow into her face to muffle the sound.
An uphill battle, indeed.
-
The next day had been the same as any other. Morning meditation, breakfast and then Force training. But Master Luke pleasantly surprised her when he had made mention of learning something new.
It was midday on Ossus as they sat across from each other, under the shade of a large tree. Stacks of rocks surrounded them, evidence of previous training and meditation sessions. She wore a soft, excited grin on her face, eager to learn. His sandy hair was neat as he spoke to her, saying her name gently.
“In your studies, have you read about Mind Probing?”
Her grin faltered.
Oh, dear Maker, no.
She nodded gently, heat threatening to rise to her cheeks as anxiety slowly filled her and she was thankful that she’d gotten better at mentally shielding, hoping that her Master could not feel her nerves through her Force signature.
She remembers the exact paragraph that she read on Mind-Probing simply because she had had to put the book down as dread filled her at the realisation that she would need to be taught this at some point. She had no clue it would be so soon.
Master Luke’s face remained his usual calm. If he’d noticed her panic in any way, he didn’t show it, nodding in approval and continuing to speak.
“Good.”
She hated the shiver that ran through her at his praise.
“The Force's influence over the minds of other beings can be a valuable tool in the right hands, but it can be easily abused as well.” He began, resting his hands on his knees. “As you will have read; Those on the dark side have been known to use the Force to read the thoughts of other beings and, if necessary, search their minds for information.”
The young woman nodded, trying to keep her face straight as she anxiously toyed with the fabric of her pants. Master Luke’s face showed pure relaxation as he continued.
”It is important for a Jedi to be capable of protecting themselves against such an intrusion, which is why we are going to be practising shielding against the probe.” He finished, observing her silently for a long moment.
She averted her gaze, looking down at a piece of fabric she’d been running her nail over, unable to look at him in the eye, for she was scared of just how much he would be able to see in hers.
“You’re nervous.” It wasn’t a question, but merely a statement of truth. One that was impossible to deny, so she didn’t.
She nodded, looking back up at him as she did so. She paused her anxious fidgeting to bring her hands into her lap, eyebrows furrowing as she searched for the right words to say.
“This process is known for being exceptionally painful for the subject undergoing the probe." He stated before she could bring herself to speak. “Is it the pain you fear?”
She was silent for a moment, knowing that if she simply lied and said yes, her Master would see right through her even with her mental shields up. Because, well… she was an absolutely terrible liar.
Master Luke had caught her out a few times; when she’d tell him that she didn’t stay up too late, or that she’d drank plenty of water that day. He always told her that her face gave her away; like a child that had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
She let out a small sigh.
“Among other things… yes.” She admitted, a blush dusting her cheeks.
Master Luke observed her for a moment longer before nodding gently, a look of understanding in his eyes.
“I understand that it’s invasive.” He began, raising his gloved hand, as if taking an oath. “I can assure you that I will not look further into your mind than what’s necessary.” He promised, earnestly.
She flushed, feeling a bit like a deer in the headlights as she blinked away her embarrassment. She hated that she seemed to be so easy for him to read. Has she always been like this? Or does Luke's connection to the Force make him exceptionally good at picking up people's emotions?
It often made her wonder if he was truly as blind to her attraction for him as he made himself out to be. Surely if he could tell what she was thinking now, he wouldn’t be so blind as to miss her fruitless pining.
And if that was the case, then maybe whatever he sees in her head today will be of no surprise?
She breathed deeply, straightening her back and placing her hands back on her knees, as if she was about to start meditating.
She nodded, breathing out a quiet ‘okay’ as permission.
He mimicked her posture as he spoke.
“When I enter your mind, you will be able to feel me. I will have full access to your thoughts and your memories.” He began, watching her face carefully to ensure she understood his words.
“It will, in fact, be painful and you may find it hard to concentrate. However, your goal is to find me within your mind and push me out.”
She let out a nervous breath, rolling her neck and shoulders back to loosen them, taking some time to ground herself and connect with the environment around her. Using the Force to extend her senses and calm her. She nodded, only closing her eyes after witnessing Master Luke close his, seeming satisfied with her consent.
She took a brief moment to relax. Focussing on breathing and emptying her mind to bring herself to a light meditative state, hoping to prepare herself for the experience and calm her anxiously beating heart in one fell swoop whilst she waited for the man in front of her to invade her mind.
It started as something she could sense. Like a disturbance in the air around her, interrupting the usual waves of energy she was used to.
It exudes calm, much like Luke himself, and starts out as feeling quite unimposing. Unthreatening. She thinks to herself that the sensation is odd - unlike anything she has felt before. But the hair on the back of her neck stands as it approaches her. Almost like a tendril, seen with unseeing eyes through her Force signature, skulking through her environment like a serpent looking for prey. She finds herself bristelling at its proximity, goosebumps rising on her skin as she feels its disturbance wade through her energy. Its calm was unwavering, yet the knowledge of its intention made her nervous.
She gulped as it paused in front of her, waiting and patient.
She tried to brace herself, tried to find a way to preemptively build up a wall in her head to prevent it from entering. Yet still, when it struck, she was unprepared.
She whimpered when it hit her, a pain shooting through her skull, like a hundred migraines occurring at once. Her body tensed and her face screwed up in pain, a blur of sensations and imagery and emotion blew through her and her breathing quickened. A strangled cry escaped her lips.
But suddenly, she could see.
Luke was sitting in front of her, under their tree. The picture was hazy, as though a camera was going in and out of focus but he was there all the same; discussing Mind Probing, the wind blowing through his hair as she thought about how beautiful he was. Just as she had just moments ago.
She felt another bout of pain, gritting her teeth to prevent from crying out as the imagery changed, to the mediation they’d done earlier that day. Then again, to her breakfast.
Images of her most recent days flowed through her, the pain getting worse and worse as the memories sped past, the pressure in her mind expanding as the memories went further back, to when they first started training together. When all she thought about was Luke. Her stolen glances, her silent pining.
Through the pain, she felt a pang of embarrassment in her chest, panic shooting through her body as she clutched the fabric of her pants. She struggled to get ahold of herself, to capture her own thoughts through the fog of Luke in her head and the pain making its way down her spine.
Watching him as he stretched. Gazing him up and down.
She let out a grunt as she felt him pushing further, her eyelashes growing wet as tears built up in her eyes as she forced herself to breath strangled breaths, searching desperately for a way to push him out.
She imagined a wall - a barrier. Similar to the one she used for her usual mental shielding, but it was weak against his effort. He pushed against it.
His arms through his tunic. The feeling she got between her legs when she stared at his hands for too long.
She let out a strained sob, eyebrows furrowing and teeth gritting as she began pushing, the image growing blurry with her effort.
She could feel him resisting, pushing himself against the imaginary wall she’d built, trying to wiggle himself through.
She found her embarrassment begin to bubble, flipping inside her chest and morphing to anger. Frustration. The fire of the new emotion helped her as she imagined the wall moving forward, back through her thoughts and memories, shoving against the intrusion, slowly forcing him back out.
The pain grew easier to handle the further forward she pushed, but her mind and body grew tired. She put everything into pushing him back, back to the beginning where he kept her fighting for another moment, pushing against the barrier she struggled desperately to keep up.
She could feel the sweat beading at her forehead as she fought, a shaky breath escaping her as she pushed and pushed and pushed until he eventually, finally, he relented, letting go so suddenly that she hadn't even realised what was happening as a blur of imagery and emotions blew passed her, feeling as though she was falling; hurtling through the Force.
For a moment, she thought she may have gotten lost in her own head. Somehow made a mess of herself and had spun out of control in her own mind.
But as she slowed, an image grew clearer, not of Luke, but of herself.
She sat in the Temple, at the dining table where they ate all their meals, nose buried in one of the historical texts that she could hardly put down, looking awfully concentrated.
She lifted a spoon full of soup up, not daring to take her eyes off the book for even a second as she struggled to find her own mouth, completely missing and dipping her chin in the spoon of soup.
A rush of amusement ran through her own body as she watched herself, feeling the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips as affection bubbled in her chest, heart beating the tiniest bit harder.
Confusion swam through her mind, not understanding quite what was going on. So, she pushed forward, the imagery changing, swirling wispily around her as if in a dream.
She could see herself again, during their runs through the bamboo forest, hopping on the stones across the creek.
She pushed once more, only to see the ceiling of a room she didn’t recognise and was overcome with pleasure, thoughts of herself flooding her mind as her pleasure increased; the ghost of a deep moan emerging from the memory.
Without warning, a flash of white surrounded her and she felt as if she was travelling a million miles an hour, hurtling through memories once again as she was shoved out with so much force, she physically toppled back.
She took heaving breaths as confusion clouded her, bringing a hand up to her sore head, groaning. She lay on her back for a moment before moving an arm underneath her to lift herself up into a half-seated position, resting her weight on one arm as she used her other hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks, catching her breath.
She opened her eyes, the sun was blinding as they focussed on the figure in front of her, taking a second to adjust in her disorientation. The blurriness cleared to reveal Master Luke in front of her, red faced and mouth agape, looking absolutely mortified.
Understanding flooded her as she finally realised what she had just experienced. Her eyes widened, blinking in awe as she opened her mouth to speak but found herself hesitating.
She pushed herself up fully, resting her weight on her hand.
"D-did I just-" she began but stopped short when Luke stood up.
She watched as he lifted himself off the grass, smoothing out his tunic and pants, face now back to its usual blank state but cheeks still fiery red and for the first time ever, he was avoiding eye contact with her.
"Master Luke, I'm sorry, I didn't-" She wanted to grovel at his feet after what she'd done, apologise for having invaded his personal space. But he raised his hand, signalling her to stop.
He was silent for a second, seeming to need to collect himself before speaking, looking down at his feet as he cleared his throat.
"I think that's enough for today. We'll pick back up tomorrow." His voice had a polite tone, but there was a roughness to it that she hadn't heard before, like he was holding back frustration.
She wanted to speak again, to apologise. She even opened her mouth to do so, but found any potential words dead in her throat.
"You're dismissed." He looked down at the younger woman for a brief second and nodded curtly before beginning to walk back to the temple, his strides longer and faster than she was used to, leaving her under the shade of their tree to process what had just happened.
She spent the rest of the day alone, trying her hardest to train independently, despite having been dismissed by Luke, but finding herself so distracted that she decided to just finish training early anyway, heading back to the temple and pottering around, trying to rid herself of the guilt that sat in the pit of her stomach.
She knew Luke must’ve been really upset when he didn’t show up for dinner. When the servant droid placed her plate in front of her and hadn’t returned to place one on the other side of the table, she felt her heart sink a little more.
She sighed, moving her padawan braid behind her shoulder and began eating solemnly.
She felt terrible for what she did, invading his privacy like that. Having made him look at her the way that he did, unable to look her in the eye. Like he had been betrayed.
But the worst part of it all, what kept eating away at her; she hated to admit it. Hated to be in direct violation of the Jedi Code by being so utterly selfish by finding that the guilt that bubbled in her gut, did not come from the invasion of privacy, but from the knowledge that she had enjoyed what she saw. The image played over and over again in her head, involuntarily, as if it was a malfunctioning hologram, skipping over itself to replay all over.
The guilt followed her to bed that night, where instead of smiling up at her ceiling like she often did, her fingers twitched by her sides as she lay awake, filled with the knowledge that he had pleasured himself while thinking of her.
It took every ounce of self restraint to not do the same - knowing she wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye tomorrow if she did.
The next morning was bright and warm as she breathed deeply under their tree, body relaxed and mind empty as the rocks around her hovered silently.
Luke was usually already under the tree when she arrived, having been meditating for Maker knows how long before she even left the Temple, but when he hadn’t been sitting in his usual place when she walked up the small hill today, she had accepted, with much disappointment, that she would be training on her own for the day.
She was, however, pleasantly surprised when she felt a familiar presence enter her senses. Despite her eyes being closed, she could see him, walking toward their tree, looking at her with his usual neutral expression as he adjusted his leather glove on his right hand, no sign of the blush that graced his cheeks yesterday afternoon.
Although, she noticed something about him immediately. That something was different. It took her a moment of mulling it over to realise that it was that his presence in the Force seemed… hollow, almost. Like something was missing.
She quickly realised that he was guarded. Shielding himself from her.
“I was starting to think I’d be training on my own today.” She stated when he’d gotten close.
He was silent for a moment and she could see him pause in front of her, looking down at her as he seemed to collect his thoughts.
”I’m sorry for running late.” He said, moving toward his usual place in front of her.
She could hear the rustling of his clothes as he moved his hands to his sides, looking at her with that unreadable look that she loved and hated. His breathing was relaxed but he had a tenseness in his shoulders that was not usually there.
“Don’t apologise,” She began, opening her eyes slowly to look up at him properly. “I’d be upset at me too, after what I did yesterday.”
He said nothing as he stared at her, face relaxed except for a soft furrow of his brow. She sighed, lowering the rocks around her gently to the ground and moving her hands into her lap, toying with her fingers.
“I… invaded your privacy. I entered your mind without your permission, and I apologise for that.” She said, thankful that she could finally get the apology out in the open, after sitting with the weight of it on her shoulders since the second she’d seen his face yesterday.
She found it hard to look directly at him, as despite him being a beautiful and kind man, he was intimidating. He was often hard to read, even when he wasn’t shielding himself from her. When unguarded, he usually emitted an aura of calm. Pure neutrality. The same way she felt when she just finished meditating. But his presence was also always intense. Heavy.
And now, with his shield up and no way to feel his usual calm demeanor, the only thing she could feel was his intensity.
Maybe it was her attraction to him that made him feel so intimidating to her, maybe it was just the way that he was, but she felt herself grow nervous. However, she chose to keep herself open. Allowed him to feel her anxiety, her guilt, her pure sincerity, if he chose to pay attention - and she knew he always did.
He breathed in deeply, looking away from her to take a seat across from the younger woman, now eye level with her. She felt a small shift in the air around them, filling her with a gentle wave of emotion. Calm.
He’d opened himself up to her, just a little.
She looked at him again, letting out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.
“It was an accident.” He stated, simply. A soft, reassuring smile on his lips. “You pushed too hard and when I left your mind, you followed me into mine. I should’ve prepared myself for it but I didn’t.” He moved, straightening his back and relaxing his shoulders, evidently preparing to join her in meditation.
“I accept your apology and I’d like to offer you one of my own. For not informing you of the possibility.”
She smiled, joining him in adjusting her posture as she nodded.
“It’s okay.” She confirmed, closing her eyes once again, grateful to feel the weight of anxiety lifted off her chest. The day moved like every other, training as normal, eating together as always.
But there was something different between them now. A shift in their dynamic.
It was subtle at first - she assumed it was simply the fact that they’d moved past a hitch in their platonic relationship. A teaching moment between Master and Padawan, moving past their personal feelings and focussing on the training at hand.
However, as the days passed, lingering glances had turned into shy eye contact. Her blushing cheeks at his touch were met with knowing smirks. Their dinners, usually littered with small talk and questions about Jedi training, turned into meaningful conversations. Hells, she’d even made him laugh a few times and boy, was she ecstatic to discover that Luke Skywalker, the most serious and quiet man she knows, Jedi Knight, has the sweetest, most boyish giggle she’s ever heard. She revelled in the sight of his toothy smile, cheeks creasing with the size of his grin.
Her heart pounded even just thinking about it as he led her to a new location of the Temple, one that had still been getting built by worker droids when she first arrived to Ossus for training. The room was large and open, with a lifted podium in the centre, where he led her before handing her a wooden pole, the handle surrounded in metal and wrapped in leather, to replicate the weight of a mechanical hilt.
Her eyes widened.
”Saber training?” She said, awestruck as she gazed up at Luke, who looked down at her with the smallest of smirks tugging at the corner of his mouth. He nodded, moving to stand in front of the shorter woman, hands behind his back as he watched her.
“I’d like you to position yourself in a fighting stance.” He said simply, face blank once again, calm yet intimidating aura ever present.
Despite their recent change of dynamic in their free time, he rarely shifted his focus off of training her properly.
There had been a few times where she tried to keep their light conversation from dinner or breakfast going into their lessons, but had each time been met with a telling look or sometimes even a gentle scolding, her name rolling off of his tongue with a disciplinary tone. A reminder to stay focussed.
She gripped the hilt of the wooden saber in her hands and shuffled her feet shoulder-width apart, bending her knees slightly, trying to mimic the stance she’d seen in the Holothrillers that Peli and her would watch on Mos Eisley.
Once in position, she looked at Luke, waiting for him to provide further guidance.
He observed her, gaze slowly trailing down her body as he took in her position, tilting his head as he did so, seeming ponderous.
Her stomach fluttered at the sight of his eyes taking her in with his very serious expression, his jaw tightening as he observed her.
He started to move, his hands staying behind his back as he slowly circled her, his footsteps echoing in the open space, their sound becoming her only knowledge of his location after he exited her vision, reminding her once again of her weakness in the Force when preoccupied and not meditating. Their recent Force training sessions had been consistent with that Maker-forsaken Training Remote. The burns on her legs and feet from its tiny beams are proof enough of her ineptitude with the Force when distracted. They would soon have to make a trip into the city for more Bacta at the rate she’s going through it.
His sudden appearance directly behind her startles her, jumping when he begins speaking. She swears she can hear the hit of a smirk in his voice, amused by her skittishness.
“Your instinctual position proves almost perfect.” He begins, “However, we need to make a few small adjustments.”
He takes a step closer and the only thing she can sense without the aid of the Force is the sound of his clothes rustling as he moves and the sound of his leather glove stretching with his fingers. Her grip on the hilt of the wooden saber tightens as she anticipates his touch, her senses heightened as her heart began to pound.
Her breath hitches when she feels his gloved hand touch the back of her thigh, pushing as he does so.
“Bend your knees a little more.”
She does as he says, lowering herself with his hand guiding her, revelling in the feeling of his fingers. The smooth leather of his glove makes her yearn for the touch of his skin against hers. She can’t help but think of him gripping her thigh, moving her however he wants.
His hand pulling away pulls her out of her thoughts, the ghost of his touch tingling her skin, making her legs feel weak.
He then gently places both hands on her shoulders, just soft enough to stabilise her as he brings himself closer, warm chest nearly touching her back as he uses the outside of his boot to push on the inside of her right foot, spreading her legs the tiniest bit more.
The unexpected action makes face flush and her toes curl in her shoes as she has to consciously focus on keeping her breathing steady. Mind wandering, immediately.
”Keeping your feet further apart helps with agility when in combat.” He stated, factually, his breath on her ear and she has to try not to shiver at the feeling.
He removed his hands slowly, trailing down her upper arms before retreating fully as he moved to stand in front of her again, keeping his distance close.
The young woman took deep breaths, closing her eyes to take a moment to relax before opening them again, her dilated pupils taking him in. His face stayed neutral, exuding relaxation as he watched her and she hoped she didn’t look as desperate as she felt, practically panting with want, too aware of every part of her body that yearned for his touch, from her hands, to her feet, to the apex of her thighs.
She grew tired as she kept her shield up, strengthening it as her thoughts wandered, trying to focus on anything other than his eyes or his hands or his stupid unreadable face.
She took another deep breath.
If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. His demeanor remained unchanged as he looked down to her hands gripping the hilt before he raised his own, gloved fingers gripping the saber while the other hand reaches for hers.
She let out a shaky breath when his skin touched hers as he repositioned her hands, swapping them around whilst he held her saber for her.
She hoped she wasn’t reading too far into it when his hand lingered on her fingers for a moment longer than it should’ve.
“Always lead with your dominant hand.”
He moved away again, walking with his hands behind his back as he observed just as he did before, eyes roaming her body for signs of imperfection. His head moved as he looked her over, circling her once again, his gaze burning into her skin.
His demeanor made her feel like a rabbit in a lion's den. And her face flushed at the knowledge that she liked it.
The rest of saber training had felt torturous. Not only because of his lingering touches, but because watching her Master wield a saber with ease, his tunic tightening around his muscles, his breathing growing ragged with exertion was like collapsing dehydrated in the middle of the desert and seeing an ice cold water bottle sitting just outside of reach. Like being in a prison cell, the key to the door hanging just outside the bars.
Like being infatuated with a man you can’t have.
She touched herself in the refresher to the thought of him, after training.
After dinner, spending some time in the Temple library, opting for a romance book after the excitement of the day, and doing her final meditation for the night, she retired to bed where she tossed and turned more than she usually would.
The events of her day played over in her mind, the ghost of her Masters touch still present on her skin.
She came to wonder if her frustration with her inability to be with the man she so desperately and selfishly pined for, indicated a dark desire. A path to the Dark Side. If, deep down, she really was filled with selfishness and hate.
She’d never identified with the Dark Side, often finding the lust for power obnoxious and all-too similar to Earth's facism, a political standpoint she’s always detested. But the Dark and the Light side of the Force were not a simple matter of opinion or politics.
No, it was almost as though it was destined. Something that the Force predetermined to keep balance within it. So, although she felt no pull to the Dark Side, was her selfish desire for Luke Skywalker a pathway to it? Would this infatuation with her Master create a pull that has already been predetermined?
The thought had her restless and after chasing sleep for an hour and it eluding her, she decided to just continue reading the new book she had started this evening in hopes of putting her racing thoughts behind her.
Flipping the blankets off of her body and shuffling to the edge of the bed, she stood to walk to the other side of her quarters, where the book sat on the table next to a small carpet she used for her evening meditations. Luke had placed it in here, insisting she have somewhere other than just their tree to sit and meditate.
She gripped the book whilst looking down at the cover, an image of a Human man holding a Twi’lek woman by the waist, staring lovingly into her eyes. She sighed down at it almost longingly before moving to make her way back to her bed.
Her feet stopped dead on the stone floor when a small, nagging feeling rose up on the back of her neck. It almost felt like a small tingle, like a bug was crawling on her skin or her hair was grazing her neck. She thought she may have imagined it at first, but it quickly grew in intensity. A shiver ran down her spin and her blood ran cold.
She stood in the centre of her room, waiting. Feeling. Goosebumps rose on her skin as the shiver expanded across her whole body, her feet had pins and needles.
Something was wrong.
Her eyebrows furrowed, her toes flexed against the stone tiles as an image of a black mask appeared in her mind. A flash of blinding red light.
A deep feeling of dread filled her, her chest tightening as the feeling overwhelmed her and she brought a hand up to place her palm against it, feeling her heartbeat rattling in her ribcage.
It was then that she heard a scream. Not in her head, but within the Temple.
Luke.
The book fell to her feet and she took off, ripping her door open and sprinting down the hall, through the common area where they ate together and down the opposite hallway, toward her Masters quarters.
She had never been here before, had never even thought about coming here, out of respect for the unspoken expectation between Master and Padawan. But as she grew closer, the hairs on her arms stood as the overwhelming sense of danger flooded her senses.
She didn’t hesitate, didn’t even think it over for a second before pulling the door open and running so fast into Luke's room that she nearly tumbled over the area rug on the floor.
Luke laid seemingly unharmed in his bed, writhing and whimpering. But as she watched him, flashes of red light flooded her head and she blinked as they appeared.
“Luke!” She yelled, running to his side, looking down at him under the covers, the word ‘no’ tumbling out of his lips between whimpers and groans.
She was confused, brows furrowing as panic filled her. Was he just dreaming? And if he was just dreaming, why was she sensing it? Experiencing it through the Force?
His shoulders convulsed as he let out wailing sobs. His face scrunched as he began crying and her heart clenched at the sight. His beautiful face twisted into agony, as though he was in mourning.
She placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder, his bare skin wet with sweat, jostling him in an attempt to wake him.
“Luke, please!” She cried, anxious to get him out of whatever dream he was having. He continued to writhe, his hair stuck to his damp forehead.
She placed a knee on his bed, leaning over him to capture both of his shoulders to shake him.
”Luke! Wake up!” She shouted louder this time, being cautious as to not injure him with her grip.
He gasped as his eyes shot open, the word ‘no’ still escaping his lips as his body jolted out of sleep, startling even more at the sight of her.
She let out a small yelp as he shot up, her hands leaving his shoulders and up to her chest, frightened by his sudden movement.
”it’s okay!” She shouted over his whimpers, “Luke, it’s okay! It’s me!” She pleaded.
Confusion clouded his eyes as his body heaved with ragged breath, bracing one hand on his bed and bringing the other to his chest, flattening it across his sternum as he caught his breath, still whimpering and mumbling, as if still coming out of the throws of his dream.
“Luke, are you ok?” She brought a hand down to his forearm, grazing his skin gently so as to not frighten him again.
He flinched a little at the contact but settled when his eyes caught hers, clearer than they were before and she breathed out a relieved breath, grateful to see the recognition in his face.
He swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to gain control of his breathing. His face was still twisted in confusion and panic.
“I-I can’t-“ He tried to speak but struggled, closing his eyes.
She looked around his room quickly, realising she hadn’t taken note of anything when she’d entered and hoped to find something that could help him now.
She nearly gasped in happiness when her eyes settled on the glass jug of water on the table across from the bed.
“Hang on.” She stated, giving his arm a reassuring tap before hurrying over to the table, picking up one of the upturned glasses on the tray and pouring some fresh water into it.
She brought it back over to his bed, grabbing at his hand to guide it to the glass, where he looked up at her with grateful eyes and a furrowed brow. He nodded in thanks as he gripped it with shaky hands, bringing it to his lips to take a sip.
She then hurried to the other side of the room, grateful to see that their quarters were practically identical. She rushed over his own meditation mat and pulled aside the thin curtains so she could open a set of balcony doors, allowing the cool night breeze to enter the room, something she often did whilst she was meditating in her own room.
She turned to watch him sigh in relief when the breeze hit his wet skin, the messy bed hair on his head moved with it. He removed the glass from his lips, bringing it down to rest in his lap.
It was only now, after her goosebumps died down and the shiver of imminent danger had left her, that she took notice of his appearance.
He was shirtless, the sheet that had initially covered him when she entered pooled on his lap, exposing his chest. He was unexpectedly lean, although she supposed you had to be to be a Jedi; even she had noticed a difference in her body after she began her training almost a standard year ago. The moonlight flooding in from the open door glistened against his moist skin, revealing the contours of his biceps, and as she looked at his arms from her new position in his quarters, she noticed that he wasn’t wearing his signature leather glove and she could now see his broken skin, where something metallic shined in the moonlight from underneath.
As she walked closer, she realised that underneath the skin of his right hand was metal and wiring, the skin around it seeming damaged.
She had heard the stories, heard that he’d had his hand cut off by his own father, but had never known the legitimacy of them. All the books, Holothrillers and verbal retellings had said different things. Some that he was the hero, others that he was the villain. But they all showed the same depiction of his father. A man in a black mask with a red saber.
She sat cautiously on the other side of the bed, watching as he finally caught his breath.
“Are you ok?” She asked, quietly. Despite being the only two in the temple that aren’t droids, the darkness of the night made her feel like she had to whisper, like they were sharing a secret they didn’t want others to hear.
Luke moved to place the glass of water on his nightstand and she mentally scolded herself as she watched his muscles contort with the movement.
“Yes, thank you,’ he began, still capturing his breath as he moved back to look at her. “I apologise if I woke you.” He clasped his hands together in his lap, toying with his fingers as he stared at her with a sheepish expression.
He was embarrassed.
She shook her head, adjusting her position on his bed so that she was sitting on her knees, facing him entirely.
“You didn’t.” She tucked a piece of loose hair behind her ear, watching as Luke took in her nightgown and untied tresses. She realised that he had also never seen her like this and probably found it equally as jarring as she did.
“I couldn’t sleep. I was about to start reading my new book to see if it would help when I became overwhelmed with a terrible feeling.” She explained, looking down at her lap. ”I had no clue what it was until I heard you yell.”
Luke suddenly moved, and she looked up at him, seeing a look of surprise on his face as he adjusted his position to face her.
“You could sense it?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper.
She nodded. “Yes. I’ve never felt anything like it. It was like the room just stilled and all I could feel was this overwhelming sense of danger or fear - but it wasn’t my own.” She elaborated, realising that Luke was clearly interested in her experience. She watched as he nodded, silently urging her to continue.
“And then I could see… a figure. A man in a mask. But I wasn't really seeing it. It was like a picture had appeared in my head.”
Luke nodded, a soft smile adorning his face.
“Your connection with the force has grown.” He stated simply, gulping down the last of his ragged breath. He seemed almost proud but there was a distant look in his eye, as if he was still thinking of his dream.
She shuffled closer, moving toward him again, capturing her nightgown in her hand to gather it at her knees so she could move without the fabric getting in the way.
She lowered her voice again as she asked;
”Were you dreaming of Vader?”
His eyes met hers for a brief moment before moving again to stare down at the bedsheets, his face scrunched as he thought, his hair still stuck to his forehead.
“N-no. It was someone else.” She could tell he was thinking back, trying to connect any dots he could find. “I didn’t recognise him. But you feeling it through the Force tells me that this was not just a dream.” He lets out a sigh, bringing his robotic hand up to his hair, smoothing it out.The mechanical pieces clicked quietly as they moved with him.
“A premonition?” She asked, awestricken at the thought. Luke gravely nodded in return, his hand dropping to his lap once again.
”Do you ever know when it will come true?” She questions further, knees knocking with his as she moves even closer to him without thinking, interest piqued. She’d read of Jedi getting prophetic visions and had found great interest in it, having never experienced one before - until now, she supposed.
He looked down at their legs, seeming to think for a moment before responding.
“No, it’s hard to know when it will happen. It may never happen.” He began, his eyes on her exposed knees and the fabric of her nightgown pooled between her thighs.
She came to a slow realisation of the situation they were currently in.
She was in his quarters. In the middle of the night. In his bed. In nothing but a nightgown.
She suddenly hoped the white light of the moon didn’t reveal the blush on her cheeks as he continued speaking, the air around them seeming to have shifted as he, too, realised their predicament.
“The future is always changing. The actions of the present are constantly adjusting the future.” He gazed down at her, his voice thinning as he spoke.
There was something different about him as he sat across from her. Maybe it was the fact that he’d just woken from a nightmare or, as she’d just discovered, a premonition, but he was more expressive. His usually neutral face was still relaxed, a great juxtaposition to how he looked earlier, but his eyes communicated more than she was used to. He continued looking at the way her nightgown flowed around her, eyes glittering in the moonlight. His eyes would meet hers every so often, as if to maintain the guise of innocence as his jaw clenched, the action visible in the contrast of the soft light.
The room seemed heavier, and she wasn't sure if it was the Force, or her imagination, but there was almost a kind of electricity filling the space between them. The new aura around them made her stomach flutter, reminding her of their time saber training earlier today, a memory that has her mental scolding herself once again, sure that she was to make a fool of herself if she thinks too hard about the way he touched her then and the way his body moved under his tunic. What she would give to see him do it shirtless like this.
She swallowed, fingers clenching her nightgown nervously, an action she see’s Lukes eyes catch instantly. Her inner thighs tingle and her heart pounds as she prepares herself to speak.
“Are the dreams of a Jedi often premonitions?” She asked, voice weak as she moved her eyes down to his body, his biceps twitching with every small movement as he toyed with his fingers in his lap. She watched as his chest rose and fell with each breath, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he gulped.
His hair was still tousled, shoulders moving in breaths that still aren’t quite even, his eyes shining with an emotion she couldn’t quite place.
“Not always... But they can be.” His response was delayed, distracted almost. His eyes were lidded as they darted across her face. At her eyes, to her lips and across her cheeks that looked so smooth and so pleasant in the night.
A cold breeze blew through the open balcony window, making the curtains behind her dance and her nightgown move against her body, brushing against her nipples. Her toes curled as they hardened in response, a quiet breath escaped her, nearly inaudible, but he heard it. Of course he heard it.
Luke watched as her hair flowed around her shoulders, not used to seeing it out of its usual braid or bun. She could see his eyes trail down the strands of hair within her padawan braid, down to her collarbones, and he licked his lips when his gaze met her chest, breath seeming to falter at the sight.
His breathing grew heavy again as she leaned forward without thinking, her body moving practically without her permission. She wasn’t even thinking about what she was doing. Her stomach bubbled with longing and all she knew was that she needed to be close to him.
“How do you tell the difference between a dream and something prophetic?” She whispered, pausing so she could look into his eyes, looking at whatever emotion lay beneath them, desperate to know if this was ok, If she was reading this correctly.
There was something there, something akin to desire. But there was hesitation as well. She could see it in the crease between his eyebrows. It made her hesitate, not wanting to push this further if he didn’t want it.
“You just feel it.” He responded shakily, swallowing once more as his eyes darted to her lips, his tongue wetting his own without a second thought. When his eyes met hers again, there was an excited cloudiness there.
She took it as her sign. Her permission to lean in closer, watching him as she did so for any sign of discomfort, but he looked at her lips again and she could’ve sworn he leaned in too.
She could feel his hot breath on her face as she neared and she stopped just before their lips met, waiting for him to make the final move.
He hesitated.
“We shouldn’t do this.” He stated simply but didn’t make a move to pull away, his voice a rough whisper.
Her nose bumped his as she moved the smallest bit to look him in the eye, lips moving further away just by a centimetre
“Do you want me to stop?” She asked. Her question was genuine, but it came out breathlessly. Dreamily. Full of want.
He took a moment to respond, gulping nervously, his breathing shaky.
She was about to pull away, about to apologise for her forwardness when he finally shook his head.
“No.”
He still didn’t move toward her, like he was nervous to make the first move but when she finally brought her lips to his in a gentle kiss, he responded immediately. His lips closed around hers without question, soft and cautious.
Despite her initiating it, he took the lead, repositioning his head to capture her lips with more ease, adjusting his body as he leant in.
She lifted a hand to his cheek, sighing against his lips when he leant into her touch, moving his real hand to the side of her neck, cupping the back of her head to pull her in whilst his mechanical hand rested on her thigh in front of him.
As the kiss deepened, she lifted herself on to her knees, cautiously crawling into his lap, making sure he had plenty of time to stop her if he felt like he needed to, but he welcomed her gladly. His hand on her thigh slid up to her hip to pull her in, the fabric of her nightgown riding up unintentionally as he did.
She settled into his lap, body on fire as her thighs rested around his waist, enjoying the way her bare skin felt against his.
The kiss was heated, breathless and desperate, but remained innocent enough until his grip on her tightened and he pulled her closer, chests completely flush.
A whine left her throat at the feeling of her bare sex brushing against the unmistakable hardness under his sleep pants.
He sighed in response, moving his hand from her neck to her bare thigh, pulling her in closer again, encouraging the movement of her hips.
She ground down on him properly for the first time and he whined into her mouth. The sound was deep and desperate and she could feel it vibrate in his chest against her breasts as it came out.
She moved a hand to the back of his head, lacing her fingers through his hair as she felt Luke’s tongue ask for entrance against her lips.
She moved her hips again when their tongues met, encouraging him to continue. Giving him all the clues he needed to keep going, the reassurance that she was enjoying herself and that she was desperate for more of him.
His hand on her thigh trailed up under the fabric of her nightgown and around the curve of her ass, gripping it as he pulled her against him, jutting his hips up to meet the movement. She gripped his shoulder as her folds rubbed against his length, finding herself frustrated at the barrier of his sleep pants between them.
He placed his other hand under her nightgown, the fabric gathering on his forearms as he explored her bare skin, bringing his hands up to capture her breast in his palm, giving it an experimental squeeze.
She pushed her chest further into his hand whilst she rocked against him, breathing laboured. She sighed when he grunted in appreciation at the weight of her in his palm.
His thumb brushed against her nipple lightly and she pulled away from the kiss to let out a shaky moan, taking a moment to look at him.
“We really shouldn’t do this.” She stated, looking him in the eyes. But her actions betrayed her words, cupping his cheek and rolling her hips again, eyes closing at the feeling. She knew how he felt about this. About the Jedi Code. And wanted to give him any out he may have needed before they went too far.
But he groaned at her excitement, at the feeling of her wetness seeping through his cotton pants, eyes dropping to her neck and collarbone, where he brought a hand up to move her padawan braid over her shoulder with the rest of her hair.
“Do you want me to stop?” He mimicked her words from just moments before, his voice raspy and breathless as he brought his lips to her throat, shivering when he heard her gasp and grip the back of his hair at the feeling.
“Please don’t.” She moaned, revelling in the feeling of his lips dancing across her skin.
He let out a deep chuckle, one she’d never heard from him before, his breath cooling the saliva on her neck, making her whine as he brought his hands down to the hem of her gown and began pulling it up. A wave of excitement ran through her as he removed his lips to lift the fabric over her head, leaving her bare in front of him.
His eyes roamed her body, wetting his lips as he looked down at her breasts, discarding the garment wherever it fell and bringing both of his hands to her chest, thumbs grazing over her nipples once more, a restrained breath leaving his mouth as he watched as her face contorted in pleasure.
She reached a hand between them, tugging at the band of his cotton sleepwear to communicate what she wanted.
She lifted herself up on her knees, giving him space to pull the garment down.
Her thighs quivered with excitement as his length was freed from his pants, pink tip wet with precum and standing flush and straight.
She helped him rid his legs of the fabric so they were both bare for one another, hearts hammering and chests heaving with strained breath as they gazed at each other, the weight of what they were about to do sinking in. They didn’t move for a moment, looking to the other for their final looks of approval, to make sure this was a decision they wanted to make together.
He looked up at her, eyes softening as he brought his hand to her cheek, pulling her in. She captured his lips in a kiss once more, revelling in the spark on her skin where their bare chests connected.
She moved over his lap, rolling her hips once again and they both sighed as her wet folds finally ground against the bare underside of his length. His hand grasped her hip, making her skin feel like it was on fire as his fingers tightened on her body, groaning at the sensation of her slick coating his shaft.
She did it once, twice more before lifting herself on her knees whilst he moved his real hand between their bodies, positioning himself at her entrance.
She lowered herself onto him, watching his face as his tip breached her entrance.
She gasped at the feeling and electricity shot through her. His jaw hung open, eyebrows furrowed and shoulders moved with the inflation of his lungs, eyelids fluttering. He let out a strained moan, his grip bruisingly tight.
They made eye contact as she settled further, taking her time lowering herself on to his length, savouring the feeling of her stretching around his girth.
She moaned when she finally bottomed out, gripping his shoulders to ground her as her thighs quivered. His eyes were blown, pupils dilated as he watched her face, closing them only to place a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth, his arms wrapping around her waist as she began to move.
It was agonisingly slow and drove him crazy, the way she moved on him, lifting her hips and feeling him dragging out of her slowly, only to sink back down again at the same pace. Slowly and gently, savouring the feeling of him inside her, like she was committing him to memory.
His grip tightened as he grabbed a hold of her thighs, helping her lift her body, guiding her.
The way he grabbed her made her think he was going to take charge, change the pace and slam her body back down to his. But instead, he matched her pace, moaning into her mouth and jutting his hips in time with hers, needy and desperate but still tender and gentle.
His head dropped to her shoulder as their bodies moved together, leaving sloppy, delirious kisses on her neck every so often while she gripped his hair, moaning into his neck as his fingers gripped her body. The sound of their panting filled the room as their pace quickened, Luke’s breathing growing laboured.
She could tell he was fast approaching his release. Could sense it from the way he grasped at her thighs but also within the air around her, as if the tension in his body filled the room. The coil in his stomach, growing.
His shield must’ve been down.
He moved back, eyes locking with hers as he positioned his mechanical hand between their bodies, the faux skin feeling close to lifelike, but lacking the warmth of his body. She could see the determination in his face, like he knew he was going to finish too fast and wanted to make sure she finished first.
He laid a hand flat on her stomach, reaching his thumb down until he found her clit.
“M-maker.” She gasped, eyes nearly rolling back at the spark his circling thumb sent through her body. If her eyes had been open, she would’ve seen the satisfied smirk he wore when her body stuttered against him, savouring the feeling of her clenching around him. The sounds she was making flowed through him, bringing him closer to his end.
The presence of his pleasure flooded her through the Force, swirling in the air as his release grew near, aiding her journey as well.
As if he could feel it, maybe he actually could, he put more pressure on her clit and her body shivered as she got closer to her climax, struggling to move against him.
He thrust his hips up, using his other hand, still clasped on her waist, to guide her down on to him, taking charge as her body struggled with the extra stimulation. She moaned as his hips bucked into her, his cock filling her beautifully as she throbbed around it, orgasm swirling in her abdomen.
He guided her through it, swirling his thumb around her clit until her thighs convulsed around his waist. Her face contorted in ecstasy, moaning as she reached her climax and Luke finally allowed himself to finish, burying his face in her neck as he whimpered with his release, hips sputtering and biceps flexing with the grip he had on her body, cock twitching inside her.
Her walls throbbed around him as she came down from her high, falling limp against his body, face resting on his shoulder as she caught her breath, enjoying the remaining waves of pleasure as their bodies relaxed into one another.
His hand left her pelvis, moving to engulf her in an exhausted embrace, one hand flat against her back and the other in her hair, thumb rubbing against her jaw.
They stayed there for a while, enjoying being in each other's arms until she eventually pulled back, only to capture his lips in a gentle kiss. He reciprocated sweetly, stroking her hair softly and massaging his fingers into her scalp.
They pulled apart to rest their foreheads together, eyes closed and simply appreciating each other's presence, their heavy breathing slowing as they relaxed.
After a while of comfortable silence, a thought struck her and the young woman smiled, letting out a soft chuckle, hand moving to cover her mouth as she opened her eyes.
Luke pulled back to look her in the eye, a smile toying at his lips.
“What?” He asked with a soft voice.
She giggled, covering her face shyly as she shook her head, hair flowing around her shoulders. “It’s nothing-“ she chuckled again, eyes closing as her shoulders shook with soft laughter.
A toothy grin broke out on his face, his cheeks creasing as he let out his own laugh.
“Well now you have to tell me.” He teased, lifting a hand up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear affectionately.
She smiled at him, hesitating for a moment but so caught up in the intimacy of the moment and the laughter between them that she said it anyway.
“I was just thinking…” she trailed off, looking away as she held back another laugh. “That for a man sworn to celibacy, you sure seem to know what you’re doing.” She hid her face as it came out of her mouth, cheeks flushing as she giggled.
Luke’s eyes widened, a surprised look on his face at the forwardness of her statement and for a moment she was nervous she’d said too much. But she relaxed when he scrunched his nose as a shy smile broke out on his face.
“Oh my-“ he cut himself off with a laugh, bringing a hand up to his face in embarrassment.
She laughed even harder at his reaction, thankful that he’d found himself amused by her joke, bringing a hand to rest on his bicep.
He removed his hand from his face and looked up at her again, a wide smile still playing on his lips.
“I haven’t always been a Jedi, you know.” He offered as an explanation, dropping his hand to play with the ends of her hair.
She smirked, deciding to keep going with her teasing.
“So Tattooines resident farm boy, Luke Skywalker, got around that much, huh?” She poked his cheek playfully when she said it, smiling when he rolled his eyes in jest.
“Not that much.” He shook his head, swatting her hand away gently. “But I did have a friend, Biggs, who loved to talk about all of his experiences.” He exaggerated his words when describing his friend, a boyish giggle left his throat at the memory, his face plastered with his grin.
She smiled affectionately at him as she toyed with his robotic hand that he hadn’t removed from hers, feeling the replicated skin and the mechanics underneath it, watching as the gears moved with every twitch of his fingers.
When his laugh died down, he continued;
“And you know that we aren’t sworn to celibacy.” He teased, still toying with the ends of her hair with his other hand, trailing his fingertips across the bead that secured the braid behind her ear, the hair within it longer than the rest on her head.
“We can technically make love, we just can’t be in love.” He finished, a smirk still playing on his lips but she could hear the way he trailed off, watched as the smile slowly left his face and a sudden sadness filled his eyes.
She smiled softly at him, trying to keep the conversation light.
“Sounds like a loophole to me.” She joked, lacing her fingers with his. He looked down at them, rubbing a mechanical thumb across the back of her hand, the whirring of the gears within it breaking the silence in the room.
She doesn’t know why she says it, why it was on her mind or why she thought it was a good idea to verbalise it, but without thinking, she whispers;
”Those things kind of go hand in hand for me.”
The weight of her words filled the room and she felt mortified the second she said it, in awe of the implied admission in the sentence, but unable to deny it.
His eyes met hers, realisation settling in them as his face fully dropped to one of sadness. Something akin to regret washed over him as he took a moment to respond, mouth opening and closing as he thought of what to say, shaking his head.
The way he said her name reminded her of the times he’d scold her for being distracted, but instead of authority behind his tone, it was disappointment. Heartbreak.
He brought his other hand on top of their clasped fingers.
“This was-“ he stops short, struggling to find the words.
He shook his head, running a thumb over her hand as he tries to collect his thoughts.
“We shouldn’t have…” He can’t bring himself to say any more, but he doesn’t have to.
“I know.” She states, simply. A sad smile ghosts her face as she looks at him, bringing her free hand up to his, cupping his cheek. “I know, Luke.”
Despite his words. Despite what he knows he should be doing; He leans into her touch. Furrowing his eyebrows, gloomy eyes looking into hers as he watched them begin to tear up. His chest tightened at the sight of her eyes welling, gripping her hand tighter.
“C-can we just…” She began, swallowing the lump in her throat in an attempt not to cry. “Can we pretend that it’s ok? Just for tonight?” She asked, pushing his hair back to get a better view of his face, committing the view of his desperate eyes in the white light of the moon to memory.
His stare darted between her eyes, seeming torn. He was silent for a while, jaw clenching as his mind raced. But eventually, he sighed, rubbing his real hand over her forearm, almost reassuringly as he nodded, a sad smile on his face.
She brushed her thumb over his cheekbone, leaning down to peck his lips once more and he held her there, savouring the feeling of her lips on his.
She adjusted herself in his lap, his cock still half-hard inside her and he let out a small, overstimulated grunt, pulling away for a second to look her in the eyes, bringing his hand up to wipe the tear that began to roll down her cheek.
“We’ll figure it out tomorrow.” He promised, cradling her face.
She nodded with a sad smile, leaning in to kiss him again, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.
The night passed slowly as swapped stories, sharing laughs together in each other's embrace, tangled in the bed sheets as the sound of the curtains shuffling in the breeze filled the room amongst their whispers.
He told her of his time growing up on Tatooine. Of his best friend, Biggs and his aunt Beru and Uncle Owen and all the trouble he’d get in for getting up to mischief in town. He explained how he and Biggs used to race landspeeders and fly small ships whenever they could, often crashing or ending up somewhere they shouldn’t have just because they egged each other on and brought out the worst in each other in the most beautifully chaotic way. He said that doing these silly things had made him realise that he wanted to be a pilot, and had even applied for the Imperial academy, simply because he knew they would train him to fly better than he knew he already could.
He made her giggle at the mention of his childhood memories of Peli, who he hadn’t really known as anything but the mean lady at the Spaceport that wouldn’t let the aspiring-pilots in to look at any of the ships in her hangars, even when the young boys begged.
She shook her head in amusement, unsurprised by his observation of the older woman. A smile graced her lips as she did, only dimming slightly after an oddly homesick feeling struck her, realising that she hadn’t seen her old boss, someone that she considered a friend, in quite a long time.
Luke, whether through the Force or solely from her facial expression, had noticed the shift in her, asking her sweetly to tell him of her past.
He’d known the surface-level things. That she was from a primitive planet in a far away galaxy and became stranded on Tatooine, ignorant to many of the workings of her new home. But he listened intently as she explained how Peli, despite being an abrasive and rude woman on the surface, had selflessly taken the young woman in after seeing the lost look on her face when the ship that she’d landed in not an hour earlier, had taken off without her on it.
She explained how she felt quite neanderthalic, having little to no knowledge of most of the technology she came across or how the currency system worked.
Peli had helped her through it all in the months they lived together by explaining the politics to her, reciting the history she knew of and even teaching her to read and write in other common languages in the afternoons, after dinner and before she retired to her uncomfortable cot in the back of the Tool Shop, where she slept amongst the droids.
Their chatting lasted hours, even after their eyes began to get heavy and they started yawning, unwilling to let the night end. There was a part of her that wondered if he, too, was trying to enjoy it while it lasted, for they knew they had to face reality tomorrow.
She tried not to think of the sunrise and the knowledge of the inevitable serious discussion they would have to have when the time came.
Finding comfort, for now, in the safety of the moonlight as they revelled in feeling as though they had no responsibility, wrapped up in the discussion of their interests and passions outside of training.
They stopped only to share sweet kisses or even to once again become a mess of tangled limbs as he eased them both slowly back into the throws of… what did he call it?
Making love.
Hands gripping at each other's bodies, moans swallowed by each other's mouths, too absorbed with each other to even think about the world around them as she grabbed at his body for purchase, tugging at his hair without thinking.
She nearly felt bad for it, even through her sex-drunk daze, having not intended to grab him so harshly, but she was pleasantly surprised when she felt his hips sputter, moaning into her neck as he came again.
She found herself pocketing that knowledge in the back of her mind for later.
He collapsed on top of her, being cautious to rest his weight on his arms, as to not crush her under him.
She kept her hand in his hair, loosening her grip to gently massage his scalp lazily, arms as weak as the rest of her body as her chest heaved and her legs twitched.
His eyes closed at the feeling of her hand in his hair, revelling in the comfort he found within it and finding himself unwilling for it to stop.
He withdrew from her, both of them wincing with sensitivity and letting out small grunts at the feeling. But instead of rolling to her side or moving off of her, he chose to move down to rest his head against her chest, spreading his body across the mattress and bringing his hands to her sides, holding her dearly as he listened to her erratic heartbeat.
She moved her other arm across his back, embracing him as she tried to calm her breathing and they stayed like that for a while, basking in their post-sex haze as her fingers trailed over his back and through his hair.
She found herself not thinking of the Jedi Code, or of their agreement to speak of the consequences of their own actions tomorrow, but of her happiness. Of the way her stomach fluttered when his fingers twitched against her side or the way her whole body felt tingly with excitement.
He sighed contentedly when she placed a gentle kiss to his head, moving to look up at her and she swears she feels his heart hammer against her stomach when they make eye contact.
She brushes his hair off of his forehead, smiling down at him and shaking her head.
“Your hair is a mess.” She teased, bringing both hands up to rake her fingers through his hair, smoothing it down from its previous nest-looking mop.
He laughed a genuine, hearty laugh as he brought his hand up to his head, helping her fix his hair as a small blush dusted his face.
“You really know how to keep the mood going, don’t you?” He jested, smirking down at her teasingly.
Her smile grew, laughing lightly as she came to the conclusion that she really liked this side of Luke Skywalker.
Relaxed, smiley and even a little goofy. Willing to joke around with her and reciprocating her light-hearted teasing.
His usual seriousness was endearing, one of the things that she’d actually always found attractive about him. But now, watching his eyes crinkle and his smile grow as he shook his head down at her, a gentle chuckle rumbling in his chest; she decided that, yes. She could get used to this.
Their bodies were sweaty and sticking together, hair tousled and messy as they lay gazing at each other with stupid, love-sick grins. It was then that a new thought struck her.
She moved her head, twisting her face into a look of pondering, as if in thought. To sell her performance even more, she brought a finger up to tap on her chin as she hummed, feigning indecision.
After a moment, she widened her eyes, as if to say ‘ah, i know!’
“I think I know how to keep the mood going.” She teased, excited to keep their silly conversations going, desperate to see more of his goofy grin that she found herself enamoured by.
He played along, tilting his head in mock interest as he spoke.
“Oh yeah?” He offered, smirking at the little joke she was playing.
She nodded, a mischief-ridden smile stretching across her face as she looked down at him, loving the way his eyes sparkled with excitement. She raised her eyebrows suggestively as she spoke;
Arepo built a temple in his field, a humble thing, some stones stacked up to make a cairn, and two days later a god moved in.
“Hope you’re a harvest god,” Arepo said, and set up an altar and burnt two stalks of wheat. “It’d be nice, you know.” He looked down at the ash smeared on the stone, the rocks all laid askew, and coughed and scratched his head. “I know it’s not much,” he said, his straw hat in his hands. “But - I’ll do what I can. It’d be nice to think there’s a god looking after me.”
The next day he left a pair of figs, the day after that he spent ten minutes of his morning seated by the temple in prayer. On the third day, the god spoke up.
“You should go to a temple in the city,” the god said. Its voice was like the rustling of the wheat, like the squeaks of fieldmice running through the grass. “A real temple. A good one. Get some real gods to bless you. I’m no one much myself, but I might be able to put in a good word?” It plucked a leaf from a tree and sighed. “I mean, not to be rude. I like this temple. It’s cozy enough. The worship’s been nice. But you can’t honestly believe that any of this is going to bring you anything.”
“This is more than I was expecting when I built it,” Arepo said, laying down his scythe and lowering himself to the ground. “Tell me, what sort of god are you anyway?”
“I’m of the fallen leaves,” it said. “The worms that churn beneath the earth. The boundary of forest and of field. The first hint of frost before the first snow falls. The skin of an apple as it yields beneath your teeth. I’m a god of a dozen different nothings, scraps that lead to rot, momentary glimpses. A change in the air, and then it’s gone.”
The god heaved another sigh. “There’s no point in worship in that, not like War, or the Harvest, or the Storm. Save your prayers for the things beyond your control, good farmer. You’re so tiny in the world. So vulnerable. Best to pray to a greater thing than me.”
Arepo plucked a stalk of wheat and flattened it between his teeth. “I like this sort of worship fine,” he said. “So if you don’t mind, I think I’ll continue.”
“Do what you will,” said the god, and withdrew deeper into the stones. “But don’t say I never warned you otherwise.”
Arepo would say a prayer before the morning’s work, and he and the god contemplated the trees in silence. Days passed like that, and weeks, and then the Storm rolled in, black and bold and blustering. It flooded Arepo’s fields, shook the tiles from his roof, smote his olive tree and set it to cinder. The next day, Arepo and his sons walked among the wheat, salvaging what they could. The little temple had been strewn across the field, and so when the work was done for the day, Arepo gathered the stones and pieced them back together.
“Useless work,” the god whispered, but came creeping back inside the temple regardless. “There wasn’t a thing I could do to spare you this.”
“We’ll be fine,” Arepo said. “The storm’s blown over. We’ll rebuild. Don’t have much of an offering for today,” he said, and laid down some ruined wheat, “but I think I’ll shore up this thing’s foundations tomorrow, how about that?”
The god rattled around in the temple and sighed.
A year passed, and then another. The temple had layered walls of stones, a roof of woven twigs. Arepo’s neighbors chuckled as they passed it. Some of their children left fruit and flowers. And then the Harvest failed, the gods withdrew their bounty. In Arepo’s field the wheat sprouted thin and brittle. People wailed and tore their robes, slaughtered lambs and spilled their blood, looked upon the ground with haunted eyes and went to bed hungry. Arepo came and sat by the temple, the flowers wilted now, the fruit shriveled nubs, Arepo’s ribs showing through his chest, his hands still shaking, and murmured out a prayer.
“There is nothing here for you,” said the god, hudding in the dark. “There is nothing I can do. There is nothing to be done.” It shivered, and spat out its words. “What is this temple but another burden to you?”
“We -” Arepo said, and his voice wavered. “So it’s a lean year,” he said. “We’ve gone through this before, we’ll get through this again. So we’re hungry,” he said. “We’ve still got each other, don’t we? And a lot of people prayed to other gods, but it didn’t protect them from this. No,” he said, and shook his head, and laid down some shriveled weeds on the altar. “No, I think I like our arrangement fine.”
“There will come worse,” said the god, from the hollows of the stone. “And there will be nothing I can do to save you.”
The years passed. Arepo rested a wrinkled hand upon the temple of stone and some days spent an hour there, lost in contemplation with the god.
And one fateful day, from across the wine-dark seas, came War.
Arepo came stumbling to his temple now, his hand pressed against his gut, anointing the holy site with his blood. Behind him, his wheat fields burned, and the bones burned black in them. He came crawling on his knees to a temple of hewed stone, and the god rushed out to meet him.
“I could not save them,” said the god, its voice a low wail. “I am sorry. I am sorry. I am so so sorry.” The leaves fell burning from the trees, a soft slow rain of ash. “I have done nothing! All these years, and I have done nothing for you!”
“Shush,” Arepo said, tasting his own blood, his vision blurring. He propped himself up against the temple, forehead pressed against the stone in prayer. “Tell me,” he mumbled. “Tell me again. What sort of god are you?”
“I -” said the god, and reached out, cradling Arepo’s head, and closed its eyes and spoke.
“I’m of the fallen leaves,” it said, and conjured up the image of them. “The worms that churn beneath the earth. The boundary of forest and of field. The first hint of frost before the first snow falls. The skin of an apple as it yields beneath your teeth.” Arepo’s lips parted in a smile.
“I am the god of a dozen different nothings,” it said. “The petals in bloom that lead to rot, the momentary glimpses. A change in the air -” Its voice broke, and it wept. “Before it’s gone.”
“Beautiful,” Arepo said, his blood staining the stones, seeping into the earth. “All of them. They were all so beautiful.”
And as the fields burned and the smoke blotted out the sun, as men were trodden in the press and bloody War raged on, as the heavens let loose their wrath upon the earth, Arepo the sower lay down in his humble temple, his head sheltered by the stones, and returned home to his god.
Sora found the temple with the bones within it, the roof falling in upon them.
“Oh, poor god,” she said, “With no-one to bury your last priest.” Then she paused, because she was from far away. “Or is this how the dead are honored here?” The god roused from its contemplation.
“His name was Arepo,” it said, “He was a sower.”
Sora startled, a little, because she had never before heard the voice of a god. “How can I honor him?” She asked.
“Bury him,” the god said, “Beneath my altar.”
“All right,” Sora said, and went to fetch her shovel.
“Wait,” the god said when she got back and began collecting the bones from among the broken twigs and fallen leaves. She laid them out on a roll of undyed wool, the only cloth she had. “Wait,” the god said, “I cannot do anything for you. I am not a god of anything useful.”
Sora sat back on her heels and looked at the altar to listen to the god.
“When the Storm came and destroyed his wheat, I could not save it,” the god said, “When the Harvest failed and he was hungry, I could not feed him. When War came,” the god’s voice faltered. “When War came, I could not protect him. He came bleeding from the battle to die in my arms.” Sora looked down again at the bones.
“I think you are the god of something very useful,” she said.
“What?” the god asked.
Sora carefully lifted the skull onto the cloth. “You are the god of Arepo.”
Generations passed. The village recovered from its tragedies—homes rebuilt, gardens re-planted, wounds healed. The old man who once lived on the hill and spoke to stone and rubble had long since been forgotten, but the temple stood in his name. Most believed it to empty, as the god who resided there long ago had fallen silent. Yet, any who passed the decaying shrine felt an ache in their hearts, as though mourning for a lost friend. The cold that seeped from the temple entrance laid their spirits low, and warded off any potential visitors, save for the rare and especially oblivious children who would leave tiny clusters of pink and white flowers that they picked from the surrounding meadow.
The god sat in his peaceful home, staring out at the distant road, to pedestrians, workhorses, and carriages, raining leaves that swirled around bustling feet. How long had it been? The world had progressed without him, for he knew there was no help to be given. The world must be a cruel place, that even the useful gods have abandoned, if farms can flood, harvests can run barren, and homes can burn, he thought.
He had come to understand that humans are senseless creatures, who would pray to a god that cannot grant wishes or bless upon them good fortune. Who would maintain a temple and bring offerings with nothing in return. Who would share their company and meditate with such a fruitless deity. Who would bury a stranger without the hope for profit. What bizarre, futile kindness they had wasted on him. What wonderful, foolish, virtuous, hopeless creatures, humans were.
So he painted the sunset with yellow leaves, enticed the worms to dance in their soil, flourished the boundary between forest and field with blossoms and berries, christened the air with a biting cold before winter came, ripened the apples with crisp, red freckles to break under sinking teeth, and a dozen other nothings, in memory of the man who once praised the god’s work on his dying breath.
“Hello, God of Every Humble Beauty in the World,” called a familiar voice.
The squinting corners of the god’s eyes wept down onto curled lips. “Arepo,” he whispered, for his voice was hoarse from its hundred-year mutism.
“I am the god of devotion, of small kindnesses, of unbreakable bonds. I am the god of selfless, unconditional love, of everlasting friendships, and trust,” Arepo avowed, soothing the other with every word.
“That’s wonderful, Arepo,” he responded between tears, “I’m so happy for you—such a powerful figure will certainly need a grand temple. Will you leave to the city to gather more worshippers? You’ll be adored by all.”
“No,” Arepo smiled.
“Farther than that, to the capitol, then? Thank you for visiting here before your departure.”
“No, I will not go there, either,” Arepo shook his head and chuckled.
“Farther still? What ambitious goals, you must have. There is no doubt in my mind that you will succeed, though,” the elder god continued.
“Actually,” interrupted Arepo, “I’d like to stay here, if you’ll have me.”
The other god was struck speechless. “…. Why would you want to live here?”
“I am the god of unbreakable bonds and everlasting friendships. And you are the god of Arepo.”
Broke: The batfam separates Tim and Damian to stop them from fighting each other.
Woke: The batfam separates Tim and Damian because they both encourage the others' absurd logic to justify feral behavior.
...
Tim: "See when I can focus directly on a case with no interruptions, my success rate goes up exponentially." (Hasn't slept in 56 hrs.)
Damian: "Statistics don't lie"
Tim: "Statistics don't lie"
...
Damian: "When I adopt more animals, it makes me happy, and if I'm happy, I work better with a team."
Tim: "And you help an animal that needs a home."
Damian: "EXACTLY!"
Tim: "If anything, its irresponsible to let them roam the streets as strays."
Damian: "That's what I said!"
...
Tim: "So one of the executives of this firm has been stealing some stuff, but unfortunately, he also has the resources and status to get him off the hook with a light sentence. Which sucks."
Damian: "What if you add a more serious crime to up the charges?"
Tim: "...That is GENIUS! I have dozens of cold cases that I've solved, but the culprits have already died! Im sure one of them could easily pass as him! "
Damian: "I can help if you need any evidence planted."
Tim: "Sure thing! I'll let you know when i find the right felony to give him!"
...
Dick: "At least they're having fun and getting along?"
Bruce: "This is not better. Stop trying to pretend this is better."
Bruce truly hates magic with every pump and beat of his heart.
What kinda curse is Slang, anyway?
“This is the best day of my life.”
“Bro really thought he ate with that.” Bruce physically feels a full body shiver, charged with nausea and cringe. “This is level 10 cringe. Can’t have shit in Gotham.”
Dick is his earth bound angel, but he laughs like a demon at him, holding onto Jason for support, pledging his eternal loyalty to Zatana and her pettiness.
—
“Hey, old bat, hook me up with an adrenaline shot.”
What he wants to say is Jay, do not try and fight with 6 bullets in your stomach.
What comes out instead, through Bruce’s grit teeth and intense, fierce glaring, “Not you trying to go back to your corpse era. See how I only took 2 shots? Very demure. Very mindful.”
Jason passes out from blood loss, but mostly laughter.
—
“Chat, is this real?”
Stephanie barely bites back a full belly cackle. “I think he just asked us if we copied.”
“I wish I was Jason, 15.”
—
“This is not a slay environment. Killing is flop behavior.” He keeps his eyes shut and buries his face in his hands. Trying to convince Damian not to stab someone doesn’t seem to work.
Damian gives him a pat like he’s a pitiful cat. “I’ll only stab the non lethal areas.”
people don't talk enough about how fucking funny it is that bruce can sub in his kids as batman when he's too busy. like can you imagine it from the league's perspective? imagine you have this really mysterious, geniusly scary guy that you know next to nothing about, never cracks a smile and yet always comes out on top, and one day he shows up to a league meeting and there's just something... off. about him.
you can't pin it down because he's literally acting exactly the same as usual and there's no reason to think there's anything wrong, but maybe he shifted in his seat one to many times, or he looked just a tad bit too bored during green lantern's case review, but something's just... odd. so you quietly ask superman after the meeting if anything's up with the bat bcs you know those two are closer and also clark can hear heartbeats so if something's wrong surely he'll pick it up? and without hesitation he leans over to you and mumbles 'yeah batman was busy, that's his 17 yr old son. he's a crime lord and kills people sometimes though so we're not allowed to let him into the weapons department.' and then walks away like it's normal.
like the whiplash the league must go through every time they realise that no, this is not their fearless dark and brooding leader, this is in fact one of his dipshit kids being forced to sub in bcs the real batman broke an ankle, is incredible.
wonder woman: so that's my proposed plan, what are your thoughts batman?
batman: hn. i think that- *voice raising two octaves* oh shit hold on my phones buzzing
the league:
batman, answering the phone and immediately dropping the Bat Posture™: what do you mean- aw come on little wing that's not fair! but- no, NO DON'T YOU DARE TELL ALFRED I'LL BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF YOU- IM SORRY OK I'LL BUY YOU MORE- *catches sight of the league watching him, baffled* *stiffens* ok listen i promise to replace them but i gotta go, please show me mercy iloveyoubye *hangs up*
the league:
batman:
batman: *coughs awkwardly*
superman: *sighs*
batman, to superman: ...red hood found out i ate his chocolate pretzels-
superman, shaking his head: just... just stop.
the flash: so this isn't batman either, is it?
wonder woman: if this one's also a criminal im losing my mind.
superman, tiredly: no no, this one isn't a criminal. this one's actually a cop.
batman: *sinks down in his seat* b's gonna kill me
green lantern, mystified: where does he keep GETTING you all from!?
'batman' dick, who made a pact with jason to Always Fuck With Bruce Whenever The Opportunity Arises: batman is a whore.
they think they've finally sussed out all 2 of batman's kids and then one day during a meeting 'batman' ends up on a 30 minute rant about different hacking methods this tech villain could be using that results in him half way through a sentence breaking off to say '-oh uncle clark could you pass me that pen- thanks, anyway so-' and then five minutes after that when the league have all been exchanging incredulous looks he finally freezes and is like. SHIT.
wonder woman: you're different from the other two, aren't you?
batman: maybe i am maybe i'm not, you can't prove it.
wonder woman:
green lantern: so like, are you new or have you just managed to avoid sub duty up until now?
superman, coughing: actually, this is this ones ninth occasion of replacing batman. you've just never realised before.
the league:
batman: yeah actually the other two are kinda mad i lasted longer than them...
the flash: how the fuck does he keep getting kids with the exact same build as him!??!?
'batman' tim, spent 20 minutes padding the suit out so he would look the part, still mad that bruce keeps palming WE work off on him: oh he forces us to take steroids for it.
the league, concerned:
superman, pinching the bridge of his nose: now come on red robin-
batman, fully tearing up and looking distraught: PLEASE uncle clark, it HURTS, you can't keep COVERING FOR HIM!
superman, frantically to the league: this one lies.
bonus
the league, squinting at batman:
the league: ...
superman: *head in his hands, too disappointed to do anything*
the league: *silently exchanging looks, wondering if anybody's brave enough to say anything*
duke as batman, fully aware this is fucking stupid but jason and tim fell on the floor laughing when dick came up with the idea and frankly, he wanted to see if anybody would have to guts to call him out: so, are we all ready to start the meeting?
summary: your father orchestrates an arranged marriage between you and crown prince steve rogers, but, on your wedding night, you must face the man you've come to view as your enemy—and you start to see him in a new light.
warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, dubcon-ish?, unprotected sex, choking, serious breeding kink (including talk of getting pregnant, having multiple children and lactating), other dirty talk, praise kink, degradation, knife kink, sorta threats of violence (not followed through), nicknames (princess, wife, your highness, husband), possessive steve rogers. please let me know if i missed any!
word count: 6.5k
a/n: day 28 of my 30 day writing trope challenge was royalty au, which i've been looking forward to for most of the challenge. i had the photo of chris evans picked out for a little while after seeing it here on tumblr. but oh my god i struggled with this one. i wrote and rewrote it so many times. i thought it'd just be a simple enemies to lovers fic but enemies to lovers can be so difficult to write without getting creepy and idk if i managed that here. but i've already spent so much time on it and i just wanted it done so i could move on and finish my challenge. so! i hope it's not terrible! 😅 enjoy!
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You had suffered so many indignities in your life—so many even in the last few months—but your husband, Crown Prince Steve Rogers, had managed to find a new one for you to endure.
You’d thought the worst would be when your father reduced you to a political pawn, a bartering chip in the talks he initiated with Rogers’ country. You knew, despite it being the 21st century, that your marriage would be a political one—you were a princess after all. But you never thought your father would marry you off without even consulting you.
Then, you’d thought the worst had to be your first meeting with your potential betrothed. Rogers had requested a meeting with you alone before agreeing to any kind of terms, so your father set it up. You’d met the crown prince in one of the private receiving rooms of your father’s palace, wearing one of your favorite dresses and with your head held high. You’d expected it to be something like a date, and had the servants lay out a spread of coffee and cakes.
Instead, Rogers had stalked into the room like he owned the place, though you gave him the benefit of the doubt—most princes acted in such a way. It came with the training of the station. But then he acted coldly, refusing to return your greeting or accept the hand you held out to him. He’d simply circled you with that arrogant strut of his, his eyes combing over every inch of your body so thoroughly, it felt as if he was undressing you without even touching you.
Rogers didn’t touch you, of course. It was no small part of you that felt relieved he kept his hands to himself. His crystal blue gaze was sharp enough to make you shiver, you couldn’t imagine the horror of him actually touching you. With how cold he acted during his inspection of you—since there was really no other word for it—you imagined he was just as aloof during moments meant for passion.
The longer Rogers scrutinized you, the more your shoulders sagged and your chin drooped. By the time he’d completed his silent inspection of your body and face, and left with no word of goodbye, you felt like you were curling in on yourself. A creeping, crawling feeling, something that felt quite like shame, burned over every inch of your skin. When you’d found the strength, you’d fled back to your personal rooms and burned your dress, never wanting to look at it again.
You’d honestly thought it couldn’t get worse than that, but you were wrong. Crown Prince Steve Rogers then insisted on a fertility exam before negotiations could continue. The horror that washed through you when your father informed you he’d agreed to the exam on your behalf was a feeling you wouldn’t soon forget. Rage roiled in your body as you submitted to the doctors, internally fuming that it might be modern day but your father and Rogers were treating you like no more than a prized broodmare.
What was worse, the exam showed you were healthy and fertile, damning you to a life of being Crown Prince Steve Rogers’ wife. Not long after the exam results came in, the deal was signed and the wedding planners began their work.
You supposed you should feel grateful the crown prince let you spare no expense on the wedding, even if he required it be held at his own palace in the capitol city of his home country—forcing your friends and family to travel if they wished to attend. You even might feel grateful that Rogers left you to the wedding planning, giving you more time to spend with your loved ones before they’d have to return home while you stayed behind, left alone with your new husband, his court and his subjects.
But, as it was, it was hard to feel anything but fury when you were kneeling on the hardwood floor of the lavish bedroom that belonged to the crown prince, the plush rug thankfully cushioning your knees. Per your husband’s instructions, that was how he expected to find you on your wedding night.
The instructions were not delivered by him, of course. He’d yet to say more than two words to you—the customary “I do”—despite becoming man and wife that very day. No, his orders were delivered by one of his assistants. You’d taken a small amount of pleasure in the fact that it was as uncomfortable a conversation for the man as it was for you. But then you’d really heard what the crown prince expected of you.
You were to leave the celebration before him. You were to ensure you were not drunk. You were to remove any and all undergarments beneath your wedding gown and discard them before entering the bedroom. Then, finally, you were to kneel on the floor in front of the bed, your hands at your sides and your head down while you waited for him.
You’d followed his instructions, allowing yourself the little bit of defiance of keeping your head up until you heard his footsteps approaching. Only then did you soften your shoulders and arms, dropping your head to appear like the demure, obedient wife your crown prince clearly expected.
The position meant he wouldn’t be able to see your hand hidden in your skirts—and, more importantly, the dagger clasped tightly in your fist. If it was up to you, kneeling for your husband would be the last indignity you’d ever suffer at the hand or command of a man.
Crown Prince Steve Rogers’ heels clicked against the hardwood floor when he entered the room, the soft snick of the door’s lock engaging sending a spike of ice through your heart. He walked to you, his shiny black shoes entering your line of sight and it frustrated you to no end that his feet were all you could see of him.
A heavy hand came down on the crown of your head, behind the tiara that was still pinned in your hair. If you weren’t mistaken, Steve was petting you gently, a soft rumbling sound coming from his throat, almost like he was contented to see you there, kneeling at his feet. Something hot, something like anger but not, settled deep in your core. You ignored the slinking feeling, gripping the dagger tighter in your fist.
“You paint a pretty picture, princess,” Steve rasped, his fingers sliding beneath your chin and tilting your face up. Anger and hatred warred in your heart and you weren’t sure which won out in your expression but Steve grinned, his eyes going heavy lidded as he trailed a finger down the side of your face. “Ah, there’s the proud woman I first met.”
You wanted to snarl, you wanted to snap your teeth at his finger, you wanted to bite it clean off. But you didn’t do any of that. You sat silently and bided your time.
Finally, when Steve seemed to have looked his fill of your face, he moved past you and turned, collapsing back on the bed. You craned your neck to look over your shoulder at him and your eyes caught on the bulge in the front of his dress pants. You forced yourself to look past it, but when you did, you saw Steve was watching you, heat blazing in his blue eyes.
Distantly, you wondered who this man was. He was so different to the man you’d met that day in the receiving room, barely cold at all. There was so much heat to this version of Steve you were a little terrified of being consumed by it. But you pushed those thoughts and worries aside and focused on your husband.
He seemed to be watching you think and when he saw that you’d returned to the moment, he reached a languid hand to his thigh and patted the thick muscle there. “Up, princess,” he commanded in a lazy tone. Like you were a dog.
Gritting your teeth against your need to spit insults at the arrogant man, you stood on wobbly knees, your legs shaking from so long spent kneeling. Shifting the dagger in your fingers to keep it hidden, you gathered your skirts with both hands and slid onto the crown prince’s lap, your ass resting on his spread thighs.
With your new husband beneath you, you got your first good look at him since entering the room. Steve had tucked his hands behind his head, lounging on the bed like he didn’t have a care in the world, his thick biceps bulging the seams of his starched white dress shirt. He’d shed his black jacket before entering the room and rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, showing off nice forearms. The rest of him was rumpled and, if you were anyone else, you might have thought he looked delectable. But you were his wife and you were furious.
You’d practiced the move a thousand times when you were alone in your room, repeating it over and over again for hours after long days spent wedding planning. So your movement was smooth as you whipped the dagger from the folds of your dress and pressed the tip to the hollow of Steve’s throat. You watched with no little amount of satisfaction as the crown prince froze, his arrogant smirk dimming a notch with a blade pressed to his throat.
But his expression shifted before you had time to truly appreciate it. “Planning to kill me in our wedding bed, princess,” Steve snarked, raising an arrogantly arched eyebrow, looking like the dagger threatening his life was of no real concern.
Of all the responses you’d anticipated—shock, anger, fear—amusement wasn’t one of them. But amused was exactly how Steve looked. It only made you angrier.
“You should show the woman with a knife to your throat more respect, your highness,” you spit out, finally allowing yourself to speak your mind, giving voice to the anger that had been simmering in your blood since the day you’d first heard of your father’s plans to marry you off. It felt good—too good.
Somehow, showing your anger got the reaction you wanted from the crown prince and his eyes widened, surprise etched into every line in his face for a long moment. Then his expression shifted again and you wondered anew at who this expressive man was and what he’d done with the cold crown prince you’d met in your father’s receiving room.
Steve’s eyes went heavy lidded as he lay beneath you, smiling with your dagger at his throat, emotion swirling in those crystal blue eyes of his. He was staring up at you like you were a goddess of wrath and he was only too happy to worship at your alter. “Tell me, princess,” he said in a low voice, his tone casual. “What exactly is your plan here?”
You’d thought about it a lot in the weeks leading up to the wedding, what you wanted to accomplish on your wedding night with the crown prince. A large part of you did want to slit his throat and claim it was an assassin of some kind, but that seemed messy—in more ways than one. You were a royal yourself, so you could probably get away with it, but there was always a chance you wouldn’t. So you’d settled on a more achievable goal.
“I want you to know what I’m capable of, your highness,” you explained slowly, biting out the honorific like an insult. “You’re not the only one with power in this marriage.” To punctuate your point, you pressed the tip of your dagger into Steve’s skin until a drop of blood welled up. “I will not be your pawn or your broodmare, I will suffer no more indignities by your hand or your command—do you understand me?”
For a long moment, Crown Prince Steve Rogers simply stared up at you, his blue eyes sharp enough to cut crystals. His expression gave nothing away, and you were reminded of the man who forced you to stand for his inspection, who sent instructions for you to be kneeling at his bed on your wedding night. Without meaning to, you dug the dagger harder into his skin, a small pool of blood welling up and sitting in the hollow of his throat. Steve’s eyes flashed.
“So much anger in you, princess,” he murmured, little inflection in his tone to indicate how he felt about that.
But you were a princess and you’d been expected to never show anger, so defensiveness flared hot in your chest. “I have plenty of reason to be angry, your highness,” you hissed. “I have been bartered over and bought like livestock, and now I am chained to the man who paid for my body with his allegiance. Of course, I’m angry—I’m furious.”
“You misunderstand me,” Steve said, his blue eyes somehow sharper than you’d ever seen them before. It took you a long moment to realize it was delight you saw in his gaze. “I have no intention of dissuading you from your anger.” His voice was more impassioned than you’d ever heard it, taking on a slight rasp with his emotion. “I want to watch you unleash it—I would watch you raze cities to the ground in your wrath and help you sweep away the ash.” He paused, taking a breath and holding your gaze with his own. “I would watch you punish everyone who has forced you to suffer the indignities you speak of and, if you should falter, I would finish them for you.”
Steve’s declarations felt like a lie. How could a man treat you so coldly, so disrespectfully, then pronounce such support? Though the picture he painted, of a husband entirely devoted to his wife, called to you, you wouldn’t let yourself be so naive as to believe it. “Then I would start with you,” you snarled, leaning down over your husband so that you were face to face with the man at which so much of your anger was directed.
He surprised you, though. Steve spread his arms wide, jutting his chin up and baring his neck to your blade. “Then do it,” he rumbled in a low voice, his blue eyes sparking with challenge.
You wanted to hurt him, you did. But the same arguments returned—you didn’t know if you could get away with killing him. You didn’t know if you wanted to commit yourself to the horror of taking another’s life, or of even maiming him. But a new reason joined the litany of excuses. Hope. What if Steve could be your salvation instead of your damnation? It would be foolish to kill him. So you hesitated.
Steve could sense you faltering, and he pressed on. “Be my queen,” he said, his blue eyes beseeching as he stared up at you. “Be mine, princess, and I will be your dagger.” His voice was a rasp of emotion, passion shaping each syllable. “Submit to me, and I will take all your anger—I’ll take it and I’ll wield it for you so you can keep your pretty hands clean.”
It was too good to be true. You knew it, and yet you hoped. But you couldn’t let him know, not yet, so you forced your face into a doubtful expression. “What do you get out of it that you haven’t already gotten?” you demanded, your voice harsh with anger. “Am I not already yours?”
Steve tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing on you like you confounded him. “I have your hand in marriage, I have your country’s resources at my disposal, I have your obedience—up to a point,” he said slowly, like it should be obvious. “But I want everything.” His tone changed and you felt his need thrumming in every word he spoke. “I want your heart and your soul—I want you. The real you. Your anger and your elation, your dreams and your hopes and your fears and your anxieties. I want it all. I want you to be mine.”
“You make ownership sound like freedom,” you said scathingly, rolling your eyes at the preposterousness of what he wanted. It was too much, you’d never allow yourself to be owned in such a way.
Taking your eyes off the crown prince, even only for a second, turned out to be a misstep. Quicker than you could ever hope to imagine moving, Steve’s hand shot out and wrapped around your throat. You braced yourself for him to roll you over onto your back, or disarm you, but he did neither. Instead, he just used his grip on your neck to pull you close so he could look you in the eye as he spoke his next words.
“It’s not ownership, wife, it’s love,” he said, pausing to let it sink in. His blue eyes watched your face carefully. “To give yourself willingly and to open yourself up to receiving in return, that’s love.”
It couldn’t be so simple. For all your knowledge of the world, you knew little about love, especially in marriages. But one thing you knew for certain was that love came with strings, it always did. It could never be so simple or so pure as the picture Steve painted. Your mind raced as you tried to find the lie in the crown prince’s words, but when you didn’t respond, he continued.
“Submit to me for the night,” Steve urged, sensing your hesitation. Perhaps even sensing your hope that what he said was true. “Give yourself willingly to me and I will show you what love can be like between man and wife.” His blue eyes blazed with heat as he stared up at you, your face so close to his you could feel his breath ghost over your lips.
“And tomorrow I will show you how I can be your dagger.”
You found yourself considering his offer. It was only one night, after all. But just as quickly, you grew angry about the carrot he dangled in front of you. “How can you possibly expect me to believe you could love me after what I’ve done to you tonight?” you demanded, glaring down at your husband.
Steve’s grin was like a slash across his face as his hand not wrapped around your throat pressed to your lower back, scooting you up his lap until your center connected with the hard bulge in his slacks. Your eyes fluttered and you let out a soft moan at the feel of him.
“I assure you, princess,” Steve rasped, his voice a low rumble. “The knife to my throat is by no means a deterrent of my lust for you.” You forced your eyes open and found him staring up at you with nothing short of naked desire in his eyes, proving his honesty. His hand ran soothingly up and down your spine and, against your better judgement, you found yourself relaxing for him. “Love and trust will take time,” he murmured, breaking through your walls and defenses with every word he spoke. “But I am willing to forgive you for threatening my life if you’re willing to forgive the indignities I’ve made you suffer.”
You forced yourself to look at him sharply, only barely noticing it was harder to make yourself glare at him than it had been even moments before. “No more inspections, no more kneeling.”
Steve’s face relaxed into a grin, but his gaze was genuine as he stared at you. “I promise, any future inspections or kneeling will be done with your enthusiastic consent,” he vowed.
You narrowed your eyes at that, but then gave a soft, defeated sigh. “How do I submit?” you asked in a voice barely louder than a whisper. You kept your eyes on his bearded jaw, unable to look at him properly.
“Kiss me,” Steve demanded in a rough voice. Your eyes flicked up to his and saw he was serious. “Kiss me willingly, princess.”
Slowly, tentatively, you crossed what little distance there was between your mouths, pressing your lips to Steve’s. It felt like a betrayal the way your body reacted to the kiss, your heart racing and your stomach fluttering, warmth surging through every inch of you. Your body begged you to press closer to him and you followed its urging, deepening the kiss.
Steve’s fingers around your throat flexed and then he was surging up, taking your mouth possessively. You opened for him more easily than you ever would’ve suspected. His tongue plunged past your lips, licking into your mouth like it was his right. It felt so good—too good—and you felt yourself sinking deeper into his kiss, finding you enjoyed submitting to your husband.
Distantly, you were aware of Steve’s other hand holding onto your fist where it clutched your dagger, but he still didn’t disarm you, simply held you steady, ensuring you didn’t accidentally pierce his throat. You were grateful as you no longer wished to harm the man who could kiss you with so much passion.
The longer Steve kissed you, the more your body responded and, without remembering starting, you suddenly found your hips moving against his, grinding yourself down on his hard length through his dress pants. You braced your free hand against his chest, rocking against his hardness, your bare slit dripping all over his bulge.
“That’s it, princess,” Steve groaned, tearing his mouth from yours and trailing his lips along your jaw, his coarse beard rasping against your skin. “Rub your sweet little cunt all over my cock and make yourself feel good.” At his urging, you rolled your hips harder, taking your pleasure from his body. “Get yourself nice and wet and ready for me, wife,” Steve went on, his teeth nipping at your ear and making you whine softly. “So I can fuck you and fill you with my seed.”
A shiver wracked your body and your knees spread further so you could press down on him harder, your slick hole dripping with an arousal you could not deny. When you opened your eyes, only then realizing they had fallen closed, you found Steve’s blue gaze watching your reaction with surprised delight etched into his face.
He went on, speaking slowly and deliberately, his eyes sharp as he watched you closely. “I’m going to cum so deep in your precious fucking pussy, princess, that there’s no way I don’t breed you tonight,” he said, a dark promise in his tone. A moan tumbled from your mouth inexplicably, his words turning you on when you would’ve expected them to send you running. Instead, you rocked harder against him, gripping onto his shirt in a tight fist. “Can’t fucking wait to make you the mother of my children,” he rumbled.
“Oh god,” you moaned, letting your head loll back. But Steve wasn’t having that. He used his grip on your throat to tug you back down until you had no choice but to meet his blazing gaze.
“Does it make your pussy gush, princess, hearing how I want to make a mother out of you?” Steve asked, his expression ruthless and his grip unrelenting. “Does it make your body beg to be filled up when you hear how I’m going to breed you until you give me an heir?” His hips thrust up from below, forcing the moan from your lips that had been lodged in your throat. “Be honest—be honest, wife.”
“Yes,” you sobbed, unable to lie—not even wanting to. It had taken your husband mere minutes to strip you down to your very core, managing the feat with a knife still pressed to his throat, and it only made you want him more. Despite yourself, you yearned for Crown Prince Steve Rogers—for everything he offered and everything he’d promised. Though you hadn’t planned to say more, words continued spilling from your mouth. “I need it—I need you, husband, please.”
With something like a roar, Steve flipped you onto your back, one of his hands pinning you to the bed by your throat, the other finally disarming you and sending your dagger skittering away on the bedspread. You let it go freely, your hands busying themselves with divesting your husband of his shirt, yanking the buttons loose until the broad expanse of his golden chest was bared to you.
While you were busy tracing his muscles with your fingertips, Steve sat back enough to grab the skirts of your wedding dress. With another feral sound, Steve tore through your dress, ripping the layers of your gown up the center.
You gasped at the sound of rending fabric and paused, stunned for a moment by the sight of the crown prince. He knelt between your thighs, his handsome face twisted with lust and his broad chest heaving as he stared down at you like he wanted to devour you whole. In that moment, you wanted to be devoured, but only by him. It was a wondrous sight to see Steve—Crown Prince Steve Rogers—so totally undone by you, and you didn’t think you’d ever get enough. Your body, acting on instinct, opened for him, your thighs spreading subtly wider.
Steve’s sharp eyes caught the slight movement and a brutal grin hooked the corner of his mouth. “Oh, wife,” he murmured, tearing through the rest of your skirts and bodice, leaving your wedding dress in tatters on the bed. “We’re going to have a long and happy life together.”
His words hung heavy in the air between you, like they were a spell and, by speaking them, he could simply make it so. You found you didn’t want to protest the future he predicted. Instead you nodded, agreeing with your husband and hoping he had the ability foresight. He didn’t, of course, but your husband was a determined man and you knew he intended to make his words become truth.
When Steve finally broke your stare and looked down at your body, naked and bared for him, he sucked in a breath. He trailed his hands down over your curves reverently, before reaching the apex of your thighs. He spread you open with his thumbs and groaned at the sight of you. Steve wasted no time, shoving three fingers inside you. You were so turned on, your body took them greedily, clenching down like you wanted to keep him buried deep. But Steve pulled free and licked your taste from his skin. “Mm, princess, so fucking sweet,” he commented, giving you a heated look.
Your hands reached for Steve’s belt, fumbling with it for a moment before he batted your fingers away. Moving quickly, he undid his slacks and pushed them down his thighs, far enough to free his cock. It hung heavy and hard between his thick thighs, so girthy you were glad you were wet and ready for him. If you hadn’t been so lust-drunk, you may have worried about him fitting inside you, but all you felt was a need to feel him fill you up.
Lust consumed you and you whined, reaching for him, but Steve caught your hands and pinned them above your head with one of his. With his other, he gripped his cock and rubbed the blunt head up and down your slit, teasing your clit and making you whimper. You rocked your hips up against his dick, trying to find the angle to take him inside you. When that didn’t work, you resorted to begging, whimpering, “Please, Steve.”
“Fuck,” he gritted out through his tightly clenched jaw, the strain of holding back carved into his face. “Sound so fucking sweet begging for my cock, wife.” He teased you some more, getting his hard length nice and slick with your arousal. “You ready for me, princess?” he asked, capturing your gaze and pinning you to the bed with his serious look. “Tell me how much you want this.”
“I want you—I want this so bad,” you confessed breathlessly as your back arched up off the bed, trying to get closer to your husband. “Oh god, I want your cock, please, Steve—fuck me,” you begged, desperate tears leaking from the corners of your eyes.
“That’s a good girl,” Steve practically purred, kissing the tears from your cheeks. He notched the tip of his dick at your entrance and you bucked your hips up, taking the head inside on your own. Steve grunted and released your hands so he could pin your hips to the bed. “So fucking greedy, wife,” he bit out through clenched teeth. He pressed deeper, his hips driving his cock into you with steady strength, the thickness of it pushing the air from your lungs.
It felt like he was entering you body and soul with how deep he reached inside you, and it felt so good. Steve’s cock was so big, it felt like he was splitting you in half, but you were so wet, you took him easily, just as greedily as he accused you of being. He forced your thighs wider as he pressed ever deeper, your breaths only gasps as you took him. When he was finally fully seated inside, you let another sob escape.
Steve captured your lips in a kiss, pouring his passion and desire for you into your mouth while he drank down your sounds of pleasure. He plundered your mouth, his cock still buried deep inside you, unmoving, just focused on your lips while you adjusted to him.
When he’d decided you’d had enough time, his hips pulled back and he thrust inside you. Steve set a brutal pace, fucking you in hard, deep strokes that had your back arching up off the bed and your mouth wrenching from your husband’s to cry out. But Steve didn’t let that stand, his hand wrapped around your throat, pinning you to the bed as he fucked you, his mouth slamming down on yours for a messy kiss that was all snapping teeth and soothing tongues.
You could feel some of the anger in your heart draining out of you, and Steve replaced it with his own emotions—his passion and lust, stoking your arousal higher as he drilled his cock into your pussy. It felt like he was taking a piece of your soul with his kiss and giving you part of his in return. It was overwhelming and heady and you never wanted him to stop.
Steve bit your lower lip hard, sucking it into his mouth and your body clenched down hard on him, making him groan like he was in pain. “Oh fuck, you’re gonna make me cum, princess,” Steve muttered against your mouth, his tone almost accusing. It sent a flare of pride through your chest and you couldn’t help but grin. He took notice of your response, his blue eyes darkening. “Gonna fill you up, wife,” he promised. “Gonna pump you full of my seed and make you give me an heir.”
His words, his piercing eyes, his thrusting cock, his grip on your throat all made you feel alive and more present in your body than you had in your entire life. It was glorious, and you couldn’t help but want more. You smirked, jutting your chin up at him and pressing against his hand still wrapped around your throat. “Then do it,” you urged, only distantly aware you were repeating his words back to him.
Steve’s eyes flashed, and a feral grin spread across his face. “Gonna knock you up, princess,” he promised, fucking you harder, forcing your legs up and back so he had you folded nearly in half. “Can’t wait to see you swell with my child and your pretty tits fill with milk,” he said, ducking his head and sucking one of your nipples into his mouth, biting the nub before pressing kisses across your chest to the other. “Gonna fuck you with your tits leaking milk and drink from you, then breed you again,” he vowed, staring up your chest at you, his mouth sucking greedily on your nipples. “Can’t wait for you to give me an heir so I can give you even more of my children, wife.”
Despite yourself—despite initially dreading that part of your marriage—the picture he painted sounded appealing and you found yourself nodding. “Yes, Steve,” you said on a gasp, digging your fingers into his hair and dragging him up to kiss you again, your hips rising to meet his thrusts. “Please,” you begged against his mouth.
“So perfect, wife,” Steve murmured, his lips trailing kisses over your cheeks. “So perfect for me, taking my cock so well.”
His gentle praise wound the coil of pleasure in your core tighter, and you sobbed your need. “Please, Steve,” you begged, not knowing exactly what you needed, only knowing he was the only one who could give it to you.
Steve seemed to understand and he changed the angle of his strokes, pounding into your pussy and grinding against your clit, the tip of his cock hitting a spot deep inside you that made you scream. “Cum for me, princess,” Steve ordered, every ounce of royal command in his tone. “Let your sweet cunt milk the seed from my cock,” he said between clenched teeth, reaching between your bodies and rubbing your clit hard. At the same time, his fingers squeezed your throat, choking you lightly. “Cum for me so I can breed you and give you my heir.”
It was the last push you needed and the coil of pleasure inside your body snapped. You screamed your husband’s name as you came, clinging to Steve as your body clenched tight and then bucked wildly. He held you down, pinned to the bed by his hand squeezing your neck and his hips rutting into you. You screamed until your voice was hoarse and the waves of pleasure were less overwhelming.
Steve fucked you through your release, manhandling your body until you were folded even further in half and he had you in a mating press. He grunted and groaned as he shoved his cock into your pulsing cunt. “Feel so fucking good, princess, to tight around my cock,” he said on a deep moan.
Dazedly, you raked your nails through his hair, still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm and needing him to take his own pleasure in your body. “Cum in me, husband,” you urged, wanting to drive him as wild as he’d driven you. “Knock me up, make a mother out of me—put a baby in my belly, Steve, please.” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and held him close as you whispered in his ear. “I want it—I want to give you an heir.”
“Fuck,” he bit out, finding your mouth and giving you a messy kiss. When he pulled back, he pressed his forehead to yours. “You’re so fucking perfect, wife, I’m never letting you go.”
“Don’t,” you said on a gasp. “Don’t let me go.”
With a grunt and a few more sloppy thrusts, Steve shoved his cock deep inside you, groaning as he came. His whole body tensed and then you felt his dick twitch inside you, warmth flooding your pussy as he pumped you full of his load. You moaned softly, raising your hips as much as you could against his weight, hoping you could give his cum an easier path to your womb.
You knew that if someone had told you that you’d end your wedding night moaning and begging Steve to get you pregnant so you could give him an heir, you would’ve laughed or smacked that person. But something had changed. It took you a long moment to realize you weren’t furious anymore. You were sated, and something akin to happy. Steve had done what he’d promised, he’d taken some of your anger and you couldn’t help but feel grateful for it, fondness blooming in your heart.
After a moment of cuddling you to him, Steve dragged himself up, massaging your legs as he helped you lower them, though he kept his cock buried in your pussy. With darkened blue eyes, Steve caught your gaze as he rested a possessive hand on your lower belly. “Mine,” he rumbled, his expression resolute.
With a small smile you nodded. “Yours.” Tentatively, you reached your own hand up, pressing it to the center of Steve’s chest, right over his still pounding heart. “Mine,” you repeated, but it sounded more like a question.
Your husband’s face softened and he used his free hand to cover yours, holding your palm to his chest. “Yours,” he agreed with a smile. Steve bent down, kissing you gently, his mouth so sweet you couldn’t help but grin so big you couldn’t kiss him anymore. He chuckled, the sound a happy rumble.
Steve helped you from the bed, insisting on helping to clean you up and tucking you into bed with him. When you both slid beneath the blankets of his bed, your dagger fell to the floor with a dull thud, but neither of you paid it any mind. You spent the night talking and kissing, your naked bodies tangled up in each other as you finally got to know one another in all the ways that mattered.
In the morning, you and Steve greeted the world shoulder to shoulder as one. But when you summoned your father to the throne room you now shared with your husband, it was Steve who did most of the talking. He showed you exactly how he’d be your dagger, by announcing—before his court and your father’s—that anyone who organized an arranged marriage without the explicit consent of all parties involved would be punished.
When Steve meted out the punishment for your father, denouncing the man who had raised you for misleading him into believing you’d been a wholly willing party, you felt satisfaction. Nothing truly bad would happen to your father or your home country, but it was delightful to watch him squirm and be the focus of more than a few scathing looks. You held your head high in front of your new husband and your new court.
After, Steve tugged you into an antechamber and kissed you until you were breathless, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he held you close. “How’d I do, wife—do I make for an adequate dagger?”
You giggled—something you never would’ve believed you’d do in the crown prince’s presence—and smiled up at him. “You were quite adequate, husband,” you confirmed, pulling him down for another kiss.
When he pulled away, affection and something deeper, something that looked like blossoming love, shone brightly in Crown Prince Steve Rogers’ eyes and it made your heart flutter. You felt certain your husband would make himself an honest man and ensure you lived a long and happy life together.
But first, he had a request. “Now tell me, wife, how else can I be your dagger?” your husband asked, excitement in his sharp blue eyes. “What other indignities have you suffered at the hand or command of a man for which I can exact recompense?”
Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)
Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, mentions of hauntings and the paranormal.
A/N: i need to start editing beforehand this series honestly takes to long to edit omg this was supposed to come out 2 hours ago. also thanks so much to @ginevranights for the one tweet in here, and @thebisexual-disaster for calling bucky babygirl because it was incredibly funny to me
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Everyone is besotted with the cat.
It makes sense– everyone hates Bucky and will dance with glee upon his downfall. This is all his opinion, of course. The truth is that it is a cat and exists and everyone is thrilled.
Sensing his awful vibes towards her and the constant suspicion he thinks of her with, she decides she likes sitting outside his room at the early hours of the morning and screaming for him to open up.
Once he does, she strolls in leisurely, takes a look around and then strolls back out. Everyday. On the clock. An alarm clock that will cough up a hairball in front of his door should he not open it to her.
Also turns out she doesn’t have brown spots, the cat was just dirty. She’s pure white and you’ve taken to calling her something to do with snow or blizzards or something.
She is his mortal enemy. Bucky doesn’t stop to think that his biggest problem being a feud with a cat is possibly an indication that his life has gotten significantly better.
As with every week, you bang on his door on Friday morning.
Bucky, who's just fallen asleep after the stupid cat ceremoniously woke him up that morning, does not find this ritual as entertaining as you do, but his opinion has rarely held weightage in matters such as his sanity or his sleep schedule.
He does considr for a whole day that you and the cat are in cahoots to ensure he is as miserable as possible. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility– Sam talked to birds or and Clint talked to lizards or whatever.
You yell something incomprehensible to him. Bucky yells something back. The world keeps spinning, nothing changes.
Other than the sinking feeling on his chest, that was a bit more pronounced than usual, to the point where it’s a bit hard to breathe.
He pries open one eye, ready to name five things he sees, four things he hears, three things he touches.
The stupid cat smacks him in the face.
He shoves her off his torso, and along with her, the sinking feeling also reduces.
After a very useful day of staying in bed no less than three attempts to get back to sleep, Bucky sneaks out of the tower when dusk begins to fall to hopefully get some rest on the park’s grass.
It’s a nice evening out, the sky was painted a burnt orange, and the air wasn’t too chilly. He could even stop for a burger on the way back to top off a lovely nap.
But even a gorgeous sunset is not enough to distract him from his heightene awareness going off.
From the corner of his eye, he sees a black van trailing slowly behind him.
He picks up the pace, jogging past a street food vendor and a newspaper stand, and the van only speeds up to keep up.
Soon enough, Bucky breaks into a sprint, ducking into an alleyway and waiting until the van drives past him before stalking back out, eyes vigilant.
Whatever. Stalker be damned, he was going to go to the fucking park. And get a burger.
But the second he makes a turn on the street corner, the same black van pulls right up to him, not leavning even two feet of space between it and him.
Bucky, annoyed and with 80 years worth of boredom with this schtick, scowls as he yanks open the damn door, ready to just punch and move on with his day.
“Get in loser, we’re going out,” you call from the driver’s seat.
He growls, letting the handle go. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me? I literally told you in the afternoon that I’m picking you up and you starting running from me, you baboon,” you exclaim. “Is that what you’re wearing in this video? Did you not do your laundry?”
Alright, so maybe it was on him to figure out what you actually yelled at him through the door earlier in the day. That doesn’t stop him.
Nostrils flaring, he continues to ignore you. “Who the fuck does this? Why do you have a van?”
“Style,” you insist. “We’re gonna be late, now come on. We’re leaving.”
Sensing that this conversation had reached a standstill, Bucky employs his next best technique.
“Where?” he demands.
“You’ll find out when we get there. Now get in,” you pat the spot next to you before pulling up your phone. “We’ll get there in about an hour–”
“No.”
Your neck cranes slowly to look at him incredulously. “The fuck you mean ‘no’?”
“You could be kidnapping me.” He stands with his arms crossed, tone defiant.
“Right,” you snort. “You seen yourself? Food laws say I need a cooling truck to transport that much beef around.”
Bucky feels his mouth opening and shutting almost immediately, a strange feeling creeping into the tips of his ears.
He clears his throat. “I’m not getting in the car unless you tell me where we’re going.”
“I’m not fuckin’ kidnapping you Bucky,” you say, loudly. “And even if I wanted to do it– which I don’t, because you can be so annoying sometimes– you’d never see it coming.”
“How would I know?” He’s offended that you only think he’s annoying sometimes when he’s been working very hard to make sure it’s a constant feature of his. “Who’s to say there’s not some guy in there with a gun–”
“A gun wouldn’t do shit when you’re so thick in the head–”
“And then SHIELD’s gonna have to shell out the ransom–”
“SHIELD would pay them to keep you.”
“Oh, so you are kidn–”
“Get in the car,” you say loudly before sitting upright, and turning your attention to the windshield again. “Or don’t. I don’t give a shit.”
He narrows his eyes at you grabbing the steering wheel, while your telekinesis moves to close the door on him.
Bucky sticks his metal hand between the door and the car, and pries it back open before climbing in.
“Now what,” he mumbles, arms still crossed over his chest like he’s throwing a tantrum. He even refuses to put the seatbelt. Rebellion.
You don’t answer, and the car doesn’t move.
When he looks over at you, you have a triumphant, smug smile on your face.
“What,” he bites.
You tsk. “Reverse psychology. Always works with children.”
Bucky immediately grabs at the handle, but the locks immediately click into place and you step on the pedal and send the van flying down the road before he has a chance to throw himself out.
The car pulls up to a mansion.
All the windows are closed and covered in newspaper, giving him no indication as to what was inside. The lawn was mostly brown, with weeds taking up more space than grass and dead flowers lining the fence.
“There’s gotta be like 5 bedrooms in that thing,” you note, as you both make your way towards it. “How many ghosts do you think are in there?”
“Zero,” Bucky states plainly.
You continue to talk like he doesn’t exist. “A house that big, there’s gotta be a ghost butler in there. Maybe a ghost maid.”
“None.”
“Five ghost maids, one for every room, and maybe a cook–”
Bucky starts speed walking, leaving you behind to admire the structure looming over the both of you, only illuminated by the streetlights outside.
Bucky knocks hard on the door, annoyed that it was getting colder and that he was stuck in his stupid running shorts in a house that definitely had no heating for the evening.
Eventually, you end up beside him, talking as he keeps his sight fixed right ahead.
Checking your phone to confirm the address, you mumble absentmindedly to him, “This kid tweeted us like fifteen times in the last week, this is gonna be a sick surprise. I love meeting my fa–”
“A surprise?” Bucky jerks his head towards you. “You didn’t tell him we’re coming?”
“Well no,” you lower your phone, “because that would give the ghosts some warning and we–”
His eyes nearly bug out of his head. “We can’t just go into some random kid’s house and film–”
“He’s hardly random, he’s been bombarding our inbox–”
Your defence is cut off when the door creaks open painfully, slowly, like it was letting out its last dying breath.
“Woah,” you whisper, eyes wide. “Ghost door.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Bucky mumbles.
“Hello?” you call out.
When no one replies immediately, Bucky shoves his hands into his pockets, ready to leave.
Instead, you shove him to the side, taking his pace in front of the house. He offers no resistance, only a growl in annoyance.
You clear your throat, before calling loudly, “Hewwo–”
A dark hooded figure springs out at breakneck speed from behind the door, arms raised high, legs wide.
You don’t look fazed at all, staying entirely still, only with one eyebrow raised.
“Right,” you say. “You must be Jason.”
“Yuh,” he answers.
“Where are your parents?” Bucky demands immediately, choosing to ignore the full body cringe his own words give him.
“Indianna or something, man. I dunno?” The door trembles open a bit more, giving you a clearer look at the guy. “Do you guys wanna come in? It’s cold.”
You take a step inside the huge foyer, almost steretoypically complete with a cascading staircase and big paintings of people on horses and stuff.
Jason eventually peels the hoodie away from his face, shoving his arms inside the sleeves and spinning it around so he was wearing it the right way.
“This is Bucky, by the way,” you introduce before beckoning to the man who had refused to move all this while. “Come on, babygirl.”
Bucky does not look wowed with the theatrics as he stands there, arms folded tight across his magnificent chest.
Jason looks at you. “Is babygirl coming?”
Bucky inhales sharply while you stifle a laugh. “Do not call me that.”
“Oh, he loves it when people call him that, he’s just super pissy because he didn’t get enough attention today,” you coo. “Get in here Bucky.”
He glares at you with enough intensity to set the house on fire.
The kid looks like he’s in his early twenties, with shaggy brown hair that hides sleepy eyes, bad posture and a clean shaven face.. His hoodie is paired with grey sweatpants and yellow flip flops that were about one size too small for him.
“Why’d you tweet at us?” Bucky questions, wondering what he had to do with anything.
Jason juts his chin up contemplatively. “What do you guys do again?”
You stare at him to avoid how Bucky was staring at you.
“We hunt ghosts and help old ladies cross the street.” You flash him a smile.
“Cool.” Jason nods appreciatively. “I don’t have an old lady here.”
Your eyebrow twitches. Bucky would have taken great joy in your awkwardness had he not felt entirely exasperated by the whole exchange.
“Well, Jason, you DM’d us about the ghost in the house,” you communicate even slower. “The one that was being rude?”
“Oh, right,” he drags out. “You’re the people from YouTube. Avengers. I didn't think y’all were real, lol.”
“What the fuck.” Bucky mumbles to himself, because there was no way this guy said ‘LOL’ out loud. “Did you just invite us inside your house without knowing who we are–”
“Yes, we’re those people,” you interrupt, pulling out a card from your fucking sleeve. “The Graveyard Shift crew, ready and at your service.”
“Since when do we have business cards?” Bucky presses.
“Ignore him, he’s an intern.” You drop the card onto Jason’s hand. “Anyway, we’re the best rated ghost hunters within a twenty yard radius. Maybe even thirty, but I don't wanna get too ahead of myself.”
“Radical.” He flips the card back and forth without actually reading anything. Bucky wonders if he was looking for pictures. “Aren’t you supposed to have like, tech and people and stuff?”
“Some of us have performance anxiety–” you give Bucky a side eye and he rightfully looks absolutely incensed. “So, I’ve got a camera following us at all times and I’ve got all the tech we need.”
Bucky suddenly feels very aware of something hovering behind him, and it takes an incredible amount of self-restraint to not instinctually slap it out of existence.
He whips around to find a camera floating mid air, aimed directly at him almost like it is waiting for a reaction. While weird, it was still better than the stupid GoPro on his head that elongated his forehead to a sixhead.
“And I’ve got a REM Pod, a spirit box to pick up sounds when they talk to us, a water gun full of assorted waters from different beliefs for one gigantic spirit burning milkshake–” you list rapidly and Bucky cannot even tell where the fuck you’re pulling these things out from. “So, we should be good to go.”
Jason doesn’t look bothered at all, as he drags out, “Cool, lol.”
Bucky almost feels offended on your behalf by the little twerp.
“Hold this,” you instruct, pressing the spirit box into Bucky's chest without giving him a choice. “Ready whenever you are, but before we start I just wanted to ask– why’d you come to us for help? I’m sure you have plenty of options.”
“Oh,” the guy says, wiping his hands down the side of his sweatpants. “You guys are Avengers and stuff…”
He doesn’t add anything else, watching you both like it was obvious.
When neither of you offer an answer, he continues “I mean, no one else seemed to like, know kickboxing and shi–”
“I’m sorry– kickboxing?”
“Or like, karate.” He lifted his shoulder in a half shrug. “Whatever you guys are into, I don’t really care what style of combat it is.”
When it finally clicks, Bucky snorts. “You want us to fuckin’ fight your ghost?”
“Yeah, like a punch or something, I guess.” Jason looks too serious. “He’s being a real bitch dick.”
You exhale steadily. “First of all, how do you know it’s a ‘he’?”
Jason shakes his head, and his hair falls directly into his one eye, leaving you to only look at the other. “I’m pretty sure it’s my uncle.”
“Your uncle?”
“Well yeah,” the guy responds, “this is his house. He built it and decorated it and shit.”
You stare at him in disbelief. “You didn’t mention that in the brief.”
Bucky looks at you. “You got a brief?”
“Uh, yeah, it’s my uncle’s house, I guess,” Jason continues when you wave Bucky off. “He, like, kicked the bucket a few years ago. Like, totally died off.”
Bucky’s eyebrows knit together.
“We weren’t, like, close or anything but I guess he didn’t have any other relatives which figures, because he’s a pain in the ass, but I’m the next male heir or whatever, so I got it.”
“Male heir,” Bucky repeats slowly, wondering which fucking TV show he’s walked into.
“A 6BHK in this economy is a fuckin’ castle,” you shush him, turning to Jason again. “Didn’t you bother renovating or anything?”
“Clearly not,” Bucky mumbles, because he may have only known Jason for a grand total of a few minutes, but he really doubts that it was he who picked out redwood furniture and gold trimmings.
“Nah, I don’t care. I usually spend all day doing gigs at my friend’s house but he told me I can’t keep throwing ragers there every night so I wanna do that here but he’s just being a big baby about it,” he explains all in one breath.
“What gigs?” Bucky asks curiously.
“I’m a DJ who specialises in acoustic EDM,” he says, chest puffing in pride.
“Of course.” Bucky nods in return.
Jason turns to you. “Didn’t think you guys were coming, not gonna lie.”
“You just do that whole door opening show to everyone?” you ask, amused.
“Uh, no, I just heard you guys arguing outside and thought it’d be funny,” he says. “I got you guys good, lol.”
“Well, not me,” you counter, “but Bucky, for sure, pissed his pants a litt–”
“Anyway, here’s the keys. I’m out,” Jason cuts in. “It’s my last three performances at Rick’s house.”
He tosses the key at babygirl’s Bucky’s chest, who instinctively catches it with ease.
“You’re just giving us the house for the night?” Bucky stares at him incredulously.
“Yuh. There’s, like, beer in the fridge if you want. No one delivers here ‘cause someone snitched that this place is haunted, which was kinda fucked. So there’s ramen in the fridge too if you’re hungry.”
“Why is there ramen in–”
“See y’all later, lol,” he takes off without another word.
Bucky’s left staring after the guy who just strolls down the garden and out the gate without a second look.
“I think I want to adopt him.” Your gaze trails after him, before you crack your knuckles. “Alright. Let’s get this guy’s bitch dick uncle.”
The longer Bucky spends in the house, he can tell with absolute certainty that someone loved this place deeply. It is styled and decorated with the flair of a passion project, even though it currently looked like it dreamed of being a landfill when it grew up. There were cobwebs everywhere and several dust bunnies in every corner, and also many crushed cans of beer all around the floor.
The previous owner had taste for sure. Bucky’s not sure if he’d appreciate Jason turning it into the newest hotspot for his ragers. Whatever that meant.
“How long are we going to be here?” he asks, swiping a finger across the table.
“Why, you got something to do?” you pause before adding, “Or someone to do?”
He sends you a jaded glance. “None of your business.”
“You literally called me the love of your life.” You scoff from your corner of the room.
“You called yourself that,” Bucky reminds monotonously.
“And you have never denied it.”
“I’m denying it right no-”
“Bzzt, too late. Anyway,” you announce. “Your hot date will have to be postponed, I fear. We are not leaving until we get some sort of proof.”
“Two hours.” Bucky holds up two dust coated fingers.
“I’ll buy you a pretzel.”
“Three hours.” His middle finger goes up in solidarity.
You grin. “More than enough. We’re gonna make you a believer, babygirl.”
True, and surprisingly enough, an hour later, his whole life changes.
“What?” You’re somewhere behind, stupid machine held up as you spin around like a ballerina waiting for something to do something and make a noise or some shit. He doesn’t know.
Bucky has tucked the spirit box behind his ear like a pencil, arms gripping the doors.
“What the hell,” he trails off slowly, eyes glued to the sight in front of him, hypnotising.
“Did you find something?” you whisper-yell, and the camera whizzes past you into his line of sight.
Bucky swallows the bile in his throat.
“When he said ramen’s in the fridge, I didn’t think he meant he boiled a fuckin’ bucket full of noodles and just left it in there. What the fuck.” He grabs the aforementioned bucket and lifts it into the air. “Who does this? What the fuck?”
You let out a huff, lightly stomping yor foot. “Be so serious right now.”
“Are you crazy? Look at this.” Bucky spins it around to look at it from every angle. “It’s got ‘Jason’s ramen’ written on it. Who the fuck else’s would this be?”
“You’re supposed to be looking for ghosts,” you insist. “That is demonic behaviour. It’s not the same.”
“I’m lookin’ for snacks,” Bucky puts the damn bucket back and ignores it to look through the rest of the fridge. “There’s nothing here. What does that kid eat?”
“If you’re looking for snacks, you gotta look in the mirror,” you hum hopefully.
“Hilarious.” Bucky’s voice comes back muddled from the several bottles of beer in the fridge.
“I’m sorry, you’re right. It’s not useful.” you correct, “You said you’re looking for snacks, not a whole meal.”
He stops briefly. Bucky’s not sure what to do with all this strange attention you give him. It makes him feel all sorts of ways and he doesn’t like it one bit.
“Whatever,” he mutters, continuing to scavenge.
“Woah, calm down there, Prince Charming.” You snicker. “Give a person a warning before pulling out all your best lines on me like that.”
“You’re supposed to be working, not flirting,” Bucky responds, feeling the same burn at the tip of his ears from that evening.
“When I was in the events business, multitasking was considered a valuable and necessary skill.”
Bucky stands up so fast he nearly hits his head on the fridge.
“What’s with all these random jobs you keep saying you’ve done?” he questions. “They told me you went on the run a long time ago and that’s where you met Nat.”
Your face changes, features becoming more solemn. He doesn’t know what’s going on, because he’s never seen you this serious before, not even when you guys were hanging out in the library.
“Bucky,” your voice drops a few octaves, straight and steady. “Answer me this honestly.”
He feels a bit defensive because it almost feels like he’s fucked up somehow.
“What?” he questions.
You watch him for another second before taking a step toward him, observing him closely.
“Did you really ask people about me?”
He straightens up ever so slightly. “Why?”
You look at him gravely. “I got one more question.”
You take another step, reducing the space btween you to almost a ciminally low amount. Bucky’s sure he can hear your heartbeat.
You watch his eyes look into yours intently, a flciker or doubt there.
You open your mouth, voice low and strong, “When will you admit to yourself you’re obsessed with me?”
It takes a second for it to register, and almost instantly he shoves you away, only to have you break into a laugh.
“You’re so fucking annoying.”
“You have a crush on me,” you sing, “why else are you going around asking your friends about me? Do you want them to put in a good word? You gonna ask them to deliver your handwritten note to me?”
“Fuck right off, and then fuck off some more,” he barks, grabbing a beer from the front of the line.
“Don’t worry, Buck, I think you’re the cutest guy in our whole grade, no competition,” you drawl, grinning at the pissed expression on his face.
Bucky swerves around you to beeline to the kitchen island to drink his stupid beer in peace. He thinks that his retirement age is actually nearing.
A house like this, with a room for Steve and another guest room for whoever wanted to visit. Possibly a dog. There wasn’t musch left in life to do, so he may as well spend the rest of it out in the suburbs in quiet.
A few seconds later, you break the silence with, “But to answer your question: I did go on the run. I just did all those jobs while I was running.”
He turns to you, noting that while your face was light, it seemed like there was sincerity and truth in what you were saying.
“Why?” he asks, voice gruff.
You shrug, half a smile on your face. “Why not? I met Nat when she broke down the door of my accountancy office on one of her missions. I threw some staplers and hit a guy with a printer, and from then on, whenever I needed help or she needed my freaky little powers, we’d reach out. Years later, she asked if I wanted to come join, I was bored and now here we are. I’m a nepo baby, if you kinda think about it.”
Bucky looks at you, but says nothing.
“Anyway, brief history aside, I’m going upstairs. There’s nothing here other than your bitchy aura and bucket ramen.” The camera spins around to follow you.
Bucky simply ignores you as he swipes all the garbage off the counter and onto the ground so he can lean against it, alone with his beer and new information to process.
However, a loud creek, unmistakable and intense, comes from the floor above.
You look at Bucky. He doesn’t look the least bit bothered, instead using his metal hand to pop open a beer he fished out of the damn fridge.
“Can you shut up,” you hiss when he drinks a little too loud for your liking.
“What,” he asks through a mouthful of beer as he drops the bottle cap onto the counter.
Another creek reverberates loudly through the house.
You make a face at him, somewhere in a mix between excitement and anticipation.
“Is that supposed to mean something?” he inquires.
“Two creeks in the last minute,” you insist, like he’s stupid.
He scoffs. “So? It’s an old house, if you breathe too hard the floor’s gonna fall off.”
“It is literally not that old. And second, it’s too much of a coincidence.” You make way towards the stairs, beckoning for him to follow. “And take the spirit box out of your hair, we need to catch if it’s saying something.”
“You're not gonna catch anything because it’s not going to speak because ghosts are not real.” He takes a large swig.
You ignore him, leaving in search of the sound.
Bucky takes a second before following you anyway, bored out of his mind and with nothing really to do.
“You comin’ in?” he asks from inside the spacious room, beer in hand.
“I didn’t even buy you dinner yet and you’re already inviting me into your bedroom.”
“Jesus Christ. Stay outside then.”
The room has a strange, musty smell. Bucky, sick and tired of the ebay this kid has been living, drags open the window to let some fresh air in, going so far as to tear a large hole through the newspaper to let the moonlight into the room.
“Someone keeps moving the furniture back and forth, there’s scratches all over the floor,” you observe, pointing to the ground near the table and the bed.
“Uh huh,” he says, tossing the spirit box onto the table before taking another swig, ducking out of the way of the camera.
You scan every corner with the machine in your hand. Bucky wanders around aimlessly for a second before usefully sitting on the bed, leaning against the pillows.
“You gonna take your shirt off next?” you question.
Bucky rolls his eyes, taking another sip from his bottle. “Pay attention. Your demons are trying to talk t-.”
The bed immediately lurches from underneath him, scraping loudly against the wood.
“What the fuck–” he exclaims, getting right back up, heart in his throat for a damn second.
You stifle a laugh.
“I’ve had enough of you today.” He puts the damn bottle down on the nightstand. “I’m leaving.”
“We didn’t even light the candles yet, you can’t–”
The bed scrapes back into place again, but this time Bucky is prepared and done.
“Stop doing that,” he snaps, “you’re ruining the flo–”
“I didn’t do that,” you tell him, eyebrows and hands raised, “That definitely wasn’t me.”
“Hardy har har. You didn’t push the bed, you didn’t climb the tree in the cemetery, you didn’t conjure up hallucinations of my–” He stops himself abruptly.
It’s too late, though. You very much caught it.
The look you give him is peculiar. “Hallucinations of your what?”
“Nothing,” he utters. “Got my wires crossed. Nothing to do with you.”
“Okay,” you drag out, giving him one more uncanny look before turning your attention to the bedpost. “Anyway, I promise you the second one was definitely not me. There’s something else going on here.”
Bucky is starkly sent back to fifteen minutes ago and his thoughts of retirement as he watches you crouch by the floor.
He was too old for this. He was not right for this. The three second glance at his dead sister and his entire life had gone lopsided. Honestly, he could probably handle like two or three more episodes of this nonsense before tapping out completely.
“I can sense something,” you announce.
“I can sense something too,” he murmurs absentmindedly to himself. “It’s called bullshi–”
“Be quiet, I want to see if we can talk to the guy in the room.” You hold your hand up. “Hey Jason’s uncle. You here?”
He watches, unamused, as nothing changes. No machine beeps, nothing creeks.
“Bucky, you scared him away.” You turn to him, hands on your hips. “You used your big bitch face and you scared away th–”
He launches a pillow at you. It lowers to the ground without ever touching you.
“Go eat some bucket ramen and maybe you’ll be less bitchy.” Your face lights up, and he can tell you’ve gotten another stupid idea. “Jason’s uncle, are you hungry? Do you want something to eat? Human blood? Metal arm?”
Silence.
“No pretzels for you,” you tsk, but let go of the idea anyway.
“Maybe your ghost boyfriend likes them, why don’t you ask him?” He pulls out his phone to book himself an Uber. “And since he literally doesn’t talk and you don’t shut up, it’d be a great ma–”
The same pillow he launched at you gets thrown back at him. He simply ducks out of the way, and it hits the nightstand, toppling the bottle over.
“Now look at what you did,” you accuse, pointing at the bottle with the camera following suit.
“The fuck? I didn't do shit–” Bucky stops speaking when something nudges his leg.
The bottle that initially had clattered to the ground quite a feet away from him was now by his foot.
“Interesting,” you muse.
“What?” he questions immediately. “That a bottle rolled? It’s a bottle. They do that.”
“Uh huh. Come stand here then.” You jut your thumb out to a few paces away.
He rolls his eyes but takes a large stride towards you.
Annoyingly, the bottle rolls right along with him and lands up at his feet.
“Ghost,” you nod along certainly.
“Why isn't it doing that then?” he argues on instinct, and then his mind catches up, forcing him to take a step back and wonder why the fuck he was still in the house.
Once again, he genuinely believes that this should be enough. Ghost hunted for a few episodes, read a few stories. He thinks his numbers should be up and that would be convincing enough for Maya to let him get away from the series, especially if he played his 80-years-of-imprisonment card right.
“You're right.” You peer at him before turning your head up to the ceiling. “Please, ghost man. Please, I’m begging you, hit this man. Plea–”
Bucky feels something smack lightly against the back of his head before falling to the ground.
A second later you erupt into cheers and he turns around to look at the culprit.
A crumpled up piece of paper. He bends down to pick it up, finding nothing special about it other than some random scribbles. Probably some more of Jason's junk.
“Ghosts are real and they hate Bucky Barnes, baby!,” you cheer. “Ohh, I’m gonna make so much money. Babygirl, you are a poltergeist magnet. ”
“It’s a piece of paper and the window is open,” he groans, tossing it back onto the ground, where it dances around, proving his point. “The wind carried it over and it touched my head.”
“Right. The wind.” You roll your eyes. “You’re like, fifteen feet tall, only God can see the top of your head.”
“That doesn’t mean any–”
“Hush, I’m thinking. Quiet, human Burj Khalifa.” You hold your hand up. “Let’s see. The ghost knocks on furniture when we were downstairs. It shoves the bed and rolls a bottle around on the ground when we’re arguing and right when you’re leaving, it throws a piece of paper at you. What could it all mean?”
“I got it.” BUccky straightens up. “Holy shit, I think I know what it means.”
“What?” you ask, wonder and mystery. “What does it mean?”
“It means that my Uber’s here,” Bucky replies in the same tone and mystery. “You’re insane. I’m leaving. Bye.”
“Ugh, you’re such a loser. If I turn up dead, you’ll have been the last person to see me alive.”
“I’ll see you at home.” He shoves his hands into the pocket of his shorts before turning on his heel.
“I do not have a home.” you say, reaching to grab the piece of paper he discarded and shoving it into your bag;
“Okay, see you on the news, then.” He kicks the damn bottle out of the way before heading out the door. “I’ll make sure they use a real nice picture of you.”
“Bitch–” you begin, when something catches your attention
The bed creeks loudly, reflexes instantly sending him into fight or flight.
Bucky turns to you to cuss you out again for the nth time that evening, but you’ve also got a look of confusion painted all over you.
“Hold on,” you say strangely, voice thick with theorising, “I think I actually figured it out.”
When Jason finally makes his way back to the house two hours later, his hair is littered with stray bits of confetti and his eyes are smudged with eyeliner. He’s got a smoothie cup full of glittery red liquid and a straw, and what looks like little bits of fruit floating around in there.
“Looks like the gig was a rager,” you comment.
“Nah this wasn’t from the gig. I got lost,” he dismisses, and then refuses to expand further. “Anyway, you kicked his ass, right?”
You look at Bucky, who is standing with his arms crossed over his chest, bitch face on full blast as he looks pissed in the corner.
“Your uncle– he decorated this house himself, right?” you prompt.
“Yeah.” Jason says, taking a sip from his unidentified liquid. “He got a bunch of shit custom made.”
“Right.” You nod. “And when you came in here, did you shift the furniture around?”
“Yeah, lol, it was mad ugly,” Jason divulges, taking one large last sip before dropping his cup onto the ground. “Mine’s way better.”
“Have you considered that maybe… your uncle doesn’t like that?” you try gently, eyes following the cup as it clatters gracefully onto the ground.
Bucky talks to himself under his breath, the same as when you told him that the only time spooky shit had happened was when he dropped bottle caps, shifted beds out of their original places, left behind bottles and other paper. But he doesn’t contradict you.
“I see,” Jason says. “What’s wrong with moving furniture again?”
Bucky wonders how the guy made it to this age. “Maybe he just doesn’t like you moving his shit around. Not that there’s a ghost at all.”
“Hmm,” he says, following along. “So I stop moving the bed and other stuff, and he’ll stop being such a bitch?”
“And maybe he doesn’t like you leaving trash around the place?” you eye the cup, completely understanding where the uncle was coming from.
“Okay,” Jason says again.
“So you’ll stop?” you proposition slowly.
He shrugs. “Nah, I like it better this way.”
“Jesus Christ,” Bucky exhales.
You hold back an audible groan.
“You could, like, punch him to get him off my back. Like, all the way off my back,” the guy suggests instead. “Like, sucks for him that he’s dead, I guess, but it’s like, my house now.”
You stay quiet and wait.
Sure enough, the cup from earlier bumps into his leg in silent fury.
He stares down at it, giving it a kick. It rolls away before rolling right back with malice. Bucky narrows his eyes at it, too tired at this point to even complain.
“This house is weird, man,” Jason declares after fifteen rounds of kicking it and watching it roll back.
“Look–” you sigh. “You could just stop littering, and he’ll stop messing with your layout.”
“And take out the trash more than once a month,” Bucky adds from under his breath.
“Life’s all about compromises. You get his house for free and he gets a clean house to spend his afterlife in.”
“No such thing,” Bucky adds.
You send a glare his way.
“I see,” Jason contemplates, as if it’s the toughest decision on earth to pick up his crushed soda cans. “Yeah, okay.”
A second later, the cup finally stops trying to assault his now pink flip flops. and comes to a standstill.
The both of you peer at him.
“What?” he asks.
Your gaze drifts down.
It takes a very long second for it to click.
“Oh ‘Kay,” he says, bending over to pick it up and place it back on his table, looking at you for confirmation, to which you nod.
It stays in its place.
“Radical,” he says.
No one says anything further. The bed doesn’t make a noise either. The air is almost dropping with awkwardness.
You clear your throat. “Well, that concludes it then. Pleasure meeting ya.”
“You too.” Jason gives you a thumbs up, following it with a peace sign.
“Bye,” Bucky says curtly, turning to walk out the room.
“Oh! Here’s our business card, in case you or anyone else you–”
Bucky spins you around by your shoulders and drags you out of the room with him.
On the way back, you sort through all the footage from the evening while Bucky drives the van back.
Thankfully, it has been relatively quiet the entire time, except for the soft sounds of the radio and the buzz of the heater. Bucky tunes out for most of the ride, one hand on the wheel and the other propping up his head.
“Huh,” you comment out of the blue. “That’s fun.”
“What?” he asks inattentively .
“I guess his uncle really was hungry,” you consider.
Bucky simply keeps quiet and waits for you to go on if you choose to.
“Piece of paper that he threw at you–”
“Piece of paper that the wind picked up,” even his entertaining of you has a limit, but he isn’t paying much attention.
“It’s got letters on it,” you shove the sheet in front of his eyes, forcing him to swerve on the road in an instant.
“I’m driving,” he hisses, shoving it aside swiftly. “Do you want us to die?”
“Yeah, yeah, but look at it,” you insist, only to hold it close to his face again. “Does this mean anything to you? It did hit you across the head.”
He refuses to believe you at first, but the second he glances at it, it’s unmistakable.
‘PB&J’ written messily across the page, small letters, lines jagged like someone was struggling to write with their non-dominant hand.
“That’s nothing,” he dismisses quietly, “He’s a college kid. They live on that shit.”
“Or maybe someone in the afterworld really misses their PB&J,” you hum.
Bucky doesn't answer, because the alternative is worse. The alternative means something is going very, very wrong.
But you don't seem to pay him any heed, going right back to sorting through footage.
It’s probably why you don’t notice that his one handed grip on the steering wheel gets tighter, and his face quietly drains of colour.
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Summary: Bucky has built a quiet life in the woods, content to keep the world at arm's length. But when a new neighbor moves to town, her presence ignites emotions he’s hesitant to face.
Word Count: About 18.6k.
notes: I’ve been wanting to write a story in a lumberjack AU for a while now, and here it is. It ended up being longer than I expected, but I have no regrets. In my mind, Lumberjack!Bucky=Beefy!Bucky.
By the way, I’m still dreaming that someone, feeling inspired, creates Bucky as an NPC for Stardew Valley. I would kiss the ground that person walks on.
The city stretched behind her, a blur of steel and noise shrinking in the rearview mirror. Relief and uncertainty warred in her chest, but she clung tightly to the thought of what lay ahead. The town had always been her haven: sunlit summers chasing fireflies, her grandmother’s laughter ringing from the porch, and the quiet that once cradled her restless mind in peace.
It had been years since she’d last visited, but the constant noise, relentless crowds, and a recent, unsettling encounter had made city life unbearable. Her grandmother’s house, nestled at the edge of a sprawling forest, now felt like her only escape. It wasn’t perfect -her uncle had warned her about the repairs needed- but she’d gladly trade peeling paint and creaky floors for the chaos she was leaving behind. Besides, without rent to worry about and the freedom of her home-office proofreading job, she had the space and time to start over, one step at a time.
The road stretched endlessly before her, winding through rolling hills and patches of dense forest. The further she drove, the quieter it became. No blaring horns, no traffic, just the hum of her engine and the occasional rustle of leaves stirred by the wind. She cracked the window, letting in the crisp scent of pine and earth.
For the first time in months, she felt her shoulders begin to relax. And then, with an ominous thunk, the car jerked to one side.
Her stomach sank as she guided the vehicle to the shoulder, the once-smooth ride now bumpier than a cobblestone street. Stepping out, she found her fears confirmed: the back tire sagged, utterly deflated.
“Of course,” she muttered, brushing a stray hair from her face. “Why not?”
She retrieved the jack and wrench from the trunk, determined to fix it herself. She wasn’t helpless, after all. But after twenty minutes of grunting, tugging, and nearly twisting her wrist, the lug nuts refused to budge. Maybe they just needed a little more effort.
Two hours later, she slumped against the side of the car, her arms aching and her patience long gone. She’d tried everything -kicking the wrench, sitting on it for leverage- everything except calling for help, though the lack of cell signal made that impossible. Her lip trembled as she bit down hard, determined not to let the tears of frustration win.
“You wanted quiet? You got quiet,” she muttered, her voice tight with irritation. Walking seemed like the only option now. Maybe she’d stumble upon a house, a gas station, anything. Resolving trying her luck, she locked the car and started forward, her boots crunching against the gravel shoulder.
The air hung heavy with stillness, broken only by the occasional chirp of a bird or the rustle of leaves in the breeze. The walk felt endless, each step feeding her doubts. What if there was nothing ahead? What if she’d made a mistake leaving the car? Just as she was debating turning back, a low rumble cut through the quiet.
She froze, breath hitching as her eyes darted down the empty road. The sound grew louder, unmistakably the steady growl of a truck engine. Relief flooded her chest, tempered by a flicker of caution.
Moving closer to the edge of the road, she raised a tentative hand to wave. Moments later, an old, sturdy truck came into view, slowing as it approached.
Bucky wasn’t in any rush. The late afternoon light filtered through the trees, casting long shadows on the road ahead. He kept one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting casually on his thigh. The hum of the truck engine was a comforting sound, a backdrop to his thoughts.
As he rounded a gentle curve, something caught his eye up ahead: a car parked awkwardly on the shoulder. He frowned, slowing the truck. From the angle it was sitting, it didn’t look abandoned, but it wasn’t going anywhere either. A flat tire, maybe? His brow furrowed. Someone had to own it, but there wasn’t another soul in sight.
He continued slowly, his gaze drifting to the road ahead, and that’s when he spotted her. She stood near the edge of the road, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder and her hand half-raised in a cautious wave. She didn’t look panicked, just tired, a little frustrated, and undeniably relieved to see another human being out here.
He brought the truck to a stop a few feet ahead of her, letting the engine idle as he leaned across the seat to glance out the passenger window. “Need some help?” he called, keeping his tone easy.
She stepped closer, her cautious wave lowering as she approached. When she stopped short of the truck, her polite smile faltered, her gaze locking on his face.
He didn’t notice at first, but she stared, caught off guard by the sight ahead of her. Shoulder-length dark hair framed handsome face, shadowed with a day or two of stubble. And those eyes… crystal blue, so piercing they looked like they belonged to the lead character of a romance novel rather than the driver of an old truck.
Her lips parted slightly as her thoughts ran wild. Maybe she was hallucinating. Two hours of frustration and the heat of the sun must have gotten to her, conjuring a guy from one of those pink-covered novels she’d been proofreading.
“You okay?” His voice pulled her back, laced with just enough concern to cut through the fog in her head.
She blinked rapidly, heat flooding her cheeks as she scrambled for an excuse. “Uh, yeah, sorry. Just… fatigue, I guess.” She gave a quick laugh, brushing her hair back as if that would somehow erase her embarrassment. “It’s been a long day.”
Bucky didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. He nodded, his expression sympathetic. “Yeah, I can imagine.”
She cleared her throat, trying to sound more composed. “I’d really appreciate the help. The tire’s flat and the lug nuts are stuck. I’ve tried everything, but they won’t budge.”
Bucky nodded again, shifting the truck into park before stepping out. “I saw the car back there. Mind if I take a look?”
Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she offered a more genuine smile. “Please. That’d be great.”
She couldn’t help but stare as he climbed out of the truck. It wasn’t just the striking eyes or the scruff that made him look like he’d stepped off a book cover, it was everything.
Worn jeans sat low on his hips, perfectly fitted to legs that spoke of strength and endurance. A red flannel shirt, snug across his broad shoulders and well-defined arms, hinted at a life of hard, honest work. His boots crunched against the gravel as he moved with an effortless confidence that made it nearly impossible to look away.
Yup, she thought, feeling her cheeks warm again. A lead character.
She snapped her gaze away, trying to focus on literally anything else, the road, the sky, her worn-out sneakers. But as he approached, the heat creeping up her neck didn’t fade.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, his brow furrowing slightly.
She blinked and met his eyes, cursing herself for getting caught again. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine,” she said waving a hand. “Just tired, I guess. Two hours of trying to fight with a tire does that to you.”
He nodded slowly, and his expression softened. “Fair enough.”
She gestured vaguely toward her car in the distance. “It’s over there. I’d appreciate the help, it’s like the universe welded those lug nuts on.”
When they reached the car, she unlocked it and retrieved the tools from the trunk, setting them down beside the flat tire. She stepped back, watching as he crouched and took the wrench in his hand. With what seemed like no effort at all, he twisted the lug nuts loose, the metal giving way under his grip as if it had never been stuck in the first place. She stared again, biting her lip as her gaze lingered on how his forearm flexed under the rolled-up sleeves of his flannel. Completely oblivious to her scrutiny, he worked in focused silence, switching out the flat tire with methodical ease. When he finished, he stood up, brushed the dust from his hands, and glanced at the car. His gaze snagged on the backseat, where duffel bags and boxes were crammed together.
“Looks like you’re movin’,” he said, his voice low and gruff.
She nodded, brushing her hands on her jeans as if she’d done any of the work. “Yeah, I am. Heading to town. My grandmother used to have a house there, I’m moving into it.”
Bucky glanced at her, his sharp blue eyes unreadable, but not unkind. “The old house near the woods?”
Her brows lifted in surprise. “Yeah, actually. You know it?”
He shrugged lightly, his gaze slipping to the ground. “Small town,” he murmured.
Unsure if his hesitation was discomfort or just shyness, she shifted her weight. “Well, thanks again for helping. I’m Y/n, by the way.”
He didn’t respond for a moment and then blinked, as if snapping out of a thought. “Bucky,” he said simply, his tone softening just enough to feel welcoming.
“Well, nice to meet you, Bucky.” Her smile was warm despite the long, frustrating day.
He nodded slightly, a flicker of a smile tugging at his lips before it disappeared. “You should get goin’,” he said after a pause. “Road’s pretty empty once it gets dark.”
She nodded, grateful. “Right. Thanks again.”
He gave a short nod before turning to his truck. She lingered for a moment, watching as he climbed into the cab and started the engine, before finally slipping into her car and pulling back onto the road.
He gave her a brief nod, turning to his truck without saying another word. She stood there for a moment, watching him go, before climbing into her car.
Bucky climbed into his truck, shutting the door with a quiet click. As the engine rumbled to life, his thumbs tapped idly on the steering wheel, his mind drifting. So, she was the woman moving into the old blue house, the one the old ladies in town had been gossiping about lately.
“Fresh face,” they’d said, curious and speculative. The kind of talk he usually tuned out, but now he could picture her, standing on the side of the road with that friendly smile.
His jaw tightened as he glanced in the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of her car pulling back onto the road. Attractive, sure, but that wasn’t his business. He wasn’t in the habit of noticing things like that anymore, or at least, he tried not to.
Shaking his head slightly, he put the truck in gear and pulled back onto the road.
------------
She reached the house in the late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun painting the wooden structure in warm tones. From a distance, it looked charming, but as she got closer, the years of neglect became more apparent. A shutter hung by a single hinge, swinging slightly in the breeze, and the porch sagged in the middle, its boards warped and cracked.
It didn’t seem unlivable, though, and for that, she was grateful. The windows were intact, the roof looked solid, and the front door swung open without resistance when she unlocked it. She stepped inside, wrinkling her nose at the stale smell of a house left empty for too long. Dust coated the floors and every surface in sight, but nothing that a good cleaning wouldn’t fix.
Walking through the rooms, she made a mental list of things that needed attention. The walls could use fresh paint, the porch would definitely need repairs before it became a hazard, and a few wobbly cabinet doors in the kitchen caught her eye. It was all manageable.
By the time she returned to the living room, she realized the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the house in shadows. She flipped the light switch by the door, but nothing happened. A quick check of the other switches confirmed her suspicion, there wasn’t a single light bulb in the entire property.
“Figures,” she muttered, setting her hands on her hips. Luckily, she’d packed a portable lamp. Its soft glow filled the room as she set it on the floor and unrolled her sleeping bag in the corner, where the old sofa used to sit.
Dinner was a simple affair: a cup of instant noodles and a bottle of water, eaten cross-legged on the floor. She was too tired to think about anything elaborate, and the stillness of the house was oddly comforting after the chaos of the city.
Her thoughts drifted back to the day’s events, replaying the encounter on the road. Bucky’s face flickered in her mind, those piercing blue eyes, the way his long, dark hair framed his sharp features, the slight rasp to his voice when he’d asked if she was okay. She bit her lip, and the memory of the way he’d effortlessly changed the tire brought a faint smile to her lips as her eyelids grew heavy. The moving truck will arrive by morning, and with better lighting, she’ll assess the house and start making it livable. Ideally, she would have cleaned beforehand, but the moving company only had that date available, so she didn’t have much choice.
----------
Right at 8 o’clock sharp, the rumble of the moving truck echoed down the quiet street. She stepped outside, greeting the movers and directing them where to place the furniture. It didn’t take long to realize the porch’s sagging boards were going to be a problem. One mover nearly put his foot through a weakened plank, and after a few close calls, they opted to bring in as much as possible through the windows.
After tipping the movers and seeing them off, she grabbed her bag and headed into town. The general store was easy to find, nestled on the main street between a bakery and a small diner. The scent of freshly baked bread lingered in the air as she pushed open the store’s creaky door, the tiny bell overhead jingling.
Inside, the aisles were narrow and well-stocked, offering everything from cleaning supplies to locally-made jams. She grabbed a basket and began filling it with essentials: sponges, dish soap, floor cleaner, and a few staples for the pantry.
At the checkout line, she felt the weight of a few curious stares. Small towns were like that, everyone wanted to know who the newcomer was. A man in line behind her gave her a polite nod, and a couple of women nearby exchanged whispers before one of them, an older lady with a kind smile, stepped forward.
“Moving into the old blue house on Maple, aren’t you?” the woman asked, her voice warm and curious.
She blinked, surprised but not entirely caught off guard. “That’s right,” she said, returning the smile. “Spent summers there as a kid. It’s been a while, though.”
“Well, welcome back,” the woman said, clasping her hands. “I’m Dorothy. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Actually…” she hesitated, seizing the moment. “The house needs a bit of work, especially the porch. Do you know a good carpenter?”
Dorothy’s face lit up. “Sam Wilson’s the man you’re looking for. Runs a workshop just outside town. He’s dependable and does fine work. I’ll jot down his address for you.”
After paying for her items, she loaded everything into the car and headed toward the workshop. The drive was short, and soon she spotted a neatly painted sign that read Wilson Woodworks. The building was modest but well-kept, with stacks of lumber and partially finished projects visible through the open garage door.
Grabbing her notepad and pen, she stepped out of the car, hoping Sam would be able to help bring her grandmother’s house back to life.
The workshop smelled of sawdust and varnish, the soft hum of a saw cutting through wood filling the air. She peered curiously through the open entry, her gaze scanning the neatly organized chaos: tools hanging on pegboards, wood shavings scattered across the floor, and a workbench cluttered with projects in progress. Near the center of the space stood a man in a faded gray t-shirt and jeans, his sleeves rolled up to reveal toned arms. His easy smile and confident posture immediately struck her as someone who knew his craft.
“Sam Wilson?” she asked, stepping further inside.
The man turned, his grin widening. “That’s me,” he replied warmly. “What can I do for you?”
“Hi. I’m Y/n. I just moved into town, to the old blue house on Maple Street. The porch is in pretty bad shape, and I was told you’re the one to call.”
Sam gave an approving nod, wiping his hands on a nearby rag. “Maple Street, huh? Yeah, I’ve worked on a couple of those houses. They’ve got good bones but can be stubborn. I’d have to take a look before I can give you a plan.”
“Of course,” she said, relieved. “When do you think you’d be able to-”
Before she could finish, a gruff voice interrupted from the back of the shop. “Sam, I told you that damn hinge on the-”
Bucky appeared, stepping out from what looked like a storage area, drying his hands on a towel. His words faltered the moment he spotted her, his blue eyes locking onto hers in surprise. He froze for a moment, the towel still in his hand, before nodding stiffly.
“Hey,” he said, with a cautious tone.
She offered him a small, friendly smile. “Hello again.”
Sam’s gaze darted between the two of them, a knowing grin spreading across his face like a Cheshire cat. “Well, well,” he drawled. “You two already know each other so soon?”
Bucky shot him a look -half warning, half exasperation- but Sam’s grin only widened.
“We met yesterday,” she explained, glancing between them. “Bucky helped me with a flat tire.”
“Did he now?” Sam leaned back against the workbench, crossing his arms. “Man of many talents, huh, Buck?”
Bucky muttered something under his breath, his ears turning slightly red as he turned away to busy himself with a random piece of wood.
Sam laughed, clearly enjoying himself. “Don’t let him fool you,” he said to her, his tone light. “He’s a softie under all that brooding.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, unable to suppress a smile.
Bucky’s muttering grew quieter as he moved further into the workshop, but Sam wasn’t done. “You’re in luck, though,” he said to her, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I think you’re gonna give his wood a good use.”
She let out a small laugh, not entirely sure why but unwilling to seem rude. “Well, I’ll do my best,” she said with a shrug, hoping that was the right response.
The sound of tools crashing followed by a sharp, muttered curse that carried through the workshop interrupted the exchange, and she turned toward the source. “Is he okay?”
Sam smirked, his tone teasing as he said, “Oh, he’s just fine. Just gets a little... tense when his work’s involved. My friend here is one of my suppliers. Keeps me stocked up on the best lumber in town.”
“Oh, I see,” she replied, her gaze briefly flicking toward where Bucky had disappeared. Inwardly, she couldn’t help but think that his... thick build seemed to match with the work lumber suppliers did. “So, should we arrange a time for you to come by and look at the porch?” she asked, mentally slapping herself and steering the conversation back on track.
Sam grinned, leaning casually against the counter. “Tomorrow works for you? Say mid-morning?”
“That sounds great,” she agreed, already mentally listing what she might need to tidy up before his visit.
As her car disappeared down the road, Bucky emerged from the back of the workshop, his steps deliberate and brooding as he approached Sam.
“What was that?” he asked, his voice low but edged with irritation.
Sam raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence as he crossed his arms. “What was what?”
“You know what,” Bucky growled, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t.”
Sam held up his hands, his expression mock-innocent. “Don’t what? You’re projecting, man. She’s just a new neighbor who needs some help with her porch. That’s all.”
Bucky narrowed his eyes, his voice dropping even lower. “Whatever your bird brain is planning on doing, don’t. I’m not... Just stay out of my business.”
Sam gave him a sidelong look, clearly unimpressed by Bucky’s gruff warning. “You think too highly of yourself, Barnes,” he said with a smirk. “I’m just trying to help the lady out, same as you did.”
The logger threw one last dirty glance at Sam, muttering under his breath. “Next cargo’s in four days,” he grumbled, already heading for the door.
Sam’s amused chuckle followed him, but Bucky ignored it, his boots hitting the workshop floor with heavy steps.
As he reached the truck, a sharp twinge in his left arm made him curse softly. He grabbed it, flexing his fingers out of habit, then glanced up at the sky. It was streaked with soft clouds, their innocent appearance at odds with what he felt brewing in the air.
A storm was coming.
It wasn’t something anyone could see yet, but Bucky didn’t need a weather report. Since his arm had been crushed in Afghanistan, leaving him with orthopedic implants and lingering aches, he could always tell when the pressure was about to shift.
He flexed his arm again, rolling his shoulder to ease the discomfort. The storm would hit soon, inside and out.
Sliding into the truck, he decided to stop by the general store on the way home. He needed a bottle of scotch. Maybe two.
It was shaping up to be one of those nights.
When she got back to the house, she dropped the bags on the kitchen counter and let out a sigh. She glanced around at the dim, dusty space and resolved to tackle it head-on. After eating a quick sandwich, she got to work.
The first task was the lightbulbs, all of them. Room by room, she placed them, swearing quietly each time she had to stretch on tiptoe or drag a chair around. Next came the cleaning. By the time she was almost finished, it was late afternoon. She stood in the middle of the living room, exhausted and sweaty, a few stubborn cobwebs clinging to her sleeves. She pushed her hair off her forehead and noticed, through the newly cleaned windows, the unmistakable sight of grey clouds gathering on the horizon.
“Great,” she muttered, dragging the vacuum to a corner. She glanced up at the ceiling, half expecting to see a stain forming already. “Please, no leaks. Just this once, let me have some luck.” The wind outside began to pick up, rattling the loose shutter on the porch. She grimaced. The house might not be falling apart, but it wasn’t going to win any awards for weatherproofing either.
She pulled the last bag of cleaning supplies toward her, determined to finish what she could before the storm hit.
The rhythmic patter of rain on the roof accompanied her as she sat at the small kitchen table, nursing a simple dinner. Her arms ached pleasantly from the day’s cleaning spree, her newly functional lightbulbs casting a warm glow over the room. Despite the state of the house when she’d arrived, it felt more like a home now, or at least the beginning of one.
The rain grew heavier, drumming steadily against the windows as she finished eating and washed her dishes. With a satisfied sigh, she headed for the bathroom. The steamy warmth of the shower was a welcome reprieve, washing away the grime and fatigue of the day. She closed her eyes as the water cascaded down, her mind meandering to the list of things she still needed to tackle.
The porch needs fixing first. Maybe some paint for the walls. And that loose shutter... her lips curled into a soft, almost dreamy smile as her thoughts drifted to Bucky. She bit her lip, suppressing a laugh at herself. It had been a while since she’d had anyone to daydream about, and maybe it was just her exhaustion playing tricks on her. Clearly, she needed a break from all these romance novels. The irony wasn’t lost on her, spending her days proofreading swooning declarations and lingering glances wasn’t helping her sanity.
On the other side of town, the rain was more than just a backdrop for Bucky, it was a trigger, a reminder. He sat on the kitchen floor, his back pressed against the counter, cradling a bottle of scotch in one hand and absently flexing the fingers of his left arm with the other. The pain in his left arm wasn’t unbearable -he’d had worse- but the weather had settled into his bones.
One would think Afghanistan’s climate rarely saw rain, but he knew better. In the northern regions, heavy rains could flood entire valleys in minutes, turning the ground into treacherous mud. It wasn’t just the water he remembered, but the chaos it brought. Mud-caked boots slipping on uneven terrain. The deafening crack of gunfire cutting through the downpour. The screams of comrades who’d never make it out of the storm, swallowed by water and bullets alike.
He closed his eyes tightly, forcing the memories away, but the rain’s steady rhythm seemed determined to drag him back. He took a long swig from the bottle, the burn of the alcohol a poor distraction for his haunted mind.
And then, unbidden, he thought of her.
The way she’d smiled at him earlier today at Sam’s workshop. Like she was genuinely glad to see him. He shook his head sharply, scowling at himself. He didn’t deserve to think about her. Didn’t deserve to let himself linger on the way she’d looked at him with curiosity instead of judgment. He was a broken-down man who knew better than to let anyone get close. The rain’s rhythm matched the pounding in his head, and he rubbed his temple with a quiet groan. Thinking about her was a mistake, one he couldn’t afford to make.
------------
The low hum of a truck pulling up broke the peaceful morning. She peeked out the window, spotting Sam hopping out with a clipboard in hand, a tape measure clipped to his belt. His easy smile greeted her as she opened the door.
“Morning,” he said, tipping an imaginary hat. “Ready to figure out what your little slice of heaven here needs?”
She chuckled, stepping aside to let him in. “Let’s call it a fixer-upper and go from there.”
Sam gave a low whistle as he stepped onto the sagging porch. “First thing’s first, this baby needs a lot of love. I’m surprised it’s holding up at all.” He tapped one of the warped boards with his boot, and it creaked ominously.
“Well, that’s why you’re here,” she replied lightly, crossing her arms.
They walked the perimeter of the house as Sam scribbled notes on his clipboard, occasionally pausing to point out things that needed attention, a loose shutter here, a weathered doorframe there. He climbed the porch steps again, shaking his head. “You’re lucky nothing major’s out of whack, though this porch... Yeah, we’ll start here.”
She nodded, leaning against the railing -carefully-. “Sounds good. So, what’s next?”
Sam grinned, snapping the clipboard shut. “Now comes the fun part, asking nosy questions while I figure out how to turn this place into a proper home. Where’d you move from?”
“City,” she said, her gaze flicking to the overgrown yard. “Needed a change. Too much noise, too many people.”
He nodded like he understood perfectly. “Yeah, city life can wear you down. And what do you do for work? So that I know if I ever need something specific.”
“I’m a proofreader,” she replied. “Not exactly glamorous, but it lets me work from anywhere.”
He chuckled. “Sounds pretty glamorous to me. Living the dream: working in pajamas, no one to bother you.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “Not quite. Deadlines don’t care if you’re in pajamas.”
“Fair point,” Sam said, scribbling something on his clipboard. He glanced at her casually. “Anyone special missing you back in the city?”
Her brow furrowed slightly, caught off guard. “Uh, no. Why?”
“No reason,” he said with an exaggerated shrug, flashing his most innocent grin. “We small-town folks are just naturally curious.” Satisfied, he tucked the clipboard under his arm. “Well,” he said, turning on the charm, “I’ll put together a plan for the porch and those other fixes we talked about. Shouldn’t take long.”
“Thanks, Sam,” she said, smiling warmly.
He tipped his imaginary hat again. “Happy to help.” As he walked back to his truck, he patted the clipboard storing every little detail she’d just shared. Oh, he’d have fun with this later.
Over the next few days, she found herself settling deeper into the rhythm of small-town life. Locals stopped to chat whenever she ran errands, and she was finally starting to remember their names. The house was slowly transforming under her care, each repair bringing it closer to what she remembered from her childhood summers.
And then there was Bucky. He was a puzzle she hadn’t figured out yet. Quiet and guarded one moment, then unexpectedly kind the next. Their paths seemed to cross more often now. It wasn’t intentional, but each encounter left her feeling like she’d peeled back another layer of his carefully constructed wall.
The first time it happened, she was in the general store, arms full of cleaning supplies and pantry staples, along with a guilty indulgence or two. As she stepped into the checkout line, she spotted him just ahead of her with a modest basket of items, his broad shoulders blocking most of her view of the cashier.
As she shuffled forward, her eyes drifted to his basket. Among the practical items -bread, coffee, and what looked like a pack of nails- sat a brightly colored box of dinosaur-shaped mac and cheese.
She couldn’t help herself. “Didn’t peg you for the novelty pasta type.” She quipped lightly, a teasing smile curling her lips.
Bucky turned his head sharply, caught off guard. He glanced at the box, then back at her, a faint pink tinting his cheeks, as he muttered “They’re easy. And cheap.”
The combination of his flustered tone and stoic expression made her grin. “Hey, no judgment. Dinosaurs are awesome. I’d pick those over plain elbows any day.”
His lips twitched, just slightly, but enough to count. “You’ve got good taste,” he said, the faintest trace of a smirk softening his features.
The cashier rang up his items, and he moved through quickly, nodding politely as he passed her. But as she finished paying and struggled to balance her bags, she found him lingering outside near his truck.
“Need a hand?” he asked gruffly, though he was already moving toward her.
She hesitated for a moment before relenting. “If you don’t mind.”
Without a word, he scooped up the heaviest bags as if they weighed nothing. She blinked at the sight, muscles flexing under his worn henley.
“Thanks,” she said, slightly breathless, trying to keep up as he strode to her car.
“Welcome,” he said simply, setting the bags in her trunk with ease. His gaze flicked to her briefly, and he almost looked like he wanted to say more. Instead, he just gave a curt nod and walked back to his truck.
It was only a few days later when they ran into each other again, this time at the post office. She had just picked up a package that was almost comically large, far too awkward for one person to handle easily. Balancing it against her hip, she tried to maneuver her way out of the building without dropping it, muttering a steady stream of curses under her breath.
Just as the box tilted precariously, a hand appeared to steady it, large and sure.
“Careful,” came the familiar low drawl.
She blinked, startled, and looked up into a pair of blue eyes she was starting to recognize all too well. “Thanks,” she said, exhaling in relief. “Starting to think you have impeccable timing.”
His lips twitched, that almost-smile she was beginning to appreciate flickering across his face. “Just passing through.” He replied, shifting his grip on the package and effortlessly hoisting it up, carrying it like it weighed nothing at all.
“Oh, you don’t have to-”
“It’s fine,” he stated simply, his tone leaving no room for argument. He glanced at her car and walked toward it.
She trailed behind him as he easily strode with the package. By the time she unlocked the trunk, he deposited the box neatly inside, brushing his hands off quickly.
“Thanks,” she said again, feeling a little useless but sincerely grateful.
“It’s nothin’,” he replied, already stepping back. His eyes lingered on her for a second longer than usual before he turned toward his truck, parked a few spaces down.
She watched him go, following the deliberate, measured way he moved. Just as he reached his door, she called out impulsively, “I owe you one, you know.”
He paused, glancing back at her with a quirk of his brow. “I’ll hold you to it,” he said, the hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth. And then he was gone, leaving her with a warm, unexpected feeling she carried all the way home.
The days that followed were quiet but productive. Between finishing work assignments, and tinkering with small projects around the house, she hardly noticed how much time she spent indoors until her eyes began to ache from staring at her laptop screen for hours on end.
One crisp morning, the allure of fresh air proved too strong to resist. She decided to take a walk in the woods, craving a change of scenery. It had been years since the last time she’d wandered those familiar paths, but she still remembered some of the trails from her childhood summers.
As she wandered along the narrow dirt trail, the sunlight filtering through the canopy in golden shafts painted the forest in a warm, serene glow. She hadn’t expected to encounter anyone out here, but the steady, rhythmic thwack of an axe meeting wood broke through the quiet, catching her attention.
Curiosity stirred, and before she could think better of it, she found herself following the sound, her footsteps light on the soft earth.
There he was, in a small clearing just off the trail, splitting logs with effortless precision. Bucky’s axe swung high before coming down in a clean arc, the sharp crack of splitting wood breaking the stillness. A neat pile of firewood grew beside him, while fresh rounds waited in a haphazard stack.
He hadn’t noticed her yet, too focused on his work, and she found herself lingering longer than she should have, watching the way his muscles moved beneath his shirt and how his hair stuck to his forehead.
When he finally glanced up and spotted her, her stomach flipped. His brows knit together in mild surprise, and he straightened, propping the axe against a nearby stump.
“You lost?” he asked, with a low and even voice, though his tone wasn’t unkind.
She stepped closer, shaking her head. “No, just wandering. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You didn’t,” he said, grabbing a rag from the pile and wiping his hands. His gaze lingered on her for a moment, like he was trying to piece together why she was there. “Trail gets tricky up ahead. Lots of roots and uneven ground.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, glancing around the clearing. “This your spot?”
He nodded once. “Helps to stay busy.”
She looked at the pile of wood, then back at him. “Looks like more than just ‘staying busy.’”
A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Winters here are rough.”
There was a pause, not quite awkward, but heavy. She shifted her weight, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, it’s impressive. I mean, you make it look easy.”
“It’s not,” he said simply, picking up the axe again. “But you get used to it.”
She lingered, unsure if she should say more or let him get back to work. He tilted his head slightly, watching her with a curious expression.
“You like the woods?” he asked, breaking the silence.
“Yeah,” she said, smiling softly. “It’s peaceful out here. Different from the city.”
His gaze flicked back to the axe in his hand. “It is.” There was a weight to his words, hinting at something deeper than just the stillness of the woods, but she chose not to push.
“Well, I’ll let you get back to it,” she said finally, offering him a polite nod.
“Careful on the trail,” he said again, his voice softer this time.
As she turned to leave, she couldn’t resist glancing back over her shoulder. He was already back to work, the axe slicing clean through another log. She bit her lip, shaking her head at herself as she continued down the trail.
He sighed. Winters are rough? That was the polite answer, the one people accepted without a second glance. The truth was darker, heavier. Every time the weight of old memories clawed at him -screams, chaos, the suffocating fear that came into walking a dark tunnel that could bury him alive- he found his solace in the rhythmic swing of an axe. Splitting firewood was his refuge, the repetitive motion carving out a rare emptiness in his mind.
He kept chopping, waiting until he was sure she wouldn’t glance back again. Then, he let himself linger, his eyes following her retreating form.
He was interested.
Shit.
Sam hadn’t been helping either, dropping “innocent” tidbits about her, like breadcrumbs, every time they crossed paths. How she worked from home. How she wasn’t seeing anyone. How she seemed to be settling in, though she was still getting used to small-town life. Bucky could tell Sam was trying to nudge him, but it only stirred something conflicted in him.
On one hand, he was drawn to her, from her curves to the way she smiled, also, the way her voice provoked a warmth in him he hadn’t felt in years. On the other hand, the thought of pursuing something -anything- good for himself felt... wrong. Like he didn’t deserve it.
And then there was the matter of simply not knowing how.
He was out of shape when it came to people. Always had been, even before life turned upside down. Now, with scars inside and out, the idea of approaching her felt like staring down at a puzzle he didn’t have the pieces for.
What would he even say? What would she think if she knew the mess he was?
Bucky swung the axe harder, the sharp crack of the log splitting echoing through the clearing. He flexed his fingers and tightened his jaw.
For now, all he could do was chop and hope the noise drowned out the voice in his head whispering that he wasn’t enough.
Over the next couple of months, the little town started to feel less like a temporary retreat and more like a place she could call home. The older women gushed over her porch restoration project and eagerly shared gardening tips, while the crowd closer to her age welcomed her into their fold with invitations for coffee dates or potluck dinners.
And then there was Bucky.
Though technically part of that age group, he was absent from most social gatherings. She couldn’t picture him at a potluck, anyway, sitting around sharing recipes or small talk. It just wasn’t him. Yet, in his own quiet way, he’d become more present in her life.
Bit by bit, he seemed to uncoil from whatever tension held him so tightly. He started to linger longer during their chance encounters, sometimes surprising them both with a dry, unexpected joke. Other times, he’d pitch in with simple acts of kindness, like carrying eventually heavy stuff to her car, or even fixing the wobbly step on her porch when Sam got busier and asked him to do it. He could have said no, but he still came, quietly getting the job done without any fanfare.
-----------
Then, the announcement of the annual town festival brought a new wave of excitement. It was the event of the season, where everyone came together to celebrate the town's founding. Without much hesitation, she signed up to contribute, deciding to sell pies and baked goods. Not only was it a way to contribute to the celebration, but it was also a chance to make a little extra income for the ongoing repairs to the house. The porch was done, but there was still plenty of work to do: fresh paint, creaky floorboards, and other little fixes that added up.
So, she rolled up her sleeves and got to work. The week leading up to the festival was a whirlwind of flour-dusted counters and the comforting aroma of cinnamon and vanilla. She tested each recipe to make sure they were just like her grandmother used to make.
The excitement of the upcoming festival settled over the town, and she felt like she was becoming part of something bigger, a tradition, a community.
Meanwhile, word had spread that she was setting up a booth to sell her pies. Sam, always the one to keep an ear to the ground, couldn't help but tease Bucky one morning while they were working on a new batch of supplies for the festival booths. They were building the structure for several of the vendors, and Bucky had come by to help with the heavier lifting, always lending a hand when needed.
“She’s doing a booth, huh?” Sam asked with a knowing grin as he hammered in a final nail. “Maybe you should swing by, get yourself a little sugar, hm?”
Bucky’s response was as sharp as ever. “Shut up, Wilson,” he grumbled, his eyes narrowing as he worked, but Sam could see the way his shoulders stiffened, the way he held himself a little straighter.
He stayed silent for a beat, focusing on the sturdy plank of wood he was planing down. The rhythmic scrape of the tool seemed to be the only thing keeping him calm. Sam, however, was never one to let a good opportunity slip by.
“I’m just saying,” Sam pressed on, leaning casually against the workbench, “she’s single, she’s sweet, and she seems to like you.” He smirked, his tone teetering on playful. “You could, y’know, take a shot. Maybe buy a pie while you’re at it. You can’t live on just dino-shaped mac and cheese.”
Bucky huffed a humorless laugh, setting the plane down with a bit more force than intended. “And what would I even say to her, huh? ‘Hi, I’m good at chopping wood and screwing things up.’ That’s a real winner.”
Sam raised an eyebrow, undeterred. “You don’t have to lead with the self-deprecating monologue, man. Just... be you. You’re a good guy, Buck, even if you refuse to see it.” He straightened, resting a hand on his hip. “And she’s clearly got some interest. Not every woman looks at a guy like he’s the only steady thing in a storm.”
Bucky shot him a sharp look, the tips of his ears unmistakably pink. “She doesn’t-“
“Oh, she does,” Sam interrupted with a grin that widened at Bucky’s growing discomfort. “And you’d see it too if you didn’t spend so much time convincing yourself you’re not worth her attention.”
For a long moment, Bucky said nothing, his jaw tightening as he flexed his left hand, a tell Sam recognized far too well. Finally, he sighed, leaning his weight on the workbench. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never is,” Sam agreed, his tone softening. “But you don’t have to figure it all out today. Start small. Talk to her at the festival. Buy a pie. Hell, buy the whole booth if you have to.” He clapped Bucky on the shoulder, eliciting a grunt. “Just don’t let this pass you by.”
----------
The day of the festival arrived, and the town square buzzed with life. Booths lined the streets, each one bursting with local goods: handmade crafts, fresh produce, and jars of preserves. Children darted through the crowds, their faces painted like butterflies or superheroes, their laughter weaving through the cheerful hum of a local band playing in the distance.
Her booth stood out in its simplicity, decorated with gingham tablecloths and jars of freshly picked flowers from her garden. The pies were the centerpiece, their golden crusts glistening in the sunlight, flanked by trays of cookies and jars of homemade jam.
She adjusted the sign that read “Baked Goods – From Granny’s Recipe Box” and stepped back, taking a deep breath to steady herself.
The day unfolded in a whirlwind of chatter and laughter. Her booth was busier than she’d dared to hope, a steady stream of customers stopping to sample the pies or chat about the sign. Compliments came easily from the townsfolk, praising her buttery crusts and spiced fillings. Each kind word felt like a little victory, her heart swelling with the realization that she was becoming a part of the community.
The sun climbed higher into the sky, casting warm golden light over the bustling festival. Her booth remained busy, the stream of smiling faces keeping her occupied and distracted, though not enough to stop her from glancing through the crowd now and then.
By mid-afternoon, Sam strolled up, hands in his pockets and an easy grin on his face. "Well, well. Look at you, baking queen," he teased.
She laughed, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Hardly. But I’ll take it. Want a slice?”
Sam leaned on the edge of the booth, scanning the offerings. “Tempting, but I might be here on more of a reconnaissance mission.”
Her brow lifted. “What kind of mission?”
“You know, checking in, seeing how you're doing, and maybe scouting for a certain broody lumberjack.” He winked, and she rolled her eyes with a chuckle.
“Let me guess, he sent you to grab a pie?” she joked, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Bucky? Nah.” Sam’s grin dimmed slightly, and he gave a small shrug. “Didn’t see him around earlier. Honestly, he might not even show. Festivals aren’t really his thing.”
She tried to keep the disappointment off her face, focusing instead on adjusting a jar of jam on the table. Sam caught the subtle shift in her expression, his teasing smile softening.
“He’s around,” Sam said casually, leaning an elbow on the edge of the booth. “Bucky’s just… not much of a crowd guy. Give him time.”
Her fingers paused on the jar, but she didn’t look up. “I wasn’t-”
“Sure you weren’t,” Sam interrupted with a knowing grin. “But I wouldn’t hold it against him. People aren’t really his thing. Except, maybe, certain people.”
She rolled her eyes, her lips curving into a small smile despite herself. “And you’re just full of insight, aren’t you?”
“Hey, I’m just observin’.” He straightened up, grabbing a cookie from the tray. “And I’ll take one of these for the road. Festival’s not complete without snacks.”
She shook her head, amused as Sam strolled off, leaving her alone to greet the next customer.
The hours passed in a blur of chatter and sales, the sun dipping lower in the sky. She’d almost stopped scanning the square for him when, late in the afternoon, a familiar figure emerged.
Bucky walked slowly, his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets, his gaze flicking over the booths like he wasn’t sure where to go. Then he spotted her. His shoulders straightened, and their eyes met across the square. For a moment, neither moved. Then, with an almost sheepish hesitation, he started toward her.
Each step closer felt like a mistake, and yet he didn’t stop. His eyes took in the sight of her booth, tidy and charming, and then her. She wore a casual dress under a cardigan, and a frilly apron tied neatly around her waist, the image of a vintage housewife. The dress fit snugly at her chest, the fabric pulling slightly when she moved to rearrange something on the table. It wasn’t anything overly revealing, but it didn’t matter; all of the visual information seemed to bypass his brain entirely and head directly to the south. He swallowed hard, trying to redirect his focus before he embarrassed himself.
“Hey,” he said when he reached the booth, his voice a little softer than he intended. He scratched the back of his neck, glancing briefly at the display of pies and jars before forcing himself to meet her eyes.
“Hi,” she replied, her face lighting up in a way that made the whole awkward journey worth it.
“I, uh... thought I’d stop by,” he continued, the words fumbling slightly as he fought the urge to retreat. “Looks like business is good.” He gestured vaguely at the booth, trying to seem casual, though his pulse was anything but.
“It’s been steady,” she said, her smile warm. “I wasn’t sure if you’d make it.”
Her words made him hesitate, but only briefly. He nodded toward the pies, his lips twitching into what might have been the beginnings of a smile. “Figured I’d see what all the fuss is about.”
“And?” she asked, a playful glint in her eye. “Are you finding the fuss justified?”
He looked at her then, his gaze lingering in a way that made her shift her weight slightly. His lips quirked into the faintest smirk. “Seen a few tempting products,” he said, his voice low, almost teasing.
Was that... a double meaning? She wasn’t sure, but the way her stomach flipped at his tone left her biting her lip to suppress a smile.
“Well,” she said, leaning slightly against the booth, “what might you be interested in, then?”
“Got any plum jam?” he asked after a moment, his eyes scanning the jars displayed on the table.
She winced apologetically. “Sorry, sold out this morning. It’s a popular one.”
He gave a small nod, not seeming too put out. “Guess I’ll settle for a slice of apple pie, then.”
“You won’t regret it,” she said, quickly cutting a generous slice and placing it in a little paper dish. As she handed it to him, their fingers brushed briefly, a small, electric jolt of contact that she tried not to overthink.
“Thanks,” he murmured, his gaze flickering back to hers for a split second before focusing intently on the pie. He took a bite, and the deep, guttural groan that escaped him had her blinking in surprise, and then staring at him, very much not with pure thoughts.
Her gaze dropped helplessly to his mouth, where a small dollop of apple mush clung stubbornly to the corner of his lips. Oh, how she’d love to help him clean that up, maybe even by lapping it up herself. The thought had her throat going dry. “Uh, you have... there,” she managed, signaling to her own mouth because words failed her entirely.
He frowned slightly, his thumb swiping at his lips. When he missed, she gave a quick, stifled laugh, shaking her head and pointing more precisely. His next attempt was successful, and when he scooped the apple filling with his thumb and licked it clean off, her breath caught.
That should be illegal.
“Damn,” he said, glancing down at the pie with newfound respect. “Guess you can marry now.”
She blinked, startled. “What?”
His ears reddened as he fumbled for an explanation, suddenly realizing how strange that sounded. “Uh... my ma used to say... I mean, like, if a woman could cook well, she’d be ready for marriage, or something… uh, forget it.” He waved a hand, suddenly looking like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.
“Oh no,” she said, crossing her arms and quirking a brow, her lips twitching in amusement. “Now I really want to know what your ma used to say.”
“My ma used to say,” he admitted reluctantly, “a woman who can bake a pie like this could keep a man happy for life.”
As the words left his mouth, he realized -really realized- what he’d just said. Bringing up marriage, even indirectly, in what was supposed to be casual conversation? A new low, even for him. His inward grimace was immediate, a mortifying mix of regret and disbelief at his own lack of subtlety.
She blinked at him, her head tilting slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. “Well,” she said slowly, the edge of her lip quirking up, “Bet she was the kind of person who made everyone feel at home.”
He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, she... she was something.” Hoping to steer the moment away from the awkward territory he’d stumbled into, he gestured vaguely to the booth. “Anyway, uh... pie’s great. Really.”
“Thanks, Bucky. I’m glad you like it. It’s one of my granny’s best recipes.” She smiled warmly
He nodded, his lips twitching into something close to a smile. “She taught you well.”
That earned a soft laugh from her. “Yeah, she’d make me practice until I got it just right. Burned a lot of pies before this one.”
The conversation lingered as they eased into a rhythm, the earlier tension giving way to something more relaxed. She asked about his work, curious about how he supplied Sam with lumber, and he surprised her by sharing a bit more than usual talking about the care it took to choose the right trees and how the process wasn’t just chopping wood but understanding the forest itself.
“You make it sound like an art,” she said, tilting her head thoughtfully.
“Guess it kinda is,” he admitted. “You’ve gotta respect it. If you don’t, it shows in the work.”
Before she could respond, a familiar voice interrupted, cutting through their moment like a buzz saw.
“Well, well, look who finally decided to show up!”
Sam’s broad grin was radiant as he strolled up to the booth, hands tucked casually into his pockets.
Bucky groaned softly, his shoulders slumping a fraction as if bracing himself for whatever teasing was about to come. “What do you want, Sam?”
“Oh, nothing much,” Sam said breezily, his eyes darting between the two of them. “Just thought I’d check in, maybe grab some pie, see what’s happening over here.” He smirked. “Looks like I picked the right booth.”
She rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. “Careful, Sam. You’re gonna run me out of inventory if you keep showing up.”
Sam leaned on the counter, grinning. “Don’t worry, I’m here only to make sure Bucky doesn’t scare off your customers with his broody face.”
Bucky shot him a glare, but Sam only shrugged, completely unfazed.
“Actually, Buck, some of the people are starting to pack up. We should get a head start on breaking down everything so tomorrow’s not such a hassle,” Sam continued, his tone shifting to business mode. “Don’t give me that look, I'm not the one who strolled in here right before closing time.”
Bucky sighed but didn’t argue. “Right, right,” he muttered but didn’t seem eager to leave just yet.
She chuckled softly at their dynamic, watching as Sam started to organize a few things, seemingly trying to speed up the process of wrapping up. “Well then, I’ll just get the last of these pies packed up.” she said, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll make it a little easier on yourself if you let us take a couple of those home,” Sam said with a grin, his eyes scanning the remaining trays. “For later, of course. Can’t let all this deliciousness go to waste.”
Bucky didn’t respond right away, but his gaze lingered on the last few slices, making it clear he wasn’t about to pass up on some baked goods.
“Yeah, well, I suppose you’re right,” she said, laughing. “Guess you both deserve some for your hard work on the structures.”
“I’m not gonna argue with that,” Sam said, grinning as he reached for the remaining slices of pie. “Besides,” he said, gesturing toward Bucky, “look at him. He must be starving. You don’t know the amount of food it takes to keep all that going.”
Bucky froze mid-chew, his fork hovering just above the plate, and gave Sam a pointed look, equal parts exasperation and disbelief. “Seriously?”
“What?” Sam shrugged innocently, though his smirk said otherwise. “It’s true. You’re always munching on something. Remember last week? Three sandwiches in one sitting, and you still stole my fries.”
Bucky’s glare sharpened, but it only fueled Sam’s amusement. “You ate half my wings, Wilson,” Bucky said dryly, his tone low and unimpressed.
“Details,” Sam said with a wave of his hand, his grin not fading. “Point is, you’ve got the appetite of a bear coming out of hibernation. I’m just trying to make sure you don’t go hungry.”
She laughed as she placed the box of pies on the counter. “Well, I can’t have that on my conscience,” she teased. “Take as many slices as you need, Bucky. We’ll call it a public service.”
Bucky shifted on his feet, his gaze darting between her and the pies. The faintest flush crept up his neck as he mumbled, “Thanks,” and slid another slice of pie onto his plate. His eyes lingered on the cookies for a moment before he reached for one, his movements a little hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure how much was too much.
“You sure?” he asked, glancing up at her, his voice quieter now.
She smiled warmly, waving off his concern. “Positive. Consider it payment for all the heavy lifting.”
He huffed a low laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching up in what could almost be called a smile. “Appreciate it,” he said, his words rough but sincere.
Sam clapped him on the shoulder, almost making Bucky drop the cookie. “Alright, big guy, let’s get out of her way before you clean her out completely.
Bucky shot him a half-hearted glare but allowed Sam to steer him toward a cluster of tables nearby, his plate balanced carefully in one hand.
She watched them go, her lips curving into a smile as Sam said something that made Bucky shake his head in exasperation.
With a deep breath, she turned back to finish packing up, though her gaze flicked toward their working spot every now and then.
That night, she lay in bed, the exhaustion of the festival weighing her body down but leaving her mind buzzing. Every detail of the day replayed like a film reel, but one moment stood out above all: Bucky and his awkward, utterly endearing comment about marriage.
She groaned, burying her flushed face into her pillow like a teenager. Guess you can marry now. The memory of his hesitant, almost panicked attempt to explain himself made her toes curl, not in secondhand embarrassment but in something far warmer, more thrilling. And the way he’d looked at her as he said it... that fleeting vulnerability, his ears burning red. She shook her head, biting her lip against a smile.
An idea came to her mind while sipping her morning coffee, staring at the half-empty box of baked goods and preserves she hadn’t packed into the car the day before. She’d thought she was carrying too much, but now she saw what she’d left behind: two jars of plum jam. The very ones Bucky had wanted at the festival but hadn’t been able to get.
She turned one jar in her hand, smiling faintly. It wasn’t much, but it felt like the right thing to do, a small gesture to thank him for all the ways he’d helped her. A friendly token, nothing more. The thought made her nerves tingle anyway.
Shoving those thoughts aside, she packed the jars into her backpack, laced up her boots, and headed out. She made her way toward the spot where she’d found him last time, the rhythmic thwack of his axe cutting through wood still vivid in her memory. She tried not to feel disappointed when the clearing came into view and she didn’t see him right away, but then a faint rustling sound caught her attention.
Bucky was there, further back, crouched near a stack of neatly cut logs, inspecting a wedge that had splintered unevenly. He looked so at ease in his element, that she almost turned back. But then he shifted, his head tilting slightly as if he’d heard her approach.
“Hey,” she called, her voice lighter than intended.
He stood, turning to face her. His brow furrowed slightly in surprise, but it softened quickly. “Hey.”
“I, uh...” She adjusted her backpack strap, suddenly feeling awkward for tracking him down like this. “I had some leftovers from the festival, and I remembered you wanted plum jam. Turns out I had two jars I didn’t even bring.” She opened the backpack and pulled them out, offering them with a tentative smile. “Figured I’d bring them to you as a thank-you for all the times you’ve helped me out.”
Bucky stared at the jars, his expression unreadable at first, but then his lips tugged into the faintest hint of a smile. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know,” she said, shrugging lightly. “But I wanted to. It’s just jam, anyway.”
“Just jam,” he repeated, taking the jars from her hands, his fingers brushing hers briefly. He glanced at the labels, then back at her. “Thanks. Really.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, feeling breathless under his intense gaze. She stuffed her hands into her knitted jacket pockets, trying to play it cool. “Hope it’s as good as my pies.”
His lips twitched, that almost-smile appearing again. “Guess I’ll have to let you know.” For a moment, neither of them moved, then he cleared his throat, gesturing toward the logs behind him. “You walked all the way out here just for this?” he asked, slightly lifting his brow.
“Pretty much, yeah,” she admitted, her voice softening as a hint of shyness crept in. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, suddenly very aware of how much effort she’d put into this small gesture.
Bucky’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, “That’s... thoughtful of you.”
Her cheeks warmed under his quiet scrutiny, but she forced a casual shrug. “Well, I figured it beats letting them collect dust in my pantry.”
“Still,” he murmured, “thanks. Means a lot.”
“You’re welcome. I, uh...” She glanced at the jars in his hands, suddenly unsure of herself. “I won’t take more of your time. Just wanted to...” She gestured vaguely toward the jam, the movement almost bashful.
Bucky’s gaze softened, his grip tightening slightly around the jars. Before she could step away, he called after her, his voice rough yet almost hesitant. “Hey.”
She turned back, catching the flicker of something earnest in his expression.
“Thanks again,” he said simply, holding up the jars slightly.
Her smile softened, more genuine now. “Anytime.”
Bucky stood there for a long moment after she left, staring at the jars in his hands. The deep, rich purple of the jam glinted faintly in the sunlight filtering through the trees, but his mind wasn’t on the contents. It was on her. The way her voice had faltered, the slight hesitance in her movements when she handed them to him, like she wasn’t sure if he’d even want them.
Why the hell wouldn’t I? he thought bitterly, his jaw tightening. He shifted the jars to one hand, his free one dragging down his face. Damn it.
The easy confidence he used to have, -the kind that once let him charm anyone he wanted- was long gone, worn away by years of service that had left their mark on his body and mind. His scars, both visible and hidden, weren’t just marks; they were reminders of a life split into before and after. He set the jars carefully on a stump, picking up his axe again and turning back to the log he’d been working on.
The first swing came down harder than necessary, the wood splitting with a satisfying crack.
What if Sam was right? What if she really did like him? What the hell would he even do with that? He couldn’t imagine someone like her -a woman who baked pies for town festivals and brought plum jam out to the woods- being happy with someone like him. Someone who carried more baggage than he knew how to unpack.
The axe came down again, the sharp sound echoing through the clearing.
She deserved better than someone like him. Someone whole. Someone who didn’t wake up in cold sweats or flinch at loud noises. Someone who could stand in a crowd without feeling like the walls were closing in. He couldn’t even have a simple conversation without fumbling over his words like a damn teenager.
Another swing and the log finally gave way, splitting clean in two. He adjusted the pieces and started again, the rhythmic motion grounding him even as his thoughts spiraled.
And yet... there she was, walking through the woods just to give him something she thought he’d like. Her smile was genuine, her laugh soft, and for a moment, it had felt almost normal, like maybe he wasn’t the broken mess he’d convinced himself he was.
Don’t kid yourself.
The axe paused mid-air as his gaze flickered to the jars again. She wasn’t just being polite, was she? There had been something in her eyes, something he didn’t know how to name but felt keenly.
God, I used to be good at this, he thought, lowering the axe and resting his hands on the handle. Before everything went to hell, before the nightmares and the scars and the sense of being completely out of place in a world that had moved on without him, he’d known how to read people. Known how to charm them.
Now, he couldn’t even tell if the kindest gesture he’d received in years was just... friendliness.
Bucky exhaled slowly, his grip tightening on the axe. He had no answers, only doubts, and a feeling in his gut that maybe, just maybe, he was about to screw this up like he did everything else.
----------
The afternoon sunlight filtered through the living room curtains as she sat cross-legged on the couch, her laptop balanced on her knees. She rubbed her temples and glared at the screen, rereading the same sentence for what felt like the hundredth time. The latest manuscript she was proofreading was a Highlander romance, complete with a Marie Sue, a couple of brawny warriors, and more plaid than a fabric store. It wasn’t that she disliked the genre, but this one was so cliché-ridden it was almost impressive.
“And then his emerald eyes bore into hers, as if he could see the depths of her soul,” she read aloud, her tone dry. She let out a groan, rolling her eyes for what felt like the fiftieth time that day. “Of course he did.”
Still, it paid the bills. She took a sip of her now lukewarm tea and leaned back, debating whether to power through or take a break. That’s when a knock sounded at the door.
Her brows furrowed. Dorothy, the old lady he met at the general store, had mentioned bringing over some plant bulbs today, and it was her signature to show up unannounced. Closing the laptop with a sigh of relief at the distraction, she stood and padded to the door.
“Dorothy, you didn’t have to-” she began, opening the door with a welcoming smile, only to have the words die in her throat.
It wasn’t Dorothy.
Bucky stood there, one hand gripping a well-worn toolbox and the other shoved casually into the pocket of his jeans. The red henley he wore was snug enough to highlight the curve of his shoulders and the breadth of his chest, but not enough to look like he was trying. His hair was slightly mussed, as if the wind had tussled it just before he knocked, and the faintest hint of stubble shadowed his jaw.
For a second, neither of them spoke. She blinked, her surprise evident, while he cleared his throat and offered a small, almost sheepish nod.
“Hey,” he said, his deep voice tinged with a hint of hesitation. “I, uh... remembered you mentioned during the festival needing to fix a couple of roof tiles.” He lifted the toolbox slightly as if to emphasize his purpose. “Thought I’d stop by and take care of it. For the jam.”
It was a perfectly logical explanation, but the sight of him on her porch, looking like an ad for rustic competence, left her momentarily speechless.
She groaned inwardly, the warmth of embarrassment creeping up her neck as she registered her current state, an old pair of sweatpants and an even older shirt with a faded logo, complete with a jam stain right across the bosom. Great. Just great.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she finally managed, her voice brushing off the initial surprise as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Really, it’s not that big of a deal.”
Bucky shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small, easy smile. “Figured I owed you one. Besides, it’s no trouble.”
Despite herself, her lips quirked in a smile as she stepped aside and gestured toward the side of the house. “Well, okay then. The tiles that need fixing are just over there.”
He nodded, his movements purposeful but unhurried, as he turned toward his truck. “I’ll grab my ladder and get started.”
As he walked away, she shut the door with a quiet click and let out a soft exhale, leaning her forehead briefly against the cool wood. A glance down at her outfit made her wince. Nope. There was no way she was standing out there in this while Bucky Barnes fixed her roof looking like a walking ad for rugged, small-town charm.
She bolted for her room, tearing through her wardrobe with newfound urgency. A simple casual dress with a V neckline and cardigan was the winning combo, comfortable enough for an impromptu chat but still presentable. She smoothed the fabric over her hips and checked her reflection in the mirror, brushing her hair back into place before heading back to the living room.
The faint clink of metal outside signaled that Bucky was already at work. Feeling slightly more put-together, she made her way to the kitchen to make some lemonade, hoping she didn’t look like she was trying too hard.
Once the lemonade was ready, she poured a glass, her movements steady as she tried to keep her thoughts from spiraling. It wasn’t a big deal. Just a neighborly gesture to bring him something cool while he worked. Absolutely no ulterior motives, she told herself firmly, ignoring the tiny thrill that ran through her at the thought of talking to him again.
After tidying up a few things to stall for time, she finally stepped outside, the lemonade glass balanced carefully in her hand. The sun had warmed the air, and she spotted Bucky perched on the ladder, one boot firmly planted on a lower rung as he worked to secure a tile.
“Hey,” she called out lightly, making her way toward him.
He glanced down, his hands pausing mid-adjustment. His gaze caught on her new outfit, lingering for a moment before flicking back to her face. She wasn’t imagining it, the slight shift in his expression was hard to miss.
Feeling suddenly self-conscious under his sharp blue eyes, she offered the glass with a small smile. “Thought you might want something to drink.” Then, in a rush of nervous energy, she added, “Dorothy was supposed to drop by, so I figured I should look a little more... put together.”
His gaze flickered briefly to the neckline of her dress, the height of his vantage point affording a view to skin that other way should be concealed by cloth. For a split second, his focus lingered on the swell of her breasts before he forced his attention back to her face with an unreadable expression.
“Thanks,” he said gruffly, reaching down to take the glass. His fingers brushed hers for a fraction of a second, the callouses rough against her skin, and she fought the urge to shiver at the contact.
“You’re, uh, making good progress,” she said, nodding toward the roof as if that would distract from the warmth in her cheeks.
“Not much to it,” he replied, taking a sip. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he drank, and her eyes dipped of their own accord, watching the movement.
When he handed the glass back, their fingers brushed again, and she swore his hand lingered just a moment longer this time.
She lingered by the ladder, holding her glass of lemonade, the condensation cool against her fingers. “You and Sam did a great job building the booths for the festival,” she said, her tone casual. “Not only a provider, huh? Seems like you’re quite the handyman too.”
Bucky glanced down at her, his lips twitching into a faint smile before he focused back on the tile he was securing. “It wasn’t just us. Plenty of other guys helped out.”
“Still,” she insisted, watching the muscles in his forearms shift as he worked, “it’s cool. You don’t see that kind of dedication every day.”
He didn’t respond right away, his grip tightening on the hammer. The compliment clearly unsettled him, and for a split second, his aim wavered. The hammer came down too close to his thumb, and he muttered a sharp curse under his breath.
“Are you okay?” she asked, stepping closer instinctively. Her brows knit together with concern as she watched him shake out his hand.
“Peachy,” he muttered with a gruff voice, though the faint pink creeping up his neck gave away his frustration, whether from the near miss or her watchful presence, she wasn’t sure.
Her lips twitched at his tone, but she held back a laugh, not wanting to poke the bear. “Alright, then. I’ll leave you to it before I distract you into taking off a finger.”
He glanced down at her, his blue eyes sharp but not unkind. “You’re not a distraction,” he said after a beat, his voice softer this time.
Her stomach did a little flip, but she forced herself to keep her tone light. “Still, I’d hate to be the reason you get hurt. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?”
He gave a small nod, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he turned back to his work, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.
She stepped back toward the house, clutching the empty glass tightly as she crossed the threshold and shut the door behind her.
With a deep breath, she returned to the couch, her laptop waiting for her where she’d left it. But even as she opened the screen and stared down the next line of plaid-covered Highlander melodrama, her thoughts drifted back to the man on her roof and the way his gaze lingered just a second too long.
---------
The knock at the door startled her out of the repetitive loop of her manuscript edits. Leaving the laptop on the coffee table, she stood, smoothing the fabric of her dress instinctively. When she opened the door, there he was, a faint sheen of sweat on his face and his toolbox in hand.
“All done,” Bucky said, his deep voice a little quiet, as though he wasn’t entirely sure how to say more. He gestured vaguely toward the roof with his free hand. “The tiles should hold up fine now. No leaks to worry about.”
Her smile was warm as relief and gratitude washed over her. “Thank you, Bucky. Really. That was so kind of you to come by and take care of it.”
He gave a small shrug, his lips twitching into a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Didn’t take long. Figured it’d save you some hassle.”
“Still,” she said, stepping back to open the door wider, “you didn’t have to. Can I at least get you something? Another drink, maybe?”
He hesitated, his hand tightening slightly on the handle of the toolbox. “You don’t have to-”
“I insist,” she cut him off gently, her smile unwavering. “Please. It’s the least I can do.”
After a beat, he nodded, stepping over the threshold with a cautious ease, as if unsure of how much space he was allowed to take up. She led him to the kitchen, motioning for him to sit at the small table while she poured a fresh glass of lemonade.
He sat stiffly, setting his toolbox carefully by his feet and rubbing the back of his neck. The kitchen smelled faintly of citrus and sugar, a scent that mingled oddly with the outdoorsy hint of sawdust and sweat he carried with him.
“Here,” she said, placing the glass in front of him before sitting across the table. “I hope it’s still cold enough.”
Bucky nodded his thanks, taking a sip. The silence stretched for a moment, not uncomfortable but loaded with unspoken thoughts. She was the first to break it.
“So, how long have you been working with Sam?” she asked, leaning her arms casually on the table.
He set the glass down, his fingers lingering on the rim as he answered. “A few years. Helps keep me busy.”
She tilted her head, studying him with quiet curiosity. “Do you supply the rest of the workshops and stores too?”
Bucky let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “Not really, just a few. Don’t think anyone’s lining up to hire a guy like me.”
Her brows knit together. “I don’t know about that. You’re dependable, skilled... and clearly a good neighbor.”
Her words caught him off guard, and he looked down, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Just doing what needs to be done,” he mumbled.
“More than that,” she pressed, a hint of teasing in her tone now to lighten the moment. “If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I wouldn’t believe how fast you fixed those tiles.”
Bucky shook his head, his lips twitching into that barely-there smile again. “It’s just a roof.”
“To you, maybe,” she said lightly. “To me, it’s one less thing to worry about. And I really appreciate it.”
Her sincerity left him quiet for a moment, his fingers tightening briefly around the glass. He glanced up at her, meeting her eyes. “You’re welcome,” he said finally, with a low voice.
Another pause lingered between them, she smiled, leaning back slightly in her chair. “Well, if you ever need more jam -or a roof to fix- you know where to find me.”
He chuckled softly, the sound surprising even himself. “Guess I’ll keep that in mind.”
Their gazes held for just a beat too long before he stood, his hand already reaching for the toolbox. “I should get going.”
“Of course,” she said, standing as well, though she didn’t move to rush him out. “Thanks again, Bucky.”
As Bucky made his way toward the door, his gaze swept briefly over the living room, pausing on the open laptop resting on the coffee table. His steps slowed, curiosity flickering across his features. “What’s that you’re working on?” he asked, tilting his head toward the screen.
She followed his gaze and let out a soft, sheepish laugh. “Oh, just... proofreading a manuscript.”
He raised a brow, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly. “What kind of manuscript?”
Her lips parted as if she might dodge the question, but his steady, inquisitive look made it clear he wasn’t letting this one go. “It’s, uh... a romance,” she admitted, her voice almost shy.
His brow lifted a little higher. “About?”
She hesitated, fidgeting slightly under his gaze. “It’s... okay, it’s one of those super cheesy historical romances. You know, with a rugged Highlander and a maid who’s swept up in some dramatic, forbidden love affair.” Her words tumbled out in a rush, her cheeks warming as she spoke.
Bucky’s expression shifted. First skeptical, then mildly amused, and finally landing somewhere between disbelief and intrigue. “And that sells?”
“It’s a very popular topic,” She nodded, already cringing inwardly. “It’s... well, it’s got a lot of dramatic tension, flowery descriptions, and... other stuff.”
“Like what?” he asked, genuinely curious, his head tilting slightly as he leaned against the doorframe.
She bit the inside of her cheek, debating how much detail to share. “You know... dramatic misunderstandings, passionate declarations, epic sword fights... and, uh...” She trailed off, waving her hand vaguely. “Other... things.”
“Other things,” he repeated, his lips twitching like he was trying not to smile. “You mean... the spicy stuff?”
Her cheeks flamed, and she groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Yes, okay? That stuff. Happy now?”
He chuckled making her peek at him from behind her fingers. “Didn’t take you for someone who’d spend their day reading about shirtless Highlanders sweeping maids off their feet.”
“I don’t spend my day reading it,” she shot back, lowering her hands to glare at him, though her expression was more embarrassed than angry. “I’m proofreading. There’s a difference.”
“Right,” he said, dragging the word out like he wasn’t entirely convinced. “So you’re not secretly daydreaming about a plaid-wearing, hero coming to whisk you away?”
“Absolutely not,” she replied firmly, though the faint crack in her voice betrayed her mortification.
He smirked, finally stepping back from the doorframe. “Good to know.”
She crossed her arms, watching him as he moved toward his toolbox. “Not that you’re one to judge,” she called after him. “You seem to know an awful lot about what goes on in those books for someone who’s never read one.”
That stopped him in his tracks. He turned back, his gaze narrowing slightly, though there was still a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I have a sister,” he said simply, as though that explained everything.
Her mouth opened, then shut, caught off guard. “Touché,” she murmured, conceding the point. Still, she couldn’t let it rest. “But honestly, this one is so bad, I don’t get how the editors went along with it.”
His curiosity piqued, and Bucky tilted his head. “And why’s that?”
“It’s just... so cheesy,” she said, her voice dipping with exaggerated drama. “Way too fluffy, the guy won’t stop talking about his feelings, and he’s clingy in a way that makes me cringe.” She shuddered a little for effect.
Bucky raised a brow, his thumb absently tapping against the handle of the toolbox. “So... that makes it bad for the genre? Or is that your personal taste talking?”
She blinked, thrown off by the question. “I-what?”
“I mean,” he continued, leaning casually against the doorframe, “aren’t romance novels supposed to be... you know, emotional? Feelings and all that? Or is it just not your thing?”
She frowned, his thoughtful tone making her pause. “I guess... it’s not the emotions that bother me,” she admitted, her arms crossing loosely. “It’s the way it’s written. This guy is just so... over the top. He’s constantly swooning over her, saying how she’s his whole world, his sun and stars... it’s too much. Like, tone it down, man.”
Bucky’s lips twitched, and he gave a small, thoughtful nod as if chewing over her words. “So, you’re more into the... brooding types?”
Her face warmed slightly at the observation, but she shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Maybe. I like characters who... don’t lay it all out at once. You know, someone with a little mystery.”
A long silence stretched between them, his gaze lingering on her as if trying to read between the lines. “Sounds like it’d be tough to figure out what they’re thinking.” He observed.
She raised a brow at that, tilting her head. “Sometimes actions speak louder than words, you know.”
Bucky seemed to consider that, his fingers flexing lightly around the handle of his toolbox. He nodded once, then glanced toward the door. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your... highlander drama.” He shifted his weight, toolbox in hand, and turned toward the door. But as he stepped through, he hesitated, glancing back. “Hey,” he said, his tone quieter now, almost hesitant. “If, uh... if you ever need something else, just let me know.”
She smiled “I will. The same goes for you, thanks again.”
He nodded, a small, almost shy tilt of his head, before stepping fully out the door. She stood there for a moment, staring after him as the faint crunch of his boots faded down the path. The quiet of her house enveloped her as she closed the door, replaying snippets of their conversation.
She had barely made it back to the couch when her phone buzzed. The screen lit up with a text from Sam:
Hey, I’m grilling tonight. You should come by. No excuses.
A smile tugged at her lips. The idea of stepping out, getting off her screen, and being around people sounded better than staying cooped up with plaids and cringy lairds. She quickly texted back her agreement.
The gathering was small, just a handful of locals chatting around the glow of the garden lights and the firepit, the scent of burning wood mingling with spiced cider in the air.
She wasn’t expecting to see Bucky there, given he wasn’t the social type but there he was, standing slightly apart from the crowd, his hands shoved into his pockets as he listened to a conversation between Sam and another neighbor.
She hesitated, her pulse quickening at the sight of him. Sam spotted her, waving her over. “Hey, glad you made it! C’mon, grab a drink.”
She made her way to the table laden with snacks and drinks, feeling Bucky’s gaze on her as she poured herself some cider. When she turned, he was standing just a few steps away, his expression unreadable in the flickering firelight.
“Hey,” she said, her voice a touch breathless. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
His lips quirked in a half-smile. “Sam can be... persuasive.”
She laughed softly “Yeah, he’s good at that.”
They stood there in companionable silence for a moment, and then, as someone started strumming a guitar on the other side of the yard, Bucky glanced at her, his blue eyes glinting with something she couldn’t quite place.
“Walk with me?” he asked, with a low but steady voice.
Surprised, she nodded, and they left the noise and light of the gathering behind, stepping into the quiet shadows of the trees that bordered Sam’s property.
As they walked, the only sounds were the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant chords of the guitar. Finally, he spoke.
“I’ve been thinking,” he began with a cautious tone like he was testing the waters. “About what you said earlier. About liking... brooding characters.”
She blinked, caught off guard. “Oh?”
His gaze stayed forward, but his hands fidgeted at his sides. “Got me wondering if you really meant that. Or if you were just... making conversation.” The vulnerability in his voice sent a wave of warmth through her.
“I wasn’t just making conversation,” she admitted softly.
He stopped walking, turning to face her fully. The firelight was distant now, casting only the faintest glow, but she could still see the intensity in his expression. “Good,” he said, his voice rougher now. “Because I don’t want to keep wondering.”
Before she could respond, he stepped closer, his hand brushing hers, tentative but deliberate. And when she didn’t pull away, he leaned in, his breath warm against her skin as his lips captured hers in a kiss that was both hesitant and deeply certain, as if he’d been waiting for this moment far longer than he dared to admit.
She melted into him, her hands sliding up to his shoulders. That small gesture gave him all the permission he needed. Tilting his head, he traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, a gentle yet deliberate request. She parted her lips for him, granting entrance, and he deepened the kiss with a low, quiet sigh that sent warmth spiraling through her.
His hand slid to the curve of her lower back, pulling her closer, while the other found its way to her nape. His fingers tangled gently in her hair as he cradled her. Their kiss broke slowly, reluctantly, his lips brushing hers one last time as if he couldn’t quite let go. Bucky lingered close, his breath warm against her cheek, his nose skimming along her jaw before dipping to her neck. He pressed his face there, inhaling deeply, and his quiet, teasing voice sent a shiver down her spine.
“This too clingy for you?”
A soft laugh escaped her, though it dissolved into a breathy sigh as she tilted her head, exposing more of her neck to him. “Shut up,” she murmured, her fingers threading through his hair, keeping him close. Whatever witty retort she might have had melted into nothing as he pressed a lingering kiss to her pulse point.
Bucky’s lips lingered against her neck for a moment longer before he pulled back just enough to look at her. His fingers at her nape flexed, and then his gaze dropped briefly to her lips. Her heart stuttered as he closed the distance again, this time more demanding. His mouth claimed hers in a kiss that was deeper and hungrier. Gone was the tentative sweetness, this was need, raw and unrestrained. His hand slid from her lower back to her hip, splaying wide, pulling her flush against him as if he needed to eliminate even the smallest gap between them.
Her fingers tightened in his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low, throaty sound from him that sent a thrill through her. She arched into him instinctively, and his hand slid down to the hem of her dress, his fingers brushing her bare thigh. His touch was deliberate, teasing, but his restraint was evident. Her hands left his hair, sliding down to his chest, the soft flannel brushing her palms before she gripped the fabric and tugged him closer. He responded instantly, groaning softly into her mouth as the hand on her nape angled her tighter against his lips.
When they finally broke apart, their breaths mingling in the charged silence, he pressed his forehead to hers. Neither of them moved to step away, the distant chatter and laughter around the grill fading into the background. The weight of unspoken need between them was palpable.
“We should...” she started, her voice catching slightly. Then, more firmly, “We should go somewhere.”
His head lifted slightly, blue eyes dark as he searched hers for a beat before a slow smile tugged at his lips, agreeing with a low voice.
Without another word, he took her hand, intertwining their fingers briefly before leading her away. They drifted toward the edge of the yard with casual ease, their steps slow enough to avoid suspicion but quick enough to betray their shared urgency. Once they’d slipped into the cover of the trees bordering Sam’s property, she turned to him, their bodies close in the dim light of the evening. “Your truck or...?”
Bucky’s brows shot up at the suggestion, and for a moment, the idea tempted him, briefly, wildly. Considering the insistent ache in his jeans, the thought held undeniable appeal. But then, reason settled over him like a cool breeze. Not like this. Not tonight.
His lips quirked into a lopsided smirk, and he leaned in just enough that his voice sent a shiver through her. “Your place,” he murmured, low and deliberate.
The shift in his tone left her breathless, her pulse hammering against her skin as her cheeks warmed. She nodded wordlessly, her hand tightening slightly around his as they moved with quiet purpose. The path back to her house felt electric, each step charged with anticipation.
As the door clicked shut behind them, Bucky turned sharply, cornering her against the solid wood. His hands framed her face as his lips captured hers again, more demanding this time, his body pressing into hers with a heat that left no room for misinterpretation. She gasped softly into the kiss, the feel of his hardon against her stomach sending a jolt of desire through her.
Her fingers tangled in his long hair, tugging just enough to make him growl low in his throat. The sound vibrated between them, primal and electrifying. He broke the kiss just enough to murmur, his voice gravelly, “Where’s the bedroom?”
She pointed vaguely down the hall, her breath hitching. Before she could blink, his strong hands were gripping her waist, and he effortlessly threw her over his shoulder in one smooth motion.
A surprised squeal left her lips, and she braced herself against his back, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. His hand splayed firmly over her rear to steady her, his voice teasing but thick with intent. “Easy there,” he said, the words curling with a hint of amusement.
He strode purposely through the hallway, and when they reached the bedroom, he set her down on the bed with surprising care, though his gaze was anything but gentle. He stood over her for a moment, taking her in, the way her hair fell wild around her face, her lips swollen from his kisses, her chest rising and falling with anticipation.
His tongue flicked over his bottom lip as his eyes darkened. “Damn,” he muttered, his voice hoarse with hunger, “you’re a sight.”
She shifted slightly under his intense stare, a flicker of shyness creeping in her despite her arousal. The way he looked at her, so unapologetically hungry, made her feel exposed. His lips quirked slightly as if sensing her hesitation, and he leaned down, his hand coming to rest against her jaw.
“You okay?” he murmured, his voice softer now but no less intent.
She nodded, her breath hitching as his thumb brushed along her cheek. “Yeah,” she whispered.
“Good,” he replied, his lips curving into a faint smile before he kissed her again. This time, it was slower, deeper, his tongue sweeping against hers in a way that left her clinging to him, her earlier shyness melting into the heat of his touch.
Her fingers found his shirt, tugging at the hem, and he pulled back just enough to strip it off, tossing it aside without ceremony. The scars on his chest and arm caught the dim light, but the confidence in his gaze never wavered as he leaned back in, his hands sliding down her sides with deliberate, teasing slowness.
Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as her eyes roamed over him, the sheer breadth of his chest and the powerful arms flexing with restrained strength. He was a bear of a man, solid and unrelenting, and she loved every bit of it.
“You know,” he began, his voice low and rough, his fingers deftly popping open the buttons of her dress one by one. “I love seeing you in these dresses and skirts.” His lips quirked into a wicked grin, his gaze flicking up to meet hers. “Makes it so damn easy to get under them. Have my way with you.”
Her cheeks burned at his words, a mixture of arousal and shyness bubbling to the surface. “Bucky...” she breathed, but her protest was feeble at best, especially as he continued his slow, deliberate assault, parting the fabric of her dress to expose more of her skin.
“That one you wore at the festival,” he went on, his tone darkening with heat as he leaned closer, his lips grazing her collarbone. “That vintage-looking thing? Sweetheart, it drove me crazy.”
She gasped softly as his hands slid over her hips, his thumbs tracing patterns against her bare skin. “Crazy how?” she managed to ask, her voice trembling under the weight of his attention.
He let out a low, throaty chuckle, his lips trailing down to the swell of her breasts. “Crazy enough to want to bend you over the booth table,” he murmured, his teeth scraping lightly against her skin, “and fuck you right there. Pies, jam… didn’t care. Would’ve made a mess of it all just to get my hands on you.”
A desperate whimper slipped past her lips as heat pooled low in her belly. Her hands slid into his hair, tugging slightly.
He growled softly at the sensation, pressing her back against the bed. His hands gripped the fabric of her dress and tugged it down her arms, exposing her fully to his gaze. “But we’ve got all the time we want now,” he said, his voice rough, his lips curving into a predatory smile. “And I plan to take my damn time.”
Her pussy clenched with anticipation as her mind whirled, trying to reconcile the quiet, awkward man she’d come to know with this unabashedly vocal, commanding version of him. It was as though he’d been holding back all this time, and now, the dam had finally burst.
Her bra followed the dress, and his sharp intake of breath sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through her. His thumb traced the curve of her breast, slow and deliberate, before he leaned in, his lips hovering just above her skin.
“Y’know,” he murmured, his voice rough and teasing, “all I could think about this afternoon was pouring that lemonade on these.” His lips ghosted over her nipple, his breath warm. “Then drinking it straight off you.”
Her gaze widened, a sudden wave of shyness overtaking her. She let out a nervous laugh, pressing her hands over her face to shield herself.
“Don’t hide from me,” he said firmly, his hand catching her wrists and gently tugging them away. His eyes burned with an intensity that made her stomach flip. “You were the one who instigated our little escape from Sam’s party, remember?”
His words sent a shiver down her spine, and she couldn’t help the way her body arched toward him as his lips finally claimed the peak of her breast, his tongue swirling in deliberate, maddening strokes. Any remaining hesitation evaporated as he pressed his hips against hers, letting her feel just how much he wanted her.
“You don’t get to act shy now,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly against her skin. “Not after everything you’ve been driving me crazy with.”
Her voice came out barely above a whisper, trembling as she stammered, “I... I didn’t do anything...”
Bucky pulled back just enough to meet her wide-eyed gaze, his lips curving into a wicked smirk. “Oh, you didn’t?” he drawled, his tone laced with teasing disbelief. His hand slid down her side, his calloused fingers leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “That little dress at the festival? the lemonade with that neckline? The way you bit your lower lip every time we spoke? Sweetheart, you’ve been doing everything.”
Her cheeks burned, her lips parting as if to protest, but no words came out. Instead, he leaned in closer, his nose brushing the curve of her jaw as he whispered, “And I’ve been trying real hard to keep my hands to myself... but now? Now, I’m done trying.”
Her breath caught, and before she could respond, his lips were on hers again, claiming her in a kiss that left no room for doubt. His hands roamed her body with purpose, pulling her flush against him, his erection pressing firmly against her pussy.
Her fingers found their way into his hair again, tugging gently at the strands as he groaned into her mouth, the sound reverberating through her. “You’re killing me, you know that?” he murmured against her lips, his voice rough and filled with longing. “All I’ve been thinking about is this... you... for weeks.” He kissed her again, slower and deeper this time, as if savoring the moment.
“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” he rasped when they parted for air, his forehead resting against hers. “But you’re about to find out.”
He left a trail of open-mouthed kisses down her body, his lips lingering on every inch of skin as if committing her to memory. When he reached the waistband of her drenched panties, he paused, his hands gripping her thighs firmly to keep her in place. Pressing his face against the soaked fabric, he inhaled deeply, a guttural groan rumbling from his chest.
“God, you smell so good,” he murmured, his voice thick with hunger. His thumbs hooked into the sides of the delicate lace, slowly pulling it down her legs as he kept his eyes locked on hers. The intensity in his gaze made her pulse thunder in her ears. “You’ve been driving me insane,” he confessed, his lips brushing against her inner thigh as he tossed the damp fabric aside. “Every time I saw you in those little dresses... I thought about this. About getting under that hemline and taste you.”
Her body quivered at his words, her fingers tangling in the sheets beneath her as anticipation coiled tight in her core. “Bucky...” she breathed, her voice a plea.
“Patience,” he said again, his voice low and teasing, but there was no mistaking the edge of hunger in it. His hands spread her thighs further apart, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he held her open. His breath ghosted over her pussy, warm and tantalizing, making her gasp and clutch the sheets. “I want to take my time with you.”
And then his mouth was on her. His tongue dragged through her slick folds with slow, deliberate strokes, before barely retreating with a sinful hum. “Fuck,” he groaned, “You taste even better than I imagined.” He paused only long enough to meet her eyes, his own dark and full of promise. “And I’ve been imagining this for a long time.”
Her breath caught in her throat as he spread her pussy lips with his thumbs, baring her fully to him. His mouth latched onto her clit, his tongue swirling in lazy circles before he nursed it with intent. The sharp jolt of pleasure ripped a cry from her lips, her hips thrusting against his mouth involuntarily.
“Bucky! oh, God!” she gasped, her voice trembling as he kept at it, alternating between sucking and flicking her sensitive nub with maddening precision. His growl vibrated against her, the sound and sensation drawing another moan from deep within her chest.
“Stay still,” he commanded, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening. The rumble of his voice sent shivers down her spine. “I’m not done with you yet.”
Two thick fingers joined the assault, sliding slowly into her wet heat, stretching her as they pressed in until they were knuckle-deep. She gasped, her walls clenching around him as he paused for a moment, letting her adjust before starting a maddening rhythm.
His mouth stayed on her clit, tongue flicking and circling in tandem with the slow, deliberate thrust of his fingers. The combination was overwhelming, a perfectly orchestrated symphony of pleasure that had her crying out his name, her thighs trembling as she struggled to keep still.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he murmured against her, his voice filled with awe and lust. His fingers curled inside her, finding that sweet spot that made her hips jerk off the bed. “Right there, huh? That’s it.”
Her breathing turned ragged, her hands gripping his hair tightly as her body climbed higher and higher toward release. He didn’t let up, his tongue and fingers working her with relentless precision, coaxing her closer to the edge with every stroke.
The orgasm tore through her like an electric shock, sharp and all-consuming. Her body clenched tight, her muscles locking for a heartbeat before releasing uncontrollable spasms. Her walls clenched around his fingers, her back arching off the bed as a sharp cry tore from her lips. He growled with satisfaction, his fingers slowing but not stopping as he rode her through her climax, his mouth pressing soft, soothing kisses to her inner thigh as she shuddered beneath him.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured, pulling his fingers free slowly and bringing them to his lips to taste. His darkened gaze met hers, his tongue flicking out to clean the slick from his fingers. “You’re fucking perfect.”
She barely had time to catch her breath before Bucky stood, towering over her, his eyes dark with intent. With a sharp tug, he kicked off his work boots, the thud of them hitting the floor making her jump slightly. Then came the metallic clink of his belt, the sound sending a thrill straight through her.
Her gaze was locked on him as he unzipped his jeans, the low rasp of the zipper making her stomach tighten. He tugged them down along with his underwear in one swift motion, revealing himself in all his glory. He was all broad shoulders and thick muscle. His broad chest and left arm were marred by scars that only added to the raw magnetism he exuded. And then there was his cock. Thick, hard, and so utterly intimidating that she bit her lip at the sight.
“Like what you see?” he asked, a lazy smile pulling at his lips.
She nodded, unable to form words as her cheeks flushed.
“Good,” he said, his hand wrapping around his shaft, stroking lazily as he took a step closer. “Because you’re going to feel all of me.”
Bucky climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between her parted thighs. His hands gripped her waist, firm but careful, as though he might crush her if he wasn’t mindful of his strength. His cock rested heavy and hard against her slick folds, the head teasing her entrance as he rocked his hips slowly, coating himself.
“So wet,” he murmured, his voice a husky growl that sent a shiver down her spine. She moaned softly, her thighs trembling as the thick head of his cock pressed against her opening, the stretch beginning even before he was inside. He moved slowly, agonizingly so, letting her body adjust to his size inch by inch. Her walls fluttered around him as he filled her, her slick heat clenching tightly as he pushed deeper. Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as her breath hitched. “Oh my God, Bucky... you’re so-”
“Big?” he finished for her, his tone edged with dark amusement as he paused, fully sheathed inside her. He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear as he rumbled, “That’s it, sweetheart.”
Her head fell back against the pillow as she panted, her body stretched to its limit, the delicious pressure bordering on too much. But as her hips shifted slightly, the friction sent a bolt of pleasure through her that made her moan his name.
Bucky groaned low in his throat, his hands sliding to her rear to tilt her hips upward. He withdrew slowly, almost to the tip, before thrusting back in with deliberate care. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he murmured, his gaze locked on her face as he started to move in earnest.
His pace began slow and steady, each thrust measured, but it wasn’t long before his control began to slip. His grip on her tightened as he quickened, the powerful thrusts rocking her body against the mattress. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, the wet slap of his cock driving deep into her pussy mingling with her moans and his guttural groans.
“Hold on to me,” he ordered, his voice rough with lust. Before she could process his words, he hooked an arm under her ass and lifted her effortlessly, sitting crisscrossed with her perched in his lap.
Her arms flew around his neck, clinging to him as the new angle made him hit even deeper. His hands gripped her hips, guiding her movements as he thrust up into her, the force of his cock driving her wild. Her head fell forward, her forehead resting against his as she whimpered, overwhelmed by the intensity of the pleasure building inside her.
“Look at me,” he demanded. Her hazy eyes met his as he tilted her hips slightly forward, the firm muscles just above his shaft slapping her clit with every thrust.
She cried out, her nails raking down his back as the coil inside her tightened, ready to snap. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”
He groaned, his cock swelling even harder inside her as he chased her climax. “I’ve got you,” he promised, his thrusts growing rougher, deeper. “Come for me, sweetheart. Let me feel it.”
Her orgasm hit her hard, her pussy clamping down on his cock as she cried out his name, her body trembling violently in his arms, and he growled in satisfaction.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he ground out, his movements growing erratic as her spasming walls pushed him closer to the edge. “You’re mine, doll. Mine.”
With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself fully inside her, his cock pulsing as he spilled into her with a guttural moan. He held her tightly, pressing his forehead to her shoulder as they both panted, their bodies trembling from the intensity of their encounter.
For a moment, neither of them moved, the room filled only with the sound of their heavy breathing. Then, with utter gentleness, Bucky eased her back onto the bed, his body following hers as he stayed buried inside her. He braced himself on his forearms, keeping his weight off her but staying close enough that she could feel the warmth of his skin against hers.
A lazy smirk tugged at his lips as he glanced down at her, the faintest hint of mischief in his eyes. “So,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, “better than the breathtaking Highlander?”
Her breath hitched before she burst into laughter, making his smirk widen. “Oh, so much better,” she stated, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a quick, playful kiss. “I find the curt and gloomy lumberjack character more appealing.”
Bucky raised an eyebrow, his smirk faltering just slightly. “Curt and gloomy, huh?”
She nodded, her voice turning softer. “Mysterious. Rugged. A little broody. Kind. Thoughtful. Handsome.”
He blinked, caught off guard by the weight of her words. A faint flush crept up his neck, blooming across his cheeks, and he glanced away, suddenly looking very much like the socially awkward man she’d come to adore.
“Didn’t know I was signing up for flattery,” he muttered under his breath, his ears reddening as he busied himself with brushing away a strand of hair hanging on his face.
She laughed and cupped his cheek, gently forcing him to meet her gaze. “Just telling the truth,” She said softly, her thumb brushing over his stubbed skin.
He swallowed hard, the blush deepening as his lips twitched into a shy, crooked smile. “Still not used to it,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a murmur.
“Guess I’ll just have to keep saying it until you are,” she replied with a grin, pulling him down for another kiss before he could argue.
Sirius Black x fem!reader who meet again [5.5k words]
prompt: poly!wolfstar or just Sirius x reader in which they were friends with benefits but it was obvious they loved each other even though they acted like they weren’t. Then, reader finds out shes pregnant and before telling them, they do something stupid. so reader runs away for a few months. When she comes back (only bc she had to for some reason) shes like 6-7 months pregnant
CW: secret pregnancy, angst, FWB to strangers to lovers, second chance fic, post war trauma, both Sirius and reader are meeesssssssssssyyyyy in this! I don't approve of what they've done but I understand it
“So…she’s coming back?” Sirius asked cautiously, focusing more on the condensation pooling on the coaster underneath his pint than the concerned gazes of his two best friends.
“Well, I don’t know if she’s coming back, but she’ll be here for Harry’s birthday.” James mollified, sharing a nervous look with Remus.
“Right.” Sirius murmured around a swallow; throat tight and dry though neither the pint nor the pitcher of water in front of him looked as though they’d be able to help him with the matter.
“Are you going to be alright?” Remus queried, and Sirius offered him the most arrogant scoff he could muster; he missed by a long shot.
“Of course I’m going to be alright.” He huffed. “Why? Can’t two friends see each other after five and a half months of silence?”
“Sirius-” James started, but Sirius carried on.
“She’s the only one who’s been silent, you know?” Though he knew that they did indeed both know. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried reaching out.”
“Pads.” Remus offered consolingly, looking frustratingly like he was going to reach a hand out to Sirius as if he were some over tired toddler on the brink of a meltdown.
“Stop, no I- I’m fine, honest.” He insisted as he took a steadying breath. “I- you… talked to her, then?”
James and Remus shared another look before James allowed the segue.
“Mostly by owl, but she has spoken on the phone with Lily a few times.”
Sirius nodded as he considered this; considered the number of owls Sirius had sent that had gone unanswered - perhaps even unopened if the silence meant anything at all.
“She’s…okay?”
Remus let out a sigh as he shot Sirius a tight smile that looked more like a grimace. “She’s…vague.”
“She doesn’t share a whole lot.” James agreed. “Says she’s fine, things are good. Mostly asks about…all of us, Harry.”
“She’s still staying with that great aunt,” Remus added, “helping her with the property.”
“She seeing anyone?” There was no point in pretending that wasn’t the most pressing matter in Sirius’ mind; of course it was. And as angry and bitter as the idea made Sirius, it would have been his own fault, his own doing. He had no one to blame but himself.
And he’d have to live the rest of his life knowing he was the one who let you slip away - pushed you away - right into the arms of someone else.
“Not that she’s mentioned.” Remus responded honestly; he couldn’t say for sure that you weren’t, but if you were, you clearly hadn’t said anything about it.
“Right.” Sirius offered shortly.
“Pads, I…we would understand if it's too hard for you to see her. If you can’t come-”
“Don’t be daft.” Sirius scoffed deploringly. “I’m not going to miss my godson’s birthday. If anyone should be missing it, it should be her; I’ve been here for the past four and a half months, she’s the one who fucked off for good.”
“Sirius-”
“I don’t understand why you had to invite her!” Sirius shouted then, startling even himself when he realised how breathless he sounded all of a sudden.
James smiled at him sadly; Sirius wished he’d stop doing that. “We wanted all of Harry’s uncles and his aunt to be there, Sirius…it’s important, yeah? We…we almost didn’t get this chance.”
Sirius could feel a wicked migraine coming on; between talking about you, the close calls and the fact that the group of you were all alive following the war by nothing but chance, and the fact that the person Sirius was most angry with was himself, he downed the rest of his pint and flagged the server in favour of having to look at the pitiful gazes being shot at him by Remus and James.
Sirius couldn’t tell if he was eager for Harry’s second birthday or dreading it. But like it or not, Sirius was going to be seeing you again.
It had felt like a good idea at the time.
It felt beyond foolish now, but it had felt like a good idea at the time.
*ೃ༄.ೃ࿐
“Sirius, we just won. We just won, why do you have to leave now?” You practically begged as you followed Sirius through his flat.
“Because if I don’t get out now, I’m going to be stuck here for eternity.” He all but spat at you as he shoved articles of clothing into his duffle rather haphazardly. You felt like grabbing the bag from him and folding them properly if the act wouldn’t leave you feeling like you were aiding and abetting his abandoning you.
“But what about James? And Remus? What about Harry? You fought this war for them, and they for you - we just got them back!”
“And they’ll be here when I’m ready to come home!” Sirius shouted; turning to look at you with wild, red rimmed eyes.
“What about me?” You asked quietly, hating how small you sounded.
“What about you?” He asked; face falling painfully neutral. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought he was occluding.
“I…I don’t know.” You started awkwardly, shrugging one shoulder. “I thought…maybe we’d have a chance now. To try?.”
“Y/N.” Sirius sighed as he rubbed harshly at his eyes; entire being oozed exhaustion at having to have this conversation with you. “Have I not been entirely clear about what this was between us?”
“Right.” You agreed quickly, biting roughly on your lip and looking anywhere but at him as he let his hand fall away from his face.
“It’s…it’s not you, doll-” but even your humourless scoff didn’t derail him “I’m not the kind to settle down and be content I- I wouldn’t be enough for you.”
“I’m not asking you for any more than what we have, Sirius-”
“Yes you are.”
“-I just want you to stay.”
“That’s too much for me.” He stated; his voice never raised though he may as well have screamed it at you. “I cannot sit here and play house, I cannot be that guy for you.”
“Cannot or will not?” You asked quietly, regretting the question the second it came out of your mouth and he looked at you with nothing but pity in his eyes.
“Y/N…”
“I’m sorry I asked.” You let out with a chuckle as you harshly wiped tears from under your eyes.
“It’s…it’s not forever, yeah? I just…I can’t see myself being happy here…not right now, at least; not for a while.”
“Where will you go?” Your voice grated painfully as it came out, but you tried to keep an air of nonchalance about you. You wouldn’t look at him, but you could see his shoulders shrug helplessly.
“I don’t know…everywhere. Anywhere.”
Anywhere was better than stuck here with you, apparently.
“I hope it’s nice, wherever it is.” You offered, and you found that you meant it. As much as it hurt to say, you really, really meant it. Sirius had been fighting and running his entire life, and he finally won. If he wanted to celebrate his victory by taking off to be that rich, vague uncle who popped by with lavish gifts every so often, who were you to deny him?
You loved him.
You were in love with him.
You loved him enough to let him go.
*ೃ༄.ೃ࿐
He had sent James a postcard a few weeks later. Turns out he started in the South of France; his family had a home there that had been left untouched by the war, and Sirius was going to start by figuring out what to do with the property.
And you? Well, you found out you were pregnant.
You suppose it was a small mercy that Sirius wasn’t here to know; you’re sure it would have hurt more hearing him tell you he was leaving if there were two of you he couldn’t find it in him to love. You would have hated it even more if he felt trapped into staying with you just for this.
But all this meant was that you couldn’t stay, either.
You supposed that was alright, though; the life you wanted to build here was with Sirius. You loved your friends, but you had a little one to think about now, too.
You made up a story about a great aunt needing help tending to her property and wishing to be closer to your relatives now that you could be, now that it was safe. No one questioned it, likely because Remus had done the same following the war; moving back home to help his dad and ailing mother tend the property in whatever ways he could.
You found yourself a little cottage, you wrote to the boys and had the occasional phone call with Lily, and you grew.
It had felt like a good idea at the time.
But now you were almost six months pregnant and returning home for the first time since you moved to celebrate your nephew’s birthday with all of your closest friends, the love of your life whose child you were carrying, and none of them knew.
You wondered if you should even go, but the thought of missing out on sweet Harry’s second birthday that the lot of you almost never got the chance to see made your throat constrict with tears you refused to shed since the war.
You wondered if you should tell everyone before you arrived, but the thought of them all discussing you and your pregnancy without you being there left you feeling small and ashamed.
You wondered if you should tell Sirius, but you looked over at the stack of unopened letters he had sent to you in the past four months - the first thin, perhaps a postcard, the second and third were thicker, the fourth was by far the thickest (like he had drafted an autobiography that he wanted you to proofread for him), the fifth was similar to the second, whilst the sixth (the last) couldn’t be more than one page - and wondered how the hell you’d even start that conversation after all this time.
Hey, remember me? Yeah, the bird who caught feelings during our friends with benefits situation that we both agreed would remain platonic amidst a battle for survival and then begged you to stay with no success? Well, whilst you’ve been off probably shagging every beautiful woman across the British Isles, I’ve been pregnant. Right, with your child. How was France, by the way?
You swallowed around your gag reflex and groaned at your image in the mirror. You put on a pair of gingham pants with the baggiest band-tee you could find, planned on sucking in the best you could if anyone (when everyone) insisted on a hug and hoped to every deity that they all just assumed you’d been eating really well since the end of the war.
You smoothed the fabric over your bump one last time before you left - looking at the proof that, if nothing else, you were protecting more than just yourself, and you let that be enough - before you grabbed Harry’s birthday present and called for Potter Manor, throwing a fistfull of floo powder into your fireplace and travelling by way of the flames.
You could hear Harry squealing in delight in one of the adjacent rooms as you stepped into the floo reception room at Potter Manor; a smile taking over your face uninhibitedly at the sounds of the people you loved more than life itself, happy and celebrating.
How could you have gone so long without this?
“Y/N!” Lily shrieked as she made for you, and you sucked in before returning her hug. “Merlin, you're glowing! Where’s your aunt's place again?”
“Erm. Killarney.” You offered; not entirely untrue - you did have an aunt in Killarney.
“Well,” she let out with a breath, eyes turning a touch glassy as they darted across your face, “it seems that Irish air’s been for you.”
You smiled back at your friend before pulling her back in for another hug. “I’ve missed you, Lils.”
“Don’t let it go so long next time, yeah? We can come to you, too; I’m teaching James how to be a muggle, and Harry’s only had the odd burst of accidental magic yet. We could play the part in front of your aunt.”
“I’d love that, Lily.” You responded earnestly.
“Y/N!” James hollered then before you were being bodily tackled by the former quidditch chaser, a brief flash of anxiety at his hold around your stomach abating only when he relinquished his hold on you. “Where in the sodding hell have you been!?”
“Killarney.” Lily answered for you.
“I love Killarney!”
“Have you ever been to Killarney, Prongs?” Remus asked then, appearing in the door as he leaned against the archway.
“No! But I love it there! I just know it!”
“Hey Moony.” You greeted, quickly accepting his open arms and breathing him in.
“We’ve missed you.” He murmured into your hair, and you couldn’t help the traitorous hitch in your heart that he might’ve meant-
“Uncle Pafoo!” Harry squealed, suddenly standing right underneath you.
“That’s right, Haz!” The voice that haunts your dreams called out. “Auntie is here!”
“Hullo, Harry!” You cheered as you picked him up, sucking in before settling on your hip. “Happy birthday, little dude.”
“Am two!” He announced as he held up four fingers.
“You are two! Way to go!” You laughed. “Is everyone here?” You asked the room, shooting Sirius a tight smile so you couldn’t be accused of hostility when your heart stuttered for an entirely different reason.
He looked tired - a bone deep tired that no amount of sleep could rectify - and the bags under his eyes seemed to be chronic. But he was still so beautiful; his hair had grown slightly longer since the last time you’d seen it, the last time you’d run your fingers through it, the last time you’d brought sheers to it, and he donned more than a few new tattoos if the few you could see were enough to go by.
You had to look away.
“Reg’s going to be by after work; his part-time student called in sick so he needed to be there to close the shop himself. Thankfully, they’re only open in the morning on Sunday’s.” Remus explained kindly.
“Good, it’ll be nice to see him.” You offered, and the room fell slightly awkward.
“Uncle Pafoo, aeroplane?” Harry asked then, and whatever exhaustion seemed to be plaguing Sirius vanished as he beamed at his godson.
“Absolutely, little man!” He agreed, holding his arms out and taking Harry’s weight from you.
“Do you want something to drink, Y/N? Wine? Beer, Cider? Juice? Water?” James rapid fire, causing Lily to groan.
“We just got her back, Potter. Do try to control yourself.”
“Water would be great, Jamie. Thank you.” You laughed, following the group into the open concept kitchen-to-living room.
Save the fact that you and Sirius seemed to be doing acrobatics to avoid each other, you were almost stunned at how easy and natural being back here felt. Regulus returned and the two of you shared friendly jibes, Lily caught you up on all of the drama at the Ministry, James strong armed you into agreeing to join them for their next pub quiz night, and Remus said that your old professors all wished you well.
You loved your cottage - the home you’d built for yourself and your little one - but you found yourself feeling homesick for here, and you hadn’t even left yet.
You were leaning on your elbows against the kitchen island, watching Sirius and Regulus pretend to be knights in shining armour as they fought off a fire breathing dragon (Harry) to save the princess (James) when Remus appeared beside you and mirrored your stance.
“It’s not the same without you, you know?” He murmured then.
“But they seem to be alright.” You responded simply, and Remus allowed the two of you to fall into silence for a few beats.
“How far along are you?”
You stood up straight and turned to stare at him in horror, only to see him smiling kindly at you.
“How do you-”
“Lycanthropy - I could smell it on you.” He said with an embarrassed wrinkle of his nose. “I knew Lily was pregnant before she did.”
You shushed him and looked over your shoulder to ensure no one else could hear you.
“Come.” He said with a sigh, gently taking you by the elbow and ushering you out of the sliding doors to the back yard and closing it behind the two of you.
“Remus-”
“Is it his?” He cut you off; his face held no judgement though perhaps just a touch of concern. For you or his best friend/virtual brother-in-law, you weren’t sure.
“Yes.” You whispered, not bothering to clarify who he was talking about; you both knew.
Remus simply nodded as he looked you over. “Is that why you left?”
“He left first.” You hissed petulantly.
“He left you, but you left all of us.” Remus countered somewhat sternly. “Besides, I didn’t ask about him; is this why you left?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because, Remus!” You shouted, tears flooding your vision as you turned to look at him. “Because he didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want this, he didn’t want me. I wasn’t going to force him to come back just because… just because.”
“Don’t you think he should have been able to make that choice for himself?” Remus asked gently.
“He chose! He did choose! He told me he couldn’t play house, he told me he couldn’t be this person for me. I loved him enough to accept that. I loved him enough to let him go.”
“Loved?” Remus asked with a tilt of his head. “Past tense?”
“Remus.” You groaned. “Please.”
“He came back for you, you know.” Remus pointed out. “He left you, you left us, but he came back for you.”
“Stop it.”
“It’s true, Y/N.”
“And so what if it is?” You nearly sobbed. “So what if he did, Remus? What can I do? I can’t go back in time and change my mind, I can’t go back and fix this. He made choices, I made choices, and here we are.”
Remus heaved a sigh and looked at you sadly. “I don't think either of you realise that your choices don’t have to remain permanent; there can be an expiration date on them.”
You were catching your breath from your mini temper tantrum when you heard the glass door slide open, both you and Remus turning to see Sirius standing there almost shy - far shier than you’d ever seen him before.
“Just talk to him? Okay? You..don’t have to tell him now, just…talk to him.” Remus whispered before heading towards the door, clapping Sirius on the back before disappearing back into the house.
“Hey.” Sirius offered cautiously after a few beats of silence, coming to stand beside you as the two of you looked over the railing of the patio to the rest of the manor grounds.
“Hey.” You returned dumbly, clearing your throat before continuing. “You…you look good, Sirius.”
Sirius scoffed, and you could feel your shoulder rising before you saw him smirk at you - if not somewhat sadly - cutting you a playful glare from the corner of his eye. “Did you take up lying there in Ireland?”
You let out a breathy half-laugh. “I’m not lying.”
“Then you need glasses. I look like shite.”
“You look tired.” You amended.
“I’m exhausted.” He agreed, and the two of you lapsed into silence.
“You look good, though.” He continued. “Healthy.”
You hummed in agreement. “Funny what not having to run on rations and broken hours of sleep on military cots does for a person.”
“Why haven’t I heard from you, Y/N?” He blurted then, turning his entire body to face you.
“Sirius, I-”
“Everyone else has. You’ve spoken to Lily on the phone. James and Remus have gotten letters. Even Reg got a postcard for his birthday.”
“I’m sorry.” Was all you could manage to say.
“I wrote to you.” He continued. “Letters, a lot. Did you get them?”
You nodded your head yes shamefully.
“Did you read them?”
You felt your heart splinter at how hopeful and heartbroken he sounded over it. You felt like scum of the earth when you shook your head no, and he let out a sigh.
“I guess that makes me feel a little bit better, then.” He said as he lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.
You found yourself taking a step away from him when you asked “why does that make you feel better?”
He let out a humourless laugh that forced smoke from his lips. “At least now I know that my begging for a second chance, begging you to come home, professing my love for you isn’t what kept you away.”
“Sirius-”
“I messed up, Y/N.” He declared earnestly. “I…I was fucking scared, terrified. I’d spent so much of my life living with one foot on the threshold of hell that after the war, I didn’t know how to live amongst the undead.”
He took a moment to catch his breath as if he’d run all the way here just to tell you something. “And I ran. I bolted, I…”
“You left.” You finished for him.
“I left.” He agreed. “I… I didn’t know, Y/N.”
“Didn’t know what?” You asked as you choked back tears.
“Didn’t know what I had, or what I wanted. Or that I had everything that I wanted.”
“And you do, now? You know what you want?” You asked, and a look of determination painted his features as he met your gaze head on.
“For my entire life, I had never known what family meant, so I wasn’t even aware that I’d created my own with all of you until I’d risked it all. I was so sure I didn’t want to be like my parents that I never realised I may actually…want to be a parent someday. I was so sure I didn’t want to be my father that I never realised I actually did want to be a partner someday. I was so certain I’d never know what true love felt like that I didn’t even realise I had it right here all along with you.”
“Sirius-”
“I messed up. I left. But what I don’t understand is why you did. Or why you stayed away.” He took a step towards you with his cigarette long forgotten in one of his hands, the ash threatening to burn his fingers before you plucked it and stubbed it out on the stone railing. He barely flinched. “Why’d you go?”
“I didn’t want to sit around and wait for you, Sirius. I- it hurt, I was hurt. And then-”
“I’m sorry.” He offered quickly, but you shook your head.
“I’m not telling you this for you to be sorry, I just-”
“I came back for you.”
“But it wasn’t just about me anymore, Sirius!” You shouted then, and you watched his brows furrow before his face fell in horror.
“You’re seeing someone.” He asked, though he phrased it as more of a statement; like he’d been expecting it.
“I’m not seeing anyone, Sirius.” You sighed.
“Then why’d you leave? Why’d you stay away?”
“Because I’m pregnant.” You blurted, and Sirius fell silent. “I’m almost six months pregnant.”
“Six-” He started, eyes falling to your stomach still hidden behind the baggy article of clothing before you smoothed the fabric over your ever rounding bump. “Six months. Six…”
You let him do the maths in the head as he stared hard at your stomach like he was sitting in divination and it was a crystal ball that might just give him the answers if only he stared at it long enough.
“It’s mine?” He finally concluded.
“Yes.” You whispered.
“It’s mine. You’re pregnant, it’s mine.” He murmured, before his eyes met yours again. “You’re pregnant with my child?”
“Right.” You agreed, and he crumpled to a heap on the floor.
“Sirius Orion Black,” Sirius heard Remus hiss, clearly hovering somewhere over him, “I swear to Godric if you do not wake up and eat some of this godsdamned vanilla cake you bought, your brother is going to skin you alive.”
“It’s true.” James agreed from somewhere on Sirius’ other side. “He actually ran to the store when he found out you bought vanilla because he knew Remus wouldn’t eat any of it. Remus is going to get his chocolate cake, and you’re going to get egged.”
“Shut up.” Sirius hissed as he scrunched his eyes closed. “Fuck.”
“How do you feel, mate?” James asked rather jovially as he clapped him roughy on the shoulder.
“Like hell.”
“Why’s that?” Remus joined in.
“Because I was in the middle of a dream and you sods woke me up going on about cake.” He muttered as he opened his eyes, realising then that he’d been propped up on a number of cushions in one of Lily and James’ spare rooms.
“S’he awake?” Lily whispered, and Sirius craned his neck to see you and Lily poke your heads into the room.
“Oh my gods.” Sirius breathed as he sat up, likely far too fast for someone who fell unconscious mere moments ago. “Oh my gods, you’re actually here?”
“Did you hit your head, mate?” James asked as he prodded at Sirius’ head, causing Sirius to swat his arms away as he shifted towards the edge of the bed.
“You’re here.” He whispered as you slowly made your way into the room.
“I’m here.” You offered cautiously, eyes darting around at your oldest friends like there might be some secret threat lurking in the room.
“You’re pregnant…” He tried then, punching the air right out of Lily and James who both spun to stare at you in shock.
You smoothed the fabric of your shirt over your midsection again to expose a very obvious (now that everyone could actually see it) baby bump.
“Oh my gods!” Lily and James chorused, causing Remus to snort.
“You knew, didn’t you!?” Lily accused Remus who held his hands up in surrender.
“Only when she walked in, and not a second sooner.”
“With my child.” Sirius continued, and you nodded at him.
“Y/N.” Lily winced. “You-”
“You sodding scared me!” You shrilled then, grabbing one of the throw pillows James had dumped onto the ground to make room for Sirius and swinging it at him.
“I scared you!?” Sirius shrieked right back, much to the delight of Harry who started banging on the throw pillow that had landed beside him.
“I thought I killed you!”
“Oh, well I’m terribly sorry that finding out the woman I’ve been in love with for years and pining hopelessly over for months - who was missing for all intents and purposes, may I remind you - is pregnant with my child happened to be a little shocking.” Sirius sneered sarcastically.
“Well I only went ‘missing’ because the man I’ve been hopelessly in love with for years and pining hopelessly over for months took off an-” The abrupt end of your statement nearly gave the room whiplash as you cut yourself off mid sentence and stared at Sirius like you’d never seen him before.
“What…what just happened?” James whispered carefully.
“Years?” You whispered then, and Sirius hated every version of himself that deigned to let you go without knowing just how loved you were.
“Probably when we were still just cosmic dust.” Sirius smiled sadly. “I’m sorry I didn’t always realise, I’m sorry I didn’t make sure that you knew.”
“I take it to guess there isn’t an aunt in Killarney?” Lily offered then, smiling kindly at you when you turned your attention towards her.
“No, I- I think there actually is an aunt in Killarney, I just don’t live with her.”
“Where do you live?” Sirius asked eagerly, wondering if you could hear it in his voice or even see on his face just how desperate he was to know everything about you.
“Near Tintagel.” You offered abashedly as Remus slapped his hand on his thigh.
“You minx!” He scolded you. “You lived basically across the channel from me this whole time!”
“I hope it’s nice, wherever it is” You offered him then, smiling through your tears as Sirius swallowed around his bile threatening its way up his oesophagus.
“I hope it’s nice.” Sirius blurted suddenly, and Sirius thanked the heavens for Remus John Lupin who seemed to understand that the conversation delved beyond the need of an audience, scooping Harry up and closing the door behind Lily, James, and himself to give you two some privacy.
“It’s nice.” You offered wetly. “It’s quiet.”
Sirius hummed in acknowledgement. “In Tintagel, near Merlin’s cave?”
You laughed, which saw Sirius smiling. “I’m not right in Tintagel, just outside. My neighbours are mostly sheep.”
“Does it have a picket fence?”
“To keep the sheep out of my garden.” You nodded with a smile.
“Flowers; lots of them.” Sirius deduced, you nodded again though Sirius watched your smile falter.
“You’d probably hate it.”
“Are you there?” He asked quickly.
“Well, usually, yes.” You offered, and Sirius shrugged easily.
“Sounds as though it might be my favourite place in the world, then.”
The next breath that left you shuddered on its way out, and Sirius finally stood and met you in the middle of the room; close enough to touch but not daring to. He hadn’t earned that right yet.
“Take me with you?” He all but begged then, and your face crumpled in misery.
“Sirius, I don’t want you to follow me because you have to, I-”
“I don’t have to though, I know I don’t; I know you’d never make me.” He assured you then, lifting a hand but pausing to wait for you to nod at him before he placed it on your upper arm. “The letters, Y/N, I- I’ve been looking for you for months.”
A sob tore through you as you lowered your head, and Sirius allowed himself to catch it in his free hand.
“I don’t want you to feel bad; I’m not telling you so that you feel bad, love.” The endearment falling off his tongue so easily now that he had you in his arms. “But I need you to know that I want you - any of you, all of you - and have for a very long time.”
“It’s just…you said-” and Sirius knew exactly what he said; he had played that conversation over and over and over in his mind until he found himself sick over it more than once. But we waited for you to tell him anyhow; he’d always wait for you. “You couldn’t settle down and be content, you couldn’t play house; you weren’t that kind of guy.”
“I know, doll. I know.” He whispered. “I…I didn’t think I was capable of it. I didn’t think I deserved everything I wanted and I knew that you deserved better. That you deserve better.”
“But?”
“But I’d be happy to spend the rest of my life trying to prove you otherwise; trying to give you everything you deserve.”
“Sirius…” You sighed, and Sirius could see your walls cracking. “I…I’m-”
“Take me home? Please?” He begged then, words interrupted by a sob of his own. “To Tintagel, to Killarney, to bloody fucking Azkaban or the bottom of the sodding ocean, I don’t care where it is just as long as it’s with you, please. Please.”
Your hands landed on Sirius’ chest and he was sure you could feel his hummingbird heart beating under your fingertips. He only hoped you knew how it beat for you.
“Please bring me home?”
James didn’t know if he could consider this a success or not.
His motivation was not singular; it was a ‘hit two fairies with one gobstone’ sort of scenario, so to speak. Was his son turning two? Indeed he was! Was James throwing a party for said son’s birthday? You’re damned right he was. But was it also a really good excuse to force two of his idiot best friends into the same room again? Absolutely.
Except James seems to have gotten slightly more than he bargained for; Sirius falling unconscious in his childhood backyard, you sobbing into Lily’s shoulder out in the hallway as he and Remus tried to bring him back from the dead, Remus sneering at a slice of birthday cake like it personally offended him and Regulus threatening to defend his boyfriend’s honour, and - apparently - a new niece or nephew coming in the next three-ish months.
But when he looked over to see you and Sirius emerging from the spare room - both of your faces tear stained and puffy from the grief and torment you no doubt put yourselves through - hands intertwined between your bodies and your hand resting protectively over your growing bump, and a spark in Sirius’ eyes James had thought he lost in the war but now realised he only lost when he lost you…
…yeah, James figured he could probably consider this a success.
Bestie I NEED to hear your thoughts about Harley and Bruce possibly being secret twins 👀👀👀👀👀
Been thinking about this for WEEKS i fear!!!! This came right as 'rona dragged me down I'm sorry this took so long!!!
I don't know or care about how secret twins happens, what happens in the bedroom of Thomas and Martha and Alfred Pennywayne is NONE of my business unless they invite me which is fine btw
since they're fraternal twins they COULD TECHNICALLY have different dads. am I saying Alfred is Harley's bio dad perhaps and the clown is going to have empty space where his head used to be but I digress. This explains SO MUCH I feel but also we should in no way think that the parents know this. They don't know nor care because THAT IS THEIR BABIESSS. it would probably be Bruce and Harley finding out when they're forty or something because someone needs a kidney. They purposefully forget the information. They don't need it.
And as insufferable as Thomas is with Baby Brucie can you IMAGINE how AWFUL he would be as a Girl Dad tm. I am thinking of your "if you detain one you detain both I KNOW MY RIGHTS" post but with two children!!. Also Thomas would be THEEE cattiest mfer amongst the other dance moms. My god Alfred and Martha would never know peace. Also a million zillion pictures of each parent konked out while holding 2 sleeping toddlers, THINK on it I beseech thee it's so cute. (But then, Thomas accidentally saving/kidnapping Harley from the park and Bruce and Harley INSISTING they are identical twins. Everyone is like no you really aren't until Thomas gives them the most murderous look known to man over their tiny heads. VERY funny when Jason and Cass also do this)
Maybe Harley was very very sickly as a baby and they kept her a secret to keep the press away. I can see family not talking about Martha's pregnancy AT ALL particularly if it was high risk in any way like she would be visibly pregnant due any day and someone would ask her if she was excited about the baby and she would deadass say 'what baby'.
The ideal scenario the Pennywaynes have for their offspring is that they keep the bambini hidden. as far as the press knows one day 18 year olds pop up outside the Wayne Manor as fully formed scions to the empire. You've never heard of them before? GOOD. That was the point.
Also the DRAMA, the ANGST, I think this makes sense with Bruce's weird dynamic with the Joker (though this could work with just siblings ig)?
Bruce doesn't want to kill the person his twin loves because it would hurt his twin, who HE loves. And killing the Joker could result in Harley hating him! Bruce trying so hard to be supportive for Harley and just be there for her so when she finally decides to leave the Joker she knows Bruce has her back.
Bruce knowing all the stuff about what support systems do that helps and hurts victims of intimate partner violence so he's always playing this balancing act of what he feels like he can say/do about him before it affects Harley. And it being his self given job to stop the Joker from doing HIS self given job. If he helps Gotham he hurts Harley. If he tries to help Harley, he hurts Gotham (does very interesting things to the brainworms when thinking about Jason's murder! about why Bruce feels like he can't or shouldn't go after the Joker--because he's proven he will kill a child and use their mother to get them, that is not a man above using his partner to hurt his nemesis!!! and that would be a whole thing for Bruce, he doesn't act because he's genuinely terrified, worried that if he fails he'll lose harley too
idk if the Joker would know about Harley and Bruce being related or Bruce being Batman but I could see this being the turning point for how Harley views the Joker. Like, she'd been going over to the Manor to help Jason talk through his feelings every month for years. Would it have mattered if the Joker knew he was her nephew?)
Also makes the weird sexual tension Bats has with the Joker even weirder if he IS aware of their relationship. He'd be so gross about it. Yes the Joker wants the Wayne twins. He flirts with them in front of the other to piss them off, mostly Harley. Would highkey lie and say Bruce was flirting with him to drive a wedge between Bruce and Harley oh my god I went such a not fun direction with this
Identical twins could be very funny if they were separated at birth no i do not know why they would be separated just roll with me. the one that does not transition is like "why do you have a picture of me as a kid this is creepy what do you mean that's you' . Everyone at college is like ha ha you two look like you could be related! You do the same icky face when you eat pineapple. They dOn'T sEe iT
Maybe she was kidnapped (by like a very young deathstroke or something idk) and SOMEhow Oswald Cobblepot winds up with this feral toddler in his possession. A goon made a terrible life choice perhaps? And Ozzie is just an up and coming crime lord, still settling into the family business, how tf is he supposed to know the Waynes are missing THIS child? if he knew don't you think he'd be extorting people??? I think they could have some very fun and adorable Stacker Pentecost and Mako Mori vibes this man has NO idea how to raise a child but by god!! He will do it right!!! Literally nobody knows about her, he would have people killed for suspecting her existence.
But also take your daughter to work day??!? Harley yelling at incompetent goons in a sweet baby voice. Ozzie is SO PROUD of her, he wouldn't have minded her going into the family business but she's going to be a doctor!! He is just a proud papa!!! Fearsome crime lord The Penguin with sparkle pink nail polish and bows stuck to his head having a tea party with Lil Harley.
I think this is ALSO interesting with the Joker!! I would love if the only reason his dumb ass wasn't taken out the moment he stepped foot in Gotham was because he's Harley's Boyfriend. The only thing stopping the rogues from turning on him is that Harley likes him!! Is he the Gotham version of a crypto-finance bro?
What if it's an older Harley who is kidnapped? Like post Thomas and Martha shooting. It's part of what cements Bruce's notoriety as the Last Wayne. (Everyone asks if he can sense her through their Twin Bond and he gets sooooo mad that's not a real thing!!!! He feels so guilty because if that was a real thing, shouldn't he be able to find her? Shouldn't he know????)
Cut to Batman and Joker in a showdown and there is Harley and Bats CAN'T STOP STARING?!??? why does she seem so familiar? The Joker notices of course and starts saying some very crass things but the IMPORTANT part is that at some point Harley mentions not minding beating up on Batman because she once had a baby brother who was terrified of bats, so she's doing this for him!!! And Bruce is like wait I once had an older sister and I'M afraid of bats?!?!
Harley looks at him REALLY HARD and all of the sudden she's screaming "BABY B????" and roundhouse kicking the Joker into some metal oil drums. NOBODY beats up her baby brother!!!!
The rogues go fucking insane
(the age thing. Harley is technically a day older than Bruce. She was born at 11:50 PM and he was born at 12:05 AM. They make older sibling/younger sibling jokes all the time and think they are very funny. The Batkids would disagree)
Green Lantern: You know, most Superheroes are cornered into the job by moral obligations because of how powerful they are, but... aren't you just like, a normal guy? Do you ever wonder what your life would be like if you gave up the vigilante life to just take it easy?
Batman: Well--
Nightwing, suddenly vaulting into the conversation from across the room: No, no, NO, the last time we pretended to be a normal family for an hour, we played Trivial Pursuit and it ended with an arrow through the living room TV. None of us even fight with arrows. We're freaks that need to fight crime, don't take that away from us.
