#Bucky your influence keeps spreading

[crowned-clown-rising]

Funny how Caleb ticks so many of my No-go tropes but still the bastard got me hooked up like 👀 okay I'm listening what the hell is wrong with you I wanna know I kinda need to know 👀

[drabblesandsnippets]

Imagine... (‘a crackling fire sets the mood’)

Bucky Barnes x Plus-size female reader

December Daze Challenge - Day 22 - @the-slumberparty

Warnings: (430w) Mob Bucky. Established relationship. Implied violence. Fluff. (Mostly implied) smut.

Imagine mob!Bucky having to come to your rescue, deep in enemy territory, due to no fault of your own. Even if you were to blame, he’d still search for you, mercilessly leaving a trail of bodies in his wake, his men watching his back the entire way. There’s no stopping him until he finds you, his lungs not fully expanding until you’re in his sight, visibly shaken yet seemingly uninjured. It sends a fresh wave of adrenaline pulsing through his veins, his sharp mind formulating a plan of escape as you greet each other in a desperate kiss, Bucky’s hands quickly undoing your binds. More destruction follows your escape, the extent of it becoming clear when you arrive at the safehouse, the distant sky ablaze, smoke lingering in the air. Bucky doesn’t let you focus on it for too long, distracting you with a hot shower and another tender inspection for any bruises or wounds he may have overlooked. And once he’s satisfied that you’re truly okay, there’s no fighting his need for you, the undeniable urge to bring you pleasure overriding everything else. He still has to debrief his men, ensure the threat has been eliminated, and plan for next steps, but he’s aching to make up for lost time, refusing to cut this reunion short. Taking full advantage of the built-in bench in the shower, Bucky draws multiple orgasms out of you, oscillating between tasting you and burying himself as deep as your body allows. He’s insatiable, only stopping long enough to dry you off and pull you over to the bedroom windows, giving you another glimpse at the fire still raging, the sight sending shivers down your spine. “Look at that,” he whispers, his gaze drifting from the window to the beautiful view of you leaning against the dresser, your spread legs inviting him back where he always longs to be.  “Look at all that power you hold,” he groans, filling you in one smooth motion, his hand never stopping its gentle caress of your back. "Entire cities could crumble because of you, ya know that?” There’s nothing Bucky wouldn’t do for you, his powerful connections and endless influence allowing him to do everything necessary to keep you happy and secure. Whatever cracks in his systems that led to you being taken will surely be weeded out, his men just as loyal and protective of you as they are him - there’s no doubt that he’ll have you back home soon enough, reminding you all over again how lucky he is to call you his.

Day 21 | Imagine… Masterlist | Day 23

Banners by @cafekitsune - Divider by @bernardsbendystraws

[buckgasms]

I have an idea that ik you’ll EXECUTE PERFECTLY

Mafia!Bucky is in his office at home dealing with some kind of work and his princess comes in wanting to play, and when he gets a phone call she takes that as her opportunity to make him watch her 🙈🙈

✨Bestie✨

I once did a BDSM test thing online and I rated 100% brat and I was like "pffft that ain't me, I'm an angel" but, when you send me messages like this I think "yeah I get it now..."

Anyhooooooo 👀

Thank you for messaging me, you are perfect ❤️

Lookit him working so hard 🥹

So you're sitting outside Bucky's office, and you've been sitting there for twenty whole minutes!!! You poor baby!

You've been waiting for Bucky to stop talking on the phone which feels like it's been going on all morning! You fiddle with the skirt of your pretty lacy babydoll outfit and pout to yourself when you finally hear his voice say "Ok... Goodbye" and the phone clicks.

You scramble to your feet and tap on the door before walking straight in with a big smile on your face. His eyes brighten with a smile when he sees you, then slightly darken when he takes in your outfit.

"Hi Princess" he growls before patting his lap and you skip over to him and plant yourself down. "Hello" you say excitedly as you boop your nose against his. "Been waiting outside for aaaages Daddy" you pout as he rubs his hands over your thighs and squeezes.

"Oh I'm sorry princess... Shall I make it up to you?" He grins against your skin before capturing your lips in a kiss and adjusting you to grind on his thigh. You giggle between kisses and press yourself down a little. A soft 'ah' slips from your lips and he chuckles, pulling a strap off your shoulder and kissing your skin.

"Is my princess sensitive? You gonna come just like that babygirl?" You shake your head, not wanting that just yet. You waited all morning for this, you wanted to get the whole daddy treatment.

Just as you were telling Bucky this, his phone starts ringing. You whine again and have a little strop in his lap. "Hey, hey don't be like that baby" he says reaching for the phone, "I can still take care of my princess..." He chuckles as you climb off his lap and huff around the office as he takes his call.

It's not right you thought to yourself as he chatted to someone, eyes flicking to you every so often. You've been waiting so patiently, and sweetly and you look so pretty! How dare he answer that phone!

It was then you decided to take matters into your own hands. Quite literally. You plonked yourself down in the armchair on the other side of the desk. He smiled at you before taking a note on the pad in front of him and you smiled back sweetly.

You rolled your straps off your shoulders completely, and let your breasts free. His eyes immediately shot to you with a tense look on his face. You smiled again as your hands started playing with your nipples, squeezing and rolling them between your fingers.

After teasing him like that for a bit you stood and dropped the rest of your clothing to the floor before sitting back in your chair. You giggled quietly as you watched him unzip his jeans and pull his cock out of his boxers. In fact you moaned quite loudly when you saw it, imagining how good it must taste and how heavy it would feel on your tongue.

You propped your feet up on his desk so he had a direct view of your glistening heat. He huffed out as your fingers spread your lips apart before assuring whoever was on the other end of the line that he was fine.

You didn't bother being as restrained, gasping and mewling as your fingers circled your clit before sinking into your needy hole. Your head felt heavy as you struggled to keep your focus on him, but you were satisfied watching him pump his dick in tandem with your own shaky hands.

"Daddyyyy" you whimpered as your orgasm danced just out of reach, unable to truly reach what you needed without his influence. He put his free hand over the receiver and whispered, "Faster babygirl..."

You nodded and pumped your fingers as fast as you could and your head fell backwards for a brief moment as your pretty moans filled the room. He clicked his fingers and mouthed, "eyes on me" which sent a pulse of pleasure and submission to your head and pussy. You could feel your hand drenched in slick, hear your pussy as you did your best to fuck yourself and keep your eyes on him.

You whined out at he growled on the other side of the desk. "Please daddy.... Please you do it" you begged him and he finally told the person on the phone, "let's talk tomorrow" before slamming the handset down.

You managed to launch yourself over the table, and wrap your arms around his neck before you both crashed your lips together in a crazy kiss. "Such a naughty girl" he growled before pushing you to lay back on the table. "Can't wait daddy...please" you begged as he rubbed his cock against your folds. "Its ok now baby... Daddy's gotcha...gonna take good care of my princess..."

You let out something between as gasp and a giggle as he sunk into you, filling you all the way to the brim. He groaned out long and deep as he bottomed out, before setting a hard and fast pace that made your whole body shake and the desk beneath you shudder.

His hands came to rest either side of your head and his face levelled with yours. "Y'know I'm gonna have to punish you for that don't you babygirl?" You nodded and giggled as your arms wrapped around his. He chuckled as he leaned down to press a kiss to your lips, "but I cannot...fuck....I can't resist this perfect cunt princess.... Just takes me so damn well."

You wailed as he finally dragged you over the edge and squeezed him so tightly he let out a long groan of his own. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss, trailing your fingers down his back before he pulled you up and back into his lap.

You sat there just recovering and nuzzling with him for a moment before you were met with a pair of steel blue eyes. You moaned and hid your face in his neck.

"I didn't mean it daddy" you giggled and finally met his gaze with your best puppy dog eyes, pressing your boobs against him and wiggling your bottom against his thigh.

"You think you're the first person to try and bargain your way outta punishment from me?" You giggled and cupped his bearded face in your soft hands. "Umm no, but I bet I'm the prettiest one..."

Even he can't help but laugh at that one....

[thornsnvultures]

petrichor

bucky barnes x plus size!fem!reader

18+ | ~600 words | cw: car sex, unprotected sex, oral, bucky's a bit feral in this one

Rainy days have always been your favorite. The pitter-pattering sound of raindrops hitting the ground. The way the air changes, that petrichor scent that permeates the air. It's both soothing and electric the way your body reacts to a rainstorm.

You feel it now, with your face pressed up against cold glass, dying for a few drops of that cool rain to soak your heated skin, you feel the electricity sourcing through you.

"Oh fuck, right there!'

It builds and makes your whole body shake, sizzling just under your skin.

"Bucky, fuck! Feels so good."

You drool against the rain soaked window in the backseat of Bucky's car. He grips your cheeks as he nuzzles into your cunt from behind, spearing you with his tongue.

He doesn't say a word. The groans tearing from his throat match the rumbling, rolling thunder outside.

The car creaks as Bucky shifts his weight, rocking like a boat adrift on a gentle sea. You're just a lost, head floaty and weightless as Bucky slips two thick fingers into your heat. They curl and flex against you like convulsing waves, a riptide pulling you further and further into its depths until you're crying out. Lungs seizing and gasping for breath, your cries shatter like the electric bolts that fill the sky.

Bucky's mouth doesn't leave your skin even as you come back down to earth. He traces lines with his slicked fingers across your dimpled skin that his tongue dutifully follows.

"So beautiful." It's murmured like a prayer as his lips travel the length of your spine. Bucky watches you shiver and pulls you back into his lap, spreading your thighs wide atop his own. His metal fingers trail across your belly softly fluttering against his cold touch. "You're perfect."

"Bucky."

"I know. I know, honey."

His scent surrounds you now, mingling with your own and the downpour outside. Your head falls back and into the crook his neck as he lines himself up with your dripping entrance. A hiss falls from his lips as he enters you slowly, a hand on his thick length keeping his need to fill and claim at bay until he knows you can take it.

"Bucky, please," you whisper into his neck, lips catching on the stubble that creeps down faster than he can shave it away again.

He's not Thor, not a god with influence over fickle whims of weather, but the growl that tears through his chest and into yours, the way his control snaps and his hips thrust with wild abandon, he may as well be. You're rocketed through the clouds and above unbending gray skies and into the heavens. His hips propelling you straight to bliss in a way no other lover could dream of.

Bucky takes and takes, holds you open with those strong thighs of his and claims your body as it was always meant to be. His.

He yearns to break you again, to feel you crest over that edge one more time so he can meet you there and bask in each other's pleasure. And it doesn't take long, his strong hands finding the pearl between your lips and stroking you there into another oblivion until he's right there with you, strung tight and gasping into your hair as he stuffs you full and marks you with his spend.

Limp and warm in his arms is where you stay as the clouds clear outside. The windows coated in fog and rain blur you from the rest of the world and you're in no rush for that to change. Safe in the cocoon of your making, away from expectation, you spend a rainy day together.

[winterspiderpurrs]

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

Things are getting interesting @professional-benaddict

**TW: dubcon because of the influence of drugs**

🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶

Peter hesitated for a moment before quickly opening the bedroom door back up, hoping to catch Stephen before he left the main room.

" ah... umm Dr. Strange? "

Stephen was currently putting something away in the dresser draws. He locks it, slipping the key in his pocket before turning to face Peter.

" Yes, Peter?"

Biting his bottom lip, Peter glances around to make sure no one else is around.

" I... well. I don't remember much from yesterday. But well... I woke up and... maybe I have a rash on my... um. Butt"

Stephen blinks several times, his eyes roaming over Peter's form.

" A rash?"

He frowns a little. " I don't recall dogs or certain detergents being on your medical records." What he slipped Peter wouldn't have had that reaction. He walks closer and moves to the nightstand next to the bed, opening that draw to pull out some latex gloves.

" Well.. no I'm not but maybe rash isn't correct.. more like bruises and.. well honestly looks like someone bit me."

Stephen snaps the end of the gloves around his wrist, before moving his hand in twirling motion.

" Turn around and let me see. Just pull your briefs down a little for me"

Blushing a little, god this was so humiliating. Here he was having to expose himself to THE Dr. Strange. Though a wary feeling starts in his stomach, even more so when he turns around and moves his briefs, he starts to pull them down but felt that would be more vulnerable. He just moves the loose section up that way his front stays covered. A lot of the bruises were on the swell of his rear end right before it meets his leg.

Stephen 'hmms' before crouching down behind Peter looking at the bruises.

" Yeah I don't... I'm not sure how this happened but I know its not dog related and I..." Peter blinks before turning his head to look down at Stephen. " How do you know what I have on my medical records?"

At that moment, Stephen reaches up to brush the pad of his thumb along the bite marks, lightly squeezing the flesh near where he stuck the needle, no puffiness, the spot almost perfectly blended in the freckles he finds.

" Being Tony Stark's nurse isn't a job just for anyone. Being a nurse that I had to select you needed to be vetted. Can't have someone around that couldn't do the job"

Reaching to push up the other side of his briefs, he sees more markings, his eyes narrow a little, he moves his grip to slight spread Peter's cheeks apart, of course with the briefs bunched up, blocking his hole from being exposed. But Stephen knew he would find more 'bruises' there.

" You will be fine... I have some ointment you can use"

Stephen stands, he moves his hand to where he can hook one of his fingers around the edges of the briefs. Starting at the top where Peter's fingers are bunching the material to hold them up, down to the section that has scrunched up between his cheeks, he tugs the fabric out to recover Peter. Lots of unnecessary touching, not professional, is the word that pops up in Peter's mind.

" I didn't know you had freckles there"

Peter's mind roars with a loud sound, the blurry memories from the night before. The dogs, Steve being worried, the pain on his rear, sharp, the hands touching him.

" Lemme see.."

" could eat you up"

" kisses make everything better"

" fuck I can't wait to taste you"

" Such a good boy for me"

" god your delicious "

" fuck, why I promise Stephen he could have you first"

" god sweetheart"

" Just the tip, that okay? I'll just rub over it baby...Just need a little taste.."

" ... just look at it, just wants me in there"

" fuck just look at you"

"Tony!"

" God damnit Bucky! We will continue this later..."

" Out Now!"

" Jesus... wasn't doing nothin'"

" Don't look like nothing. "

" Why does everyone keep talking to me like I'm not the boss?"

Peter starts trembling, spinning around quickly to stare at Stephen. " I... you needle.. I... Tony, he bit.." he felt dizzy, a little nauseous.

Stephen takes the gloves off, tossing them onto the bin.

" Yes, I would recognize Tony's aftershave anywhere." He sighs and shakes his head, " He never did have the most patience"

Once again all Peter can think of, oh god what did I get myself into.

my part 22🖤

part 21 in the reblog by @winterspiderpurrs 😌😌

Peter wakes up with a slight headache. The pain intensifies when he sits up, but then eases off a bit. He rubs at his eyes, then looks around blearily. He’s in his own bed, the two Dobermans with him sleeping.

The young man fumbles for his phone, checking the time. Late morning? 11:20 to be exact, but furthermore, Peter has alerts on his phone that he hasn’t checked. 18 hours old? Usually Peter is very good at checking his phone and removing notifications, so for him to have this many is odd. Then again, Peter doesn’t remember how he got to bed and what happened before that.

A hint of fear sparks to life in Peter’s stomach. He tries to trace his steps, but the last thing he can remember is his grilled cheeses. But, that was lunchtime yesterday.

Peter shakes his head and scoots from his bed to stand up. While doing so, he feels sore on his ass. He tries to look, but the angle won’t allow him. He checks in the mirror of his bathroom, finding bruises on both his ass cheeks. And… teeth marks? Did the dogs bite him?

“What the hell?” Peter whispers in disbelief.

Upon closer inspection, Peter sees that the teeth marks don’t look like ones from a dog. Rather, the marks are in a half moon shape, short and flat marks with two punctures at the edges of the curve. Human… teeth?

There’s a knock at Peter’s bedroom door, and the nurse scrambles to pull his boxer briefs up and find a t-shirt. He manages to get dressed just in time for whoever entered to find him in the bathroom.

“Good morning. Or, good day.” Stephen smiles with a chuckle as he pushes the door open.

“H-hi…” Peter stutters, not knowing what to say.

“Did you sleep well? How’s your back?”

Peter forgot about his pulled back muscle, but when he tests it out, it feels better. A few more days and he will be back to normal.

“It’s all right.”

“Good.” Stephen smiles more brightly. “I let Tony out with Steve and Bucky for a walk, so you can enjoy a slow breakfast if you’d like.”

“Thanks.” Peter says, on reflex still since he cannot think of what else to say.

The doctor gives him a smile and nod of the head, and then leaves the room. The nurse is left speechless. When he looks at himself in the bathroom mirror, he can see that the bruises on his neck are starting to fade a lot.

But, new bruises have appeared, and Peter cannot remember how.

[avintagekiss24]

—you can pretend you don’t miss me; bucky barnes

pairing: tfatws!bucky barnes x black!reader

word count: 4049

warnings: 18+ ONLY, knife kink, vaginal fingering, orgasm denial, tiny bit of blood, attempted murder

challenge: @cockslut-padalecki a decade under the influence “what if I can’t forget you? I’ll burn your name into my throat”

request: bucky barnes + “i have a feeling i’m gonna get lucky tonight” + orgasm denial

author note: surprise! it didn’t take me two months to write something sjsksjs please enjoy fic #3 of my 5/5.5k follower celebration! also another quick congrats to lisa for hitting 10k!!

inspired by this art ; gif by @zacharylevis ; line divider by @firefly-graphics ; title inspired by billie eilish bitches broken hearts

The taste of bourbon and cigarettes is on his lips and tongue as he licks into your mouth. He moans into you, fingers digging into the meat of your thigh as he hooks your leg right around his waist. Your back is up against the heavy door of his apartment, fingers in soft brown hair, wet lips smacking and sucking, teeth nibbling on his swollen, red bottom lip. He laughs, relaxing into your kiss and lips and teeth as he anchors your weight in his metal hand, flesh hand rummaging in his almost too tight black jeans for his door key.

There’s a smirk on your face as you pull away from him. Your lips are still touching. Foreheads resting on one another's. Eyes a little shy, only connecting for fractions of seconds before they’re on the floor or a pair of lips. The jingle of keys fills the hallway, then the thunk of one as it pushes into the slot and stops hard against the rusted metal of the lock. The deadbolt slaps back into the door and with a push of his foot, and a little help from your weight being pinned against it, the swollen door scrapes against the frame as it pops open, swinging back into the wall.

Bucky slips his hands down your sides, grips your hips tight as he starts to back you inside. They stay there, those hands, as his eyes bounce back and forth between yours and dip down to your mouth where he licks his lips and catches his bottom lip between his teeth, like he’s fantasizing about wanting to feel them again. A metal hand cups your face, his palm warm as he sweeps his thumb along your cheek.

His tongue sneaks out just before your lips meet again to tease the roof of your mouth before he grabs your top lip between his. You both inhale deep, breathing each other in, a concoction of soft and sweet and smoke and warmth.

You’re not sure who moves first, whether Bucky is pushing or you’re pulling— probably a little of both— but you’re inside of his apartment before you know it. The door slams shut. Your leather jacket slips off your shoulders and hits the hardwood floor as you back further inside.

Fingers and hands are everywhere. Yanking at shirts, popping buttons, pulling zippers as lips get more desperate. You back into a set of bar stools, knocking them around just a little as you stumble and catch yourself, throwing your head back as laughter spills from you. Bucky pushes out a breath and a small laugh while he eyes you all hungry like as he pulls at his boots.

You tease him a little, putting those feminine wiles to good use— tilt your head, twist your hair around your fingers, push your tits forward. With your shirt crumpled on the floor, the titanium bars pushed through your nipples catch the soft pink, blue, and purple lights of the neon signs pouring in through the kitchen windows through the sheer mesh bralette covering your chest.

Bucky looks a mess. Hair all over his head, pants open— the band of his Hugo Boss boxers peeking out— plain black t-shirt now in a rumpled pile on the floor. His footsteps heavy as he stalks towards you. He stops short, wraps black and gold fingers around your wrist and yanks, collecting you again to crush your soft body against his hard one.

You tilt your head up towards him, eyes turning to slits, lips brushing against his as manicured fingertips push just inside his jeans. Soft tips sweep over a rigid cock, the size making a sly smile curl onto your face. This one is full of surprises.

“Well well,” you purr, kissing him quick, wet and loud, never taking your eyes off him, “I have a feeling I’m gonna get lucky tonight.”

A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest, a breath pushing out through his nose as a lopsided grin paints his handsome face, “Aren’t you a smart girl.”

You curl your fingers around his neck, digging the tips into his messy hair and draw him in— dragging the wet velvet of your tongue over his mouth real slow, watching as his eyes close, “You, bed,” you instruct, “Me, bathroom.”

Footsteps fill the quiet, surprisingly lived-in apartment, the clicks of your heels and his heavy thumps as he pulls you towards the bed. He just points off to his left as he falls onto the mattress, resting a leaden head on a wide palm as he settles in. Eyes blinking at you slow as you disappear behind a white door.

The bathroom is immaculate. White. Sterile. Nothing out of place— very military of him. You undress slowly, removing your shoes one by one before moving on to your jeans, leaving you in nothing but a see through bra, waist high panties— and a black leather ankle holster housing your six inch, hand crafted, butterfly knife.

You lift your foot, place it on the white countertop and slip the blade from the holster before carefully, quietly undoing the straps. Taking a deep breath, you stand up a little straighter, roll your neck and shoulders as you stare back at your reflection. The pony tail comes down, silky hair falling over your shoulders and down your back— best fifteen hundred bucks you’ve ever spent on yourself.

Gotta look good on the day you finally get to kill the Winter Soldier.

With a soft flick of your wrist, the blade flips out and you can’t help but run a manicured finger over the edge, pressing the sharp point into the pad. You find yourself in the mirror again and tilt your head a little as your brain goes a little empty— except for maybe one thought.

You wanna fuck him. You’ve earned it, and regrettably so, you find Bucky Barnes sort of interesting. Funny. Engaging when prodded a bit but still somehow deadpan and aloof.

His huge cock doesn’t help matters either.

You sigh, oh well.

The door clicks as you open it and pass through. You keep your hands behind your back as your body softens— sinks into itself a little. Hair falls in your face as you feign shyness, batting big, soft brown eyes and sinking your teeth into an ample bottom lip.

Bucky took the time to get completely naked. Hard cock gripped in his flesh palm, slow drags from the base to the glistening tip.

God, you really kinda wish you could fuck this man.

“Come ‘ere.”

An outstretched metal hand accompanies the gentle beckoning. You move soft, a small sound of your feet sinking into the carpet before you reach out with your empty hand and slide it into warm metal, using the sturdy grip to hoist yourself up and over his stomach.

His hands find your hips— big, warm, manly hands. They slip upwards just a bit to grip the soft of your sides. Move down again for thick fingers to graze over your ass and tickle the backs of your naked thighs. Still, you palm the handle of your knife tight and high, in the small of your back, as you use your free hand to push the dark strands of hair out of your face.

Bucky’s eyes meet yours when his fingers push between your parted legs, finding a wet spot in those mesh panties. You inhale deep, blinking back at him as his fingers keep a sweet little rhythm back and forth against your cunt. Hips defy your brain and push forward into those fingers— wanting just a little more.

Maybe you can wait… maybe until after...

You lean forward before your brain can finish stringing the words together— you have to or you’d lose all your nerve and give into that weak devil telling you to taste the sin. Let him spread you open until it hurts. Your mouth finds his hot and swollen and you kiss him hard, so hard he groans into it. You pull back just enough to lick his mouth again, eyes bouncing between his.

“What’re you waitin’ for, sweetheart? You need more of an invitation than this?” Bucky asks low and slow, pushing his cock right into your ass as his fingers creep inside your panties.

You smile, real nice and sweet before swooping the arm from behind your back to push the knife into his neck, “Oh nothing, baby,” you purr, “Just waiting for the right time to kill you is all.”

You lean back a little to see his face, tipping your head to the side. He’s pretty calm for a guy who’s minutes away from bleeding out on his own bed— but he is an assassin. Not much can shake him— should shake him.

Bucky blinks slow at you, hands coming to rest by his sides. His eyes don’t widen, pupils don’t dilate. Steady breathing stays just the same— he doesn’t even shift uncomfortably. Just blinks back at you. Slow. Easy. Without a fucking care in the goddamn world.

An angry heat blooms across your skin at his nonchalance as the seconds tick by. Your chest starts to rise and fall a little harder. Your eyes start to bounce between his as you suck your teeth in indignation, “You don’t remember me, do you?”

A blink is all you get.

“Of course you don’t,” you hiss, “Why would you? I was just one of many in the wrong place at the wrong time, right?” Your grip on the handle of the knife tightens as you push it harder against his skin— this time he swallows, “Who cares how many innocent lives you’ve destroyed as long as you got what you wanted.”

He still doesn’t say a word, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react. Just stares up at you as you crack, laughing angrily as you take his silence mockingly, “Well, I couldn’t fuckin’ forget you. Eight years. Eight years of living in absolute terror that you’d come back for me.” You’re seething now, eyes wild, breath coming harder and faster than the one before it, “Constantly looking over my shoulder, jumping at every bark of a dog and clink of keys and slam of a car door outside my apartment— do you know how it feels to live like that? Huh? Expecting to die every second of every hour of every goddamn day?”

Another silence drops over the room and it’s just the two of you staring at each other. You’re not even sure why he isn’t fighting back— why he’s just lying there and then it hits you, like a ton of bricks.

Of course he knows what it’s like to live like this. He’s used to it.

A trickle of blood slips down the side of his neck, the singular plop staining the white sheets below, “I’ve never thought about after— once you’re dead. What if I can’t forget you? I’ve spent so long hating you— it’s, it’s like by killing you, I’ll burn your name into my throat, you know? You’ll always just,” you tilt your head, digging the knife in a little harder, “Be there. With me always.”

The funniest thing happens as soon as the words slip through your teeth. His lips start to twitch. Curl into a smile— one where those pearly whites are on display— and then he’s laughing. Like someone just told a fucking joke.

It makes you recoil. Makes you squint and has your face twist in confusion, lips separating as a heavy breath passes through.

“Well,” he finally purrs, the laughter rumbling through his chest dying down, “Go ‘head, honey.”

When you hesitate, he pushes his chin forward, arch’s his head back to put his neck on full display, “Come on, baby. Don’t get my hopes up and not follow through.”

“You’re insane.” You hiss.

He leans up a little, another smile curling onto his lips, “In this business, you gotta be.”

The words stick in air like glue as he settles back into the pillow below his head, blue eyes twinkling underneath the soft neon lights pouring in through the windows.

He’s fucking with you. Just do it. The words echo, knocking around your brain as you stare down at him, blade still shoved into the crease of his neck. Another drop of blood plops onto the sheets below. Your lip snarls slightly, eyes narrowing as heat flashes across your skin again. He’s mocking you. After everything he’s done, all the pain— the fear.

You inhale deep, grip the handle so hard your nails dig into your palm and instinct takes over. The hatred, the built up aggression and vitriol guiding your hand, about to slash that pretty thick neck wide open. You are more than ready to see a deep red stain white sheets and blue eyes lose all of the life he’s built into them and fade away into nothingness. Just when you’re about to make your eight year long dream come true, it all flashes before your eyes.

Within a blink— half of a blink— you're off his lap, slammed up against the wall opposite the bed, warm flesh hand around your throat. You gasp hard, nearly choking on the air you can’t grab as you start to struggle, slapping at his face before swinging the knife wildly.

Bucky catches your arm with ease, squeezing your hand until you’re grunting and hissing in pain, grip relaxing around the metal. You blink again, and your knife is now pressed against your throat as you growl, struggling to no avail.

“You’re lucky baby,” he mutters, “Nobody survives that long while holding a knife to my throat.” He kisses you hard, digging his teeth into your bottom lip to drag it back with him when he pulls away, “You’re a cutie tho, so, you get a little reprieve.”

He leans back in real close, eyes roaming along your face as his head tilts, breathing easy. Staring back at him, lip curling again as you huff hard, angry breaths beating out of your nose. But your hands have come to rest on his arms. You can feel the blood coursing through the vein that’s popped out right down the center of his bicep. Your fingers flex around metal and muscle, goosebumps rising on your skin as the cool air conditioning tickles hot skin.

“Of course I remember you,” he whispers after a long time— too long, “I remember each and every face of the last seventy years,” his eyes bounce between yours, “I knew exactly who you were as soon as you popped up on that stupid dating app.”

Another sharp influx of air squeezes out of your throat when he drags the tip of your knife underneath your chin, down the length of your throat, down your chest. Slips it along your stomach before pushing it into the mesh that covers your chest. A flick of his wrist and you’re bare, the thin material giving way to the blade.

Your chest heaves, eyes wide, lips parting as the tip of that blade scrapes along your skin— right between your tits. Brown eyes drop to his red, wet lips quick, then shoot back to focus on his piercing blues.

“I wasn’t sure at first what you wanted,” he whispers, flattening the blade over a piqued nipple, clinking against the metal bar piercing your thick flesh, “If you recognized me after all this time— I mean, with the new hair and everything.”

A hum sounds at the back of your throat, trembling and airy and Bucky picks it up right away— another smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The fingers around your throat peel away slowly but he watches you all the while, fire behind his eyes as he tests you.

“You’re a good little actress,” words still soft but full— maybe amazed that you were able to get as close as you did, “But you knew that already, huh?”

You swallow hard, eyes tipping down to watch his fingers drift down your arm. Light little touches, “You have to be when born— ah,” the edge of the knife catches your thick nipple as he slides it across your tit.

He kisses you again, real sweet this time though. Tongue sweeping along your bottom lip as both his encase it, “I’m sorry baby. You were saying?”

Flesh fingers dance along your stomach, sweeping from hip to hip. Just the tips. Feather light drags so you don’t forget about them. His large palm grips your hip, pushes his thumb into the meat of your side and you have to close your eyes— clear your throat to center yourself. To remember why you’re there in the first place.

Sweet breath washes over your face as Bucky rolls your left nipple now into the edge of the blade— kissing you again when you shriek at the quick, sharp pain just to eat the sound. You lose the fingers around your hip, only to find them again suddenly, jumping in slight surprise as calloused pads cup a soft, wet cunt.

Bucky’s still blinking slow, fingers pushing along a swollen clit, massaging. He’s real close now, prickly cheek rubbing against yours, teeth nibbling at your jawline.

Your own fingers dig into his biceps as your eyes flutter with the tightening of your stomach. A warmth starts to spread through your veins. Hips find a little rhythm against his hand. A sharp prick here and there as he circles that knife— your own damn knife— around your tits and back up to your throat again.

That’s when he sinks two long, thick fingers into you, not stopping until his palm is flush with your sticky folds. His thumb pressed against the sensitive little nub at the center of you.

His eyes are slits, head tilted up slightly as his mouth hangs, dragging in the air you expel. Only then does his fingers start to move, delving in and out, thumb still pushing along your clit.

“God,” you pant, pushing your head upwards against the wall, “Mmm, I can’t—” his fingers push deeper and the words are gone, like they never even existed in the first place, “Fuck.”

Bucky pushes the smooth blade against your throat just a little harder— the sharp edge forcing your chin upward a little more. He flattens his thumb against your lower stomach, starts to pull his fingers, not push them. The heel of his palm starts to slap against your skin as you buck into the motion.

Your hands slip up to his shoulders, both arms wrapping lazily around either side of his neck. The soft hum from earlier is replaced with high pitched whimpers and breathy little squeaks. Bitten off words fall from your lips as you squirm against the wall, wanting him deeper, faster, harder— which he delivers without you having to say a word.

He grabs your cheeks, pinching hard as the blade flattens across your pouty lips. A weak, desperate whimper sounds, all your resolve gone. Whatever leverage you thought you had completely wiped away— and it makes a wicked grin spread on Bucky’s lips.

“You close, baby? Hmm?” he hums, licking at your mouth again, “Oh sweet girl, you wanna come, huh? You gonna come for me?”

He strokes your clit with the tip of his thumb, your walls clenching around his fingers. The gentle encouragement continues, real soft and between sweet little kisses all over your face. A dull ache settles in your belly, a thick heat starting to stir within. Your heart leaps into your throat as your hips pump with Bucky’s hand, the release so close you can taste it.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you groan, “‘m gonna fuckin—”

“You want it? Huh? Want me to make you come honey?”

You squeak in response, nodding fast as you bite down into your lip, “Please. Please.”

Heat ripples through your body as you start to tremble, legs going shaky and weak. Muscles start to burn all over as you tense hard, coaxing the sweet agony swirling in your stomach. You cry out, his name hanging on your lips as the rush of it all pushes higher and higher.

Just as you start to unravel, just as the coil begins to snap, his fingers are gone. Pulled from your cunt and clit. You’re whipped around his body, forced back towards the bed. Your mind racing— maybe you’ll be getting some of that cock afterall.

Or not.

Metal slaps around your wrist, bites into the skin as it clamps down, the clink of teeth sliding into the lock housing ringing in your ears. You snap your head towards the sound when it all finally connects in your murky brain. The horror of realization floods into your veins— blood running cold as your stomach drops to your feet.

The handcuffs clink against the dark metal headboard as you fight against it, “You bastard! You fuckin’ piece of shit, let me go!” you shout, thrashing your arm back and forth, pulling as hard as you can, “Goddamn it— let me the fuck go! I’ll fuckin’ kill you, you bast—”

“Ooph,” Bucky jests, octave rising as he slips back into his jeans, “You got a filthy little mouth on you.”

“Fuck you!”

He scoffs, laughing gently as he pulls his black shirt back over his head. The bastard even starts to hum as he plops down on the edge of the bed, taking his time while he pushes his feet back into his boots and shrugs into his jacket.

You keep sharp eyes on him as he stands and turns to face you, dangling a pair of small silver keys next to his grinning face before he tosses them somewhere deep in the apartment. You swipe at him with your free hand as he approaches, just barely catching his chin as he kneals down, “I’m gonna kill you,” you smile, a blind rage engulfing every pore, every muscle, every ounce of your body.

Bucky shrugs, “Not tonight, sweets. Listen, tell Sam I’m sorry about the mess, hm?”

“Who the fuck is Sam?” you hiss.

He looks down at his watch, “Yeah, he should be home in about an hour. It’s not everyday you walk into your apartment to find a naked, wannabe assassin handcuffed to your bed, so, give him my apologies— wait, you know about Sam, right? The new Cap, they made it official a couple of weeks ago.”

Your jaw clenches as you stare back at his smiling face, more humiliation pouring through you as you realize he’s had you pegged the entire goddamn time.

“Oh baby,” he laughs again, “You didn’t honestly think I’d take you back to my place, did you? I don’t even know you— you kids today are so reckless.”

Blue eyes bounce between yours for a few seconds before he glances down at his hands, works them back into his black gloves. He pulls your butterfly knife from his back pocket and starts to play with it, flicking his wrist to close it, and then open it over and over again.

“I’m keeping this,” he offers as he locks it closed and slips it back into his pocket, “Maybe you’ll find the balls to try and take it from me.”

“Oh,” you laugh, shaking your head, “I’m taking it back.”

Bucky stands, the sound of his heavy boots sounding through the apartment as he moves towards the door, “I look forward to it kiddo.”

***

If there’s one thing you respect about Bucky Barnes, it’s his attention to detail.

Right on the dot, exactly one hour later, you snap your head towards the front door as keys start to jingle in the lock. With the bed sheet wrapped loosely around your torso, you straighten up against the wall, eyes wide as you watch an exhausted Samuel Thomas Wilson walk into his apartment.

“Oh, fuck!” he shouts, jumping slightly and dropping his bag to the floor when he locks eyes with you, “What in the fuck?”

“I can explain… sort of.” you start, holding up your hand.

You apparently don’t need to. Sam’s phone is to his ear within seconds as he starts to pace back and forth, “Bucky, this is not why I gave you a key to my mother fuckin’ apartment!”

[themculibrary]

Social Media Masterlist

a day in the life (ao3) - akillerqueenwrites T, 4k

Summary: “So, Ned and I have a video project to do for school – we have to, like, film a day in the life kind of thing. He suggested we could film here, all the Avengers, maybe me at my internship.” Peter takes a mouthful and waits.

Mr Stark shrugs. “I don’t see why not.”

“What – no!” Peter nearly chokes on his toast.

or, Peter and Ned become amateur vloggers for the day

Ask My Dads Anything! (But Keep It PG. Please.) (ao3) - parkrstark steve/tony T, 3k

Summary: Peter's fathers are famous superheros, but he's a famous YouTuber, and after hundreds of requests, finally, he's interviewing them for a video.

Catfish (ao3) - L1av steve/bucky E, 28k

Summary: Catfish /ˈkatˌfiSH/ - A catfish is someone who pretends to be someone they're not using Facebook or other social media to create false identities, particularly to pursue deceptive online romances.

Steve Rogers is a famous movie star, known for his role as Captain America. Bucky Barnes is a bored law student who drinks too much wine. Bucky gets on match.com to boost his confidence. What he doesn't expect is a guy using Steve Rogers' pictures on a dating profile. Bucky decides to mess with the guy. After all, what idiot uses Steve Rogers' pictures on a dating site?

Not like it's really him, right? Bucky may need more wine.

Eat the Rich (ao3) - theoceanismyinkwell G, 1k

Summary: While Peter is home at the Tower over spring break, a very bored Harley decides to make a YouTube channel and debut with a mukbang video with Peter and Tony as guests. Per usual, the two buffoons manage to bully him about everything.

Mr. Stark, I Think I Broke the Internet (ao3) - snakeofalltrades T, 26k

Summary: To be fair, Mr. Stark is very bad at decision-making when it’s 3 am and he’s running on no sleep and enough caffeine to kill Captain America. So it’s really not his fault that the whole internet suddenly thinks Peter Parker is secretly Peter Stark. And also that he’s dating Spider-Man.

Oops.

(Or, a twitter fic with a plot)

No One Wants Your Opinion (ao3) - thepinupchemist steve/bucky E, 5k

Summary: Wherein Bucky loves to cuddle Steve Rogers, Steve comes out on national television for the sole purpose of spiting conservative politicians, Tony sees things he wishes he hadn't, and Pepper doesn't know why she even bothers.

Nothing's As Sweet As Super Soldiers In Love (ao3) - heartsdesire456 steve/bucky T, 12k

Summary: Informally titled: Bucky Barnes Loves The 21st Century Almost As Much As He Loves Steve Rogers

“Captain America’s mystery lover! That’s what everybody’s talking about.”

Bucky turned around as soon as he heard ‘Captain America’, only to see Tony had on some entertainment news report and his latest photo of sleeping Steve was flashed up on the screen beside the person talking. “Hey, what’s that?” he asked, hopping over the back of the couch to land beside Stark.

“Your Cap lovin’ gone viral, I guess,” Tony said, turning up the volume.

“Rumors spread like wildfire with the first photo of Steve Rogers, Captain America himself, was posted to a comically named Instagram called ‘GodBlessAmerica36’.”

@realspidey (ao3) - angryjane peter/flash G, 15k

Summary:

January 30th 2:38 am Spidey @realspidey hello twitter

January 31st 6:02 am Marissa @marissaloves uhh spiderman is that you?

The Art of Publicity (ao3) - xmypandabear pepper/tony T, 43k

Summary: After everything with the Accords, Tony Stark's reputation is in the toilet. Fortunately, he's got Spider-Man to make it better.

(AKA Five times Peter and Tony's relationship made the internet implode a little)

the conspiracy kids (ao3) - tempestaurora T, 15k

Summary: In which peter, harley and ned ask the all-important question: WHO IS SPIDER-MAN?

The Daily Rogers (ao3) - Nonymos steve/bucky, natasha/sam, bruce/clint E, 32k

Summary: College AU. May contain exchange students, a Starbucks addiction, daddy issues, anger issues, closets and how to get out of them, the ever-ominous influence of social networks, various levels of betrayal, awfully poor life choices, but also, ultimately, real chunks of love.

The More You Try (ao3) - Nokomis G, 3k

Summary: Peter makes the mistake of combining superheroes and social media. Things escalate.

tin soldiers (ao3) - idrilka steve/bucky T, 19k

Summary: In the aftermath of Steve's return to the world of the living and the battle of New York, the academia and the Internet react.

Tony Stark Gets a YouTube Channel (ao3) - Melissamermaid T, 72k

Summary: Tony Stark gets a YouTube channel. Follow Tony on a journey into the world of YouTube full of car reviews, tech reviews, guest appearances and interviews!

Webcams and Webshooters (ao3) - losingmymindtonight T, 163k

Summary: Once Peter’s relationship with Tony gets out, the public can’t get enough of their new favorite father-son duo. So, naturally, they monopolize. (Or: Tony and Peter’s relationship, as seen through videos.)

who gives a damn about the family you come from? (ao3) - tempestaurora pepper/tony T, 3k

Summary: It started with a harmless Instagram story on Peter's account. Then Tony Stark reposted it. Then Peter Parker's account blew up.

Harley Keener's there because he likes to watch the world burn.

AKA the social media au we need in these trying times

[the-iceni-bitch]

Both Ends Burning: Teaser

Vices Assemble: Chapter 5.1/?

Pairing: crime bosses!Stucky x fem reader

Words: ~1.8k

Summary: Steve isn’t too happy with how you handled things while he and Bucky were out of town.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (m and f receiving oral, anal play, mmf threesome, mild daddy kink), almost no plot, sub Bucky, SMUT!!! 18+ ONLY!!!

A/N: I’m steadily working on completing this whole chapter, but felt like giving you all a little teaser since this section is pretty standalone. Enjoy!!

I am no longer doing taglists so if you want to stay up to date on all the latest filth, follow my sideblog @the-iceni-library and turn on notifications!!

Steve had been sullen and grumbly for the past 12 hours.

He’d been hesitant to leave you in charge while he and Bucky had to negotiate in Toronto, but Buck was adamant you could handle it, that they trusted you enough to make you number three and share their bed with you, they should be able to trust you to handle operations for a weekend. Plus, Sam was going to be there with you, what was the worst that could happen?

Apparently, you killing one of their capos by throwing him off a roof in front of the rest of them was the worst that could happen. Sam had sounded like he had been holding back laughter when he gave him the call, and Steve hadn’t even given him the chance to explain what had happened before he was almost crushing his phone in his fist.

Bucky was nothing but amused at the whole situation. Steve was such a drama queen, of course he was going to throw a damn tantrum. He muttered mindless endearments at his partner as he ranted on the flight back to New York, rolling his eyes as he listened to the man lament ever bringing you into the fold for what felt like the hundredth time.

“Baby, don’t act like that pussy wouldn’t have sucked you in no matter what.” God, the man was stubborn. You’d already made them a shit ton of money implementing your changes to their distribution network, but Steve needed to be in control.

“No, that’s all you Buck.” Still fuming like an volcano, he was constantly going back and forth between slapping your gorgeous face when he saw you and fucking the shit out of you until you agreed to be reasonable. “I’m not the one who thinks with my dick.”

“Maybe, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have you whipped, though, daddy.” Bucky just laughed when Steve growled at him, leave it to that cocky bastard to start using his pet name against him. You were such a bad influence.

They stopped their conversation when they pulled up to the offices, Steve shrugging uncomfortably when he stepped out of the town car and ignoring Bucky’s eager grin as he tried to come up with a way to get a handle on you.

He thought he might soften once he actually set eyes on you, but when they walked into the office to find you with your feet propped on the desk and sipping some gin while you laughed uproariously at something Sam said just made him angrier.

“Well, hello there boys!” You beamed between the two of them, winking wickedly at Steve before opening your arms to Bucky and letting him kiss you deeply when he crawled into your lap. “Did you miss me?”

“Get the fuck out, Sam.” Steve ran his hand over his face in frustration, glaring at you as you nipped at Bucky’s lips while keeping your eyes fixed on his.

“Sure thing, boss.” The man just shook his head as he stood from his lounging position. “Boss.” He nodded to Bucky. “Boss lady.”

“Bye Sammy!” You purred when Bucky started nuzzling at your throat, giving Steve a mocking pout. “That was awful rude, Stevie. What’s got your panties in a bunch?”

“Seriously?” He just scoffed at you, trying not to lose focus when Bucky ripped your blouse open and popped your tits out of your bra so he could suck on your nipples with a low hum. “The name Gentry mean anything to you?”

“Oh, that.” You bit your bottom lip teasingly, tangling your fingers in Bucky’s hair while he whined against your breast. “That fucker deserved it.”

“I dunno what our most established lieutenant could have possibly done to deserve getting thrown off a fucking building.” He was trying his absolute best to keep from getting hard, but when you spread your legs wide so Buck could slide between them he almost lost it. “Please, enlighten me.”

“He- oh Bucky, baby, fuck.” Your eyelids fluttered when he dragged his tongue over your clothed core, the soft moan that escaped from you making Steve’s cock twitch. “He was stealing from you.”

“What?! Bucky, give it a fucking rest!” His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were creaking, the veins in his neck bulging as he tried to restrain himself from striding forward and ripping his baby boy from between your thighs so he could bury himself in you and fuck out his frustration.

“Nu-uh, you stay right there, baby.” You wrapped your thighs around Bucky’s head and held him close, grinding your hips into his face as he tugged your panties to the side and started dragging his tongue over your pussy in slow stripes. “That dumbass so-called ‘King of Manhattan’ started fudging his sales as soon as you brought in that new shit from Miami. God, Buck, right there.” His lips wrapped around your clit and you arched your back into him. “Trying to poach your established clients too, had to let the other assholes know that wouldn’t be tolerated.”

Steve was furious. Aside from the fact that one of those morons they had let roll over from the previous organization had betrayed, the fact that you had been right about not trusting those idiots was making him see red.

“What about the others?” He was going to murder someone, he didn’t think he’d ever been this angry, all he wanted was to fuck you and Bucky until he couldn’t think anymore.

“I’m auditing the other boroughs now… mmm.” Bucky must’ve found the right spot, because your entire body jolted suddenly while you let out a satisfied hum and almost snapped his neck with your thighs. “Aww, looks like daddy’s mad, why don’t you go help him out, baby?”

Bucky whined when you tilted his chin back with one finger, his eyes blown wide and his cheeks and chin covered in your slick as he turned slowly on his knees to face Steve. The blonde growled from deep in his chest when you stood up and gripped Bucky’s jaw, dragging him forward until you were practically throwing him at Steve’s feet. You bent to give him a sloppy kiss before straightening back up and cupping his cheek gently, using your other hand to undo Steve’s belt while you mouthed at his neck.

“You’re a manipulative bitch, you know that?” He rolled his eyes before turning his head to smash his lips to yours, groaning when you freed his cock and wrapped your fingers around it to slap against Bucky’s cheek.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m so good at my fucking job.” You purred when he sucked a bruise against your jaw, drawing your fist over his length while you guided Bucky’s head so he could suck on his balls. “Just fucking relax, Stevie.”

You gave Bucky a light slap before shoving Steve’s cock in his mouth, smirking at the desperate, muffled keen that escaped from his painfully stretched lips when he started fucking his own face. Steve let out a low moan when you stroked his tongue with yours, one of your hands winding through his hair while the other yanked his trousers the rest of the way down.

“Y/N, what the fuck are you doing?” He gasped when you released him, pressing your lips over the curve of his shoulder while your hand slid down his spine and slowly traced over the upper curve of his ass. “Baby, Jesus.”

“Look at you taking such good care of your daddy, pretty boy.” Bucky whined around Steve’s cock at your praise, blinking up at him with big doe eyes while drool leaked from the corners of his mouth. “To answer your question, Stevie, I’m helping you relax.”

“Unh… fuck.” The way Steve’s voice cracked when you spat on his pretty hole before sliding a finger inside him had your clit throbbing, your chest pressed tight against his back as you kissed the back of his neck and started fucking him with your hand. “Oh god.”

“Close enough.” You could tell he wanted to growl at your cocky retort but then you were stroking his sweet spot and he couldn’t think about anything else.

Between the way you were stretching him open and Bucky was swallowing him whole his knees were starting to feel weak, his back arching when you slipped in a second finger so he could let you catch his lips with yours. Bucky was humming around Steve desperately as he gazed up at the two of you, his cock twitching as he brought a hand up to wind his fingers through Steve’s with a needy little whine.

“Shh, didn’t forget about you, baby.” Steve broke away from you reluctantly so he could look down at Buck, stroking his hair soothing as he started grinding his hips against his face. “Look so fucking pretty on your knees for your daddy. You want me to fill that gorgeous mouth with my cum?”

The pitiful whimper he let out was the only answer Steve needed, his pleasure already so close with the way you were milking him. You practically squeezed him from the inside and he choked on a moan, shoving his hips into Bucky’s face as his cock jerked and thick, warm ribbons of his cum shot against the roof of his mouth. He almost collapsed when you kept fucking him through it, prolonging his pleasure until poor Bucky was almost suffocating from the sheer volume of it.

“Buck? You good, pretty boy?” You were practically holding Steve up when he pulled out of Bucky’s mouth, running your fingers over his chest and beaming at the filthy grin the brunette gave you. “See Stevie? Nice and relaxed. You boys might want to get cleaned up, we’ve got a meeting in an hour. Something about a dead lieutenant.”

Steve couldn’t even muster the will to get angry as he collapsed into the chair behind him, running his fingers through Bucky’s hair when he rested his head on his knee and panted.

“Told ya, daddy.” Ok, now his annoyance was starting to come back. “She’s got you whipped.”

“You fucking brat.” He ignored the low chuckle Bucky gave him, his lips tracing over his thigh before he nuzzled into his hips. “I’m gonna take that sass out on your ass in front of that bitch tonight, just you fucking wait.”

[alltheficsiwant]

150+ Followers Celebration

🎉 30 Day Prompt-me a word Challenge 🎉

First off, thank you everyone (to my 150+ lovely followers and mutuals). I never knew my blog would grow like this and I am going to try my best to share the stories I have in store for you guys.

I do have WIPs (As you see on my masterlist) but I need some BOOST and help to keep my writing and creative juices flowing. To celebrate this milestone, I decided to take on a 30 day challenge! Here are the mechanics below:

I would take One Word prompt from you (Just send me an ask and just tell me “This is for Prompt-Me a Word Challenge”) and choose a number between 1-30.

I would keep my REQUEST OPEN for this challenge starting this November 25 up until January 15 (Or until all the days are filled.) 

I would be working on this and post all the works starting February 1 (Tentative Date)

The one who prompted me will be tagged on the post. I would also be creating a masterlist for this.

This is NOT limited to my followers. If you happen to pass by this post you can request (and maybe throw in a follow too? 😉)

HERE ARE THE RULES AND EXCEPTIONS:

I will ONLY write these CHARACTERS (Because they are the ones I am more familiar with). You can pick one of them at the ASK and if you want a surprise just tell me (I will randomly select one of the characters down below). 🙂

James “Bucky” Barnes

Steven Grant Rogers

Samuel Wilson

Steve Harrington

Billy Hargrove

Eddie Munson

Draco Malfoy

Hermione Granger

Harry Potter

Wanda Maximoff

Natasha Romanoff

Jefferson (Once Upon a Time)

Sierra Six/ Gentry (The Grey Man)

Ransom Drysdale

Lee Bodecker

Peter Parker

The AU’s would be random. The WORD you will give me will be a great influence to it.

I might not write any SMUT but it depends on your prompt.

This will all be a READER Insert. If you want to indicate the gender of the reader you, you MAY do so BUT I only can write with a female reader, gender neutral reader and male reader.

I will NOT be writing any pairings with another character given above. This challenge is purely READER INSERT one. (Or you or Y/N)

When sending a DATE, please include a second & third choice just in case the first one is already filled.

NO OFFENSIVE WORDS in the prompts.

If you are going to prompt me with a place like “Coney Island” or “New York” This is considered as one word to me.

PLEASE stick with ONE word PROMPT as much as possible.

Updates of the Word Prompt and The Dates will be posted every week. If you want to check it out, go to my blog and at the search bar type: #PromptMeAWord

Happy Prompting everyone! 😀

P.S. Please reblog to spread the word. Thank you! <3

If you are trying to find my master list. HERE is the link. Will bring back the pin to it after this event. Thank you! <3

[navegandoaciegas]

Sunday Sinday

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader [Priest AU]

Warnings: priest!Bucky, explicit language, smut, very desecrating and blasphemous thoughts and actions, masturbation, corruption kink, sex in a public place, hair pulling. Both parties are consenting adults. 

Summary: Father James preaches at Mass, and you think there’s no better time to sin than Sundays. 

A/N: Yesterday (9/9) was my 21st birthday and I’m posting filth to celebrate it. @whateveriwant​ and I share one horny braincell and we had the same idea, so here it is bb. 

Wide shoulders straining his black cassock, long chestnut hair pulled back, errant strands framing his chiselled face, thick rimmed glasses perched on top of his nose, Father James should be the depiction of all that’s holy, image and likeness of God himself, and instead he’s temptation in the flesh, and all you can think about as you do the sign of the cross and sit in the back pew is how much you want to do wrong with him.

“I confess to Almighty God and to you, my brothers and sisters, that I have sinned through my own fault in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done and what I have failed to do.”

His soft voice fills the room, subtle blush on his cheeks, the memory of all your shared sins in the fleeting looks he sends your way. His impure fantasies of you on your knees, your pretty lips around his cock, you taking his virginity of the altar, fucking under the cross, in the confessional, the filthy whispers in your ears, words he never imagined would come out of his mouth, the taste of you lingering on his tongue. He never stood a chance against temptation, not if you’re the one luring him straight to Hell.   

You tune out of his sermon, merely standing, sitting, and kneeling as you see the others do: there’s the column he stood against as you sucked him off, the bench he bent you over and spanked you for the first time, the backdoor where the cleaning lady almost caught you.

“We listen to a reading from the New Testament.” he announces, clears his throat, adjusts his glasses, and opens the Holy Bible, fingers scanning over the verses he knows by heart.

There’s guilt in preaching what he doesn’t practice, but there’s also that exhilarating feeling of omnipotence that comes with being in love, that rush of adrenaline of loving in secret and doing the impossible to not get caught whilst wishing you would be.

The devoted churchgoers sitting in the front rows are too absorbed to notice you, hanging onto every word he recites, and the rest of the benches are empty, the saints and cherubs on the walls and Jesus on the cross your only witnesses as you quickly slip out of your panties and spread your legs, waiting for him to notice you, a teasing smile finding its way on your lips. 

“If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we-”

He looks up from the pages, and his eyes meet you, or more likely what’s between your legs. He stutters, John or Matthew’s verses escaping his mind, “If we- we, uh, confess, we confess, yes, our sins- uh.” 

Silence. Awkward, tense silence.

The white collar around his neck is suddenly too stiff and suffocating. Father James is like a deer caught in the headlights, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as his eyes flit around the room. The blush on his cheeks betrays his sinful thoughts, and he can only hope, as he gapes in front of his audience, that they won’t notice the tent in his cassock, the sweat on his forehead, his heaving chest and the light fog forming in his glasses.

Whispers arise, ‘is Father James alright?’, the good, righteous churchgoers ask among themselves, concerned about their beloved priest. 

“As I was saying.” he clears his throat after a strangled apology, his fingertips finding the verse he was reading again, “If we say we have not sinned-”

His voice is a low buzz as he resumes his sermon, tension clear in his taut muscles and dry mouth; memories of all the times he’s taken you on these wooden benches invade your minds. All the times you’ve choked him with the cross around his neck, all those he’s spent on his knees, worshipping you like a goddess.

His pure soul you’ve tarnished with yours, the filthy words that sound so right on his holy mouth, his heady taste on your tongue when you swallow him whole, your wish to ruin him.

Your walls throb, arousal pooling at your entrance and rubbing on the fabric of your skirt as you grind your core on the bench, desperate for some sort of release.

He raises the chalice. “...It will be shed for you and for all so that sins may be forgiven. Do this in memory of me.” 

You were never one for good decisions, especially not when your brain is as fogged as his glasses. And there’s no better day to sin than Sunday, afterall.

You slip a finger inside your glistening folds, looking at him through lidded eyes, wishing he would be fucking you against the altar instead. Father James’ eyes go wide as saucers when he catches sight of you playing with your dripping pussy under your skirt, and he chokes on his wine, sputtering and coughing. 

You close your legs and bite your lips when someone walks up to him and pats his back to help him through his fit. He glares at you, and you stifle a laugh, the scene too comical to keep quiet.

“Forgive me.” he stutters to the small crowd, worry evident in their eyes, “It went down the wrong way.” he tries to ease the tension , “We can begin the communion rite now, if I don’t choke before.” and earns himself a collective chuckle.

The walk from the back to the front of the church seems endless. Thighs rubbing together and against your folds, a light breeze from an open door blows up your skirt just slightly, but enough that if someone were to pay attention, they’d see you’re not wearing any panties. 

You’re the last of the line, and by the time you get to him, the rest of the people are kneeling, their head bowed, oblivious to the tension between their good priest and the new girl in town.

“The Body of Christ.”

It’s a whisper, soft and intimate, meant for you and only you, the blue of his eyes swallowed by darkness when you part you lips wide open and stick your tongue out, a sight he’s seen countless times before, when you’re on your knees begging him to fuck your mouth. Air stills when your tongue brushes against his trembling fingertips, a shiver running down his spine, a groan almost escaping him because of what that damn tongue is capable of. Eyes locked together as you slowly chew, his gaze following the lump of your throat as you swallow.

“Amen.”

It’s lust, it’s sin, it’s wrong but it sure feels right. 

He watches your hips sway as you walk back to your seat, knowing your pussy is bare and wet for him beneath your skirt, and he can’t wait for mass to be over soon.

-

Incense is thick in the air, and a shiver runs down your spine when you feel his presence. A hand pulls your shirt and shoves you behind one of the columns to the sides where you usually wait for your sweet boy after mass. The marble is cold against your back, his hold like a vice on your flesh, and it stirs up something inside you. He’s never touched you like this, not your shy, doe eyed James, with his tentative kisses and trembling hands.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he whispers harshly, lips hovering over yours.

A gasp, you feign surprise. “Since when do you use that language? You kiss the cross with those lips?” 

“You're a bad influence.” he chuckles, “Anyone could have seen.”

“But no one did.” you retort “And that’s the fun part, baby boy.”

His fingers will leave bruises behind, you muse, as you take in the fire in his eyes and his body towering over yours. Your recklessness, your attitude, your pretty face, his lack of restraint, the way he can never resist you, his body that acts on its own, the animal instinct that snaps inside him when his hips thrust against yours and his hard cock presses on your stomach.

“You wanted to get caught, didn’t you?” 

Your tongue finds its way from his neck to the shell of his ears, leaving goosebumps behind, “Can you imagine the scandal?”

“You’re such a brat.” is his strangled response as his hips roll against you, pinning you to the wall. His breathing is ragged, his jaw clenched.

“I am a brat Father, do you think you can forgive me for that?” you purr, a hand sneaking between you and palming his aching cock through his cassock.

“I don’t know, angel.” he mumbles in your hair, a thick thigh coming between yours. “You need to repent, and then atone.”

“How can I do that, Father? I want it so, so bad.” 

Your skin is scorching hot, your head dizzy as his smell clings to you and intoxicates you. 

In a blur you find yourself spun around, the marble digging painfully in your cheeks, his hand groping your ass and kneading the flesh to the point that it hurts. A whimper escapes your mouth when he slowly grazes your things up to your aching core, and he cups your pussy with a possessive hold.

“You’re so wet, all for me?”

It’s a soft whisper, a stupid question maybe. 

“Only for you.”

He peppers your neck with small kisses, nipping your delicate skin. Your walls flutter around nothing, you’re desperate to feel him inside you, his thick cock filling you like no else’s can.

Father James is not a patient man.

His fingers swirl around your swollen clit, and you’re pretty sure there’s slick running down your thighs. The pressure in your cunt is almost painful as you wait for him to lift his cassock and free himself.

“Tell me you’re mine.” 

It’s a low vibration grunted in your ear as he strokes his length and lines himself with your entrance, his tip smearing your arousal around.

“I’m yours.”

He slams his cock inside you, and you mewl when he fully sheathes himself. He sets a low pace, taking his time to slide in and out of your, revelling in the way your walls grip him so tight. 

“More.” 

You’re not begging, you swear. You’re merely requesting. A command, really.

“You must say your penance first, sweetheart.” he taunts you, his wicked self coming out the more time he spends between your legs, and you find out you’re not so different after all. “An Act of Contrition, princess.”

You feel your pussy clench down on his cock, the coil getting tighter with each gentle stroke. Your mind is swirling, and you desperately cling onto the last rationality you’ve got left to remember your prayer. 

“My God.” you snarl when his hand pulls your hair, and you arch your back, this new position allowing his tip to reach the sweet spot inside you, “My God, I’m sorry for my- my sins” you moan, “with all my heart.”

He fastens his pace, the depravity of this all edging him closer to his release with each sweet sound you make. “Are you really?”

“Yes, yes, oh my God. I’m sorry, in choosing to do wrong and failing to do good,” you pant, tears streaming down your face, your breaths ragged, “I have sinned against you, whom I should-.” You’re sobbing, your hands clutching his shoulders for dear life, the sound of his balls slapping against your pussy so lewd as it resonates in the empty walls.

“Just like that, don’t stop, please.” you mewl, feeling the knot in your core about to unravel, your vision getting spotty around the edges.

You pull on his collar and tug him down, biting his lips, your tongue tasting his, his plush lips against yours, his hand around your neck. A harsh snap of his hips, one last look at the crying angel above you, and you come on his cock, your pussy so tight around him that he follows shortly after, his cock swelling inside you and filling you to the brim with his cum. Your limbs jerk uncontrollably, your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

His hot breath fans over your neck, strong arms holding you flush against his chest. A soft kiss on your forehead, a gentle smile on his lips, your heartbeat frantic, and not because of the orgasm that just wrecked you.

“Am I forgiven, Father?”

The rumble in his chest as he snickers warms your heart more than it should.

“You didn’t finish your prayers, princess. Looks like we’re gonna have to do this all over again.”

God, you love Sundays.

-

If you’re interested in more Father James, check this out. This one shot is part of Innocent! priest Bucky x Reader. I hope you all enjoyed it, and if you did, please leave some feedback, I love reading your comments. 

[intrepidacious]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to your favorite writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💜

i feel like this keeps changing all the time, particularly when i haven't reread my own fics in a while, but this is where i'm at right now!!

set me free writing this fic felt like a dream, and it felt entirely mine the whole way through. i love how i got to experiment with a not-quite-human perspective, and i'll always have a soft spot for 40s!bucky. plus this was my perfect comfort level of angstiness and fluff!!

blind roads i am fiercely protective over and proud of this fic, okay. the amount of research that went into this that never even made it into the story is absurd. i really like the way it flows, and the relationship between the two of them came together so smoothly.

moving on i'm starting to sense a pattern of musical theatre influences in my favourite fics lmao. but seriously, a lot of love and work went into writing this and one of these days i should really tally up the amount of references i managed to sneak into this, because there's a lot of them

brooklyn, thursday night honestly, a lot of parts of this could be better. i'm still deliberating whether to change one very specific instance (because i, too, can't let things go). but it's been very precious to me in that soft, melancholy sort of way.

every dream gone it may have hurt every single person who read it (including myself) but writing it felt so cathartic and it came together exactly like i wanted it to, and for that, i love it.

[sorcerersofnyc]

The Last Thing Left (Zemo x F!Reader) 9/9 - The Epilogue

If it wasn’t so painfully ironic (and hilarious to watch,) Helmut would find the relationship between Sam and James a little sad.

Ghosts weren’t enough to hold two people together.

While they wait for Torres to locate Donya Madani, Zemo brings Sam and Bucky to the home he once shared with you.

You reunite and he reflects upon his relationship with you (his wife’s friend and his friend’s wife) and your journey from being people with mutual friends to partners.

Part Nine: You Carry On

Angst, brief allusions to sex, I use Serbian Cyrillic as a stand-in for Sokovian.

Note: Main Character is neutral in most regards, but the story was written with my own cultural background in mind. (In other words, I won’t say what she looks like but I envision her as being black.)

First Chapter | Previous

***

You watch him go.

You watch him leave you once again— watch him go off into some dark, unknown future you can never be a part of.

And it hurts.

It hurts to know how much you’ll miss him, hurts to think you'll never see him again.

You take a deep breath (and another and another and another) but the pain only spreads faster as dread closes in all around you.

You feel lost in it, drowned by it, changed by it—but you won’t surrender to it. You’ve walked this road before and you know the way forward. So you take a step, then another, and you turn away from the outside world with a heavy, ragged breath.

The kitchen is far too cheery now. The sun streams inside through the open curtains, and the smell of coffee lingers in the air. Helmut washed the dishes before he left, leaving only his favorite mug behind. It stares at you from its place on the countertop, its dark ceramic gleaming in the light.

You don’t feel your knees buckle or your hands shake, you don’t feel the mangled sob rising up from your chest, you don’t feel the tears that gather at the corner of your eyes and pour down your cheeks like heavy rain.

Your body lurches forward. You reach out to steady yourself but somehow manage to knock the mug over instead. It strikes the title with a sickening clink that echoes through the air.

It chips, but it doesn't shatter. The coffee spills from the mouth and spreads fans out in every direction, staining the tiles on the floor.

Helmut would never know you chipped his favorite mug—but you cry about it anyway.

You cry for the life you could have had together, one where you dumped the stale remnants of his coffee every morning, one where your first kiss wasn’t also the last, one where he held you every day, and you healed your hearts together instead of apart.

You cried because your feelings had no place else to go.

*

Time passes.

*

Time passes.

*

Time passes.

*

You’re alright; you don’t break, or bend, or toil beneath the weight of your grief. The world moves forward, and so do you:

Anežka returns. (“How was the Baron?” She asks you. “We’re the two of you able to… become familiar with one another?” You wish.)

You learn Helmut was taken to the raft. (You order his affairs and have his things sent over to him.)

Sam Wilson becomes Captain America. (He gives a speech that inspires the world to do better.)

The Flag Smashers are killed in a car bombing. (‘No suspects as of yet,’ the report says and your heart tightens at the thought of who might have been responsible.)

You carry on.

*

You receive a package in the mail one day, a thick brochure from The Raft outlining the specifics of a Prison Work Rehabilitation Program.

The front photo was disturbingly picturesque, framing the facility as less of a prison and more like a seaside resort.

'Propaganda,’ you think as you flip through the glossy pages. The program is endorsed by some guy named Thaddeus Ross. You think he was a general or a secretary or something but you aren’t quite sure.

The back of the brochure displays an image of a happy family reuniting and you roll your eyes. Prisoners on the Raft don’t get to go home to their families.

You toss the brochure away without a second thought.

*

A few weeks later, you’re sent flowers after an art show. It’s a beautiful arrangement; twelve thick-stemmed roses wrapped in gold foil.

It adds a classic touch to the modern look of the Visiting Artists’ Office, standing out amongst the dark tables and chairs. But it’s the card that catches your attention; it was left completely blank.

You aren’t sure how you feel about having a secret admirer but you take the flowers home regardless. They’d look nice in a vase near the window, the bright reds mixing with the autumn leaves.

The trip home is short and uneventful and you thank your driver on the way to the door.

You slide your house slippers on and are surprised to see Anežka’s pink one’s by the door as well. You can hear her in the kitchen, opening and closing the doors of the pantry as the air grows warm with the spices of her favorite tea.

“Anežka,” You call out, “I’m home!”

You set the flowers on a side table, barely conscious of the soft footsteps trailing in from the kitchen till Anežka sets her mug down on the coffee table.

“Look what I’ve got. A 'secret admirer’ sent them. Should we put them here or downstairs?” You take an artful picture of the arrangement.

“Neither is a wholly appropriate place.”

You freeze.

Your mind draws blank as it fails to process the words you heard someone other than Anežka speak.

You turn around quickly, knocking the flowers off the table as you do.

“Helmut?” Your voice lowers as a million feelings bubble up inside of you. They threaten to explode.

Helmut is there—right there—dressed in nothing but a bathrobe and his house slippers with a cat-like smile stretched across his handsome features.

He strides forward with confidence, stopping so close you nearly reel back.

“These are special flowers, драга, brought all the way from Ecuador.” He kneels before you, the hem of his robe splitting at the knee to offer a very seductive glimpse of his thigh.

He reaches around you, grabs the fallen bouquet, and sets them gingerly on the table as he stands. “We should place these in your bedroom so you may admire them every night.”

“What’s happening?” You finally manage to ask him, “what’s going on?”

“I’m home,” Helmut teases, speaking as though you failed to notice his soft brown eyes, his damp hair, or the heat that surges between you as he stands close enough to touch, to kiss if you wanted.

He brushes a hand against your cheek.

“Helmut,” you whisper again, but your voice is stern and more controlled this time. “How are you here? You’re supposed to be in Raft.” Despite your words, you lean a little closer, resting both hands against his chest, near the opening of his robe.

“It seems someone of great influence decided my sentence was better served outside the walls of the prison.”

“Like civil service?” You ask, but then you remember the brochure you received in the mail— the propaganda, or so you believed. “Or… Prison Work Rehabilitation?”

“Something like that. There’s a team,” he makes a flippant gesture with his hand before bringing it to rest on the curve of your hip. “Though I needed time to address the matter of my… financial limitations.”

“Limitations?”

“Of course.” He pulls you closer, encircling you in his arms. “The holder of my assets is quite a formidable woman. I thought it best to pay her a visit, to request access to the full extent of my resources. As stubborn as she is, I assume it will take a great many visits.”

“That would be wise,” You nod slowly, a wide smile coming to your face.

“I can’t be with you always, драга,” he tells you, “but I will be here.”

And you don’t quite remember what you promise in reply (or if you promised anything at all) because he kisses you.

Your fingers slide down his chest, brushing past his chest hair and the little charm he wears around his neck.

You don’t know how long you stay there, kissing, and sighing, and melting in the arms of the man you love, but you’re vaguely aware of being walked back against the wall, of the front door opening and closing at some point, and of Anežka pausing by the threshold, groceries in hand.

“Anežka,” He greets her, but his dark and hungry gaze lingers on you, only you.

“Hello, Baron… It’s good to see you.” Her voice waivers, but the sentiment is real. “M-Miss,” she nods in your direction.

“Hi, Anežka.” You’re not quite sure what to say.

“Why don’t you take a few days off?” Helmut suggests, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll take care of things here.”

“O-of course, Baron—Thank you.” Anežka glances between you one more time before setting the bags down near the door. “Good luck, Miss!” She calls out before leaving.

And as her footsteps grow quiet and hush in the distance, his eyes meet yours and his kiss finds its home upon your lips.

(And later when Helmut comes undone beneath your gaze and the rocking of your hips against his, you bring him home once again.)

And he keeps coming home to you.

***

And so we've reached the end. Thanks so much for reading! I appreciate all the support. This was my first fanfic in many years and I'm glad I could bring it to a close.

The end is a bit of wishful thinking on my part but I wanted to end on a happy note.

I'll probably write one or two bonuschapter that's basically just smut. So if you're 18+ and would like to remain on the taglist (or be added,) just let me know!

Taglist:

@actuallyanita, @fillechatoyante, @viviace, @buckyandlokicanhaveme, @sapphiredreamer26, @robur-bellicum, @apparrio

Previous

[after-avenging-hours]

Out of Time [1]: Steve x Reader

Series Masterlist

Summary:  After Steve gets injected with a mysterious substance during a mission gone wrong, you come to find out that the only thing that can save his life is a pure sample of Dr. Erskine’s Super Soldier Serum. Unwilling to let the love of your life die without a fighting chance, you travel through the quantum realm back to 1943. Equipped with little more than your knowledge of past events, you have to figure out just how exactly you’re going to get your hands on that serum. Not only that, but with the infinity stones no longer protecting the reality you’ve come from, there is now a chance that your presence in the past can change the future you’ll return to. Can you succeed without messing things up? And if things go wrong, can you fix it before it’s too late? Or will you run out of time…

Word Count: 5565

Warnings: Canon typical violence, time travel, injury of major characters

You don’t know how it went so wrong. You’d been on a mission with the team. A few former SHIELD scientists that were suspected to have been working under the influence of Hydra had been spotted in the same vicinity, raising several red flags. After a few days of recon, you’d managed to track down the location of their lab. When the team had busted the door in, ready to take them down, they’d already been expecting you.

The place was full of hired mercenaries and ex-members of the SHIELD Strike team. They’d put up quite a fight. Sam, Clint, and Wanda held down the ground floor while you and Steve had made your way to the upper level. Two agents held you off in close combat while six others took on Steve at the same time. Even six to one, they were having a hard time restraining the Super Soldier, but they managed to keep him pinned just long enough to allow one of the scientists to inject him in the neck with some type of black substance.

“No!” you scream, turning absolutely feral. Throwing caution to the wind, you mercilessly take on the two agents fighting you and they soon end up on the floor.

As Steve falls to his knees, the six other agents grab the scientists and leave out the back door. You rush forward and drop down, skidding across the floor to catch Steve by the shoulders before he can faceplant into the floor.

“Steve!” you call desperately. “Steve, look at me!” Your hands grip his face, trying to guide his eyes to yours, but they’ve turned hazy and unfocused. Perspiration has begun to collect on his brow and the veins at the injection site on his neck have started to turn black.

You lift a hand to activate the commlink in your ear. “Requesting immediate evac. The Captain is down. I repeat, Captain America is down.”

The rest of the team rendezvous to your location and it takes all of you to get Steve out of there and onto the Quinjet. You grab a tablet and bring up the life sign readings programmed into his suit. You watch with dread as his heartbeat wildly fluctuates between too high and too low, while his body temperature continually climbs.

As soon as the jet has landed back at the Avengers base, he’s carted off to the infirmary, where Dr. Banner and Dr. Cho are already waiting for him. You pace up and down the hallway, unable to rest or step away for even a moment to change out of your uniform. Your stomach is tied up in knots and you can’t get the image out of your head on how his face just went completely blank as soon as they had injected him.

You halt your movements and look up when the door opens and Bruce steps out. Seeing Bruce’s face on the Hulk’s massive body was still a little unsettling, but you have started to grow used to it.

“How is he? Is he okay?” you rush out.

Bruce’s poker face is terrible as he pulls off his glasses and fails to meet your gaze. “He’s stable for now… but no, he’s not okay.”

You cup a hand to your mouth and release a pained whimper. “What-” your voice breaks and you have to clear your throat before you can try again. “Do you know what they injected him with?”

“From what we can tell, it seems to be some sort of anti-serum venom. It was made to specifically target the Super Soldier serum enhancement in Steve’s cells.”

You feel the dread sink like a weight in your stomach. “What can we do to stop it?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. Wanda grabbed the syringe from the Hydra lab, so we have a small sample of the anti-serum for analysis. But without a pure sample of Steve’s Super Soldier serum, it could take months to synthesize a cure. And he doesn’t have that long.”

The lump in your throat grows and it becomes difficult to swallow. “How long does he have?” you almost don’t want to ask.

You see the answer in his eyes. “This anti-serum… it’s aggressive-”

“Bruce,” you cut him off, urgency in your gaze. “How long?”

“A few days… maybe a week.”

Your whole body blanches and you stumble a few steps until your back hits the wall. The thought alone was inconceivable. Steve… Your Steve… Gone in less than a week? Haven’t you both been through enough? You shake your head fervently, straightening your spine and pushing off the wall. “No,” you deny, allowing your anger and frustration to bolster your strength.

“Hey…” Bruce attempts to reach out to you.

“No!” you coil back. “No, I won’t let that happen.”

“We will do everything we can, but without the original serum-”

“Then I’ll get it for you,” you state with finality to your tone, a plan already forming in your mind.

Bruce looks at you, perplexed. “How?”

Instead of responding, you turn on your heel and march down the hallway. Pulling out your phone, you bring up your contacts and dial the number you need. You’re talking as soon as the line picks up. “Hey Scott, remember that favor you owe me?”

--

It takes a full day of preparation before things are ready. You grow even more anxious with every minute that passes. Every single tick of the clock is one less second Steve has to live.

Seeing him in the infirmary had nearly broken you. Dr. Banner and Dr. Cho were keeping him sedated to help slow the spread of the anti-serum, but the damage was already beginning to take its toll. It was working its way through his body like a poison, starting in the bloodstream, but if left untreated, his organs would begin to fail systematically. Normally, Steve’s Super Soldier serum would help defend his body from something like this, allowing him to metabolize it out before it could do any harm. But, somehow those Hydra scientists found a way to target the original serum first, to weaken his body’s defenses and let the venom take over. It must have taken them years of research to develop something like this and you only had days to reverse it.

You had never seen the Super Soldier look so weak and sickly. He had lost all color, his skin pale and beginning to verge into an ashen grey. He looked thinner like he had been bedridden for weeks, not just a day. His cheeks were gaunt and dark bags had appeared beneath his eyes. When you reached out to touch his hand, it was deathly cold and your heart had skipped a beat. You didn’t understand how this could be happening so fast to the strongest man you had ever known.

You’d pushed the hair off his forehead; no longer a shiny blonde, but more of a dull straw color; and pressed your lips to his skin. “You’ve come to my rescue so many times, Steve. It’s time for me to return the favor. Please, hold on, just a little longer, until I get back.” You then place a gentle kiss to his lips, a single tear dropping from your eye and landing on his cheek. You wipe at the wet trail with your thumb before you step back and release a shaking breath. “I will make it back,” you promise both to him and to yourself.

--

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come?” Bucky asks, helping you in to your quantum suit.

It’s good that most of his memories were back. He was your best source of information for getting the correct dates, times, and places so you could successfully accomplish your task. Not only that, but you had needed a quick and dirty rundown on etiquette, behavior, and style for the time period. It felt like you had enough bobby pins and hair spray to keep your hair as still as a plastic doll. Not to mention the signature red painting your lips.

“You can’t,” Bruce speaks up from where he stands behind the console for the platform. “The infinity stones were the only thing holding our reality together when we time traveled the last time. Those stones no longer exist in this reality. Since she isn’t coming back with them either, there may be repercussions from this. She should go alone because she doesn’t already exist in that timeline.”

“I’ll be okay, Bucky,” you give him a tentative smile, unsure if you’re telling the truth.

Based on the look in his eyes, you know he’s reading you easily. He gives your arm a squeeze in reassurance. “Stay out of trouble. The punk will kill me if anything happens to you.”

You nod and begin to step away, heading for the platform. You shift on your feet, mentally psyching yourself up for the journey. You release a long breath before signaling to Bruce that you’re ready. You meet Bucky’s gaze one last time. “Be right back,” you tell him before your helmet pops into place and you’re flying through the quantum realm.

--

You land in 1943 without much fuss, quickly dissolving out of your quantum suit before anyone catches you in the empty alleyway. You fix any flyaway hairs and straighten your outfit and then walk out onto the main street. It’s a bit of a trip, seeing all the old-fashioned cars driving past and the dated outfits and hairstyles that everyone wears. The movies and pictures that you’ve grown up seeing don’t quite do it justice. However, it does remind you of the sketches Steve sometimes shared with you whenever he was feeling nostalgic.

You give yourself a second to marvel at everything, but the thought of Steve helps to sharpen your focus and bring yourself back on track. You step onto the sidewalk, behind a group of young school children with their mothers in tow. Walking passed a newspaper stand; you take a quick glance at the paper to make sure you’ve landed at the correct time. Monday, June 7th, 1943.

Breathing a breath of relief, you move to the edge of the sidewalk and hail a taxi. Soft, jazzy notes fill the air of the car from the radio, helping to ease the tension in your shoulders. The song is also familiar to you, because of Steve. You give the driver the address to your destination and soon find yourself pulling up in front of Brooklyn Antiques. You pay for the taxi with a set of vintage coins you’d been able to acquire before leaving your time. You shuffle out of the taxi and head into the shop.

The bell above the door dings and you enter the space. An older woman in a soft pink sweater steps out from the backroom to greet you. “Did you hear the ball game last night?”

Your mind races as you try to recall the answer to the code that Bucky had told you about. They would change them daily and randomly rotate through a long list of them. “Yes, but I only wish I had some Cracker Jacks,” you respond.

She nods once before moving behind the cashier desk and presses the secret button beneath. You try to steady your pounding heart as you walk to the back room and stand in front of the bookshelves. After a moment, the shelves begin to move to reveal a set of hidden doors. You roll your shoulders back and walk with confidence into the hidden laboratory.

The energy in this place buzzes like a beehive. The tan military uniform you wear allows you to blend with everyone else. People give you a casual side glance before turning back to what they had previously been doing. As you walk down the hallway toward the main room, the sound of raised voices grabs your attention.

“You’ve had more than enough test runs! Stark’s machine works. Your formula is ready for development. All that’s left is the man.”

Looking to your left, you see that it’s Colonel Phillips and Dr. Erskine that are arguing inside the observation room. Dr. Erskine shakes his head, with an exasperated look on his face. “But it can’t be just any man, it has to be the right man!”

“We’ve been at this for months! Week after week, we run training exercises on a new group at Camp Lehigh, and you’ve denied every single one! Do you realize how much money this has cost us? We have to pay the scouts that send men our way. Gotta pay the buses that bring ‘em to the camp. Lodging, food, uniforms, supplies. Enough is enough. You have one week to find your man for the next round of recruitments. If you can’t find him. Then you’ll have to pick from the rest of the selection. We cannot afford to wait any longer.”

With the final word, Colonel Phillips turns and walks out of the observation room. You make sure to step back and out of his way, ducking your head slightly, so as not to draw attention to yourself. You look back up when you hear Dr. Erskine give a long drawn out sigh. He has removed his glasses and rubs at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

You find yourself moving forward and into the room. “Is everything all right, Doctor?” you question with a gentle voice.

He moves his glasses back into place and meets your gaze. “Not quite.” He admits, his accent a little thicker with stress in his voice. “Unless you have an idea on where we might be able to find someone actually worthy of this project.”

Your lips part as you try to come up with a response to that. “Well… Um. I’m sure the World Expo will bring all sorts of new faces in.” You cringe inwardly a little, thinking that may have been too obvious. Bruce’s words of warning echo in your ears. Get in, get out, don’t change the timeline.

Erskine’s eyes light up at that prospect. “The World Exposition? Of course. That is a wonderful idea. Stark mentioned that there was a recruitment center there. Come, let’s go take a look.”

He begins to head for the doorway and gestures for you to step through first. You hesitate. “You want me to come with you?”

He smiles kindly. “Well, it was your idea, was it not?”

So much for 'get in and get out'. Although, this could be a good thing. After all, Erskine was your ticket to the serum. Another second passes, and then you begin to move out of the observation room. You look down at the machine in the main room, knowing that one day soon, it will be used to create a Super Soldier. Erskine follows you out before taking the lead and moving toward the exit. He pulls off his lab coat and stops at a coat rack off to the side. He swaps the lab coat for a beige trench coat and his fedora.

The MP sitting at the desk right next to the secret entrance hits the button to allow you both to exit. Erskine leads you out of the antique shop and over to one of the vehicles parked nearby. The driver is already sitting in the front seat. Erskine opens the back door and gestures once more for you to enter first. You give him your thanks as you sink into the leather seat, then push over to the other side to make room for him to follow you.

Dr. Erskine gives his instructions to the driver to take you to the Expo.

You relax your posture into the cushioned seat and watch 1943 New York pass by the window.

“So, you are new,” Dr. Erskine states casually, also looking out through the window on his side of the car.

Your shoulders stiffen and your heart stops. “I…” you begin to protest before changing tactics. You laugh nervously and glance over at him. “Is it that obvious?”

He continues to look out his window as he responds. “In all the months we have been working on this project, no one has ever asked me how I am doing.” He turns away from the window then and meets your gaze.

Your own gaze softens with sincerity. “That sounds lonely.”

He tilts his head and lifts his shoulders in a slight shrug. “This is the bed that I have made. Great things can happen if my serum is used properly, but many terrible things have already come to pass.”

You know that he is talking about Red Skull. “We will find the man you need, Doctor,” you assure him.

He looks at you curiously. “How is it you sound so sure of that?”

You swallow and try not to look like a deer caught in a headlight. “I have faith,” you manage to get out.

He cracks a small smile. “Faith,” he repeats, before he releases a low chuckle. “I’m afraid as a scientist, I may need a little more than that.”

You find yourself smiling back. “Then perhaps I can try to muster enough faith for the both of us.”

“That would be appreciated,” he responds right as the car pulls to a stop. He steps out of the vehicle first before turning and reaching to take your hand to help you to your feet.

“Oh wow…” you marvel as you take in the sights of the Expo before you.

The giant metal sculpture of the globe looms over everything, casting its shadow over the crowds as people hurry passed in excited groups, eager to see the exhibits. A monorail train curls around the globe and zooms past in a rush of metallic sound.

“You have not yet seen the Exposition?” Dr. Erskine asks curiously.

You find it difficult to pull your eyes away from the sights. “I haven’t had the time,” you speak honestly.

“I heard that several of the soldiers were planning to take the other women to Stark’s show this weekend. I’m sure you could join them.” He speaks casually as he begins to head for the recruitment station.

“Those men don’t interest me.” You follow behind, looking around as you do.

Dr. Erskine grins to himself. “Fair enough.”

The two of you continue on your way. Before you can make it inside the building, though, a voice calls out “Dr. Erskine!”

A man in an expensive-looking suit walks up to you both. He has dark hair, a thin mustache, and a dashing smile. A smile with confidence that you recognize.

“Mr. Stark,” the Doctor greets, shaking his hand.

“What brings you all the way out here? I thought you never left your lab, save for heading out to Camp Lehigh. And who is this?” Howard’s eyes trace down the length of your body, an appreciation settling into his features.

You raise a brow, barely able to contain your amusement between this Stark and the one you’ve known. “She’s not interested,” you reply bluntly.

Erskine laughs while Stark’s lips part in momentary shock. With a shake of his head, he shrugs off the rejection and his lips return to a charming grin. “Where are you and Phillips finding these girls? First Agent Carter, now this one?”

“You were commissioned for the head on your shoulders, Mr. Stark. The females working on this project should be of no concern to you.” The somewhat harsh blow of Erskine’s words is softened by the smile of amusement on his face.

Howard doesn’t take it to heart, laughing as well. “I understand. Well, can I at least show you both around?”

“We are actually here to observe the recruitment station. The Colonel has given us a week to find our man. We were hoping the selection here might provide something new.”

“Ah,” Howard remarks. “Well then, I won’t keep you. Feel free to stop by the Modern Marvel’s Pavilion. Perhaps we can all grab lunch.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Erskine neither confirms nor denies the invitation and ushers you into the recruitment center.

“He’s certainly a handful,” you comment, no longer able to hold your amusement.

Erskine releases a long sigh. “Sometimes it is a wonder that he can get anything accomplished. His mind is brilliant, but he can be easily distracted. Though, I am starting to wonder… if not even the great Howard Stark can hold your interest, I am fascinated to find out the man that will.”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “Maybe you will meet him one day.”

Dr. Erskine speaks with the head physician of the recruitment office, establishing a protocol for directing prospective enlisters his way for additional questioning. He then gives you instructions on the qualities he is looking for, so you can also help to keep an eye out with him.

You spend the day interviewing enlisters. You pretend to be invested, but know that none of them are going to be the correct one. Steve isn’t supposed to show up to this recruitment center until this weekend after Stark’s big show. You had planned to drop into the timeline several days before his recruitment, in case you needed the extra time to get your hands on a sample of serum. Your first day wasn’t quite going as expected, but it could be worse.

Erskine comes to collect you at the end of the day to see how your interviews have been going. When he offers for you to join him for dinner, you readily agree, only then realizing how hungry you are. The two of you walk away from the crowds of the Expo and back into the city.

You find a small family-owned diner to grab a quick bite to eat. Getting seated at a booth near the windows, you watch the people pass by while you wait for your food to come.

“My apologies for taking so long to ask, but I have come to realize that I do not know your name,” Dr. Erskine pulls your attention back to him.

“Oh,” you start. Realizing that you also had never introduced yourself. “Well, my friends call me Vic.”

“Friends?” he repeats with a raised brow.

You realize your mistake a little too late. As the head scientist of the SSR, he was technically considered your superior. It’s been so long since you’ve worked with a superior that wasn’t your friend. Also, with one that you weren’t sleeping with…

You clear your throat and try again. “What I mean is that I haven’t really gone by my given name in a long time. It almost feels foreign whenever I do hear it.”

Erskine looks at you curiously. “And this Vic name was given to you by your friends?”

“Yes,” you confirm, before growing a little shy. “It’s actually short for Lady Victory,” you explain, your face heating in embarrassment. You’ve never actually had to be the one explaining it to anyone.

“Lady Victory?” he repeats, both brows now raised in intrigue. “And how did you manage to earn that name?”

“Well,” you laugh lightly. “It started after a few successful rounds of poker.” That makes Erskine laugh as well. “But, once I started working in the field, the name stuck. I became a lucky charm of sorts. Everyone would say that there was no way we could fail as long as Lady Victory was on our side. And that held true, at least until…” Your voice falls away and your eyes grow hollow. At least until the last mission.

“You have been to the war front?”

You pull yourself out of your dark thoughts and focus back on the doctor. “No. Not this war, at least. But I have seen war. Up close. It’s never easy.”

Erskine nods in agreement. He sits quietly for a moment, considering your words. “Have you considered submitting yourself as a candidate for Project Rebirth?”

You had reached for your glass of water and taken a sip when he asked his question. You choke upon swallowing the drink. So much for not screwing up the timeline. You’re pretty sure this conversation was never supposed to happen. You set your glass back down and attempt to cough the water out from where it’s trying to reach your lungs.

“I am sorry, I did not mean to startle you. But I must admit, you do have several of the qualities I am looking for in a candidate.”

After you’ve managed to catch your breath, you try to figure out the best way out of this. “The offer is generous, but that’s not my destiny.”

“What happened to faith?” Dr. Erskine smiles cryptically.

“I have faith that we will find the right person. But I know that isn’t me.” You release a breath of relief when the waitress arrives with the food. “Besides, can you imagine the Colonel’s reaction if you were to tell him you had picked a woman for the project?”

Erskine shrugs his shoulder. “He has been making his threats for months, but he knows that I will not make the serum until we have a candidate that I approve of.”

You can actually hear the record scratch sound effect going off in your mind. “Wait, I thought the Colonel said your formula was ready.”

“The formula, yes. I have all the ingredients ready. But the serum itself must be used within hours of preparation or the components will begin to degrade. It is a side effect from some of the ingredients used, but also works as a failsafe, should anyone think that they could steal it.”

You try to keep your face neutral, but internally your heart is sinking. This means that you coming early was a wasted effort and your only shot at getting a sample of the serum would be the day they turn Steve into a Super Soldier. And not only that but if you did manage to get your hands on a sample, it could degrade before being of any use to Dr. Banner.

In an effort to keep the despair off your face, you steer the conversation away and start to dig into the food that you no longer feel hungry for. Dr. Erskine turns out to be fairly good company and enjoys regaling you with tales of his home in Germany. It helps to keep him talking, so you can mentally plan just how you’re going to make it through these next few weeks, stuck in 1943.

Erskine offers to cover the cost of dinner, which you agree to, but only if he will let you pay for the next meal. He seems caught off guard by your proposal but then agrees with a quiet chuckle. As you prepare to leave, he places his fedora back onto his head and folds his coat over his arm. He then holds the door open as you exit the diner.

You both walk down the sidewalk in the direction toward the expo, occasionally needing to move behind one another to make room for people heading in the other direction. A flash of movement catches your attention from across the street. You narrow your gaze at the two men walking in the same direction as you and Erskine. They are both wearing fairly nondescript outfits in dark, neutral tones. Also wearing fedoras that they use to shadow their eyes. You notice one has a camera in his hands.

You quicken your steps to match up with the doctor, then wrap your arm through his. He looks down at you slightly startled, but you don’t pay him any mind. “Darling, that dress is lovely. Why don’t we take a look inside?” You point toward the display of a boutique and quickly usher him into the shop.

“Miss Vic, we really should be heading back to the recruitment center,” Dr. Erskine begins to protest.

You hush him and pull him deeper into the shop. “We were being followed. I noticed those two men loitering outside the bar across the street when we were at the diner. They stayed the whole time and didn’t begin to move until we did.”

“Are you certain?” he questions, looking back, but you’ve already pulled him too far into the shop.

“I am. One of them pulled out a camera and was trying to take pictures of you.”

“Hello, how can I help you?” the shop attendant takes that moment to make herself known.

You put a sweet smile into your face. “Oh, I’m sorry. Do you have a back door? It seems we’ve gotten a little turned around and we’re actually supposed to be on the next street over.”

The woman looks at you curiously, “Oh, we do, but it leads to a back alley, not the main street.”

“That’s all right. I’m sure we’ll find our way. Thank you!” Before she can come up with a response, you’re pulling Erskine after you and out the back. You check to make sure the coast is clear, before dragging him out. You run as fast as you can in your heels down the back alley toward the next street. You stop just short of the alley opening and press your back into the brick wall. Peaking around the corner, you find that the men aren’t anywhere to be seen.

You step out with Erskine and quickly hail a taxi. Not conforming to societal rules, you yank open the back door and shove him into the seat. “Don’t head directly for the expo. Drive aimlessly first, check for any tails. If you don’t see any, stop and switch to a new taxi before heading back.”

“What are you going to do?” he questions, still thrown off by what’s happening.

“I’m going to make sure they won’t follow you.”

You quickly shut the door to the cab and bang on the top to send it off. You then duck back into the alley. You’re almost to the back entrance of the boutique when the two men come stumbling out.

“You boys lost?” you question with an innocent tone to your voice. The two take one look at you before looking around for your charge. “I’m afraid it’s just the three of us.”

“We ain’t got no beef with you, Toots,” one of the men states in a heavy Brooklyn accent.

Your innocent façade drops instantly. Darting forward, you grab the man by the lapel of his coat. You use his surprise against him to swing his whole body around and slam his back into the brick wall. Your movement knocks the wind out of him and you quickly pin your forearm to the base of his neck to keep him from being able to regain his breath. “Who you callin’ Toots?” you question with a deadly tone in your voice.

“Geez, lady!” The man chokes out, raising his hands in surrender.

“Back up, if you don’t want to get hurt!”

You look over your shoulder to find the other one has a pistol aimed at you. Rolling your eyes, you release the first one and step back, your own hands now up in surrender. In a flash, you whip your arm out, grasping the gun and kick your foot out, straight into his knee. His leg buckles from beneath him and he loosens his hold on the gun as he falls.

You take the weapon into your own hands, holding it over him, while he kneels at your feet. “I think you’ll find that it’s actually you who should be worried about getting hurt, Toots,” you tell him, sarcasm dripping from your tone.

You catch the movement of the man’s eyes and turn back toward his partner, just a moment too late. The sound of a gun firing echoes down the alley moments before pain explodes in your side.

You cry out, barely managing to keep your grip on your own gun as you stumble into the brick wall.

“You shot her?!” the one kneeling bellows.

“She had a gun to your head!” The other argues.

“Red Skull’s gonna kill us if he finds out we were caught!”

“Not if we finish her off,” the one that shot you once begins to turn.

Your hand shakes as you try to raise your gun back up to defend yourself.

“Hey! Get away from her!” A new voice enters the fray.

The two men look to see someone else running into the alley. They are coming from your back and you fear if you attempt to look at who it is, you might pass out from the pain.

“Let’s get out of here,” the one that shot you tucks his gun away and helps pull the other to their feet. They take off before the newcomer can reach them.

“Miss, are you alright?”

This gunshot wound must be affecting you more than you thought because you could swear their voice sounds like-

Gentle hands grasp your shoulders as you stumble. You lift your head to meet a worried gaze. Soft blue eyes, framed by thick lashes, and two furrowed brows. It’s a look you’re all too familiar with and it always makes your heart clench.

Seeing it this time also makes your head swoon and your stomach flip. “Steve?” you barely manage to get out before your legs collapse.

Part 2

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Flights of Fancy

Chapter 5 (on AO3) by @dracusfyre

1 Year Ago: Tony  

 “Howard did what?” Tony shouted, and Jarvis winced.

 “I am as surprised as you, sir,” Jarvis said. “But please, keep your voice down. Ana is bringing the young gentleman and his parents refreshments as we speak, and it wouldn’t do for him to hear you.”

 Tony took the marriage contract from Jarvis’s hands and skimmed it quickly, flipping to the signature page. “I didn’t sign this,” he said. “This isn’t legally enforceable, Howard forged my signature. Why would he do that?”

 “I’m sure he wasn’t planning to die before this particular plan came to fruition,” Jarvis said wryly. “I imagine he had some sort of leverage in mind to force you into agreeing to this betrothal when the young gentleman came of age and this contract would go into effect.”

 Tony sat down heavily, barely restraining himself from banging his head on the desk with frustration. “Leaving me to have this excruciating conversation with a debutante who thinks that we are engaged,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “God damn that man.” An arranged marriage is just something Howard would do; he had already kept Tony wingbound and all but imprisoned for three years, and taking Tony to London to have a season would only give Tony a chance to run away, which was exactly what Tony had been planning to do at the first opportunity. Much better, in Howard’s eyes, to make sure that Tony went from one prison to another by binding him in marriage to someone of Howard’s choosing.

 Howard’s choosing. For some reason this young man had been Howard’s choice, but why? Tony would have thought that Howard would marry him off to some old codger in return for money or land or influence. With that thought in mind, Tony picked up the marriage contract again and reread the name of his “betrothed” - “The Viscount of Sturmont,” Tony read. “Who-”

 “His father is the Earl of Mansfield,” Jarvis supplied. Tony’s resistance to learning the peerage was one of his small victories over his father. “His holdings, I understand, have a great deal of coal and are known for their breweries.”

 So not an old codger, an old codger’s son. Sure enough, when Tony read the marriage contract more thoroughly, there were a number of clauses about buying Mansfield’s coal for the Stark family factories and using Stark ships to send Mansfield’s ale overseas, along with some language about votes in the House of Lords. “Well that explains that,” Tony muttered. He refolded the papers, took a deep breath to brace himself, and stood. “Let’s get this over with, I suppose.”

 Tony’s determination lasted him until he got to the door and saw his betrothed. The chairs had been artfully rearranged so that the first thing Tony saw when he walked in was the young man’s wings, feathers gleaming and neatly groomed and almost the exact shade of dark brown as Bucky’s. His heart skipped a beat and he almost stumbled at the sight, until the young man turned to smile at Tony over his shoulder in a move that would have been coquettish if his smile hadn’t faltered at the look on Tony’s face. Tony registered his look of confusion and made his face smooth out into an expression of polite welcome. The gentleman was handsome enough, and Tony wondered if Howard had met the boy before signing the contract and had thought his pretty face would reconcile Tony to the arranged marriage. Tony had the morbid thought that he could end this interview immediately just by spreading his wings and displaying his still painted secondaries; this young gentleman’s proper-looking parents would leave in an offended huff and would give him the cut direct in public forever after. But that would also cause gossip and require him to reveal his most cherished secret to strangers, so Tony just greeted them with a bow and dip of his wings. He made polite small talk while the young man - “Please, call me Daniel,” the young man said with a modest downcast to his eyes - poured the tea with impeccable grace and manners.

 “We are thrilled to finally be able to meet you,” Lady Mansfield said. “It is unfortunate that your illness kept you out of society for so long.”

 Tony smiled thinly at that, well acquainted with the lies Howard had told to explain why Tony never left their country estate. “Yes, I’m glad that my affliction is gone,” Tony agreed. “Unfortunately, since my father died I have been occupied with the estate and haven’t had much time to go about in society. How have you been enjoying the season, Daniel?”

 They made polite small talk while they had tea, but after JARVIS took the cart away, Tony sat up straighter on his chair and resettled his wings. “I apologize for having to bring up business during a social call,” Tony said, pulling out the marriage contract, “but I believe we should discuss this before the hour gets too late.”

 “Of course,” Lord Mansfield said, a slightly overweight man with silver at his temples. He had mostly been silent, almost dozing, while Lady Mansfield and Daniel shared gossip about their season, but now his wings straightened up and his eyes sharpened. “I only bring it up since it has been some time since it was written, and I want to make sure we don’t want to make any changes before we hold the ceremony.”

 “Daniel and I have been doing a great deal of the planning already,” Lady Mansfield put in. She put a wing around her son and patted him on the hand, smiling at him approvingly. “You won’t need to worry about a thing!”

 Tony cursed Howard another dozen times for putting him into this situation. “Well, you see,” he said, clearing his throat awkwardly as he flipped through the contract to the signature page. “We have a problem. This, ah, marriage contract isn’t...valid. This isn’t my signature.” Tony pointed to the scribble that was above his printed name. “I’m sure the late Duke had a good reason for this,” he lied, “but unfortunately, today was the first day I’ve learned about this betrothal.”

 All three Mansfields went pale, and Lady Mansfield’s jaw actually dropped. Even though it wasn’t his fault, Tony’s heart twisted at the look of stunned dismay on Daniel’s face. The poor young fellow had probably been thrilled to learn that he would be marrying a man close to his own age, and a Duke at that. Tony didn’t wasn’t flattering himself to say that he wasn’t unattractive, and to be fair, Daniel was a good looking fellow as well, and seemed very good humored and easy to get along with. It would have been a good match if Tony had been able to pick it for himself, if his heart hadn’t already been taken years ago.

 While the silence stretched, Tony's conviction wavered. He swallowed thickly and and dropped his eyes from Daniel's pleading gaze to look down at the contract in his hands. It had been four years since he last saw Bucky; four years without knowing where he was or what he was doing, or who he was with. How long should he wait for someone he might never see again? Five years? Ten? This was a good match, as good as it gets without being a love match. Maybe he was stupid to throw it away based on a childhood love affair; his father had always told him that marrying for love was for fools and people with nothing to lose. He’d always dismissed his father as a bitter old man, but being forced to take over the estate and all of its business holdings had been something of a rude awakening. He could see now how a marriage was the best way to win allies in the cutthroat world of business and politics, and allying the Stark estate with Mansfield's made good sense.

 Lord Mansfield was the first to recover. “Now see here, young man-” he started, face growing red with rage. Lady Mansfield put a hand on his arm, digging her fingers in, and when Lord Mansfield met her eyes she shook her head sharply. Probably reminding him that this “young man” outranked him, Tony thought with a twist to his mouth.

 “I understand this must be very surprising,” Tony said. “But as you know, even though parents can arrange marriage contracts on behalf of their children, the child must be at least sixteen and able to sign for themselves, even if the contract doesn’t go into effect until all parties are eighteen. I didn’t sign this, which means that I am not bound by it, no matter what promises my father made.”

 “But-”

 Tony held up a hand. “Please, let me speak,” he said, and Lord Mansfield subsided, though he didn’t look happy about it. “I think that the business arrangements outlined in this contract are extremely favorable to us both, and I am more than happy to sit down with you and put those terms into a new contract. However, and I hope you don’t take this as any sort of slight to yourself, Daniel, for you are a most charming and handsome young man, but I have no interest in being married just yet.”

 “But - you can’t break off an engagement after the first meeting!” Now it was Lady Mansfield’s turn to bluster. “Think of what people will say! My son’s reputation will be ruined.”

 “Given that the betrothal only really came into effect upon Daniel’s eighteenth birthday two weeks ago, surely not that many people know about it,” Tony said, and as soon as the words left his mouth he knew he was wrong. The Mansfields had bagged a duke, they would have told people before the ink was dry on the contract.

 And sure enough, Lady Mansfield’s face went suspiciously blank even as her wing feathers fluffed where her wings were pressed tightly against her back. “Well, of course, we may have mentioned our good fortune to our family, and of course we have to say something when other people make inquiries,” she said, smoothing invisible wrinkles out of her skirt.

 Tony fought the urge to put his head in his hands, or to get up and go for a glass of scotch. “I’m sorry, but-”

 “If I may,” Daniel said, fanning his wings slightly to get everyone’s attention. “Perhaps the solution is to have a long engagement? If you have no desire to marry soon, then it shouldn’t be a problem for us to stay betrothed for a year or two, and then quietly break it off.”

 They all stared at him for a moment, then Lady Mansfield quickly turned to face Tony. “I think that’s a lovely idea,” she said, and Tony mentally rolled his eyes. Of course she did, she got to trade on the social cachet of having her son be engaged to a duke for another whole year. She shared a glance with her son and Tony realized that she was probably also hoping that after a year Tony would decide he wouldn't mind being be married to Daniel after all.

 Tony sighed, resigning himself to at least a year of being forced to socialize and pretend to court Daniel. But that would be better than them making a stink about it and creating unwelcome gossip. “That does seem like an elegant solution to this problem,” Tony admitted. “But I believe this has been a surprising day for us all, so perhaps we should retire the topic for today and meet again another day to discuss it?”

 “I hope it’s not an imposition, but I was hoping to take a turn around your gardens,” Daniel jumped in as Lord and Lady Mansfield started to stand. Judging from their expressions, this was not a hope he had communicated to them beforehand. Tony opened his mouth to demur, but Daniel was giving him a significant look so he found himself agreeing.

 Once they were outside, Lord and Lady Mansfield fell back a few paces, pretending to examine this flower or another, letting Tony and Daniel walk ahead and talk privately while still being within eyesight. Tony kept his hands clasped behind his back and his wings tightly closed, acutely uncomfortable.

 “Thank you for your kindness,” Daniel said as soon as they had some privacy. “This was a cruel trick for your father to play on you.”

 Tony’s throat got unexpectedly tight. “It’s not the first,” Tony said, trying and probably failing to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “I am sorry you and your family got pulled into one of his little games.”

 They walked in silence for a few moments, pretending to admire the roses which were spreading their sweet smell in the slightly humid summer air. “There’s someone else, isn’t there?” Daniel asked, glancing to make sure his parents weren’t in eyesight. “That’s why you don’t want to marry me.”

 “I- I'm sure I don't know what you mean,” Tony stammered, coming to a halt in the middle of the path.

 “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that,” Daniel said quickly, holding a hand out as if to stop Tony’s words. His wings came around to hug his shoulders before they settled against his back again, and Tony realized that Daniel was feeling just as anxious as he was. “It’s just that...you know, my parents have an understanding,” he said, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “They have some affection for each other, and I’ve never heard an unkind word between them, but I know they both take lovers on the side. You needn’t give up yours if we got married.”

 Tony blinked at Daniel’s earnest, understanding expression. “You don’t want to marry for love?”

 “It’s more that I never equated marriage with love,” he said with a shrug. Daniel started walking again so Tony fell in step next to him. “You can love many people, but only marry one, after all. Right?” They walked in silence for a while because Tony was too stunned to respond. “Just think about it,” Daniel said when they had finished the short walk around the gardens. As they said their goodbyes, he swept low in an elegant, courtly bow, wings dipping almost low enough to touch the ground. Despite himself, Tony’s eyes couldn’t help but follow the graceful movement, and when he came up, he gave Tony a private smile as Lord and Lady Mansfield scolded him for showing off.

 As he watched their carriage drive away, the housekeeper, Ana, came up next to him and put a gentle wing atop Tony's. "Edwin told me what Howard had done," she said. "How did it go?"

 Tony ran a hand over his face. "Not how I expected," he said with a sigh. "I think I'm going to have to pretend to be engaged until we can break it off without damaging anyone's reputations."

 "If you're sure that's wise," Ana said after a moment, sounding uncertain.

 "I'm not," Tony confessed, shoulders and wings sagging with dismay. "I have no idea what I'm doing, I'm just trying to make sure that no one else gets hurt because of me."

"Oh, Tony," Ana said, and pulled Tony into a hug. He had to lean over to rest his head on her shoulder as she wrapped her wings around him, just like she'd been doing since he was a child.

"Am I being silly?" Tony asked after a long moment, hating the uncertainty in his voice. "Waiting for Bucky?"

"No, honey." Ana drew back and framed his face in her hands, tilting his chin up to look him in the eye. "You need to follow your heart. Otherwise the doubt and regret would eat at you, like stone wears away at the rock. You're young yet," she murmured, brushing his hair away from his face. "It's going to be okay, you'll see."

[simplyemm]

In the Cards: IV of Pentacles

pairing: Bucky x Reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: meet cute (kinda), little bit of fluff, pet name (solnyshka), mentions of kidnapping, unedited, so all mistakes are mine.

summary: There is a new face around the Tower, and you want to make him feel welcome.

Header image by me.

Series Masterlist

I do not consent for this to be reposted, translated, or copied to any other platform.

IV of Pentacles: stability, control, influence, security, frugality

The ding of the elevator alerted you to the arrival of your somewhat-expected visitor. Steve Rogers had been making the rounds to all of the Tower employees, letting everyone know about the most recent addition to the building, as well as doing his best to allay any safety concerns that people might have. Cause y’know people might freak out just a little bit that the Winter Soldier was now in residence and not-entirely-okay.

“Hiya Cap,” you greeted, looking up from the disassembled Widow Bite you were working on improving for Natasha. “What’s up?”

“So you probably know why I’m here,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yup. Sergeant Barnes has moved in and he’s being given mostly free reign of the place to do a security check so he feels more secure in the Tower, right?”

“Word travels fast,” he muttered.

“Lab gremlins are gossips,” you confirmed. “But I get it, and so do most of the rest of the R+D staff. Everyone knows that they can have FRIDAY change up the access permissions if they get uncomfortable.”

“And yours?” Steve asked, glancing toward the doors on either side of your workshop.

“FRIDAY?” you called to the ever-present AI. She dinged in response. “Please allow Sergeant Barnes full access to my lab and associated spaces.”

“Of course.”

Steve smiled at you. “Thanks a lot, kid.”

“Let Sergeant Barnes know he’s welcome to lurk in my space whenever. I don’t mind the company.”

Steve chuckled. “No kidding, especially with the odd hours you keep.”

“Yeah well, science rests for no one, and someone has to keep up with all the upgrades y’all are constantly needing.”

Steve patted you on the shoulder and left you back to your own devices.

The next morning found you back to work, with only a few tweaks left to make on the improved Widow Bite.

“Good morning, solnyshka,” Natasha greeted as she entered the workshop, holding a steaming mug of tea. “I bring an offering.”

You look over at your for-the-moment favorite Avenger and grin. “Morning Nat. I’m just about ready to test out this upgrade.”

“Already? I just gave it to you like a day and a half ago!”

“And?” you shrugged. “Science waits for no one.” And you had worked all night on it, but you were not about to admit to that.

“You haven’t slept,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

You fight back a yawn. “No rest for the wicked,” you jest. “C’mon, let’s go test this out.”

The two of you head to the weapons testing area and you hand over the improved discs. You headed back behind a clear barrier where the control panel was. You had developed new testing dummies that allowed you to get readouts of possible biological reactions to the new tech, without needing actual people to be test dummies. It was one of the things you were most proud of.

“Ready?” you call. The Widow nods and you hit a button, causing several test dummies to appear and be summarily taken down by Natasha.

“I like them,” Nat says as the last dummy is taken down, twitching from the electrical current. “How are the readings?”

You look up from your StarkPad with a grin. “Fantastic. Will easily take down non-Enhanced without causing lasting permanent damage, enough to incapacitate. Gimme a minute and I can run a simulation to see--” you trail off, brain already moving a mile a minute to put in the parameters for the new simulation. The results make you grin even wider. “Can also cause at least minor inconvenience for super soldiers, provided we’re using Steve as a baseline.”

“Great!” Nat said. “Now go to sleep.”

You grumble good-naturedly, putting all of the testing tech to sleep, before heading out the testing lab door and across the hallway to your apartment. You really didn’t mind that your entire life could be contained in a single floor of Stark Tower, in fact, you actually preferred it that way. Tony had insisted that you move in after the second kidnapping incident, and you didn’t fight him on it...often. Besides, despite the incredibly generous salary Tony gave you, rent in New York City was not an expense you wanted to deal with.

*************

“I thought I told you to go to sleep,” Natasha said reproachfully when she entered the common area a few hours later and saw you sitting on the couch.

“Tried,” you replied. “Couldn’t do it. And I’m locked out of my lab for the next-” you glanced at the display of your StarkPhone, “-seven hours and thirty-four minutes, so I figured I would come hang out here.”

“Can’t FRIDAY unlock it for you?” Steve asked.

You laughed. “Nope, she’s the one who locked me out. It’s a protocol Pepper made Tony put in for himself that he so kindly added for me as well.”

The super soldier nodded in understanding. He looked over towards the elevator, hearing something that the two others didn’t, right before the door opened with a ding.

“Hey Buck,” Steve greeted softly, as the brown-haired man entered the space, looking around and observing everything. His eyes fell onto you and his brow furrowed, not recognizing the strange person in the space. “Oh right, you two haven’t met yet. Bucky, this is Y/N, she’s one of the--” he looked to you for a more apt description of your role.

“I usually go with lab gremlin, but I’m technically the Stark Industries lead mechanical engineer and tech liaison for the Avengers. It’s nice to meet you Sergeant Barnes.” You gave him a small smile and a little wave.

“Bedtime, solnyshka,” Natasha said. “At least try to get some sleep before FRIDAY unlocks your lab again. Please.”

“Ugh, fine,” you groaned, slowly getting up from the couch. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my cave.” And with that, you headed towards the elevator and back to your floor.

“Cave?” Bucky asked after the elevator doors closed behind you.

“It’s what she calls her floor,” Nat explained. “She has an apartment, her workshop, and one of the weapons testing labs all on the 87th floor. She emerges every now and again to socialize. Usually after she gets locked out from working too much.”

He nodded. He had yet to visit the 87th floor on his nightly sulks around the tower, but it had officially moved higher on his list.

*************

It was some obscenely early hour of the morning when Bucky made his way to the 87th floor of the Tower. Nightmares had woken him again, and he found himself wanting to see what your space was like. Steve had told him a bit about you after you had left, expounding upon your sunny disposition (which explained Natalia’s endearment) and your single-minded dedication to your work.

The elevator doors opened, revealing an open sitting area with three doors leading off it. The central doors were made of transparent glass and he could see you staring at a holographic display, moving things around with your fingertips, biting your lower lip in concentration. Unlike Stark, who favored loud rock as he worked, you had smooth jazz going in the background. Bucky could hear the murmur of the lyrics through the glass. To the right was another set of doors, the walls and door itself made of frosted glass. He assumed that led to your personal quarters, given that the doors on the left hand side had TESTING LAB written across them.

You looked up from your holo screen and the schematics displayed there after giving Bucky a chance to get his bearings. FRIDAY had informed you that he was on his way as soon as he had stepped into the elevator, but you hadn’t wanted to make him uncomfortable by immediately rolling out the welcome wagon. You tapped an icon in the corner of the holo screen, causing the doors of your workshop to slide open.

“Hi,” you said with a smile. “Wanna come in?”

He had been expecting something clinical and sterile feeling about the space, but that was not it at all. It felt more like a garage than an actual lab. He looked over to one of the corners, seeing a kitchenette and lounge area, complete with couch and television, which seemed counterintuitive to a work space, but it somehow fit.

“It’s a bit eclectic,” you admitted. “But it works for me.”

His eyes spread across the rest of the space, noting entrances, exits, and the lack of security for the floor-to-ceiling windows along the back wall.

“The windows aren’t secure,” he mumbled.

You smiled. “More so than you’d think,” you replied gently. “Virtually indestructible one-way glass. Tony doesn’t want just anyone seeing what I get up to here.” You gestured toward one of the swivel stools you had scattered around your various worktables. “You’re more than welcome to hang out for a bit, if you’d like.”

And so he did.

[sourwolphs]

Like an Animal - Bucky x Reader (5/8)

Read on Ao3 (for better interface + formatting)

Summary: Reader is an enhanced Omega kidnapped by Hydra and trapped in a cell with Alpha Bucky Barnes. Tags: A/B/O, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending Warnings: Rated M A/N: Angst ;) And Bucky being cute as all hell. Leave a comment on Ao3 if you’re enjoying!

The sound of Bucky’s door slamming down the hallway resounded like a thud in my chest. At the risk of sounding like a hopelessly romantic, dopey-eyed Omega, it felt like something cracked inside of me.

For the briefest moment in the lounge, I had caught his scent— that Alphacomforthomesafe scent I’d searched for for weeks. Just a hint of it had sent a jolt of electricity, hope and relief through my entire being. We’d locked eyes— his facial expression carefully blank, beard unshaven and growing long, hand gripping white-knuckled into the strap of his duffle bag, before he had fled to his room— leaving behind the confusing, raw scents of guilt and despair behind him.

Natasha and Steve both looked to me in concern, before engaging in a silent conversation through their facial expressions. Both smelled overwhelmingly of unease, but neither said anything to abate the awkward tension suffusing the room. Steve gave a lame excuse for Bucky, looking bewildered as he did so— something about the other Alpha having a rough few weeks, but I quickly bowed out of the lounge, retreating back to my apartment to process the heartbreaking fact that he’d been away, and now that he was back, he clearly wanted nothing to do with me.

Maybe he was just shy, I thought, self-comforting. But he hadn’t been shy in that cell. He’d been quick to introduce himself, to alleviate my fear by baring his throat to me.

Maybe I’d made him uncomfortable. Had I made him uncomfortable? It’s not like I could stop myself from falling into a sympathy heat, especially under the influence of an Alpha purr.

Then there was the other creeping, dreadful thought that had been plaguing my thoughts for the past few weeks: Maybe he already has an Omega.

I hadn’t smelled one on him in that cell, hadn’t felt a bond mark on his neck, but both could have been hidden under the scents of rut and fear, and the filth of our surroundings.

I even briefly worried that he was Wanda’s mate, since I’d never met the Alpha she always spoke about with a soft and wistful smile. But when I tentatively asked after her mate later that night during our evening Full House marathon, she had given me a sad smile and told me he was working off-world.

I barely slept the night after Bucky came home. Knowing that he was just a floor away made the longing even harder, my Omega anxious and desperate for comfort. I shuffled through a hundred different explanations— each more frustrating and heartbreaking than the last— for why he’d been away for so long, why he’d reacted the way he did when he saw me, why his scent had reeked of guilt and sadness.

But above all— my Omega worried viciously whether he was okay. The connection I felt to him burnt bright and hot within me, tugging at my heart. Find Alpha. Comfort Alpha.

I tried my hardest to bury my thoughts deep down, feeling like a crazy person. Bucky barely knew me, and here I was lying in bed, staking a mental claim on him like some feral, unsocialized Omega. For all I knew, he was snuggled up with his bondmate, recovering from the turmoil of our kidnapping in his or her embrace, thoughts of me all but forgotten.

The next day, I moved tentatively around the compound, bracing myself for an interaction. I’d run through one hundred potential scenarios in my mind— one hundred introductions, one hundred apologies, one hundred questions I wanted answered. But one day stretched into two, stretched into a week, without anything more than a flash of his retreating form as he exited the gym before I entered one afternoon.

Despite his intentional or unintentional attempts to avoid me, he couldn’t erase his lingering scent, which tucked itself into every available corner of the compound, driving my Omega insane with want and worry.

Rationally, I knew that the compound smelled like everyone— like determined Steve after a boxing match, like Sam’s bubbly joy over breakfast, like Wanda’s gentle concern, like Natasha’s smug laughter, like Stark’s curiosity.

But even knowing that I could smell everyone didn’t stop my Omega from catching his scent in every room— musky, heady cedar, warm and inviting campfire. It was maddening.

On top of the Alpha scent that left my brain in a muddled haze, there was also the situation with the gifts.

They weren’t really gifts. But, I didn’t know what else to call them.

The first one appeared three days after Bucky returned to the compound.

When I shuffled out to the kitchen around six am for a coffee and some eggs with Sam, I found my favorite mug (a cute green ceramic one made to look like a tin camping cup) already set out on the countertop, along with a spoon, a pot of sugar and a folded napkin. Next to it, the coffee pot was spitting out the last few dregs of brew— fresh and hot.

At first, I thought it was Sam who’d prepped the coffee for me, and a warm smile spread across my face at the Beta’s sincere care and friendship. But then he appeared ten minutes later, still in his camo pajamas, yawning and rubbing sleep from his eyes, and I frowned. Sam and I were the only early risers around here, as far as I knew. But maybe he’d fallen back asleep after getting up to make coffee.

The next day, my yoga mat was missing from its usual spot tucked high into a cubby on the wall in the gym. Figuring I’d left it in Natasha’s training room, I headed in that direction, only to find it rolled up neatly right outside the door, along with a massive, full water bottle and a charged pair of StarkPods. Weird. These Avenger Betas sure do let the hero thing get to their head, I thought. Sure enough, Natasha was already inside, balancing in a graceful arabesque as I readied myself for yoga. I thanked her with a smile and nod, which she returned.

The day after that, Steve and I got way too riled up on our morning run with Sam, and I tried to outpace him (failing, spectacularly) one too many times, causing me to have to limp back home with blisters on the back of my heels from my running shoes. After a shower in my room, I nearly tripped over a little pile of blister bandages and antibiotic cream sitting outside my door, which I snatched up, eager not to have to poke around the medbay for something as simple as band-aids. Even Steve was getting in on this babying nonsense, I thought. Maybe I wasn’t hiding my distressed Omega scent as well as I’d thought, moping around after Bucky.

Later that week, I meandered down to the movie room for another previously scheduled watch party with Sam. I got there about 20 minutes early, planning to stake out my favorite spot before the others arrived, but I found Wanda already in the movie room, flicking through channels on the projector-TV. She was working her way through a bag of crispy Gozinaki— her favorite sweet snack from her childhood in Sokovia. Steve always made sure to keep bags of it stocked in the common kitchen, attentive Alpha provider as he was.

In my usual spot on the shaggy brown couch rested a fluffy, folded plaid blanket, with a pair of soft gloves on top.

“Aw, Wanda, you didn’t have to do this,” I said, scooping up the blanket to tug around my shoulders, my inner Omega shivering in delight at the cozy texture. Perfect for a nest, my mind unhelpfully supplied. The past couple of movie nights, I’d been complaining about my cold hands, especially after long afternoons training with Wanda left my limbs frigid and achy from the force of my abilities. Sometimes it took hours to get my skin back to a human-feeling temperature. I slipped the navy blue gloves on gratefully.

Wanda looked over at my snuggled up form and quirked a brow. “Those were there when I got here. I thought you left them for tonight,” she said curiously.

I looked down at the blanket as if it would give me an answer, then brought it up to my face for a curious sniff. The faintest scent of cedar wood hit my nose.

Alpha.  

I felt a whoosh in my head and stomach, like I was floating away from my body, and knew I must have had a dazed expression on my face.

If Bucky had left the blanket and the gloves… Maybe it wasn’t Sam who’d prepped my coffee. Maybe it wasn’t Natasha with the yoga mat and the water, or Steve with the blister bandages.

But why would Bucky…

“I can hear the gears turning in your brain from over here,” Wanda interrupted. “I take it it wasn’t you who left that pile down here?”

I shook my head, biting my lip as I muddled through my thoughts. If I was going to talk about what I’d been feeling for Bucky with anyone, Wanda would be the least likely to judge. She was a fellow Omega, after all.

“Can I ask you something? About your mate?” I hedged.

Wanda nodded, brushing crumbs from her lap before standing to sit down next to me on the shaggy couch. “Anything.”

“I’ve been here for over a month, and I still haven’t met him. And I wonder— What does it… feel like. For you. When he’s away.”

Wanda smiled, soft and wistful. “My mate is the Vision. He is not really human, but he was programmed as an Alpha, and when we mated, he gave me his mark,” she explained, reaching up to the back of her neck to press her hand to her mating gland. I had seen the shiny silver scars before, when Wanda had swept her hair up into a ponytail off the back of her neck during a training sesh.

“Even though he is not human— he does not have a scent as you or I do— I still struggled with what we Sokovians call gajovi. It means “heart-rending,” the feeling when you are separated from your bondmate. The longer we have been bonded, the easier it is to be apart. But I still sometimes feel the ache. Like a physical pain, inside,” she offered, moving her hand to the center of her chest, the same place where I had felt the same unbearable ache for weeks.

I took a deep breath, willing my scent to stay calm as anxiety, uncertainty and confusion warred in my mind. I feel the same thing.

“Do you ever feel like you need him… to fall asleep?” I asked, cheeks flushing. Even though we had grown close, I still felt uncomfortable asking Wanda about my craving for Bucky’s purr, as it was such an intimate act between mates.

“I have a feeling we are no longer talking about Vision,” she murmured, no judgement on her face. She placed a comforting hand on my knee, and I felt some of the tension in my body release slowly. “Sometimes it feels impossible to sleep. To eat. To even get out of bed. A bond is the most beautiful and powerful connection you can have, but it also makes you vulnerable. When things are bad, I can… feel him. Through the bond. We support each other,” she explained. Wanda closed her eyes momentarily, and I knew she was reaching through her bond to feel her mate, thousands of miles away. A warm smile crept across her face as whatever she was projecting through the universe was returned in kind.

While I was undeniably happy for Wanda and her mate, my heart ached at the realization that I was experiencing the same or similar withdrawal symptoms after my time with Bucky. But without a bondmark on my neck, without the connection she used to draw soothing strength from her mate, I was drifting— alone in a sea of longing and pain.

Wanda scented my sour sadness, giving me an empathetic look. “Do you? Have a bondmate?”

I saw her eyes flick towards my neck, where a bond mark would be, knowing that she had already seen my gland void of any bite scars.

I shook my head, looking down at my still-gloved hands in my lap.

Wanda opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated. Instead, she placed one hand in mine.

I wondered, then, if she knew more than she was letting on.

“When will Vision be home?” I asked, changing the subject and forcefully shaking off my sadness.

“This month,” she said, unable to hide the smile that crept across her face.

“What’s got the lovely ladies down?” Sam teased, interrupting our moment as he stepped into the movie room with a massive, unopened bag of Cajun-spiced Lays tucked under his arm.

Steve was right behind him, looking cozy in what was probably an XXXL hooded red sweatshirt. He came up behind my couch wordlessly, wrapping me up in a huge bear hug. I laughed, leaning into him and allowing his comforting Alpha scent to wipe away the remaining tendrils of my unease drifting in the air. I’d learned quickly that Steve was generous with his affection, and extremely protective— the type of Alpha an Omega could only dream of finding. Not an aggressive and possessive knothead, but a supportive provider and protector— always there when you needed him, but never overbearing.

Just like Bucky, my brain unhelpfully supplied. I shook away the thought. You barely know him.

I could hardly focus on the movie Sam selected, some Russell Crowe action flick set in Ancient Rome. I was too lost in my thoughts, curled up in the blanket Bucky had inexplicably left for me, squished between Steve and Wanda on the couch.

If I didn’t know better, it would seem like Bucky was trying to court me with these weird offerings, like some old-fashioned, 1940s Alpha would woo an Omega with flowers and chocolates. But even if he was, that didn’t explain his flightiness, or the bond withdrawal-like symptoms I was experiencing, or the frightening possibility that it was just me suffering from them. Faulty Omega.

Either way, after my conversation with Wanda, my resolve had hardened. I had to confront Bucky, even though my inner Omega withered at the thought. I needed to know if he was feeling the same way I was. And if not? Well, then— I’d cleared the air. That was that. I’d give him his space, leaving the compound and the pack behind if I had to. Go back to being on my own.

The thought made my hands tremble.

I clasped them resolutely in my lap, leaning closer into Steve’s absurdly thick bicep for comfort. At least for now, I could enjoy this.

————

Bucky has officially gone insane. After over 70 years of world war, Hydra torture, memory loss, coerced assassinations, cry0 chambers, getting dusted by a purple space god and fighting a war of disgusting aliens, it was one cute but deadly Omega that pushed his ancient Alpha ass over the edge.

After their disastrous reunion in the lounge, Bucky made it his personal mission to evade Y/N at all costs. He knew he was leaving the stink of shame all over the compound— both Steve and Sam called him out on it after they’d watched him flee the gym upon Y/N’s arrival one day— but even his snarling inner Alpha couldn’t get him to soften his resolve. There’s a reason he and Steve were thick as thieves from the jump— they were both infuriatingly stubborn people.

Y/N was happy here. That much was obvious. She left behind that peppermint-and-snow scent wherever she went— sweet with her joy, sharp with her determination— and he caught himself taking deep, pathetic inhales when she’d recently left a room that he’d entered.

In the mornings, he could hear her in the common room kitchen with Sam, laughing and bickering over the smell of eggs and bacon. In the movie room at night, right underneath his apartment, his super-soldier hearing clued him in to the team’s laughs and murmurs, the musical sound of her voice— unintelligible through the floor but soothing to his Alpha ears nonetheless.

He’d watched from a distance through the bulletproof glass a few times as she’d trained in the reinforced rooms with Wanda. Each time he spotted her she looked more and more powerful, more in control of the abilities that Hydra had kept locked away in restraints when they’d met in the cell. Wanda would watch patiently nearby, her red magic coiling along her fingers in anticipation as Y/N breathed in deeply, drawing her hands up in an elegant swoop along her midline before forcing them outwards in a jab, sending a spray of deadly ice shards at the steel wall, where they left hundreds of minuscule puncture wounds. Some days, the two Omegas would spill out a gallon of water on the floor, and Y/N would lift and arc it up into frozen creations, an intricate, jagged weapon or a delicate, curving flower, leafs of ice ivy crawling up the walls or pillars of impenetrable cold built from ceiling to floor.

What tore at him the most, though, even more than her delicious scent, which lingered on everything— and enticed more than a few embarrassing hard-ons he had to flee to his room to hide— was her scent mingled with another Alpha’s.

One Alpha in particular that hurt more than any other.

It hadn’t escaped Bucky’s notice that Y/N and Steve were spending lots of time together. Steve accompanied her on her morning runs— sometimes with Sam, sometimes without— but they always returned to the common areas flushed, sweaty and smiling, pumping out happy, sated pheromones. He’d passed the movie room and the lounge more than a few times to find her curled particularly close to him, his arm around the back of the couch behind her or her head resting against his bicep.

He’d even seen her and Steve sparring in the gym, Natasha and Sam cheering and whooping from the sidelines as she held her own against his restrained moves— a punch here, a kick there, which she dodged and delivered right back. They were comfortable in each other’s space. Comfortable enough that he’d even spotted her sleeping on the red lounge couch next to Steve one day, a book open in her lap while he sketched away in his notebook, using her hand draped off the side as an anatomy study. Her red socked feet were pillowed in his lap.

That mental image had kept Bucky up for a few nights, his Alpha flushed with an instinctual, possessive rage that he shoved shamefully down into the darkest recesses of his brain.

He couldn’t be mad. Even if his Alpha was roaring at him to step forward, to stake his claim, to pick her up and drown her in his scent, to crawl into her nest and cover her completely with his body.

He couldn’t be mad because she had sized up both Alphas and made what even he knew was the correct decision. Of course she had.

Why choose Bucky— broken, red-ledgered, half-vibranium, nightmare-riddled Bucky— when you could have the human embodiment of a golden retriever? Steve. The model Alpha. A gentle, caring provider— never aggressive or out of control, always protective, supportive and calm.

Plus, super-serum aside, Steve had always been handsome. Y/N wasn’t blind.

All of that is to say that Bucky hadn’t meant to start offering her gifts. It was his Alpha instinct, is all. Some feral, competitive nature still ingrained in his hindbrain. An instinct left over from a more primitive civilization, one where he would have had to prove to his Omega that he could be the best provider.

And if nothing else, leaving her the gifts soothed the terrible ache in his chest, helped him sleep another hour at night as he lay there agonizing about her smell, remembering how her face had felt cradled in his neck.

Wondering if she was sleeping in her room alone or curled up in her nest with Steve.

He knew that what he was feeling, what he was doing, was beyond wrong. If she knew why he was leaving her these gifts, she’d feel threatened, or stalked. He would be the creepy Alpha desperate for her attention.

But his hindbrain didn’t care. Alpha will provide.

It first started when he noticed that she always left the same green cup in the sink after breakfast. So one day, he got up early to leave it out for her— alongside a napkin, a spoon and the pot of sugar— though he didn’t yet know how she took her coffee. He also started the coffee pot just in case, slipping back to his room before she woke up, machine still whirring behind him.

Then, he noticed that she always ran out of water halfway through her yoga sessions with Natasha after she almost stumbled upon him in the kitchen the few times she’d come up to refill it. So Bucky topped up a 36 ounce bottle he found in the kitchen instead and left it outside the training room. Just so she won’t get thirsty, he reasoned. He couldn’t resist leaving her the yoga mat and earbuds as well. It was nothing. Not an exorbitant expense. Just something she needed, and would have gotten for herself anyway. What does it matter that he bought them for her first?

Then, he heard Sam ribbing her about her bleeding heels after their morning run, so he scrambled to the medbay to ask Dr. Cho for bandages and antiseptic— much to her confusion, as he didn’t ever need either. He dropped the supplies outside her door before she could finish showering off her run.

Then, he overheard her complaining about her cold hands one night as he passed the movie room. Bucky had to fight to repress the growl in his throat as he watched Steve take her hands into his own, rubbing them together for warmth while she laughed. He went back to his room and asked FRIDAY to help him order a pair of top-rated, insulated gloves in navy blue— he liked that color, but didn’t know if she did— as well as a blanket marketed as “perfect for nesting,” because he has officially lost all self-control. While the rest of the pack was out, he snuck into the movie room to leave the soft bundle on the couch that smelled the most like peppermint.

After a full week of secretive little offerings, Bucky was curled up on his own couch with a book, rubbing absentmindedly at his chest where the constant ache felt sharpest, when he heard someone start to turn the knob on his door.

It had taken him a few years, but he’d stopped jumping at unexpected noises like this, though he still often caught himself subconsciously scenting for threats, unable to shake the conditioned hyper vigilance. His Alpha instinct to constantly be prepared for a fight, made infinitely worse by Hydra’s torture, had gradually mellowed out with the safe reassurance of living with a pack. Knowing he had people close by who would protect him and people he would fiercely protect in return had served as a balm for his PTSD symptoms.

Bucky scented him before he saw him, but Steve slipped through the door upon finding it unlocked, giving Bucky his signature golden boy smile, before plopping into the armchair across from him.

“Hey, jerk. Are you avoiding me? Are you okay?”

Bucky felt his hackles raise as he caught a lingering whiff of Y/N on Steve and willed his expression into nonchalance. “No,” he said, before returning his gaze pointedly to the pages of the novel that he wasn’t really reading. “What makes you think I’m not okay?”

“Well, for one, you’ve barely left your room since I dragged you back here from Brooklyn, your apartment reeks like your dog just died and you’ve almost rubbed a hole through your shirt.”

Bucky quickly snatched his hand away from his chest where he’d continued rubbing circles without even noticing he was doing it. “I don’t have a dog,” he replied snidely.

His words came out a bit more venomously than he intended, and Steve’s easygoing expression faltered. Shit. He hadn’t meant to take his Alpha bullshit out on his best friend. It’s not like Steve was doing anything wrong. The problem was that he always did everything right.

“Sorry,” Bucky sighed, putting down his book and scraping a hand across his jaw, where his stubble was starting to border on a full-grown beard. Ugh. “I’m still just… processing.”

Steve gave him a concerned look, his eyebrows drawn together.

“You’re not still feeling guilty, are you?” Steve said. Bucky broke eye contact, studying the logo on the other Alpha’s oversized red sweatshirt instead. (“American University Est. 1918”— a gag gift from Tony last Christmas.)

“Buck— Come on, Y/N’s fine! Everyone loves her, and she’s doing great here. She doesn’t even talk about yo—“ Steve cut himself off, catching the grimace that flashed across Bucky’s face before he could reign it in. “I didn’t mean it like— She hasn’t even seen you, man, you’re always hiding away here or in the library.”

Bucky sighed again, tired yet begrudgingly appreciative of Steve’s attempts at soothing the issue. The other Alpha might not always know the right thing to say, but he was always earnest and honest about things.

“It’s okay, Steve, really. I just need some time, is all,” Bucky said, making a concerted effort to push out a less depressing version of his scent to mollify his best friend.

Steve gave him a tentative smile. “I talked to Fury about Y/N, by the way. Wanda told me she’s progressed a ton over the past month or so, you should really see her use her abilities in combat, it’s incredible! And Nat trusts her completely— you know she’s always the hardest to win over,” he said, his grin broadening. “I’m going to ask Y/N to join the team, officially, this week.”

The ache in Bucky’s chest ramped up, throbbing like a bass drum, but he forced out what he hoped was a convincing smile, knowing it didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m glad she’s fitting in,” he said. And he was glad. He was thrilled to know that his Omega was safe, loved and happy, that she had grown her powers with Wanda, that Steve was asking her to join the Avengers.

Even though it meant that if he couldn’t get his own urges under control, he’d need to find a new pack.

“Why don’t you come join us downstairs? Sam’s putting on Gladiator in a few,” Steve added.

For a second, Bucky really considered it. He could sit through one movie with her, after all, without falling apart at the seams. He was a freaking super soldier Alpha. He’d survived Hydra.

Then he remembered the bundle of blanket and gloves he’d left sitting on the couch a few hours ago in anticipation of their movie night and decided against it. If she put two and two together in front of the pack, Bucky didn’t think he could explain his way out of that one.

“Maybe later,” Bucky said, lifting his book up in a half-hearted attempt to look occupied. Steve could see right through him, he knew, but the other Alpha just gave him a smile and a reassuring shoulder squeeze, before slipping out of the door.

It was better this way, Bucky thought. Better for everyone if he rode this out on his own.

His Omega was okay. That’s what mattered.