#Custom flannel near me
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Angels and Outlaws Distressed Flannel Shirt
One-of-a-kind bleached "Angels and Outlaws" inspirational, high quality, affordable button down, two pocket distressed flannel shirt.
If your size is showing sold out, reach out to use to see if we have received a shipment of products in, due to the availability of items during this holiday season, we receive our products in daily.
No two shirts will ever be exactly alike so please aware and embrace the differences. All shirts are carefully curated, hand-dyed, and re-purposed so that each shirt is going to be different from the next in terms of color and plaid print.
SIZING: These shirts vary, many are unisex and come in men's sizing. They can be worn by both men & women. Ordering your normal t-shirt size is recommended for a regular fit. Going 1 size up works well for a baggy/oversized fit. Women's or Children's Specific sizing will be noted on the photo/variation options selected.
FABRIC: All these shirts are made of cotton or a cotton/poly blend. Measurements and thickness vary slightly by brand.
COLORS: Each flannel is unique, and no two shirts are going to look exactly alike. Colors are sent at random. Because the colors often change throughout the bleaching process, I cannot take specific color requests for these shirts.
CONDITION: All of our flannel shirts are brand new and washed twiced.
Care instructions: Turn item inside out, machine wash cold, no bleach, no softener. Do not dry clean. Do not iron. Air dry is recommended.
Due to different picture lighting settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.
Current Turnaround Time due to upcoming Holidays - 1-5 Business Days. While we always use priority shipping options, once shipped we cannot guarantee delivery due to the backlog current being experienced USPS/UPS/FedEx. If you have a strict deadline, please message me when ordering so that I can note any rush requests. Ownership of packages turned over to USPS transfers to the Buyer. We are not responsible for lost, held, damaged packages or delayed packages, once your package(s) leaves our Shop it is completely out of our control. Thank you for understanding!
WEDDINGS: We do take custom orders for weddings! If you are interested in ordering a large group of shirts, please message me directly to set up a custom order. It is recommended that wedding orders be placed at least 2 months in advance so that we have enough time to create, ship, and exchange any shirts that do not fit.
Thank you for visiting Granny & Grandpa's Custom Creations, we truly appreciate your support of small businesses. We also personalize our products, please reach out to us with any personalizing any of our products, additional fee's may apply.
Please visit www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com to view more products.
LET’S GET SOCIAL & BE FRIENDS! Like, Tag & Follow us for Our new Creations, Inspiration & Giveaways!
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One-of-a-kind bleached "Angels and Outlaws" inspirational, high quality, affordable button down, two pocket distressed flannel shirt.
If your size is showing sold out, reach out to use to see if we have received a shipment of products in, due to the availability of items during this holiday season, we receive our products in daily.
No two shirts will ever be exactly alike so please aware and embrace the differences. All shirts are carefully curated, hand-dyed, and re-purposed so that each shirt is going to be different from the next in terms of color and plaid print.
SIZING: These shirts vary, many are unisex and come in men's sizing. They can be worn by both men & women. Ordering your normal t-shirt size is recommended for a regular fit. Going 1 size up works well for a baggy/oversized fit. Women's or Children's Specific sizing will be noted on the photo/variation options selected.
FABRIC: All these shirts are made of cotton or a cotton/poly blend. Measurements and thickness vary slightly by brand.
COLORS: Each flannel is unique, and no two shirts are going to look exactly alike. Colors are sent at random. Because the colors often change throughout the bleaching process, I cannot take specific color requests for these shirts.
CONDITION: All of our flannel shirts are brand new and washed twiced.
Care instructions: Turn item inside out, machine wash cold, no bleach, no softener. Do not dry clean. Do not iron. Air dry is recommended.
Due to different picture lighting settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.
Current Turnaround Time due to upcoming Holidays - 1-5 Business Days. While we always use priority shipping options, once shipped we cannot guarantee delivery due to the backlog current being experienced USPS/UPS/FedEx. If you have a strict deadline, please message me when ordering so that I can note any rush requests. Ownership of packages turned over to USPS transfers to the Buyer. We are not responsible for lost, held, damaged packages or delayed packages, once your package(s) leaves our Shop it is completely out of our control. Thank you for understanding!
WEDDINGS: We do take custom orders for weddings! If you are interested in ordering a large group of shirts, please message me directly to set up a custom order. It is recommended that wedding orders be placed at least 2 months in advance so that we have enough time to create, ship, and exchange any shirts that do not fit.
Thank you for visiting Granny & Grandpa's Custom Creations, we truly appreciate your support of small businesses. We also personalize our products, please reach out to us with any personalizing any of our products, additional fee's may apply.
Please visit www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com to view more products.
LET’S GET SOCIAL & BE FRIENDS! Like, Tag & Follow us for Our new Creations, Inspiration & Giveaways!
website/ www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com/shop
facebook.com/ https://www.facebook.com/GrandpaHandmadecreations/
instagram.com/ https://www.instagram.com/grannyandgrandpacustomcreation/
goimagine.com/ https://goimagine.com/granny-and-grandpas-custom-creations/
#grannygrandpascustomcreations #distressedflannelshirt #flannel #granny #supportsmallbusiness #shopsmallbusiness
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landscape with honey
summary: price/reader bear shifter fic. PART 4. (read the whole thing on ao3 here)
tags: light daddy kink, breeding kink, very nsfw, she/her pronouns for reader
-
He starts showing up at your house at odd hours.
You’re fixing coffee in the morning, still fuzzy and warm from sleep, only to hear the sounds of hammering outside. Wrapping yourself in just a housecoat, you find John fixing the loose step on your stairs, barely sparing enough time to greet you before returning to the task at hand. When he finishes, he brushes off your attempts to pay him for the job, just loading his tools back in the car and driving off.
You sip your coffee and wonder. Odd.
The next day, you find him raking the leaves in your lawn. Two days later, he shows up at the grocers when you’re picking up produce, and helps you carry all your bags to the car. He also adds a peculiar amount of canned goods to your order and when you fret and try to tell him that you don’t need the pickles and sauerkraut and beans and all of that stuff, he just lays a hand flat on your head and drags it down your hair until you go quiet.
He pays for the whole order.
You’ve never had to wonder about a man’s actions. Men are largely inscrutable to you, ever-shifting. They say one thing and mean another. They look at you like one might look at an oil painting, entitled something like Virgin Meeting Her Lover’s Eyes From The Top Of The Staircase or Landscape With Virgin. They speak to you as though an answer were entirely antithetical to their purpose in conversing with you.
John listens to you with a focus that borders on intimidating, like he wants to hear each word enunciated exactly how you might enunciate it. It has the sharp clarity of respect, of a mutual acknowledgement of humanity. He also comes over to fix your sink without you having to ask. The world of men is still largely confusing to you.
John grows surlier as the days grow shorter though. He doesn’t snap or snarl at you the way he does sometimes with his recruits (you rarely see him interact with them, but sometimes you’ll drop him off his lunch on the days when you’re feeling particularly generous and that’s when you’ll have the rare pleasure of hearing him shout at a trembling twenty-three year old for littering on the trail like a military captain), but it’s a near thing.
The worst is when he catches you on a jog one morning on his drive to work. You see his truck with the faded red paint pass you by and you give a short wave that he returns. He passes you by about half a yard before coming to a full stop and reversing. You stare at him as the window rolls down, brows furrowed.
“Hi Jo—” you start.
“Get in the car,” John growls. You hear the doors unlock.
“…My uh…my shift’s in two hours, John, I can’t just—”
“Get in the car.”
“This is my only time to exercise!”
“If I have to get out of this car and drag you inside, honey, I will. Don’t play with me. Get in.”
You get in the car. Probably wisely. Still dripping sweat and shivering from the cold—you’re not used to jogging in the winter, or at all for that matter, but it seemed like as good a time as any to start—you glance over to stare at the side of John’s face. His jaw is set, almost as if in anger. His knuckles are white over the steering wheel as he makes a U-turn and drives back into town. The cab of his truck smells like flannel pulled out from the back of a closet, almost musty, but comforting in the way that old clothes can sometimes smell. There’s a cigarette ashed out in the dish in front of the centre console.
He takes you to the nearest bakery for coffee and a breakfast muffin and stares you down until you eat the whole thing. You feel like you have to scarf it down. Customers bustle into the bakery to order coffee to-go and fresh cookies and scones in waxy paper bags; everyone in town knows each other so you try to avoid the more curious stares when they’re turned on you.
“This is weird,” you say, staring down at the crumbs on your plate. “This is really weird.”
“This is what you get for exercising before winter,” John says, flagging down the barista for another muffin and a refill on your coffee. “Waste of calories.” The last part is said derisively, almost with a scoff.
You frown. “Lots of people exercise. Even when it snows.”
“Winter is a time for hibernating. Not…sweat,” he says with a grimace, like the very thought is anathema to him.
"Hibernating?" you repeat skeptically, scrunching up your nose. "I mean, I spend a lot of time indoors, but I wouldn't say I'm hibernating."
John stares at you until you look away, flushed. "Finish your breakfast."
The barista returns with another blueberry muffin and a fresh cup of coffee. At least John's the one paying. When he finally seems satisfied, he hustles you home and leaves you off at the door with a stern warning.
“You gonna be good for me this time?” he asks, a finger curled under your chin, tilting your head up. One of his hands curls around the doorframe and your heart jumps when you hear the wood creak under his grip. This close, you can see the faintest silver streaks at his temples and the flecks of it in his beard.
“It was just a light jog,” you mumble, looking away.
“Not a light anything,” he warns, ducking closer until you feel like shrinking back, like disappearing into your house. “Bake a cake if you have to burn off energy so bad. I’ll be over around seven, alright?”
You mumble something, the words getting lost in themselves. It’s impossible to think with John in your space like this. It’s only when he finally pulls away and ambles back to his truck that you rock back on your heels, let go of whatever spell he had you under.
The first week of December hits town like a truck.
You’re trudging home alone after your shift when you make the decision to cut through the forest because you missed the last bus and you don’t want to spend an hour walking home. The first snow of the season has caught you off guard, clad in boots too autumnal and a sweater too thin for the biting cold. The flakes fall in thick chunks that stick for a brief moment before melting into the skin.
It’s not the first time you’ve travelled through the forest alone. The town is surrounded by pockets of the forest, like it can’t help enveloping whatever space is left for it. Oftentimes it’s easier just to cut through the woods rather than travel the long way around. You wouldn’t even call this the forest proper, not like the acres of trees sprouting over the mountains just off in the distance.
A bush rustles. Your eyes flick over for a second, breath hovering in your chest before you decide that it’s just a squirrel. Nothing ever happens in a town like this. The man from the other day notwithstanding, nothing truly bad ever happens. You keep walking down the partially demarcated path, lit only by the full moon overhead. It’s so dark that the snow around you is almost blue.
The bush rustles again. You stop this time, feet staying planted in the snow long enough for your feet to grow cold. You stare at the dark shoots covered in a layer of snow; it stripes the branches like candy from a time ago, licorice twisted with white bark, and it doesn’t move when you look at it. The bushes and trees are dense, impossible to peer through. Even walking through the forest doesn’t make you feel immersed in it. You follow a barely marked path, hard to see through the recent snowfall, and stare out into the dark woods with a kind of animal sense. Not sure whether you’re alone, whether something’s there with you, and whether it’s sensed you or if you’ve sensed it first.
You start walking again when your feet go numb. Better to just get home.
It comes behind you again as a slightly louder rustle. It’s harder to shake off the fear this time, harder to say that it’s just the wind. The snow crunches under more than one set of feet, branches cracking under the weight of something larger than you.
You don’t want to turn around, but the sound of something chuffing makes your stomach drop. The first thing that emerges when you turn to face it is its massive head, a white frosted muzzle, and the visible hump on its back. The wispy smoke of its breath puffs out when it breathes. Its eyes are dark, hardly reflecting any light at all. Then the rest of it emerges, the saplings bending out of its way as it clambers out of the woods and onto the path, staring you down all the while.
You’ve never seen a bear before. Not this close. Not so close that you know it’s been stalking you, know that it didn’t come upon you by accident. You’re staring down at your own body from somewhere else, fear displacing you. Rending you from your own body. There’s no way to guess its weight at a glance, but it’s easily twice the size of you, easily more than that.
When it takes a step forward, everything goes dark.
You wake up snuggled under the warmth of a thick blanket. Sleep is creamy thick, engulfing you on all sides, only the faintest prickle of awareness letting you know that you’re awake.
It’s unpleasant to leave the cotton miasma of sleep, you think. Your nose scrunches up and you let out a tired huff, trying to will yourself back into it. The harder you try to force yourself back into it though, the farther away it floats.
Still it weighs you down. It takes an age to work up the energy to so much as twitch a finger. Even your eyelids insist on staying shut. Yet, the prickle of consciousness needles at you as if to say hello, wake up, you need to get up. You sigh and try to shimmy up onto your elbows.
A hand shoves you back down. The breath rushes out of you.
“Get…back down,” a rough voice grunts from over you and then the full weight of a man settles on top of you, pressing you deep into the mattress.
Consciousness snaps back into you, elastic sharp. The weight of him pins you to the bed, makes you sink into the plushness of—and this is gradually coalescing in your mind—an unfamiliar place. All four corners of your body are trapped under him. The voice is familiar though. Ragged, brutal. A saw taken to the trunk of an old, thick tree, too many interior rings to count. You whisper John’s name and he grunts, making you flinch from how the sound reverberates through the side of your head.
Exhaustion is thick though and it leaves you heavy, even when John slowly lifts himself to his elbows from behind you. You feel him drag his body down the length of the bed, beard scratching into your skin with every petal soft kiss dropped along your spine during his descent.
“John?” you whisper, only just able to turn your head, not even able to struggle up to your elbows. “J-John?”
He doesn’t answer you. The room is near pitch black, only a window on the other end of the room with the curtain pulled back the smallest amount enough to let the moonlight in. Even the moonlight isn’t enough. You know from the shape of the window that this isn’t your house, that it must be somewhere else. You can only surmise from John’s presence that it’s his, but that thought passes over you like a rock skipping over water.
“Wher’m’I?” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut when his lips press over the small of your back. Sensitive there.
Rough hands with callused fingertips smooth over your ass, pressing into the flesh. His fingers pry your cheeks apart, thumbs dipping into the space between and pressing over your hole, making you burn all over. You’re too far gone to worry about any hair on your legs or anything about your body other than John’s hands undulating over your ass and thighs. You flinch violently when his teeth sink into the meat on the underside of your ass, so tender that even exhausted to the bone your body lashes out.
Big hands pry your legs apart. You flinch at the sudden hot breath over your sex, a whine tickling your throat. His face hovers so close to your centre that the tip of his nose presses on the tender skin near your entrance.
“Wha’ d’you…think you’re doin’...” you ask breathlessly. Your brain tries to order your leg to kick, but it stays flat and limp on the bed.
The first touch of John’s tongue along your slit makes you melt, the flat of his tongue lapping upward and making your hips tilt up with it. It almost makes your mind go blank again, almost tips you back into the unconscious world because the synapses in your brain stop firing the second you remember that it’s John between your legs licking hungrily at your cunt. John from the grocery store, John from the ranger’s station in the mountains—the John you’ve been crushing on and coveting for months now, content to just be friends with the gruff, handsome man in the house next to yours. Now sucking one of your nether lips into his mouth and tracing his tongue up the inside, gliding it over the supple flesh.
“Yer in the den,” John mumbles into your pussy and it’s like he sears the words into your brain. “‘N I’m takin’ care of you, honey.”
“The…the den…?” It’s so hard to keep your thoughts in order. Each flick of his tongue makes you gasp, pussy growing wetter and hips grinding languidly down on his face.
He hums instead of answering.
“Why’m’I so tired?” you slur.
His tongue saws over your clit from behind. It tears a broken whimper from you. You feel every textured ridge, the way it flicks around in a circle and then up and down again.
“Winter season,” John says, sucking your clit into his mouth until you whine at the top of your lungs. “Bear’s sleep in winter.”
���Tha’s silly. M’not a bear,” you moan.
“No,” he agrees, humming into your sex. “Jus’ mated to one. Makes you sleepy too, honey.”
“Mated?” you repeat back, but it’s lost in the way you moan when he eats your pussy from the back, licking into you with renewed vigour. Hungry like a bear. Grunting like a satisfied man, slurping loud enough to make your face heat up.
Words and old memories about bears hardly matter when the handsome man from next door spreads your legs wide, almost to the point of pain, and sinks his tongue into your hole again. You never would’ve expected John to be vocal, but he’s noisy behind you, groaning into your cunt. He keeps mumbling things under his breath that you can’t catch.
“John—” you gasp, biting your lip when he sucks your clit into his mouth again. “John—John—”
He only has to give you a single finger to tip you over the edge, feeds it in nice and slow. Your cunt clenches down at the intrusion, teeth nearly breaking through the skin of your lip.
When he crawls back over you, anticipation makes you shudder. You hear something faint in the background that grows steadily louder as John rests his elbows on either side of your head, until you realize that it’s your own voice murmuring, “Put it in, put it in, put it in—”
He obliges. A thick, steady plunge that hardly manages more than a handful of inches before you’re crying, and it’s too much, too much, too much. Pleasure not a limpid pool anymore but something cavernous and deep-dwelling, pulling you in or trying to make a home inside of you for it. John’s biceps tense with the strain of holding himself back.
You balance on the knife’s edge between pleasure and pain. There’s a single thought in your head that it might burn you up from the inside; it runs a jagged hole through you.
His nose drags through your hair. “Never expected you. Thought I’d go another season alone ‘till I started smellin’ you around town.”
You hiccup. “Y’never—never paid me any attention ‘for— before, ah—”
“‘Course I paid attention to’ya, honey,” John says into your ear, grunting when he drives deeper into your pussy, still just a languid grind of his hips, so mind-numbingly slow that your thoughts sizzle out of your head. He keeps dragging his hips back and plunging in, barely pulling away from you, all skin on slick skin. “Made a home for m’self in your house. Made sure we had ‘nough to eat for the winter.”
“The winter?”
“Won’t be goin’ anywhere for a few months.” He brushes your hair out of the way to kiss down your neck, giving in to the urge to bite just a little. His body stays pressed tight to yours, hardly an inch of space between the two of you. “Wasn’ sure at first if it’d be here or in your house so… fuck, I had to get ready. Make sure you’d be safe when it hit.”
“Don’ even…know wha’ that means,” you mumble into the mattress, then squeal and fist the fists when John shoves a hand under you to grope your chest.
“Don’t worry about it,” he shushes you. “All y’have to do now is lie there ‘n take my cock, okay, honey? Can’ya do that for me? I’ll get some food in you after we’re done, then send ya back to bed.”
Only a whine comes out when you open your mouth. John’s arm by your head forces you to breathe in the scent of him, musky and rich. You stare at the hair on his knuckles and his thick fingers gripping the sheets as well, old nicks and scars decorating his hand. You can’t stop staring at his fingers and thinking that he had one of those in you before, that he’s felt you from the inside.
He never pulls away, never changes positions, just fucks you on your tummy in his bed. You’ve never been in John’s bedroom before, but this has to be his room—even the pillowcase smells like him, pine needles and cigar smoke. He keeps up a steady pounding into your cunt, rutting like a wild animal. Has to be close. Gets so close to you that you feel smothered, trapped in place. Like if you struggled, he wouldn’t let up. You want to test it, see if you could, but the heaviness is still in your limbs, keeping you docile. Convenient. A little convenient thing for him to use, like a doll to get himself off with.
“Never coulda imagined such a pretty girl f’r me,” John groans, getting a grip in your hair to twist your head, tugging you into a kiss. Your whole body sparks to life, so shocked that you can’t even kiss him back at first. You wait until he pulls back, staring into his half-lidded eyes through the mess of your hair all tangled up around you. “Gave up on thinkin’ there was anyone out there. Thank fuck I found you first, honey. Can start workin’ on all the good stuff now. Get you to give daddy a baby.”
“D-daddy?” you gasp back, almost scandalized.
He pants into your shoulder, worked up now. “Yeah, honey. Don’ I take care of you? Buy y’r food, fix y’r house? Give you someplace nice ‘n warm to sleep?”
You feel soaked with sweat, twitchy, on the verge of something dangerous. Vision all fogged up, heart beating so fast that your skin buzzes. Stretched out on a fat cock and pinned in a man’s bed, nowhere to run or hide.
“Y-yeah,” you stutter when John gets a bit rougher, his breathing getting more staggered, laboured.
“That’s right, girl,” he grunts, “I’m y’r fuckin’ daddy then, aren’t I?”
Magma bubbles up from deep inside of you. Rockslides off in the distance beat against the ground. When you cry out, it gets lost in the rubble.
You stumble into the living room maybe hours later after using the washroom across the hall. Maybe a day later. It’s hard to say how many times the sun has risen and fallen behind the mountains. The clock face stares back at you uncomprehendingly.
Come drips out of you onto the floor. Thick droplets run down your inner thighs. John is still sleeping in the bed where you left him, snoring like a chainsaw. It must’ve been what woke you up. There’s no way of knowing how long it’s been since he first brought you home, since he left a mess in your pussy, which is still puffy and sore from rough use. You walk with halting little steps to try to minimize the ache.
You stare bleary-eyed around the room. It feels somehow different than the previous times John’s had you over; there are more throws and blankets draped over the couch, candles scattered around the living room with a lighter on the mantle.
There’s a fire roaring in the fireplace, blanketing the house in a layer of warmth. It makes you sluggish, stumbling forward only a handful of steps before the shaggy rug in front of the fire drags you back down to the floor.
“What’re you doing out of bed, pretty girl?” someone rumbles from behind you.
“Had t’pee,” you say, blinking. You try to rub the sleep out of your eyes unsuccessfully. “Why’m’I still so tired? It’s been…I slept so long…”
“C’mon, honey,” John says, coming up behind you and curling his arms around you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Told you it was gonna be a long winter. Maybe just one more and then somethin’ to eat, okay?”
It’s easy to sink to the floor, so easy. Especially with the fluffy rug under your feet. Especially with the fireplace toasting you from the outside in, the tinder crackling in the hearth. Everything in the house is dark and warm, only the fire giving you any light at all. Outside the window, the moon is still heavy in the sky.
Something about the humidity of the den makes you suddenly so tired, boneless, pliable when he goes to move you, when John curves himself around you in the furs and reaches down to slide a hand between your thighs.
He grunts when he finds you wet and wanting, sinking a couple fingers in and palming your clit. He doesn’t talk much still, but he says good girl when he cants your hips and slowly stretches you out on his cock. Feeds it into you achingly slow, like molasses. Like nothing’s due for another few months, so why rush it? He’ll take his time so you’re nice and happy and sweet come spring for cubs.
You’re not sure what that means. The pace is slow and deep, like before but less intentional. Like he just wants to savour the warmth of your body.
When he finally comes deep inside you, your body goes limp, collapsing in a heap onto the rug. You expect John to pull out and turn over, maybe pull you onto his chest so you have somewhere to rest. Instead, he sighs all tired and content, and stays in you, still plugged up in your cunt, his spend only just starting to leak out into a pool beneath you.
“Are we gonna eat?” you mumble, already half-asleep.
Somewhere behind you, he laughs; it’s soft like a snowfall in winter. “Yeah, honey. After a nap, we can eat.”
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Custom Made Order...
(Original Post) (Second Post) (Third Post)
Glynda: (Entering the room looking annoyed) It is WAY too early for anarchy from you... what did Ms Valkyrie do this time?
Nora: (Crossing her arms over her bust, offended) Why do you ALWAYS think I've done something? That's profiling!
Glynda: Because it is ALWAYS you.
Ren: She's innocent of anything this time... well aside from her and Pyrrha basically assaulting Jaune and making him... er... her cry.
Pyrrha and Nora look at the floor, blushing and feeling ashamed by their earlier behaviour.
Glynda: Say that again.
Ren: Well, Pyrrha and Nora kind of made Jaune cry...
Glynda: No, the other part.
Ren: What part?
Glynda: The part where you called Mr Arc and she.
Nora: Fearless Leader is now a blond bombshell with titties as big as yours! Can you smoth...
Ren/Pyrrha: Nora NO!
Glynda: Excuse me? Did you say Mr Arc is now a girl? That's... that's not possible...
Jaune: (Pained groan, muffled by the door) Ow... (SCREECHES again, causing everyone to wince) It's NOT a nightmare! How is the NOT a nightmare!
Pyrrha: (Moving to the bathroom door, preparing to knock) Jaune, can you...
Jaune: (Yanks open the door) Coco!
Glynda: Mr Arc?
She is completely stunned, taking in the absolutely unreal curves of the worst student in her class. The white t-shirt she was wearing stretched to almost ripping, exposing her navel and barely hiding the now young woman's under-boob. Then of course there were the hips and ass... stretching out the flannel night pans to near tearing, and giving her a clear view of Jaune's camel toe.
Jaune: EPP! (Slams the door in Pyrrha's face)
Glynda: (Pinches her nose) I think I need to sit down.
Ren: Jaune, Professor Goodwitch is here to help us figure this out, can you come out please?
The bathroom door swings open again, and Jaune stalks out, her bare feet slapping against the floor, as she just brushes past Pyrrha, walks to the door of the dorm, yanks it open and stalks out into the hall.
Nora: Jaune-Jaune looks pissed.
Pyrrha: He shouted, Coco. Do you think?
Ren: Shit! After him... er... her!
Nora: (From the hallway) Where did she go?
The trio rushes to the door and vanishes, leaving Professor Goodwitch alone sitting on Jaune's bed. She reached up and pinches her nose in frustration.
Glynda: I'm too old... ahem...I mean... not paid enough for this shit.
#rwby#jaune arc#coco adel#jaune arc x coco adel#frenchroast#henshin#Is this another Jaune becomes a girl fic?#female!jaune#Custom Made Order...#YEP! This is another Jaune becomes girl fic!
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Yay monster theme monday again! 🥳
For the menial job matchup; reader works in customer service, deals with entitled customers on the daily and asked for more than her paygrade. Her monster pairing is Orc!Curtis. While he isn't fabulously wealthy, he makes do with carpentry and hunting and he lives is a beautiful home in the woods complete with a garden and greenhouse.
Forest? Hermit lifestyle? Reader doesn't have to interact with people anymore...? And she can be with a handsome orc? Sign her up!
“You still my money you stupid bitch! You won’t give me what I’m due-“ your eyes flickered toward the clock to the left, gauging the time and the second hand that was nearly at your golden hour, only a few more seconds and you could leave.
“No receipt, no return.” You slammed the phone down and pushed your chair back, standing with enough power to topple the chair. “Fuck this job.”
You didn’t bother responding to your boss when she asked you where you were going with a snide comment, you didn’t bother trying to explain yourself to your co-workers who would likely find out that you quit with the middle finger.
You didn’t care about anything but the date you were set to go on, a date that was made through a match-making service that would set you up with a compatible beast. The beasts that wanted to be mated with a human, desiring someone to take care of and provide for.
A much better alternative than slaving away for a minimum wage job that sucked the life out of you.
This is your representative from the agency, your date is airing for you at the lounge downtown. His name is Curtis Everett, he’s an orc with tattoo sleeves
“An orc,” you didn’t know much about the monsters, only that they were massive and impossibly strong, “named Curtis Everett.”
The drive to the lounge downtown was peaceful, quieted by the lack of radio in your beat up vehicle. And the sunset drifting off behind you, the natural sunlight being replaced by street lamps. When you arrived outside the lounge you found a place to park and started to get out of the vehicle, taking a moment to stare at the neon lights hanging above the building, flickering with the possibility of going out.
“Curtis Everett.” You locked your vehicle and shoved your keys into your jeans pocket before you started to approach the lounge, first giving your ID and then letting them know you were waiting for someone.
When you were allowed to go in, you stepped into the lounge and swept your eyes around the open room spying a few other women with beasts and creatures, however as your eyes landed on the right side of the lounge you had found him.
He was sitting facing you, his large hands cupping a pint of ale, something with a thicker head and darker colour trapped inside the weighty glass. You could see the start of his tattoo sleeves, the dark ink splayed against his flesh that started at his wrists was hidden at his elbows by the thick flannel he wore, the material rolled up to his sleeves.
His hair was longer than you anticipated or expected, the picture he’d sent you through the agency showed his hair cropped. Now it was long enough to be tied at the nape of his neck with a piece of tanned leather.
“Curtis,” you approached the table nervously but only due to his sheer size and strength he clearly endowed, “I’m Y/N.”
“Sunflower,” he had raised his head and you were stunned by the shine of his blue eyes that held you captive.
“What?” You stuttered, taken back by how beastly and thick this orc was, how vastly larger he was.
“Your profile said you like sunflowers,” his lips were pulled into a smirk, and the two teeth that peeked out from his plump lips were sharp yet clean, “you didn’t mention you smelled like sunflowers.”
“I don’t..?” You turned your head and tried to subtly scent yourself, your eyebrows becoming knitted when you found it near impossible.
“Relax, Y/N.” he was gruff, yet soft. “Its a scent most humans can’t detect.”
“Oh.” You swallowed thickly and slowly sank into the bench Shea, sweeping your eyes over him. “God, you’re huge.”
“You’re rather small aren’t you, sunflower?” He chuckled under his breath, mirth escaping him. “So delicate.”
“I didn’t mean it as a bad thing.” You mumbled, clenching your thighs together as his pet name had incurred some warmth between your legs.
“I didn’t either, little one.” He had held you in his gaze, warmed between your legs and made your heart flutter.
And you had only just met him.
“You wanna get outta here? The city is too loud.” He offered, starting to slide out of his seat. “I got a place that’s peaceful.”
“I quit my job today.”
“Good,” he held his hand out for you, “I can start taking care of you immediately.”
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Josie's pt.3
Matt Murdock X Reader
Summary: Sure that Matt would never change, your life went from seeing Matt at the bar every night to barely seeing him at all. However a certain masked vigilante of Hell’s Kitchen did happen to become a savior of yours, and when you and Matt inevitably start talking again you start to put all the pieces of the puzzle together…
Warnings: mentions of crying, mugging situation, mcu canon violence, mentions of a gun, fluff, kissing, etc.
Word Count: 2.4K
You had just started your shift for tonight, and an undeniable smile grew on your face when Matt walked in. Only he didn’t greet you as he normally does, in fact he made a b-line for the woman you were currently serving and started flirting with her.
Matt stood in front of you, talking up the patron you were serving so boldly you damn near threw the bottle you were pouring at his face. But you didn’t, you just froze. So many thoughts were racing through your head, but the loudest was screaming ‘he hasn't changed, he never will’ over and over again. You finished pouring the customer's drink and quickly ran to the back as tears welled up in your eyes. Josie followed after you, not caring if she left the bar unmanned for a moment.
Matt noticed you run off, and as soon as he could taste the salt of your tears all the noise in the bar and whatever the girl he was talking to was blabbing about now went silent as he focused in on you. Josie hugged you tight as you cried into her arms, she begged you to tell her what was wrong.
“You were right.” you sobbed, voice muffled in her sleeveless flannel. “I’m right about a lot of things sweetie, what was I right about this time?” Josie joked, trying to make the moment lighter. “Matt.” you admitted, not daring to look back up at her knowing the eyes she must be giving you; the eyes that say ‘I told you so’. Matt thought he felt his heart stop momentarily when he heard you say his name, he never wanted to be the reason for your tears.
“I- I was going to invite him to stay with me tonight when I closed the bar, just to talk. I thought he had changed, maybe I was different. But then he just goes off and flirts with that girl right in front of my face! Like he wanted me to know he was done with me.” you cried, Josie continuing to hold you close. “I told you he was bad news kid, nothing more than a flirt with a fancy job. I’m still sorry you had to figure that out yourself.” Josie said soothingly, staying with you for a few more minutes before insisting you go home and that she’d take over for the night. You thanked her, and went home.
When Matt heard you slip out the back door, he considered going after you but when Josie walked back out giving him a stink eye so hard he could feel it burning into the side of his skull he just asked for another glass of scotch. To which in response Josie took her sweet time getting for him. This was never Matt’s plan. Okay, it was exactly his plan, but it wasn’t supposed to turn out like this. Matt doubted himself, and soon thereafter convinced himself that he wasn’t actually getting anywhere with you and made a last ditch effort to make you want him. He was trying to make you jealous, to make you break and outwardly show how you really feel about him. But when you ran off with tears in your eyes, Matt knew he had made the wrong choice.
You didn’t go to work for the next few nights, wanting to avoid having to see Matt again. Unbeknownst to you Matt wasn’t showing up to the bar either, and the lowlifes of Hell’s Kitchen were receiving some of the harshest beatings in months. It was just your luck that the first night you came back to work was the first night Matt and Foggy returned to Josie’s. As soon as you saw the pair walk in you froze up, Josie noticed and walked over to you, standing in front of you protectively. “You boys aren’t welcome here anymore, find somewhere else to drink.” Josie said bitterly, crossing her arms as she defended you.
“Nice going Matt, getting us banned from Josie’s of all places. Let’s go.” Foggy said with an angry tone, grabbing Matt’s arm and turning them around. “Wait,” you called out, leaning over to Josie’s ear and whispering: “You don’t need to ban them from the bar, I don’t want you to.” you said softly. “I’ll just. . . go organize liquor in the back or something.” You added, glancing over at Matt and Foggy before excusing yourself to the back room. That’s what you did any time Matty or even Foggy stopped by, busied yourself in the back with organizing stock and cleaning glasses. Hell, the backroom of the bar never looked better. It made for quick closings, you started to be able to lock up the bar by 3am. But even if that was early for closing, it was still dead and dangerous late at night in Hell’s Kitchen.
Walking home after what felt like a particularly eerie night, you could practically feel the hairs sticking up on the back of your neck. So it was no surprise you let out a loud scream when someone pushed you into an alley and held a gun to your head. You sealed your lips as soon as you felt the cold metal of the barrel pressed to your forehead, locking eyes with the ski-masked covered face in front of you.
“All of your money, now.” He demanded lowly, to which you quickly nodded and started fumbling around. However before you could even dig in your pocket to scrounge for whatever money you had on you, the man in front of you was suddenly on the ground of the alleyway. None other than the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen on top of him, seemingly beating him senseless. The man who just attempted to mug you managed to slip out from the devil’s grasp and made a run for it, and surprisingly the devil didn’t go after him. He stood back up, and turned to face you.
“Daredevil.” you whispered under your breath, mostly in shock. His head twitched, and he walked over to you, slowly and with his arms out in a non-defensive manner. You knew you should feel scared, that you should run, but you didn’t. You stepped closer to the devil, and let him embrace you.
“It’s okay, you’re safe now, I’m here.” he said softly, reassuringly as he held you close. It should've felt wrong, weird, strange, any or all of the above. But being in his arms felt calming, like you were always meant to be there. You pulled your face out of his chest, but kept the small distance between the two of you. There’s a comfortable silence that settles between the two of you as you study his face, your eyes constantly flicking back to his lips. Clearly, the devil couldn’t help himself either because he was inching closer and closer; and you gave in.
Tilting your head up the slightest bit to connect your lips to his in a sweet kiss, kissing a stranger never felt so right. Your hands left your sides and went to reach up and around his neck, but at the moment something inside the devil clicked and he pulled away. He ran off soon after, knowing he crossed a line. But the devil continued to follow you home every night as the devil, and after a few nights you noticed and called him on it. Not to ask him to stop, but because you wanted to know him better. His presence makes you feel safe, and you tried to ask him about the vigilante life he leads. But his answers were often short and uninformative, leaving you in the dark. Matt knew he never should’ve kissed you, and it was even worse that he was talking to you as the devil. The risk of you recognizing him got higher and higher with each passing night.
One night, after you’ve grown particularly close to the devil, Matt met up with you after you closed as himself. Which startled you since you weren’t expecting him. He didn’t explicitly address what had gone down between the two of you over the last month or so, just opened up with a quick “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what? Scaring the shit out of me?” you asked, clasping your hand over your heart as Matt walked out of the dark on the sidewalk next to you.
“Amongst other things. . .” Matt trailed off. “How’ve you been?” he asked, hearing the key slip out of the lock as you stepped away from the bar’s entrance.
“I’ve been worse.” you stated simply, looking in his direction. “What about you?” you added.
“I’ve been better.” he chuckled. “Still feeling guilty.” Matt admitted, earning a vague eye roll from you. “I’m sure.” you mumbled, stepping by him as you tried to walk home. But Matt brought his hand to your wrist and stopped you. “I really am sorry, y/n.” he pushed on. You tried to free yourself from his grasp but Matt stood firm. “I’m. . . I’m used to every girl falling at my feet. So when you didn’t salivate at the snap of my fingers I, I admired that about you. But when you still weren’t falling for all the tricks I had up my sleeve, I didn’t know how else to get you.” Matt confessed, his deepest heartaches spilling out.
“You could’ve say, I don’t know, told me how you felt like a normal person and just asked me out?” you said with a piercing tone, his grip on your wrist searing into your skin.
“I had, I never had to do that before. You were so different, I didn’t want to be so plain with you. So I made a stupid last ditch effort, tried to make you jealous.”
“Oh is that what that little show was a few weeks ago?” you cut him off, causing Matt to frown.
“It was stupid, I know. That’s why I’m apologizing now and. . .” Matt said, his mouth going dry at the end of his sentence.
“. . .and?” you pushed on, now fully facing Matt waiting for him to finally say it.
“And asking you to go out with me tonight.” He blurted out, putting a smile on your face.
“Tonight? I just closed up the bar, it’s 3 in the morning Matt.” You said with a slight laugh.
“Well there’s a 24-hour Denny’s not too far from here, if you’re up for it that is.” Matt offered, his grip on your wrist loosening and dropping to your hand as he grasped it gently.
Agreeing, you and Matt walked to the Denny’s and had a very fun meal together. The most fun out of the few other patrons there at least, you even spotted a few people you had kicked out after last call at the bar trying to sober up. Matt treated you properly, with care. You even started to get that fluttery feeling in your chest when you started to get around him a few months ago, which you more than enjoyed. Finishing up at sometime around 4 in the morning, Matt being the gentleman he is offered to walk you home, which you gladly accepted. You must've been enjoying the time you were spending with Matt and your walk home together because before you knew it you were at your door.
You leaned against your door as Matt’s frame not only towered over you, but was also leaning in. “Tonight was nice.” he said smoothly, one hand resting on your waist. “Yeah, really nice.” you agreed, waiting for Matt to just kiss you already. And as if he was reading your mind he said: “Hmm, I’m gonna kiss you now.” and leaned down to capture your lips in his. The kiss is soft and sweet, the grease of the meal you just shared still evident on your lips. His kiss feels familiar, too familiar. When Matt pulls away, your eyes stay screwed shut in concentration. When you pull him back in, Matt thinks you were begging for more, but you were really trying to pinpoint where you recognized this feeling from. You kissed Matt for a few more moments before pulling away, deciding you needed to sleep on it. You bid him one final goodnight and closed your apartment door behind you, but maybe a minute or so later; it hit you. You swung your door back open and shouted “Matt!” and even if he heard you despite being nearly out of the building and hearing your call, he kept going. Both knowing and fearing you had figured it out.
You thought about confronting Matt the next time you saw him, but decided to give it time. Maybe see if he’d tell you himself. But after your 3rd date, as enamored as you were with Matt, you came to terms that he was never going to admit his secret to you himself. But then there came one night where the devil came to see you again on your way home from another closing shift at work.
“You again.” you said with a mischievous grin. “Was starting to wonder if you’d ever come by again.” you said, walking close to the devil who you knew almost for a fact was also your current romantic endeavor.
“This’ll be the last time you ever see me, meeting you like this isn’t right.” The devil professed.
“Okay.” you agreed rather quickly “Guess I better not get mugged again.” You joked, watching the devil turn around as a smile almost dawned his face. “Yeah, be on the lookout.” he banterd back as he began to walk away. “Hey Matt?” you called out to the devil, making him turn back around to you in response which allowed for a shit eating grin to adorn your face. You knew who he was now, there was no use in denying it. You stood silently, waiting for him to realize what he had done. Once he started to sputter out words and excuses you walked back up to him and kissed him sweetly as you said “See you Saturday.” referring to your next date. As you were walking away, leaving Matt dumbfounded on the sidewalk out front of Josie’s you said “Don’t be late Murdock!” with a teasing tone. Allowing for a smile to join Matt’s expression, knowing he was in for it.
—
A/N
Yay!! End of my first multi-part Matt Murdock story!! And right after Spiderman No Way Home: the more fun stuff version just came out as well. I’ll be seeing TMFSV on Tuesday, and hopefully finally get some more content of Matt in NWH so I have more witting inspiration <3 because… I am now out of queued and pre-written stories! Hey at least they all lasted me through camp and even September. Love you all and hope you enjoyed this story!!
Much Love,
—Skyler
#marvel#jew queue#mcu#fan fic#fan fiction#cute#fluff#love#au#matt murdock x reader#matt murdock#matt murdock fluff#matt murdock angst#matt murdock x you#matt murdock x female reader#matt murdock reader insert#daredevil x you#daredevil#daredevil fluff#daredevil x f!reader#daredevil x y/n#daredevil angst#marvels daredevil#marvels defenders#spiderman no way home#spiderman no way home the more fun stuff version#mcu x reader#mcu imagine#mcu reader insert
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Fp having to wear a polo shirt and apron and visor for his job at the grocery store 😂😂😂❤️❤️❤️❤️ fred comes by just to see how cute he looks in the little outfit and asks fp to get him stuff on all the top and bottom shelves so he can stand behind him and look at his butt and the place where his shirt rides up 👉👈 and fp ignores all the other customers and just walks around helping fred with his grocery list and they make goo goo eyes at each other while their fingers are brushing over the jar of pickles fp is handing him 😊❤️ fp originally was just the guy in the parking lot picking up carts and chainsmoking outside (he still takes 97 smoke breaks per shift) but then they put him helping the customers and he's annoyed about it but he's actually rly sweet and awkward with the old ladies and stuff and fred thinks it's SOOOOO endearing to watch he can hang out at the grocery store all day.... also not to be sad but fps definitely eating food out of the walk in freezer and the dumpster out back and taking home all the spoiled produce and stealing food in his pockets cuz even though he's surrounded by a never ending supply he grew up so food insecure it feels like he can't trust it will be there tomorrow he has to hoard it.... 😔 and maybe he feels some type of way when people are shopping for groceries for their families and they're putting all this food in their cart some of it rly expensive and paying for it without a second thought...
WAIT THIS IS SO BIG BRAIN FP WORKING AT THE GROCERY STORE SO HE CAN STEAL THE FOOD THATS GONNA GET THROWN OUT HE HASNT EATEN THIS WELL IN YEARS sure everything’s near expired but he makes do
Him helping the old ladies :’)
He definitely keeps a flannel on him at all times and of his boss says anything he’s like “I’m COLD. Do you want me to FREEZE TO DEATH?” It’s the one thing he can do to not feel like a total dunce 😫 Gladys comes in and makes fun of him anyway. But then Fred comes in and stares at his butt and suddenly the uniforms not so bad 🥰
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A guidance on buying a custom
Leave behind the belief that you can correctly present yourself with off-the-rack or made-to-measure prospects. Here is some guidance on buying a custom or looking for custom suits near me.
Be sure of your choice.
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Bonfire, amber, and flannel for the asks if you please?
bonfire— what is your favorite autumn activity? e.g.) pumpkin carving, festivals, ect.
Eh. I always think I like autumn. I like the temperature to be in the high 60-low 70 degree F range. Like, T-shirt and jeans and shoes with socks, maybe an overshirt or light jacket? That's how I like to style my clothes, so that factors in a lot. I like... casual workwear? Student-wear? Autumn is a terrible time because I have a trauma/time of year thing (ugh, like 3 or 4 times over at this point), and any mental health thing is a little shaky with season shift (especially when it comes to re-making my bed with different tactile stuff, I think? Like my Bucky, I cannot do a weighted blanket, but I freeze so easily.) More migraines in the cooler weather. Historically, more hospitalizations.
I like leaf piles. I like crunchy leaves making crunchy leaf sounds. I used to like caramel popcorn, but I don't like the texture of popcorn kernels, and popcorn is absolutely tubie-illegal. I like the end part of autumn when it's the right time to wear brown leather-ish boots (NOT the Han Solo-effect). Like, ankle boots? Hiking boots?
Ask me about Winter activities in a couple months. Like Christmas tree lots. I'll have more positive things to say.
amber— how do you prefer to spend a rainy day?
In the house. Those are unfortunately more likely to be headache/seizure days for me and the little ones, so it's best to be low-key. I don't mind to walk to the end of the driveway in a drizzle and thank the free grass-watering service before I check the mailbox, but I prefer to hole up in a comfy spot near my playing kiddos (big kid will almost certainly be re-designing one of his custom variations on Lego Avengers Tower) and work on art.
flannel— do you prefer sweaters, hoodies, cardigans, or zip-up jackets?
I like flannel shirts, when I can get away with them. I also own an absurd number of Abercrombie/Hollister hoodies in solid colors, some of which are 7+ years old, because, unlike most fast fashion, they are very durable, easy to coordinate, and are the same length shoulder to cuff as they are shoulder to waist. (I am a box person with the same measurements of torso, leg, arm, and around the waist, so if I were flexible enough, I should be able to put my hands on the floor and have Amazon ship me in, like, a... 32x32x32...? Fun times. Not sure I would survive the delivery experience, so please don't attempt to order me online. :) )
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Be Mindful Grateful Positive True Kind Distressed Flannel Shirt
This listing is for a one-of-a-kind distressed bleached "Be Mindful Grateful Positive True Kind" button down flannel shirt.
If your size is showing sold out, reach out to use to see if we have received a shipment of products in, due to the availability of items during this holiday season, we receive our products in daily.
No two shirts will ever be exactly alike so please aware and embrace the differences. All shirts are carefully curated, hand-dyed, and re-purposed so that each shirt is going to be different from the next in terms of color and plaid print.
SIZING: These shirts vary, many are unisex and come in men's sizing. They can be worn by both men & women. Ordering your normal t-shirt size is recommended for a regular fit. Going 1 size up works well for a baggy/oversized fit. Women's or Children's Specific sizing will be noted on the photo/variation options selected.
FABRIC: All these shirts are made of cotton or a cotton/poly blend. Measurements and thickness vary slightly by brand.
COLORS: Each flannel is unique, and no two shirts are going to look exactly alike. Colors are sent at random. Because the colors often change throughout the bleaching process, I cannot take specific color requests for these shirts.
CONDITION: All of our flannel shirts are brand new and washed twiced.
Care instructions: Turn item inside out, machine wash cold, no bleach, no softener. Do not dry clean. Do not iron. Air dry is recommended.
Due to different picture lighting settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.
Current Turnaround Time due to upcoming Holidays - 1-5 Business Days. While we always use priority shipping options, once shipped we cannot guarantee delivery due to the backlog current being experienced USPS/UPS/FedEx. If you have a strict deadline, please message me when ordering so that I can note any rush requests. Ownership of packages turned over to USPS transfers to the Buyer. We are not responsible for lost, held, damaged packages or delayed packages, once your package(s) leaves our Shop it is completely out of our control. Thank you for understanding!
Thank you for visiting Granny & Grandpa's Custom Creations, we truly appreciate your support of small businesses. We also personalize our products, please reach out to us with any personalizing any of our products, additional fee's may apply.
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harbor island
chapter one
detective flip zimmerman is on an assignment in south carolina. he meets a little bit of a coquette at a local grocery mart and becomes infatuated.
cw: flip zimmerman and female reader, slow burn, age gap, dialogue heavy chapter, 1k words
an: i want to clarify that this harbor island is no way based on the real one. this harbor island is kind of gross.
It was early June. The little grocery mart was run down and brightly lit, swarming with fruit flies. It smelled bad. The grey tile grout had turned black, and the tile itself was caked with dirt and old bubblegum.
You tugged your cutoff shorts down, scratching the back of your fuzzy thigh while you looked up at him. Your hair was crunchy with saltwater, and sand rubbed between your thighs, breasts, toes. You still had translucent streaks of white sunscreen on your collar bones. He was staring at your navel.
“You’re not Billy.” You observed. “Billy is always the first customer of my shift. He knows my schedule,” you added.
“No, not Billy.” He didn’t give you his name. He looked out of place. He wore wranglers and a blue flannel, and he had long brown hair that was starting to curl at the ends from sweat.
“Can I get you something?” You rested your elbows on the dirty counter, your boobs nearly falling out of your bikini top. You blinked at him.
“Pack of Marlboro’s.”
The flies buzzed above mushy oranges.
“We don’t have those here. Hand me a coke, would ya?” He retracted his head back a bit in surprise at your bluntness. He did as you said anyways, walking over to the cooler and pulling one out for you. He set it on the counter with a clink.
“The caps are twist off now. Don’t gotta ask a gentleman for a bottle opener anymore every time I want a coke.”
“Lucky strikes, then.” He ignored you.
“What brings you to Harbor Island?” Your palm was digging into the fat of your cheek as you questioned him, still gazing up at him with big eyes.
“Vacation,” he mumbled gruffly. “Boss said I needed one.”
“What do you do for work?” He was growing impatient, you could tell. He didn’t answer you.
“Something important, I can tell.” You continued. “Big man like you don’t work a silly job like mine.”
“Detective,” he finally responded, as if that would get him one sentence closer to his pack of cigarettes.
“So are you really on vacation, or is that a front, Detective?” You were pushing your luck.
He was silent. His stare was unamused.
“So, it is a front? Your disguise is pretty shit. You know you’re on an island right? Bad guy could pick you right out from a crowd, just like that. Bang.” You shot a fake finger gun right through his head with one eye squeezed shut, bringing your two fingers up to your mouth to blow the smoke from the imaginary barrel. You swear you saw a faint smile.
You could have kept going, pushing his buttons and all, but you had a feeling he would be back.
“Seventy-five cents, please.”
He shook his head in disagreement. “No, no. A pack of Luckys is Seventy cents even.
You smiled at him real big. “Somebody’s gotta pay for my coke.”
It was still early June. The sun was shining bright through the large windows of the store, and the red and yellow triangular flags hanging from the awning blew in the breeze. You stared at the flags flitting back and forth, tapping your chipped nails on your coke bottle. You watched them flit until the sun set and the crickets started chirping. Just about to begin locking up, you were interrupted.
You heard his boots stomping up the rotting, wooden steps to the store first. Then you saw his stupid jeans. Then that pretty face of his.
“Go through that whole pack already?”
He grunted what you guess was a yes.
“I got something for you.” You stated simply, digging the pack of Marlboros out of the pocket of your jean shorts. You slid the rectangular box across the counter.
“How did you know I’d come back?” He asked.
“Just did,” you shrugged. “It’s late,” you mused, as it was nearing eleven. He told you he couldn't sleep, but he didn’t care to explain further. You twirled your hair around your finger as he spoke.
“Walk me home, then.”
He turned you down as gentlemanly as possible. You shrugged at him again.
“Fine, let the little girl walk home in the dark, all by herself.” Pouting, you brushed past him and headed towards the door. He looked you up and down, taking in your bare thighs and top that barely concealed your chest. He could see the tanlines that your tiny bathing suit left on your breasts, and apparently, that sold him.
He muttered a frustrated fuck under his breath, adjusted his jeans, and followed you into the warm night.
“Change your mind?” You asked while kicking up the kickstand on your bike that was leaning against the peeling paint of the building.
“So what really brings you here?” You started rolling your bike along the dirt path that led back to your house.
“I’m working,” he admitted, glancing over to you with his hands shoved in his pockets. Maybe it was the moon beginning to peek out above the swaying palm trees that evoked an honest mood from him.
“Is it a big case?”
The two of you stepped onto a wooden bridge that passed over a pond, the front wheel of your bike making a clunking noise every time it rolled over a plank. He stopped in the middle of the bridge, and you followed suit. He gazed down into the shallow water, watching the last bits of sun reflect onto the surface.
“No, not as big as the last one I was on.”
“Can you tell me about that one?”
“No.”
He kept walking.
“You liking the ocean air?” You looked over at him, taking in his side profile.
“You ask a lot of questions.” Subconsciously, though, he took a deep breath, inhaling and letting his shoulders droop as warmth filled his lungs.
About fifteen more minutes of walking and he asked if your house was close.
“I’m not showing the scary, six-foot-two detective where I live.”
“Six-foot-three,” he corrected you. Something about that made your cheeks flush.
“Well, detective, we’re close. I promise. I can handle myself the rest of the way.”
He watched you walk off. You could feel his eyes all over your lower back and thighs, even watching the way the strings of your halter top brushed the skin between your shoulder blades.
“Goodnight, Detective!” You called out real loud, making sure to sway your hips a little extra.
chapter two
taglist: @mollysolo @cornmousequeen @sprucewoodlover @i-love-scott-mccall
#flip zimmerman x reader#flip zimmerman#flip zimmerman fanfiction#adcu fanfiction#adcu writer#adcu#flip zimmerman slow burn
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Arms and Hands
*soulmate AU; each other’s scars show up on both bodies
Pairing: Bucky x mechanic!Stark!Reader
Warnings: fluff, Tony being overprotective, small bit of angst with the whole parent thing
Summary: you are Stark’s younger sister who is an expert mechanic so when Bucky’s arm is malfunctioning and Tony can’t fix it and it would take to long to get it to the Wakandans, Tony goes to the best mechanic there is, you. But what happens when you meet someone unexpected…….
“Look Manchurian Candidate, I can’t fix it, I don’t know what to tell you,” Tony complains after Bucky’s arm malfunctions for the 8th time in the last 3 hours. “Is there anyone that can?” Steve asks, concerned for his friends well being and his own need to not be hit in the face again. “There is only one person who I think could help, but we aren’t doing that.” Tony responds, making his boundaries, none of the Avengers knew you existed and he wasn’t about to change that. “Please Stark,” Bucky pleads, his arm malfunctioning again, this time knocking over Tony’s tool box, “see it’s really bad!” Tony sighs, “finneeeees, but I expect a thank you gift or something. FRIDAY, call the Avengers to the living room ASAP.” “Of course Mr. Stark, right away.” “Let’s go Captain Sparkles, you too Mr. Stares a lot.” Tony motioned them to the living room, the super soldiers were slightly confused, why couldn’t they just go right away, what did the team need to know?
Once the team had gathered Tony started off, “As you know, Barnes has some arm problems and there is only one person who can possibly fix it, someone as smart, as I. My sister,” everyone but Nat gasps, Nat knew all along, she is a spy after all. “Yes I have a younger sister, she hates the spotlight so she lives in a small town as their mechanic but works on her own projects as well, if anyone can fix it, it’s her. So Barnes, Rogers, pack your bags, we are visiting Cape Elizabeth in Maine!” Tony dismisses everyone and the three going head to pack their bags.
1 hour long flight later, they had landed in a grassy patch near your garage/shop/house, it was a 3 in 1. Tony and the super soldiers walked up to the shop entrance and you heard the door’s bell ring, notifying you someone was in to see you. “Welcome to Y/N’s garage, how can I- oh, hey Tones, what’s up?” You say, loosing your ‘customer service’ voice when you realize it’s your brother. “We kinda need your help, Tin Man over here has the metal arm you know,” you nod, following the conversation, “well it’s been acting up and I can’t fix it so I figured you might be able to….” “Yeah, I’ll see what I can do,” you motion for the guys to follow you to your shop were your tools are so you can take a look.
After sitting Bucky down, checking it out and dodging the malfunctioning appendage a few times, you came to a conclusion. “Yeah, I see the problem, surprised you couldn’t find it Tones!” “Well, can you fix it,” Steve asked. “Yeah I can, it’s gonna take a few hours, but I can.” You continue, “if you guys want to head to town and look around or something you can, no reason for you two to be here,” you shrug and tell your brother and Steve. “Trying to get rid of me?” Tony jokingly asks faking being hurt, “maybe I am, maybe I know you would just get in the way,” you tease back. “Alright, alright bye, call me when you get done,” Tony surrenders and with that he and Steve head out, you toss Tony your car keys and yell, “don’t scratch the paint!” He waves you off and drives off.
“Alright let’s get started shall we?” You rhetorically ask, taking off your flannel leaving you in just your tank top. Bucky sits there staring at your scars. “What? Oh, umm, yeah, soulmate scars I suppose, if they make you uncomfortable I can put the flannel back on, I just-“ you start rambling but Bucky cuts you off, “no no, it’s fine, it’s just they, kinda match my scars and, yeah.” “Wait, do you also have a scar on your right ankle?” You ask trying to figure out if he really is your soulmate. “Yeah I do, never knew where it came from. About an inch long?” He responded. “Yeah, I kinda cut my ankle accidentally, while fixing up a Harley motorcycle, it was one from 1942, still my prized possession,” you say reminiscing. “Cool,” Bucky says smirking, “well, I guess we are soulmates huh?” “Looks like it” you say, a smile creeping on your face. “How about you fix your my arm and then I’ll take you out on a date, doll.” You agreed and got started on the arm.
The next few hours were filled with both of you sharing stories and facts about yourself and basically getting to know the other person, both of you also shared some funny stories about Tony. You were almost done when you shared a story with Howard in it and Bucky looked down nervous, what if you didn’t want to be with him, and have him as your soulmate after you learned what he did to your parents. You saw the change in expression, “Buck, I know what the winter soldier did, but that wasn’t you, and unlike my stupid brother, I don’t blame you in the slightest, I blame Hydra.” You game him a small, reassuring smile, and he gave you one back, “thank you doll.” With that you continued working on his arm, after a few more minutes you stepped back and exclaimed that you were done! Bucky tried it out by taking your hand and spinning you around like you were dancing, you giggled as he said “well, I think it works, thanks doll.” You called Tony and he said they’d be here in about 10 minutes.
“Doll, what are we going to do?””what?” You questioned, what did he mean what are you going to do? “Well, I mean, I’m headed back to New York and you live here and so…” “Well that’s an easy solution!” You happily cheered, now it was Bucky’s turn to be confused, “I technically own part of the Avenger’s Tower and I have my co owner of the shop here’, he’s on vacation right now, but he can take over here and I can come live in New York!” “You would do that for me?” Bucky questioned, no one, except for maybe Steve, had ever cared about him this much. “Of course I would,” you said giving Bucky a hug. “It might take me a week or so to get down there, packing, paperwork and whatnot but I’ll be there.” Bucky was so happy, he had thought his soulmate had died, or was like 100 years old but here she was, and god she was gorgeous. It was at this moment that Tony and Steve walked in while you and Bucky were cuddling waiting for them to get back.
“What the Fuck! Get off my sister Barnes!” Tony was screaming, his voice filled with anger. You went and slapped him to get him to shut up, “Tony calm the hell down, he’s my soulmate you idiot.” “Yeah I’m aware, you think I didn’t put two and two together, I knew since I met him.” You were now the angry one, he knew about your soulmate this whole time but kept it from you! “You knew this whole time and didn’t tell me?” You were speaking at a normal level but your voice was full of irritation. “He’s not good enough for you, he killed our parents for god’s sake!” Tony tried to reason but that just made your blood boil more. “You and I both know that it wasn’t him, it. was. Hydra.” You seethed “fine, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Tony said realizing his mistake. “I’m assuming I should clear out your room in the tower?” He questioned, already figuring out your plan, “yeah, I’ll be down in a week or two, after I finish up my current project probably.” You responded, glad your brother had come to his senses.
A week later you moved into the tower and got to know the rest of the team. When you pulled up both super soldiers heard your bike’s motor and rushed out at the familiar noise. They saw your bike and it was a similar one to Steve’s back in the war, they begged you to let them drive it, to Tony’s surprise you did, you had never let him drive it.
You became best friends with Nat and Wanda, it was nice to have some women friends you could relate to. You and Bucky were as he said ‘going steady.’ He called you his doll and his best girl and no matter how many times he did you would blush, every, single, time. You loved him and he loved you. You were glad you had found your soulmate. Even Tony eventually came around.
#marvel#bucky fluff#bucky barnes fic#bucky x reader#bucky barnes#Bucky soulmate#marvel soulmates#soulmate au
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First Date
Summary: The reader accidentally sends an angry email off to a co-worker but winds up with a date instead...
Pairing: Landscaper!Dean x reader
Square: First Date
Word Count: 1,900ish
Warnings: language, fluff
A/N: Written for @spndeanbingo . Enjoy!
_______
You yawned as you trotted out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee in hand down to your home office. You plopped down in your chair and got on your computer, checking your email with a tired hum. You saw an email from the facilities manager and sighed.
“Oh come on,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I’m work from home now, jackass. Refund my parking pass. That was like five hundred bucks.”
You growled and typed out an angry email in response, getting so fed up when you finished you knocked your coffee all over your computer.
“Shit!” you said, grabbing some tissues and moping it up.
You saw a sent message appear on screen and you shook your head.
“No. No. No, I didn’t send that. Recall, recall,” you said, shoving the tissues aside. It’d already been opened though and the recall failed, your jaw dropping. “No! I just moved into this house! I can’t afford to get fired.”
You grabbed your phone and decided to bite the bullet, trying to dial the guy when you got an email back.
As highlighted in my original message below, your refund will show up next month along with all other refunds to staff now working from home.
You hit reply and started writing an apology, praying he didn’t report you to HR.
I’m so sorry. It was an accident. I wrote it to express my frustrations and had no intentions of ever sending it. I’m deeply embarrassed, Mr. Winchester, and apologize once again.
You bit your bottom lip and waited a minute, getting a response back.
Thank you for your apology, Ms. Y/L/N. Seeing as today is my last day and it was a mistake, I see no reason to pursue this further.
“Ah, thank you, thank you,” you said. “Now let’s deal with this coffee.”
Two Weeks Later
“So what’s the damage?” you asked. The man in the flannel and baseball cap wrote up a tally on his clipboard before looking back at the house and yard again.
“Normally, for total lawn maintenance, that includes your weeding, trimming, spring and fall clean up, etc. for a lawn this large, you’re looking at around eighty a week,” he said. “But we’re trying to break into this neighborhood so let’s call it fifty a week. We get ten yards around here, we’ll knock it down to forty. How’s that sound?”
“Fifty for everything?” you asked. “Including the snow removal?”
“We’ll negotiate a separate contract for that but I’d call that about 350 for that season,” he said. “So. We have a deal?”
“For fifty bucks, you got a deal,” you said, shaking his hand.
“Perfect. I will have a contract written up and sent over to you this evening,” he said. He dug around into his back pocket and pulled out a business card.
“Super Natural Lawn Services,” you said. “Winchester.”
“Hm?” he said, writing something down on his clipboard.
“Name sounds familiar is all,” you said.
“Used to be in charge of managing the grounds at a local place until they decided to have their staff work from home. Ms. Y/L/N,” he said with a smirk.
“Oh my…” you said, Dean chuckling. “I am so-”
“I like running my own business a lot better,” he said. “Besides, you apologized. We’re all good. We’ll get that contract straightened out and I’ll get a team over Friday morning to start on your landscape design.”
“I really am sorry, Mr. Winchester. I-”
“Y/N. It’s good. I promise. I’ll see you around, okay?”
You nodded and he headed back to his car, giving you a wave as he drove off.
Two Weeks Later
“Hey, Dean?” you called from your front porch. He poked his head up from where he was head first in a notebook, staring at the dirt edge around your house. “You want a drink? It’s really hot out.”
“I’m okay,” he said, sweating pouring off of him.
“You want to come into the air conditioning for a minute?” you asked. He was about to say no when he took off his hat and his hair was soaked with sweat. “Come on.”
“Alright. Just for a minute,” he said. He hopped up onto the porch and stepped into your foyer, letting out a sigh. “Okay, that’s nice.”
“You like lemonade?”
“Sure,” he said. He took off his boots and followed you to your kitchen, taking a seat at the table when you waved him down. You brought over a large glass, Dean gulping it down. “Do you have a minute? Now that your lawn is in good shape, I have a few ideas for landscaping near the house if I could pick your brain.”
“Sure,” you said. He flipped open his notebook and showed you a drawing, your eyes wide. “You drew that? It’s great.”
“Do you like that kind of style? It’s minimal upkeep but it’s not barren out there this way,” he said.
“I love it. How much does that cost?” you asked.
“It’s part of your weekly bill. I have a few other ideas in here you can take a look at and tell me which you like best,” he said. You flipped through the notebook with him, still liking the first one the most. “Alright. We’ll get that going for you then.”
“My neighbor was asking about you the other day. I gave her your name,” you said.
“Fingers crossed we get a bit more business around here then,” he said as he stood up. “I’ll get out of your hair now. Thanks for the drink, Y/N.”
One Month Later
You hummed as you sat on your front porch with your morning coffee, watching Dean across the street and walk around a yard with his team. They’d already done your yard for the week and you knew Dean was up to about six or so houses in the development. With a big stretch you glanced over to your car and saw something on the windshield. You got up and walked over, plucking off a note.
Found a problem with one of your plants. Rabbits were eating it. I’ll replace it later today.
You looked across the street just as he looked over. You gave a wave and he returned it before you headed back inside.
Four hours later you were getting home from the store to find another note stuck up against your front door.
Plant should be all good now. Enjoy your weekend.
“Hey,” you heard behind you and you nearly jumped out of your skin. “Sorry.”
“Hi, Dean,” you said. “S’alright. I got your note.”
“It was a simple fix,” he said. “I actually am looking for my work gloves. I either left them at your place or the Jones’ but I didn’t find them over there.”
“Are they black?” you asked.
“Yeah. You find them?” he asked.
“Maybe they’re near my new plant,” you said, nodding your head. He looked over and they were on the grass beside it.
“Ah. That’s what I get for taking calls while working,” he said. He grabbed them and started to leave, pausing at the driveway. “Hey, Y/N.”
“Yeah?”
“You single?”
“Why?”
“Cause if you’re dating someone, I don’t think my odds of getting a date will go very far,” he said as he spun around. You smiled and leaned against the porch post. “Single?”
“Why would you want to date me? I was very rude to you once.”
“You were pissed about throwing money away for no good reason. Trust me, I got plenty of emails that day. You’re the only one that apologized. Plus you may have once told the grumpy guy in the cafeteria to go do a job that makes him happy.”
“You knew who I was when I emailed you, didn’t you.”
“Yeah. I looked you up at work. You were nice back then. You always offer my crew cold water if you’re home. I just like you,” he said.
“Pick me up at seven,” you said as you spun around. “You decide what we’re doing.”
“Alright,” he said. “I wouldn’t advise a dress and heels.”
“Now I’m intrigued. I’ll see you later then, Dean.”
“Yes you will, sweetheart.”
“Hi,” said Dean when you opened your front door just before seven. You laughed when he held out a packet of flower seeds. “They’ll go great in a planter on the porch.”
“Thanks,” you said. You put the packet inside and locked up, following him to his car. “So what are we doing?”
“I figured we could do something and grab a bite after if that’s okay?” he asked.
“Sure,” you said. “Were you thinking of a movie?”
“Hopefully it’s more fun than a movie,” he said. “Trust me.”
“Okay, that is the most fun I’ve ever had on a first date,” you said, Dean chuckling as you both turned in your helmets. “I did not even know there was go-karting in this town. Like really nice go-karting too.”
“We could come back sometime,” he said. “I don’t know about you but I’m starving.”
“Same,” you said.
“Well follow me then,” he said, walking past his car in the parking lot and headed for the street. He took your hand and you walked across over to a diner, Dean walking the two of you inside and to a booth by the corner.
Twelve minutes later you had a double bacon cheeseburger with jalapenos in front of you along with a basket of fries and onion rings. You dug in, Dean smiling to himself as he enjoyed his own burger.
“Too much?” you said.
“Save room for dessert. They have out of this world sundaes,” he said.
“If it’s as good as this burger, I’m sold,” you said. “So what made you want to have a landscaping business?”
“I get to be outside, do some hard work but some mental work too. We’re doing pretty good for our first year,” he said. “I didn’t like my old job very much.”
“It sounds like this one is working out for you.”
“It is. Probably would have taken me longer to ask you out if I hadn’t sort of known you already but I don’t mind,” he said, taking one of your fries.
“You flirt with all your customers or just me?”
“Just you,” he said. “How’s it working out so far?”
“Pretty good. Want to go catch the music fest downtown after our meal? Main act comes on at nine,” you said. “Unless you’re not into rock.”
“Oh, sweetheart. You and me are gonna get along just fine.”
_____
#spndeanbingo#dean x reader#spn#supernatural#dean winchester#dean winchester x reader#dean fanfiction#dean fanfic#dean x#dean x you#dean#spn fanfiction#supernatural fanfiction
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Getting In Tune | Chris Evans x reader fluff
summary: taking house calls as a piano tuner doesn’t usually mean meeting hot guys… mostly just old ladies who offer you lemonade, which is great and all, but did not prepare you for an appointment to tune chris evans’ full grand.
word count: 3.7k
warnings: swearing, dirty jokes about pianos, allusions to nsfw things?? vaguely?, mostly just fluff and flirting and awkwardness
Checking that the address on your worksheet matched the one on the door in front of you, you reviewed the nature of the appointment as your boss had written out for you:
Customer: Christopher Evans
Appointment type: Warranty tuning and check-up
Arrival time: 10 a.m.
You checked your watch and saw that it was 9:58, but hopefully that wouldn’t bother him too much. Leaning forward, you knocked on the door and waited. You could hear a dog barking inside, running up to the other side of the door as someone unlocked the bolt and cracked it open, poking his head out while he held the dog back with his leg.
He seemed a little surprised to see you standing there, made even more apparent by the fact that he was obviously wearing pajamas— specifically, a baggy tank top and gingham flannel pants. A few tattoos were visible on his arms and collarbones, though you tried not to stare at them or anything.
“Did you not know you had an appointment today?” you asked him. When he didn’t answer, you tried to give a bit more of a prompting. “I’m here from Boston Steinway…?”
“Right, right,” he agreed, “uh, let me put the dog out, and… put on a shirt…”
“Good idea,” you suggested, “I’ll be here!”
He smiled at you one more time before shutting the door again, his footsteps shuffling away as you waited for his return. Thankfully it was a nice day out so you weren’t too cold in your work uniform (yes, you felt like a total dork having to wear a polo with a nametag on it, but such is the life of a piano tuner). When you heard the dog run into the backyard, and the sound of Chris coming back to open the door, you took a moment to straighten yourself in hopes of looking like you’d been waiting patiently.
“Come in please,” he offered as he opened the door one more time, wearing a navy sweater and jeans now (and a NASA ball cap, for whatever reason) and stepping aside to invite you in.
“I hope I didn’t scare you too much,” you smiled as you stepped past him, letting him shut the door behind you, “a lot of people forget when I’m supposed to show up, trust me.” You shuddered as you remembered those times you caught people in a lot worse than pajamas.
“No, I knew somebody was coming today, I just… wasn’t expecting…” he trailed off.
“A girl?” you finished for him with a smirk.
“I… yeah, I guess I wasn’t expecting a girl,” he laughed, looking a little embarrassed.
"Well, piano tuning is a real boy's club," you joked.
"Is it?" he asked sincerely.
"Um, no, not particularly."
"Oh."
After an awkward moment passed while you cringed internally at your failed joke, he finally guided you across the house to where the piano was; you set your toolbag down beside it, stepping back to admire the instrument. “It’s gorgeous,” you told him.
“Oh, thanks,” he smiled a little. “Yeah, she’s a beaut.”
“How long have you been playing?” you asked. “Or are you one of those people who keeps it mostly for decoration.”
“Decoration?” he repeated incredulously. “Do people do that?”
“Yeah,” you nodded, “more often than not I end up doing cosmetic repairs instead of internal ones because families are basically using this as the most expensive object possible to put framed family photos on.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he scoffed, “I mean, I’m sure I’m not using this thing the way it deserves, cause I’m still not very good at it but… yeah, at least I play it a few times a week.”
“Good, it deserves that,” you agreed. “Mind if I…?”
“Oh, go ahead,” he prompted, stepping back and motioning for you to touch the piano. You didn’t sit down, just leaning over to do a quick scale up and back down. "Anyways, I think it's mostly fine but those higher notes are getting kinda squeaky…" he mumbled.
"Right,” you noted, messing around with the keys near the top to check what he’d said, “well, they do that, especially out here with these cold winters making the strings tighten up. Should be fixable."
“Great,” he smiled.
“Alright, pretty girl, let’s take a look at your guts,” you grinned, groaning a bit as you lifted the heavy lid to see the strings inside. "It's in great shape,” you observed aloud, “this can't be more than a few years old."
"Yeah, I got it pretty recently actually. It's never been tuned before."
"Oh, this is its first time?" you smirked, leaning in to whisper to the strings: "don't worry, I'll be gentle."
He blushed a little as he laughed, making you pretty sure your joke hadn't gone too far.
“You, uh, don’t have to be around for this part,” you informed him. “I mean, unless you want to, but it’ll just be me messing around in here for a few hours.
“No, I’ll give you some space,” he decided, “just let me know if you need anything. Do you want, like, water or something?”
“I’m fine, but thanks,” you dismissed, “just continue as if I wasn’t here.”
“Oh, you don’t wanna see that,” he disagreed, looking like he regretted saying it as soon as he finished his sentence. You felt your face warm and hoped he just meant that he’d be eating cheetos out of the bag in his underwear and not anything more… mature.
As he awkwardly shuffled away, you opened your toolbox and got to work. Your first task was to get a pitch reader so you could figure out how well-tuned each string was— you set that on the soundboard and got to work testing keys and reading the little digital display of your device. Once that told you how much work each key needed, it was easy to just put your tuning hammer on one pin at a time, loosening or tightening until the pitch was just right. You couldn’t just start at one side and tune all the way up to the other, oh no, there was a very specific ideal tuning order that you’d memorized by now: first the middle strings of the octaves from C3 to C5, then the one of each of the unison strings in the double bass section, then the middle strings from C5 to C8, then the lower single bass strings, then every left string of all the unisons from C3 to C8, then the rest of the double bass section, and finally all the right strings from C3 to C8.
Easy peasy, right?
It actually sort of would be, if you hadn’t gotten stuck on the unison bass string of E flat 3, your tuning hammer suddenly unable to turn even when you tried to brace yourself against the piano for some leverage.
"Um, Mr. Evans?" you called out.
"Yup!" he answered, swinging out from the entryway instantly— he must have been waiting just outside, which made you feel a little like you were being spied on.
"Would you maybe come over here and use your manly-man strength on this?"
"My what now?" he laughed, walking towards you.
"You know," you explained by flexing your biceps and making a sort of serious face; your charades version of what a muscular man looked like, apparently.
"Oh, I see," he nodded, "my—" and he repeated the charade, except it made your face warm and your eyes all but bulge out of your head. That was him jokingly flexing?! What did he look like when he was actually trying to show his muscles?
You tore yourself from that train of thought as he leaned over the edge of the piano, gripping the tuning hammer you'd left on the pin there.
"This one?" he asked.
"Yeah, just give it a little nudge counter-clockwise, please."
He did it like it was no trouble at all.
"You could've at least pretended it was difficult," you rolled your eyes.
"No, you loosened it up for me," he winked. WINKED. Was he trying to kill you or something? "Chris is fine," he said abruptly.
Chris is fine indeed, your brain supplied instantly. "I'm sorry?" you choked out aloud instead.
"You can call me Chris, I mean," he explained. "You called me Mr. Evans before."
"Oh, right," you nodded. "Chris. Thanks for your help with that, Chris."
"Sure thing," he smiled.
Just as the conversation began to lull, you could hear the dog whining and scratching at the back door, and you felt so guilty that he had been left outside. “You can let the dog back in, you know,” you suggested, “I don’t mind.”
“I shouldn’t,” he shook his head, “he’ll jump all over you and stuff…”
“No, really, it’s fine, I love dogs,” you assured him.
“Alright, just prepare yourself,” he chuckled a little as he slipped over to the back door to let the dog in. Running past his owner instantly and straight to you, you knelt down to let it lick your face as you laughed.
“Hi puppy!” you greeted. “Oh, thank you for the kisses, it’s nice to meet you!” He calmed down a bit when you scratched behind his ears, wiggling and putting his paws up on your knees. “What’s his name?” you asked, turning your attention to Chris who had his arms crossed and a prideful smile on his face.
“Dodger,” he informed you with a nod.
“Aw, hi Dodger,” you cooed at the pup, “I’d sit here and pet you all day, but your dad’s not paying me to play with you— apparently.”
Chris laughed a bit as you stood up, and Dodger actually took it pretty well, dashing to curl up on the nearest couch as you got back to work on the piano.
“I’m just about halfway done,” you informed him as you started to move on to the next string, occasionally plucking the string to test that the pitch was right.
“I’ve never heard a piano plucked before,” he observed, leaning in to watch you work.
“Yeah, probably better to just stick to hitting the keys,” you smirked.
“Psh, anybody can do that,” he scoffed, “you could invent a whole new genre of music!”
"I'll leave the musical experimentation to you," you decided, "and I'll stay on this side of the action board."
"See, I didn't even know that was a part of the piano," he admitted.
"And that's why you're on that side."
You two chatted while you worked— he asked some questions about you, you asked some questions about him, classic small talk sort of stuff. He managed to keep it interesting, though, and keep you laughing throughout the whole conversation. It was significantly more fun than you usually had during house calls like this, and instead of distracting you it actually seemed to help you keep your focus. It was easier to talk to him when you could keep your eyes on the strings anyways: looking right at him was sort of overwhelming.
With the last string adjusted, you slipped the tuning hammer into your back pocket and dusted off your hands as you stepped back to admire your work.
"That's it?" he asked as he stood up from the couch, noticing the signs of completion.
"It is if it sounds good!" you smiled. "Go ahead, take it for a spin," you suggested. "Play something and tell me if it sounds how you want."
"Okay," he nodded, slipping around the bench and sliding onto it. He took a breath before he placed his hands on the keys, but then suddenly stopped and set them back on his lap with a sigh as he turned to you. "Um, it's a little weird with you watching me."
"Oh, are you not used to performance?"
"Not outside of my family and friends and stuff, no."
"I don't really have to be here for this part, as long as you're happy with it then that's fine," you shrugged, "but you know, I wanna be able to fix any issues while I'm still here—"
"No, it’s not a big deal," he shook his head quickly, "I should get over myself. I guess it's just scary cause you've probably heard people a lot better than me play…"
"Don't worry about that," you laughed, "just play something, really, I won't judge."
He spun back to face the keys, placing his hands on them— for a second you wondered if he struggled to hit just one key at a time with those thick fingers, but you pushed that thought away quickly.
As he started to play, you found yourself focusing on the music more than the sound of the keys like you should've been. He was good, actually, although you could hear the hesitance in the way he played. He didn't rush as much as most people did, though; he was savoring the piece, one note at a time, and you let your eyes fall shut as he continued to play.
You broke from your trance when he suddenly stopped, repeating the phrase he'd just finished and stopping on the same note.
"Does this one sound kinda… off to you?" he asked.
"Um," you paused, "play it again?"
He poked the key with one finger a few times, and you frowned. "I can't really tell." You stepped forward and leaned over his shoulder, caging his body in accidentally as your arms wrapped around his shoulders to fiddle with the keys in front of him. You rested your knee on the bench beside his legs, not even realizing that it was a massive invasion of his personal space until you were already in it.
He moved his hands out of the way so you could repeat the phrase, and although you didn't hear anything wrong, you felt the key sticking.
"Oh," you mumbled to yourself, "it's the key, not the string."
"Can you fix it?" he asked looking up at you.
"Yeah, I—" you stopped in the middle of your word as you looked back at him because his face was really close, so close that his bright blue eyes were burning right through you; so close that you completely lost your train of thought. "I can fix anything," you finished softly.
"Great," he whispered back, eyes seeming to glance down to your lips quickly before moving back up to meet your gaze.
You cleared your throat as you stepped back, giving him space again as you nervously crossed your arms. "It's probably just something stuck under there or whatever, but I can order a replacement key if not."
"Right," he agreed with a nod, sliding to the side of the bench to give you room to fiddle with it. You grabbed your smaller toolkit and sat beside him, starting with your flashlight to see if there was anything hiding underneath there.
Moving to peer behind the action frame, you realized it was a problem with the hammer hitting the string— or, more specifically, with the mechanism that kept the hammer balanced. All you had to do was reach in with a long screwdriver and shift some parts around, and it seemed to be back in working order.
“Play it again?” you requested, and he slid back to the middle and started the piece over. He grinned when he reached the part he’d stopped at before, flying through the phrase without stopping.
“Hey! You fixed it!” he beamed.
“I’m a genius,” you shrugged, smirking a little. He stopped playing and you found yourself a little disappointed by that, unexpectedly. “Any other musical ailments I can magically cure for you today?”
“Unless you can make me a better sight reader, that’ll be all,” he smiled, standing up from the bench.
“Ah, if I could do that, I’d be using that power on myself.”
He shrugged; "Fair enough."
"Well, I'll leave you to it then," you announced as you put the last of your tools away and picked up your bag. "Hope I didn't disrupt your day too much."
"You did, actually— in a good way," he grinned. "I definitely learned a lot more than I was going to just watching TV and drinking beer."
You followed him back to the front door, which he opened for you. "You can always give us a call if you need anything. Um, anything piano-related, that is. Tell the dog I said goodbye, okay?"
Chris smiled a little, softer than his normal expression. "I'll be sure he gets the message."
As you got back in your car, you took a minute to just catch your breath for the first time since you'd gotten here. Trying to be funny and cute and charming when all you wanna do is stutter and gawk and melt is exhausting! As enjoyable as it was, in a certain sense, you were relieved at the idea of returning to your routine— which typically did not include super hot dudes chatting you up at work.
//
“This must be a mistake,” you shook your head as you showed the work order form to your boss, “I was at this address two weeks ago, the piano’s in perfect condition.”
“Well, he has an unlimited warranty, so either something happened since you were there last, or you fucked something up when you were there last, or he’s just determined to get his money’s worth out of us,” she explained without looking up from her computer.
You sighed and left, heading back to the same address and hoping you weren’t about to get chewed out for somehow ruining Chris’ like-new piano.
Knocking on the door, you found yourself chewing your lip as you waited for him to answer the door. You were a little surprised when he answered in a button-up and slacks— entirely opposite to pajamas, although you sort of missed that get-up if you were being honest.
“Hey,” he greeted with a grin, stepping back to motion for you to come inside.
“Hi,” you responded awkwardly as you stepped past him. “Is... everything alright with the piano? I didn’t damage it, did I?”
He cleared his throat as he shut the door behind you, the size of the hallway forcing the two of you to stand slightly closer together than you would’ve personally preferred; it was hard to focus with him so close, sometimes. “No, no, it’s not that,” he answered, “the piano’s fine, I just…” he stammered a little, starting over. “Uh, there was something I wanted to ask you about last time, and I called the Steinway store but I couldn’t figure out how to call you specifically, so I just had to make a new tuning appointment.”
You furrowed your brow with confusion, not sure why someone else on the phone couldn’t answer whatever question he had, but decided to let him go through with his thought. “What did you wanna ask me?”
“Uh, I just wanted to ask you… out,” he finished plainly.
You paused as you processed that. “Out?”
“Like, I was wondering if you’d wanna… go out, with me.”
You hoped your face didn’t give away all of your shock, but at the same time, you figured it probably did.
He winced as you continued to stare at him in silence. “I’m kind of out on a limb here,” he reminded you.
“Right, I’m sorry,” you shook your head, “um, I guess I’m just sort of surprised because you’re, like… hot, and stuff.”
“And stuff?”
“Yeah, like… nice…” you explained.
“Hot and nice?” he laughed. “Slow down, you’ll give me an ego.”
You laughed, too, and less nervously than you expected. Feeling the rare urge to be spontaneous, you scratched your neck as you prepared to propose an idea. “Listen, so, this might be crazy but... I have another appointment today, at the Symphony Hall— it’s a final tune-up on the pianos and harps before this massive concerto thing and they always let me stay to watch the performance afterwards. If you came with me, I could get you in for free.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I mean, you probably have better things to do today—”
“I don’t,” he refuted.
“And if you just wanted to, like, get lunch some time then that would be great, I just thought I might as well invite you to hear the chamber orchestra from the best seat in the house,” you shrugged.
“The best seat?” he questioned incredulously. “And where is that?”
“The rafters,” you laughed.
And that was how you and Chris ended up sitting on the steel catwalk suspended on the ceiling of the Boston Symphony Hall, dangling your feet over the edge as the sounds of the concerto echoed out from the stage, over the silent audience and, finally, up to you two.
The music was incredible, if a little quiet from where you were listening, and so soothing that you felt compelled to close your eyes and focus on the sound. You were partial to the piano, as always, but the violins and cellos in harmony made your chest warm unexpectedly. Or maybe that was from the feeling of Chris’ gaze on you, as you opened your eyes to find him looking at your face rather than the performance below.
“What are you looking at me for?” you asked him with a nervous laugh.
“For fun,” he shrugged.
“Doesn’t seem very exciting,” you scoffed, looking back to the stage.
“Oh, it’s exciting,” he mumbled his reply as he returned his gaze to the performance as well.
Your cheeks burned when you heard that, in spite of the fact that it was actually a bit drafty in the auditorium. Even though your nerves were buzzing with anxiety, a rush of bravery struck you and suddenly you were leaning your head onto his shoulder. Just the warmth of him through his shirt— hell, even the smell of his cologne— somehow managed to relax you and energize you simultaneously. His hand gingerly slipping around your waist was even better.
After this many years of tuning pianos, it felt like you were getting yourself in tune for the first time.
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Into The Woods
Warnings: noncon sexual acts; vaginal, anal.
This is dark!Lumberjack!Bucky and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You’re sent to make a delivery to the man in the woods.
Note: This is for @imanuglywombat and @nellblazer‘s Lumberjack Challenge. I couldn’t see if they were accepting dark fics so if they aren’t, I guess it’s just another fic lol. But anyways, the challenge inspired me.
Thank you. Love you guys!
As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3
“You sure Dezy isn’t going to make it?” You asked as you helped Gerry load the crate onto the trailer.
“I’m sorry, I got all the other deliveries sent out with Milo but this one’s too far for him.” Gerry grunted as he closed the back of the open-top trailer. “I don’t know what’s gotten into Dezy. Second day in a row and yet I hear he’s down at the Horse every night.”
“Well, he’ll run out of beer money sooner than later,” You sighed as you pulled on your gloves. The air was starting to bite as the brief autumn was turning. “You sure you can manage without me?”
“Slow day in the shop,” He shrugged. “You just be careful.”
“Alright. I’ll do my best.” You climbed up onto the four-wheeler and fumbled with the thick key with the grizzly bear charm attached to it. “Maybe next time give me the easy ones.”
“I’ll tack an hour of overtime on your pay, how about that?” He chuckled. “You need to get out anyway. I know this place is small but you can’t spend all your time reading those harlequins in the dry good section.”
“They’re not harlequins,” You turned the engine and raised your voice as you gripped the handlebars. “They’re fantasy, Ger.”
“Sure, sure,” He backed away. “You go or you won’t make it back by sundown.”
“Never far off these days,” You mused as you revved. “See ya, Gerry. Don’t forget to down stock the fishing wire.”
“Which one of us is the boss?” He called after you as you pulled out, the small trailer rumbling behind you.
You turned off at the end of the street, past the business fronts that looked like cabins. The town looked straight out of Western but with more snow. The first of the annual powder had yet to fall but you could feel it coming. You headed over the lumpy tundra past the sparse trees that grew thicker the further you got. The paths turned narrower and you steered slowly through the damp forest.
You only went so far out when your uncle took you ice fishing and rarely in this direction. You slowed as the path grew more uneven, carefully traversing the thick roots and deep valleys. The noise of the engine bounced off the trunks of trees around you. It was more than an hour before you reached your destination. At least, you thought you were in the right place. Weren’t too many cabins hidden in these trees; well not many still inhabited.
You pulled into the clearing and killed the engine. You hopped off the ATV and stretched your legs, your thighs tingled from the rumble. You went to the trailer and open the door and slid out the heavy trunk. You braced yourself before you lifted and gave a grunt. You’d packed the load yourself. You carried it past the old motorcycle and the neat stack of wood which marched the way to the broad front porch. You slowly ascended the three steps up and set down the heavy crate beside the door.
A bench made of logs, likely by hand, stood just a few feet from the front door, a woven blanket folded over the seat. The curtains were drawn within and you started to wonder if there was anyone there or if this was just another forgotten scene. It all seemed so eerily still.
You knocked and waited for an answer. Nothing. You tried again with the same result. Then, after a cold silence, you heard a door open and snap shut but it wasn’t the one before you. You turned as a man appeared beside the far corner of the porch. He appeared disturbed by your presence as he emerged from the old shed, his flannel jacket marked with patches of dirt and his dark hair poking out from beneath a woolen cap.
“He usually just leaves it there,” He clapped his gloved hands together as he brushed away the filth. “Thanks.”
“Uh, sorry,” You turned and ambled down the steps. “I didn’t realise.”
“Don’t be sorry,” He stayed near the corner, kicking his foot up onto the stump where an ax waited to be used. “Better get going before the sun beats you.”
“Sure,” You went back to the four wheeler. His eyes bore into you as you climbed up. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just--”
“Thanks,” He said again. “Driving out here all this way. Appreciate it.”
“No problem,” You turned the key. “Have a good day, sir.”
The engine roared to life and you carefully turned around, the empty trailer clattering behind you. You couldn’t help but feel him watching you still. You wanted to look back, but didn’t. You twisted the throttle and delved back through the treeline. You hoped Dezy would get his shit together, you weren’t keen on doing deliveries.
🪓
The next day, you were back to your usual fare. You stood at the long counter of Elk’s General, watching the locals as they wandered in and out, perusing the aisles of groceries, clothing, or novelty goods. You rung them through on the outdated till and smiled after them as they left with their paper bags.
The usual midday lull came and you pressed flat your latest read on the counter. You crossed your arms over the edge and bent over the pages, losing yourself in the fantastical medieval setting. Gerry didn’t mind so much as you kept an eye on customers.
The rusty bell above the entrance tinkled and you looked up suddenly. You turned your book over before you could lose your place. You stood up straight and smiled at your newest customer but froze as his eyes met yours. It was the man from the day before, to whom you had delivered the weeks worth of goods.
He ignored your usual greeting and marched over to you. He planted the bill for his delivery on the counter.
“I ordered six cans of maple beans. I have only four.” He said plainly.
“An oversight. I’m sorry, sir. Just a moment.” You gulped and flitted off to check the shelf. There were only the tomato beans in stock. You went to the back room and checked there. Nothing. You returned to the counter. “Looks like we’re all out but I’ll make a note to have them delivered when we get more. Or we can remove the charge from your bill.”
“Keep ‘em on,” He said as he reached into his pocket. “I can wait.” He unfolded the worn leather wallet. “I have to pay my account anyway.”
“Sure,” You reached to slid his bill closer and keyed the amount into the machine. “You could have called--”
“I don’t have a phone,” He growled as he counted out the bills. “I don’t like to be disturbed.”
You took the money and counted it. You avoided his gaze guiltily. You sorted the bills in the cash door and handed him his change. His gloves brushed your skin and he tucked the money away with his wallet.
“Good book?” He pointed to the novel.
“Alright, so far,” You answered quietly.
“I read his other one. The one set in Ancient Egypt. It was… interesting. Not my usual reading material though.” He tapped his fingers on the counter. “You have a good day, miss.”
He turned and left you as you returned his farewell. The door snapped shut behind him and you looked back down at the book. You opened the front page and read the list of works by the same author. You’d have to look into them.
🪓
Several days late, you were helping Gerry restock shelves with the newly acquired truck. The night before, you’d helped unload it and left it for the next day to sort through. Dezy sat behind the counter, half-keeled over on the stool, trying not to puke into his hands.
“Damn shit is hungover again,” Gerry muttered. “I got a whole list of deliveries today and he can’t even stand straight.”
“I can do it,” You offered. “Long as he can manage the till.”
“I don’t know if I even trust him to do that,” Gerry said. “You sure you wanna do the deliveries?”
“We got any of the maple beans on the truck?” You asked.
“A good amount.” He said.
“We owe two cans to-- well, I didn’t get his name. The man who lives way up in the trees.” You frowned, only then realising you new nothing about him. In that town, everyone knew everyone.
“Mr. Barnes?” Gerry reached over into the box and moved around several items before pulling out a can. “Quiet man. Doesn’t like to be bothered. Must’ve scared Dezy good to get him to shut up.” He took out two more cans. “If you’re willing to head up that way, you give him and extra can on me. He’s the only customer in town who pays on time.”
“Sure,” You stood, thankful not to be forced to kneel all day at the shelves. “The list?”
“Pinned up behind the counter as usual,” He caught a box of Corn Pops he hit with his elbow and swore. “Take a radio. Snow’s comin’.”
“Will do,” You said. “I should be that long.”
“Chill blowin’ in from the lake, bundle up before you go too.” He said.
“You sound like my mother.” You laughed.
“I feel like you’re mother,” He shook his head. “Now go, before I get sentimental.”
🪓
Gerry was right, it was cold. The four-wheeler seemed slower as the wind swirled around you. You stopped by each house and knocked before leaving your haul. You smiled away tips and bid each resident a good day before you rushed away under the protests of another delivery ahead of you.
Your last would take the longest, though it was the smallest. The tree cans rattled around the trailer so you stopped at the shop before you continued on and detached it. You placed the cans in a small box and secured it to the seat behind you with bungee cords. You fixed your gloves and pulled your cap over your ears before you set out once more.
The sky grew paler the later it got. A harbinger of snow. You took the same route as before, getting off once to push the ATV over a fallen branch caught beneath it. You carried on, the frigid air lashing your cheeks.
You drew up to the clearing as you had before. The motorcycle was gone, likely pushed into the shed in preparation for the first snowfall. The piles of wood had grown taller and the front door was open, the screen door a poor barrier to the looming winter.
You unhooked the box and climbed up the steps. You bent to set it down and be off. You looked up as you sensed something on the other side of the screen door. The man, Mr. Barnes, stared at you through the mesh, a mug in hand. You stood and smiled nervously.
“Your beans. An extra can for the inconvenience.” You said. “Have a good day, sir.”
You turned but caught yourself before you made it down one step as he spoke.
“It’s pretty cold.” He remarked as he took the box in his free hand. “You like coffee? I just made a pot.”
“I appreciate it,” You turned to him. “But I don’t mean to impose on you.”
“I wouldn’t ask if you were,” He said stiffly. “I’d feel worse letting half a pot go to waste.”
“I don’t know, I should--” You glanced behind you at the trees.
“You came all this way to give me beans in this,” He held the door with his elbow and stepped through. “You don’t like coffee, I got tea.”
You took a breath as you looked back to him. “Sure. I’ll have some coffee.”
He nodded and stared at you. He blinked and moved to hold the door open. “Well, you wanna come inside? Or do you prefer your coffee frozen?”
“Uh, yeah, okay,” You kicked yourself and stopped right before the door. You smiled awkwardly and offered your name. “I just… figured you wouldn’t want a stranger in your home.”
“Bucky,” He returned and waved you inside. “Not many strangers in town. Not really.”
You entered and he followed you. The entryway was lit by an antique lamp and the front room was entirely dark. You knelt to unlace your boots as he stepped around you. You kept your coat on as the wind continued to seep in behind you.
“Kitchens just down the hall past the stairs,” He said as he continued across the wooden floor.
“Okay,” You slid your boots off and stood, following his shadow to the kitchen.
As you passed through the doorway, he placed his mug on the table and went to the cupboard. He took down another thick ceramic cup and sidled over to the stove. He filled it from the percolator and returned to the table to place it before you.
“Milk? Sugar?”
“I’m fine, black is good,” You accepted as he slid the cup over to you.
You sat, hesitantly, and removed your gloves. You tucked them in your pocket and wrapped your hands around the steaming cup. He pulled out another chair and sat. He looked into the mug and slowly drank from it.
“I didn’t know anyone still lived out here.” You said.
“Sometimes,” He answered carefully. “Spring and summer I spend working the lumberyards south of here.”
“And you live all the way up here?” You wondered. He gave you a sharp look. “Sorry, it’s just… curiosity.”
“I like it,” He shrugged. “It’s quiet.”
You nodded and resigned yourself to silence. You listened to the wind outside and looked around at the tidy kitchen. Most of the original structure remained, renovated but not replaced. Even the curtains seemed to be of another era; faded but without holes or tears. All the way up here, time always seemed to stand still.
“You finish your book?” His voice jolted you.
You looked back to him and sipped the hot coffee. You nodded again.
“I did.” You answered. “It was alright.”
“Just alright?” He asked.
“I’ve read better and worse,” You said. “It was… entertaining.”
“Mmm,” He mumbled and drank his coffee. You mimicked him, eager to leave.
Ten minutes of silence and stunted small talk left your mug empty and your stomach gurgling. You stood and nervously teetered on your feet.
“I should go. It’s snowing already.” You glanced out the window.
“Sure,” He rose and gathered up the mugs and took them to the sink.
“Thank you.” You said and turned rigidly to head through the door.
You trod down the hallway and stopped to pull on your boots. You adjusted your cap and shoved your gloves on. He neared and you pushed open the door and glanced back at him.
“Coffee was good.” You said.
He caught the door behind you and you marched across the porch. You rushed down the steps and shivered as you neared the four wheeler.
“Be careful,” He said in monotone.
“I will, thank you,” You called back as you climb onto the seat. “Enjoy your beans.”
He waved and you turned the engine. You backed up and turned around. The snow had already left a thin powder across the ground. You steered into the trees and carefully began to weave around the trunks and along the uneven forest floor.
The snow thickened the more it fell. You had to slow as the ride became more precarious. The downfall formed a thick carpet beneath the tires and soon, even beneath the shroud of branches, the snow formed a curtain all around you, making it nearly impossible to see. You stopped and left the motor rumbling.
You pulled the radio from its holster down beside the wheel well and turned the dial until you picked up the signal. It was static and crackled.
“Gerry? Gerry!” You held the speak to your lips. “Gerry?”
“Yeah, i--me, ---okay?” His voice went in and out.
“I’m okay but the snow is… I can’t see. It’s going to take me a while.”
“Wha-- breaking up--” The radio broke off with a high pitched scratch.
“Damn it!” You shouted and tried fixing the dial. It didn’t help.
You sat for a moment and put the radio back. You couldn’t stay and let yourself get snowed in. You’d have to keep going, slow but steady. You carefully pulled past the trees, blinking away the flakes as they gathered on your lashes. You stopped again to pulled your scarf higher over your cheeks and pressed on.
The third time you paused, you realised you were lost. A brief lull allowed your vision to clear and you had no idea where you were. You kicked the side of the ATV and cursed. You grabbed the radio again and turned it on.
“Gerry?” No answer. Several more tries with nothing but static.
You hung your head and clicked the radio off. You gripped the handlebars and looked around. You’d have to turn around and try to trace your way back but the snow was starting to get heavy again and--
“Hey,” You jumped as the voice sounded from behind you. “You okay?”
You turned to find Bucky standing by a tree. “How--”
“Looks like you just went in a big circle,” He said. “You’re about ten minutes from my place.”
“What are you doing out here?” You asked.
“Wanted to grab some kindling before the storm got too bad, then I heard you.”
“Kindling?”
“Dry it out, obviously, but might run out of what I have before this clears,” He looked up. “Look, it’s only gonna get worse. Why don’t you wait it out?”
“I don’t-- I can’t--”
“There’s more than enough room for both of us. Might be a bit dusty but… Wouldn’t feel right letting you get lost out here.”
You exhaled and looked at the radio.
“Alright,” You relented.
“I’ll lead the way.” He came up beside the ATV and passed to the front. “Just don’t get too close.”
“Okay,” You turned the throttle just a bit and kept a snail’s pace as he guided you.
He barely seemed bothered by the gusts or the deepening snow. Even as the air turned almost completely white, he didn’t waver though you squinted to keep an eye on him.
“You like beans?” He yelled back to you as he broke through to the clearing around his house.
“Maple beans?” You asked dryly.
“They go great with toast,” He said as he continued onto the shed and unlocked the wide doors. “Warm you right up.”
🪓
You sat at the table, alone. Bucky had excused himself after clearing his own plates. You still picked away at the beans and sausage, listening to the movement above. You scooped the last few bites up and swallowed, washing it down with a gulp of water. You stood and went to the sink to rinse your plate. As you set it in the rack, you were startled by a creak behind you.
“I cleared a bedroom for you. It’s a bit dusty around here.” Bucky said as he leaned against the door frame. “Bit cold, too. Sorry about that.”
“It’s alright,” The windows shuddered. “Better than out there.”
“I put some clothes out too. Might be a little big.” He explained. “Dinner okay?”
“Yeah, it was…” You tried to smile. “Alright. Um, just one second.”
You neared him and he moved aside. You went down the hallway to where your jacket was hung and pulled the radio out. He watched you as you fiddled with it and the speaker crackled on.
“Gerry?” You held it to your lips.
“Kiddo?” He said, clear but not entirely.
“I’m okay,” You said slowly as you held the button down. “Staying until storm clears. Call in morning.”
“Roger, kiddo,” He returned. “Be safe.”
You turned off the radio and placed it back in your coat pocket. You looked up at Bucky as he stared at you dully.
“Just wanted to make sure someone knew,” You said. “Wouldn’t want them to worry.”
“Of course not,” He said. “You want a beer?”
“What?” You were thrown off by the sudden offer.
“Beer. If you want you can grab a book from the study,” He pointed to the doorway opposite the front room. “Sit in front of the fire where it’s warm.”
“I’ll take the book,” You said. “I’m not much for beer though.”
“Hot chocolate? Tea?” He stepped a little closer.
“I’m fine,” You squirmed. “Thank you.”
‘Just let me know if you need anything,” He said softly. “Haven’t had a guest in a while but… I can be accommodating.”
🪓
You read three chapters before you found your way upstairs. Bucky showed you the room he’d prepared for you but didn’t say much more before he closed himself into his own. You changed into the long sleeve tee he left you and the jogging pants with the drawstring waist. You tucked your feet into the wool socks and rolled under the blankets. You were still cold. The top floor was entirely untouched by the fireplace below.
You drifted into a shallow sleep. Maybe an hour or two before you woke, shivering. You sat up and reluctantly climbed out from beneath the covers. You took one of the blankets and wrapped it around you as you shuffled to the door. You slipped through, carefully not to let the hinges whine and plodded through the dark down the stairs.
In the front room, the fire burned a low amber. You crept over to it and took a log from the wrought iron basket just beside it. You placed it over the coals and stoked it with the poker until flames began to lick. You held your hands to the glow until you were no longer shaking.
You took a cushion from the couch and dropped it on the carpet. You laid down before the fire, wrapping yourself in the blanket as you basked in the warmth. You listened to the violent winds outside, softened by the heaps of snow which had gathered all around the cabin. Your eyes closed as you began to sink into the darkness around you.
You dreamt of the four wheeler, of the snow swirling around you, of losing yourself in the pure white. The trees curled and clawed at your as you were thrown from the seat. The snap of twigs filled your ears and your eyes snapped open. The fire popped as it burned, the room lighter but not much.
There was a heaviness around you. More than just the quilt, the thick arm wrapped around your middle held you close to the warmth at your back. Startled, you wriggled against the body and a groan slithered along your ear.
“What the--” You hissed as you grasped his wrist, his hand tucked beneath you. “What are you doing?”
“It’s cold,” His breath was hot as it seeped into your scalp. “You were shivering.”
“Let me go,” You tugged on him.
“Shhh,” He hushed. “It’s early.”
“Dude, not cool,” You pulled harder on his arm.
“Stop,” He said more firmly.
“Get off of me.” You growled.
“You’re not a very gracious guest,” He snarled as he retracted his arm, only to grab your shoulder and push you flat on your back.
You latched onto his wrist, he was strong. He didn’t budge.
“You’re scaring me.”
“Scaring you?” He removed his hand. “How? What do you think I’m gonna do?”
He sat up, his broad shoulder stretched the waffled shirt he wore as he rubbed his eyes. He pushed his head back and took a deep breath. You pushed yourself up slowly beside him.
“What do you want me to do?” His hand settled on your thigh and he squeezed.
“Stop,” You tried to push his hand away and he flipped it to grasp yours.
His grip slipped to your wrist and he twisted. He wrenched it over your head until you were forced onto your back. You cried out as he leaned over you, the blanket slipping entirely from your bodies.
“Came all this way for a few cans of beans,” He whispered. “Really?”
“Stop!” You repeated. “Please.”
“But you’re cold,” He uttered as he leaned closer. “You need to warm up… you’re shivering…” His nose touched yours. “Or… shaking?”
“Get--” His lips smothered yours as he shifted his body atop you.
You struggled as he released your wrist and reached down to grab your knee as he forced his legs between yours. He bit your lip as he pulled and his hand clawed at the waist of the loose pants. He pulled until he snapped the string within and you kicked around him.
“What are you doing?” You beat on his shoulders. “Stop! Stop!”
“I don’t talk to people, they don’t talk to me,” He snarled. “I keep to myself. Even that dumb delivery boy of yours knows better.”
“No, no,” You slapped his chest as he sat up suddenly.
He tore the pants down your legs until they were around your knees and pushed them up. The fabric kept you trapped beneath him, legs bent to your chest as he leaned over your once more. He brushed his nose against your cheek and snarled.
“You asked for this, honey,” He sneered. “You just couldn’t leave me alone… The way you smile at me, I can see it.”
“I was just--” You pushed against him. “--doing my job. Please, get off of me.”
He moved against you, his thighs pressed to yours as he felt between you. He pushed his own pants down and you tried to shove him off of you with your legs. You only made yourself dizzy.
The fire flickered against you, setting shadows across his features, his blue eyes caught the flame and glowed sinisterly. His rough finger tickled your cunt as he guided his cock along your folds. You grunted as you fought harder beneath him. He pressed along your entrance and you gasped, a horrified scream as he impaled you in a single thrust.
“Go on and scream.” He said. “No one will hear you. No one but me.” He jerked his hips and you cried out again. “I kinda like it.”
He moved his hips in sharp, short thrusts. He grunted with each, lower and lower, almost like satisfied purrs.
He sat up and hugged your legs to his torso as he rutted faster. He clung to you as if he was desperate, as if he couldn’t get enough. You scratched at the carpet. You whimpered each time he slammed into you, each tilt of his hips harder than the last. The clapping of your flesh mingled with your voices. You closed your eyes, holding back the sobs that threatened.
And then he stopped. Suddenly. He stayed inside of you as his grasp on you loosened. His body quivered and a low growl rose from him. He pulled out of you and pushed your legs aside to that you fell onto your side. Shakily, you pushed yourself, on knees and elbow you tried to crawl away, your pants tangled around your feet.
He grabbed your ankles and dragged you back as you slipped onto your stomach. He climbed over you, pinning your legs between his. He kneaded and pinched your ass, dusky, thick breaths rose from him.
He pressed his thumb between your cheeks and you reached desperately for anything to get away. The edge of the carpet rolled in your grasp and you kicked your feet with a panicked whine. He pressed his thumb against your asshole and you shook your head as he buried your face in your arms. He pushed inside and you let out a shrill cry.
He poked in and out of you, your tight ring burned around his thumb. He withdrew it and forced his index finger in, then added his middle. Your pained groans only seemed to encourage him as he stretched you around a third finger.
He pulled his hand away and bent his arm over your shoulders as he lifted himself over you. He lined himself up with your ass as his hair hung around his head and brushed the back of yours. He took a breath and you held one in. He entered you slowly, letting out a choked grunt as you strained around him.
The tears pricked at your eyes and your arm shot up as you blind grabbed at air.
“Please, please, please. Stop.” You begged. “I can’t--”
He pushed deeper and your voice fizzled. He pulled back and thrust in again. Every time, he went a little further. Soon he was buried in you to his limit and you couldn’t breathe or move. He held himself inside of you and shuddered.
He began to rock and you moaned. Despite the pain, the fire that radiated from your core, it felt good. The more he did, the better it got. The pressure built, unlike any you’d felt before, and you gulped and groaned against the carpet. Shocked by him, by yourself.
He got faster and faster. Louder two as his snarls filled your head. You tensed and then in an instant, your strength drained from you. You came, harder than you had ever in your life. You murmured as your head lolled and he kept going.
He lifted his head and his fingers gripped the back of your neck as he lifted himself over you. He hammered into you from above as you lay prone and helpless beneath him. He exclaimed and you felt a warmth flow into you.
He stopped and fell atop you. His weight held you down, suffocated you. His arm stretched up and he grabbed your hand, twining his fingers with yours.
“Stay as long as you like,” He rasped. “Snow’s not letting up anytme soon.”
#bucky barnes#dark bucky barnes#dark!bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#dark bucky barnes x reader#dark!bucky barnes x reader#fic#one shot#lumberjack au#lumberjack#au#mcu#marvel#dark fic#dark!fic#challenge
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