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chloe302225 · 3 days

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Soldat

A random drabble for @startcarvingdarling

Warnings for fear, kidnap, and spanking.

Character: Bucky Barnes, side of Peter Parker

“Peter? I’m waiting,” you say as he finally picks up.

“Hmm? Waiting? What do you mean?” He asks as you hear something whirring in the background.

“What? Don’t tell me you forgot.” You sneer, “you’re at the lab, aren’t you?”

“Uh, yeah, of course. Where am I supposed to be?” He sputters.

“Meeting me for our date!” You snip. “Ugh, I’m so embarrassed.”

“Date? What—I didn’t-- I guess I forgot but I don’t remember--”

“You never remember anything, do you? Not unless you’re getting some award or simping for Tony.” You huff.

“What? I mean it. I have no recollection of this--”

“You texted me last week. Said you want to spend some time together since you’ve been so busy and—Never mind. I’m not doing this. I’m not responsible for keeping your mind straight,” you shake your head, “bye.”

You hang up as your eyes prick. You should have expected it. You can barely get a message back so why would he follow through on this? Besides, all he ever talks about are his gadgets.

You drop your arm and turn to the restaurant. You look up and groan. He probably didn’t even make a reservation. You drag your feet away and head back down the street.

The marquee lights reflect off the dark pavement and cast your shadow across the curb. As you walk, others pass by merrily in couples and groups. They’re raucous as they head out for a night of fun. For time with people who care about them.

You turn down the next street. It’s emptier, and darker, away from the main strip. Your footsteps echo and you cross the street, undeterred as the traffic is sparse. As you get to the other side, you flinch. You turn. You thought you heard something.

As you turn back, you jump. There was a shadow there. You spin and search the darkness. You’re imagining things. Even if that’s the case, it is New York.

You speed ahead through the cones of light glowing from the tall street poles. You pump your arms as your breath hitches. Your heart is racing. You hear another scuff. You turn but see nothing.

You jump as there’s a clatter down the alley and you squeak, stumbling back. You whirl around again and this time, your path is blocked. The silhouette of a man looms between the safe haven of the lights. His shoulders are broad and his feet wide.

“Um, you—take it,” you throw your purse at him. He swipes it away. You flinch and step back. “Sir, I don’t--”

He steps forward and your voice fizzles in the air. You know him. It’s Bucky. Yet, it doesn’t seem like him. His posture is different and he has a black mask over the lower half of his face. His eyes are almost black and he move mechanically as he comes closer.

“Bucky? What are yo--”

He grabs you by your throat and you cough. You latch onto his wrist as your phone bounces off the sidewalk. You whimper. The street light is swallowed up in his pupils as brings you near. He presses his nose to yours, the fabric of the mask rough.

He tilts his head as he pulls back and launches you up. He takes a step and catches you easily over his shoulder. He veers and marches into the alleyway as you squeal. His hand cracks across your ass and your voice catches. He squeezes until your whine, digging into your flesh.

“Wait- what--”

He hushes you as he keeps going. You kick your legs and swipe at his back. He doesn’t stop. It’s as if he can’t hear you. As if your pleas are nothing, just like your weight on his shoulder.

His laughter echoes against the brick walls as he carries you into the shadows. You don’t know where he’s taking you, or why, but you know you should be afraid. This isn’t Bucky, this is what he used to be.

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chloe302225 · 3 days

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I'm working late tn so any an all thots are welcome

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chloe302225 · 3 days

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Just Friends: Can I Take Your Order?

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

masterlist

Summary: Bucky pays you a surprise visit.

It’s giving

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your work isn’t hard per se, but it can be chaotic. Still, your tips more than make up for all the running around, but not necessarily the ridiculous attire. You’re not entirely unhappy, it’s exciting even if it can be stressful.

The diners always keep you on your feet. Literally. You run around, table to table, that night dressed as the infamous Dorothy who’s too far from Kansas. Somewhere around their, a lion, scarecrow, and tinman are taking orders and entertaining children at their seats.

The themed restaurant isn’t really the place you would go, but it’s a family-friendly venue in a city overcrowded with more adult attractions. The money keeps a roof over your head. You won’t complain for that.

The Oz room is overflowing and you can see more customers in the lobby. Please send them over to Mary Poppins’ Pop-In. You don’t have time to dread the new wave of diners as you bring a tray of desserts to a table with three blustering toddlers. You could never.

“Anything else?” You ask as you put out the stemmed cups of banana pudding pie.

“The check--” the father demands before he’s hit in the face with a stray straw. He grits back his agitation and forces a smile, “thanks.”

You pick up the straw and leave him. As you do, you pass Graham, that night’s scarecrow. He lowers his voice as he follows you to the till.

“Can you get the next table, please? I’m dying for a smoke. Any longer and I’m going to smack one of these brats,” he mutters.

You smile at him. You find the nights go by quicker without breaks. “No problem! On it. I just need to get this bill printed out.”

You toss the straw and tap the till. You pull up that table and print it out, tucking it into one of the little folders. You grab a handful of hard candies and sweep back across the dining room.

“Here ya are, enjoy your desserts,” you say and carry on.

You peer around, searching for the new diners. Right there in the corner. You head over in your pig-tailed wig and red shoes. As you near, your chest flickers. You think you know the back of that head. No, it’s not. He wouldn’t be here...

You’re all but assured of your suspicions by the golden hair of the man across from him. A third to round out party. You cringe before you muster a smile and come to the side of the table.

“Welcome to the Land of Oz,” you recite your mandatory introduction and avoid looking at Bucky, “don’t stray too far or you might find a wicked witch or flying monkey to carry you off. May I start you with some drinks?”

“You got cocktails at a joint like this?” Bucky scoffs.

You refuse to look at him, “the menu’s right there.” You point beside the centerpiece. He chuckles.

“This is cute, how’d you find this place, Buck?” The blond asks. The man better known as Captain America.

“Hmm, this place would be fun to you two geriatrics,” their other companion says. That’s the Falcon.

You can feel Bucky watching you. He’s smirking. You know it. At least when you see him, you only ever have your stupid dress on. You take the wig and makeup off before you go home. It attracts less weirdos.

“So, we do have beer, despite what you might think,” you offer.

“Got prune juice? These two need it--” Falcon, rather Sam Wilson, chortles and receives an elbow to the ribs.

“We have cranberry,” you suggest.

“Where’s Toto?” Bucky asks.

You hold back as sigh and finally meet his eyes, “no dogs allowed.”

“Damn, sounds like you should go then, eh, Buck,” Sam adds. You grin as he cackles.

“Hey,” Bucky sneers. “Just water for me.”

“No milk to keep your bones strong?” The Captain, or Steve, kids.

“You’re a year younger, shut up,” Bucky huffs.

“I’ll get a water too,” Steve smirks.

“Get me a Miller,” Sam says, “please.”

“No problem. I’ll be back with that and some menus.”

You spin and strut away. It feels good to see him getting teased because you know he only came here to mock you. You can’t exactly follow him to his work and make fun of his arm. Not that you would.

You get the water and beer and return to the table with menus under your arm. You hand them all out and give them some time to look over it. You check in with your other tables before you go back again.

“So, have we made up our minds?” You smile.

Steve smiles at you, “uh, can I ask what kinda fish it is?”

“Cod, sir,” you answer as you lean in to see where he points on the menu.

“Ah, thanks.”

“You got any recommendations?” Sam asks.

“I usually go straight to dessert,” you smile, “but the spaghetti is yummy. And you can get it spicy.”

“Oh, you like it spicy?” Bucky snickers.

You look at him and Steve clears his throat, “Buck.”

“Yikes, dude. You got lines, huh?” Sam teases.

“No, I just--” he gets flustered and rolls his eyes. “Can I have the cheeseburger and fries?”

“Sure thing,” you take out your notepad.

“I’ll have the fish and chips,” Steve says, “is it possible to add an extra filet?”

“Yeppers,” you nod and jot it down.

“Think I’ll get the meatball sandwich,” Sam says, “apparently, I like meatballs.”

Steve scowls again and Bucky sighs. You tap your pen on the pad, “alrighty. I’ll go put your order in.”

“Thanks, doll.” Sam winks at you.

You smile and as you turn, you hear Bucky hiss, “doll? Since when do you call anyone doll?”

You make a face but don’t pay much mind to their arguing. He did mention his other friends could be a bit much. Based on that interaction, you’d say he’s just as bad.

You put the ticket in the window and turn back. As you go back to the family to get the bill and your tip, your eyes snag on Bucky. He cranes around to see you and waves at you with two fingers. Oh, you have to get him back for this.

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chloe302225 · 3 days

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Christian Dior - Fall 1999 RTW

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chloe302225 · 3 days

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Claude Montana - Fall 1998 RTW

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chloe302225 · 4 days

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Pierre Balmain - Fall 1993 RTW

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chloe302225 · 4 days

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As the summer comes to an end, I cannot tell you what a relief it is to have finally completed my chemotherapy treatment.

The last nine months have been incredibly tough for us as a family. Life as you know it can change in an instant and we have had to find a way to navigate the stormy waters and road unknown.

The Princess of Wales, September 2024.

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chloe302225 · 4 days

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40 second loop of that Papillon gif cropped tight bc it is just too fucking HOT:

charlie + shower scenes = never get old 🥵

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chloe302225 · 4 days

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Cool for the Summer 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After finishing your degree, you return home only to find things aren’t as you left them.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: another week of the grind.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Your peaceful awakening is quickly undermined by recollection. You look around at the room, the physical changes mirroring those less tangible. The bookshelves, the vanity, the rug. You sit up and sigh. You should be grateful but you’re just overwhelmed.

You get up and stretch as you walk around the bed. You’re pretty sure he’s still there. You go to the dresser. You took your time putting away your clothes, just to distract yourself.

You listen to the hallway before you peek around your door. You cross the hall and knock before you lock yourself in the bathroom. You can’t help but think of your unexpected run-in last night. As you do, your hip tingles where Bucky’s hand was.

You shake it off and strip down. You leave your clothes by the sink and hang a fresh towel on the bar. You waste no time washing up as every noise has you jumping and flinching. The door might be locked but you can’t help but feel uneasy about the extra body in the house.

As you get out, you realise you didn’t entirely think this through. You grabbed a towel but not fresh clothes. You could put on the dirty ones but for what? Just to go change again?

You pat off the excess water and wrap yourself in the towel. You gather up your clothes and near the door. You put your ear to the door and wait. You don’t hear anything.

You come out slowly and tiptoe down the hall. You near your door and jump as you notice the figure you didn’t see before. Bucky stands at the top of the stairs. He watches you as you stop and hug your clothes tighter. You gulp. Where did he come from?

“Uh, sorry, I didn’t know you were awake. I was just about to put on some coffee and was going to ask…” his eyes drift down and you shift on your feet as your bare legs prickle. “Um, uh, did you drink coffee? I can make enough for everyone.”

“Er, sure,” you utter after a crackling cough.

Your voice jerks you into action and you quickly retreat into your room. You nap the door shut, hiding behind it, and close your eyes in full-body cringe. Of course! You always have the worst timing.

You shake your head but can’t shed the heat that encases you. You just feel strange. The way he gaped, the way his eyes roved over you, and the night before. Him walking around without a shirt, touching your hip, calling you ‘baby girl’.

You drop your clothes on the bed and go to the dresser. You take out a pair of lilac shorts and frilly baby doll shirt. You lay them on the wood and sift around for a pair of boy shorts. You pull out a plain cotton pair and narrow your eyes at the wall.

How did he not know you were awake? You can always hear the shower from downstairs. He may have thought it was your mom but if they’ve been seeing each other for a while, he’d know she loves to sleep in on her days off.

You pull on your underwear and your basic white bra. You slip into your shorts but leave the shirt on the dresser. You go to the vanity and sit down as you search through your toiletry bag. You spread moisturiser over your skin and neck. Your eyes catch the carved roses around the frame, the layers delicately crafted.

You should thank Bucky. For real. Not that stunned and dumb thanks he got yesterday. You’re in no hurry to talk to him after what just happened though.

You get up and stretch your arms up. You turn and cross the room to grab your shirt. You pull it on and linger by the end of the bed. You pace around restlessly. You can’t hide up here for two long. He’ll know you’re avoiding him.

Well, he isn’t there for you. He’s your mom’s boyfriend. You shouldn’t worry so much about him. It’s just that stupid thing that gets in your head when it comes to boys. Boys? You’re an adult. So is he. And he’s much older. He’s a man and well above your age bracket.

It’s silly to even suspect that. You’re just adjusting to him being around. That’s all it is. You never had a man in the house; no father, no male roommates. You’ve always felt safer around women. Or alone.

You grip the door knob and turn. You look down as you feel the cool crystal. That’s new too.

You pull inward and step into the hall. You can hear the grind of the coffee machine from the kitchen. As you make your way to the stairs, you examine the walls, the floor, the railing. Funny that the rest of the house is the same when there’s that creaky step four down and the bathroom door is slightly crooked in the frame.

Your descent is forewarned by the very same groaning stair. You wince as you put your weight on it and hesitate to go further. You follow the scent of coffee into the kitchen. As much as you’d like to avoid another encounter, you need to clear the fog from your head.

As you enter the kitchen, Bucky stands with his back to you. He doesn’t seem to hear you. He kneads his neck with his fingers and pushes his head back. He grunts and he strains and stretches, letting out a rumble as he drops his arms.

“Erm, ahem,” you linger at the door. “Can I get a cup?”

“Oh shit—shoot,” he turns and leans on the counter with a chuckle. He grins as you sway uncertaintly. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you—let me--”

“It’s okay, I can get one,” you scurry forward but before you can get there, he has the cupboard open. He turns and takes down a cup. The teal one with the daisy on it. That’s your favourite. “Oh, thanks.”

“No problem,” he winks as you look at him only to quickly shy away. He slides it over to you as the machine spout drips. “Afraid you caught me at a bad moment. I think I slept weird. Got this kick and I can feel it…” he points along his trap, just beneath the thin fabric of his tee shirt, “right here but I just can’t get in there. Fingers are too… thick.”

“Mm, that sounds… uncomfortable.”

“Sure is. I wanted to mow the lawn to surprise your mom but I don’t know,” he explains.

You grab the carafe from the burner and fill your cup. He’s quiet as you feel him watching you. He spreads his hand flat on the counter top. Is he leaning in?

“Hey, this might be weird but do you think you could do me a favour? You got small hands and--”

“Hmm?” Your eyes round in surprise. You think you know what he means but you don’t want to say it.

“You could just press into the muscle. See if you can loosen it up.” He lifts his hand slightly, stand his hand up on his fingers. “If that’s-- if you’re okay with that? If not, I might find a pen or something.”

“Well, er, I guess…” you glance up as his cheek ticks and he rubs his neck with a groan.

“Really, if you don’t want to--”

“It’s… if it hurts… I just wouldn’t want to make it worse,” you stutter, running your fingertips up and down the handle of your mug.

“Oh, I don’t think you can make anything worse,” he smirks. “Really, you’d be doing me a big favour, baby girl.”

There’s that name again. You’re not brave enough to call him out on it. You shrug.

“Okay,” you agree, “how, er…”

He looks around, “oh, uh, I’ll sit.”

He steps away from the counter and crosses to the other side of the kitchen. He sits on the dining table and you hover where you are. You turn slowly to follow. You approach him as he pushes his shoulders wide.

“Where… how…” you don’t know how to ask.

“Just here,” he points to the side of his neck.

“Al…right,” you drawl dumbly and bring your hands up. You gently touch him and he purrs. You rub his skin and feel the goosebumps rise.

“Just a little firmer, baby girl,” he hums.

You push your fingertips into his neck and knead. He groans louder and leans his head forward. He drones then choke.

“Mmm, I think…” He leans away from you and you drop your hand. “Here, it’s under my shoulder,” he rasps. “Let me just--” he reaches back and tugs his shirt up. He peels it off and you blanch. You’re happy he can’t see your face. “Just here…”

He points over his shoulders and you stare at his muscles. Your eyes wander up to the back of his head and the streaks of silver and dark brown. You glance back down. You’ve seen some boys with their shirts off as they ran across campus or when they were hanging out with your roommates but you’ve never been this close.

“Um…” you reach for him and gently trace along his muscle, “here?”

“Just along the blade, baby girl.” You move your finger and he purrs. “Oh yeah. That’s it. Oh… harder…” he hangs his head again and grips his thighs. “That’s so good.”

He gasps as you feel some resistance and then it loosens. You roll your finger against him and he breathes slowly. You stop and pull your hand back.

“Is that good?” You ask.

He puffs out a few more times. He sucks in a deep breath and sits up. He rolls his shoulders and sighs.

“Oh, god, yes,” he moves his head back and forth. “Wow, you got that magic touch.” He stands, keeping his shirt in his hand. “Mmm, I feel young again.”

You flutter your fingers and nod as he faces you. You shy away back to the counter but stop yourself from taking your mug. You look at him over your shoulder.

“You want some too?” You ask.

“You’re so sweet, baby girl. Sure. I’ll have some but I’m gonna go get the mower out. Mind bringing it to me?” He suggests.

You nod again, almost furiously. You just want some space. Your fingers are hot and tingly.

“Just black, thanks.”

You turn to the counter again and open the cupboard. You listen to him go and focus on pouring a second cup. You add some milk to your own and take a mouthful, savouring it before you make yourself take his.

You bring the cup with you and stop by the door to step into a pair of slides. You come outside as you hear him rolling the mower out of the open garage. He’s still shirtless. It’s pretty hot out. You come down the steps and near him.

“Hi, your coffee,” you announce as you balance the cup.

“Oh, wonderful,” he smiles as he takes it. “Thanks.”

He raises the cup to his lips and drinks deeply. His chest fills with air and looks even bigger. He’s in pretty good shape. Not just for his age but in general. You shouldn’t think about that though.

“Er, I hate to ask you for more but the suns blazing. You mind getting my back?” He turns and dips into the garage. You peek around as he puts his cup down then takes a bright orange bottle; sunscreen.

You blink. Oh my. You bounce nervously on your feet. You look around. You want to say no. You should. It isn’t inappropriate but it feels like it.

The sunlight glints at the end of your vision. You clamp your lips tight and come forward. You reach for the bottle and he hands it over.

“Here,” he says as you take it. He turns and presents his back.

Reluctantly, you pop the cap open and squeeze the lotion into your palm. You bend to put the bottle down and rub your hand together, then turn them out. You press them to his back and drag them around his skin.

You smear the sunscreen but it’s greasy and doesn’t absorb easily. You keep rubbing until it starts to seep into his skin. He groans, like before and leans his head back. As he does, you sense something else. Something lower down.

He reaches back blindly and brushes his fingers up your thigh, toying with the edge of your shorts. You stop, flattening your hands against him, and look down. You pull your hands away and step out of his reach.

“I…” you swallow. “My coffee will get cold.”

You turn and flee without looking back. You can only think one thing; it didn’t happen, it didn’t happen… and if it did, it wasn’t what you thought.

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