#ClubOwner AU

[societyfolklore]

Favour - Part 3

Title: Favour (Part 3 of 3) Pairing: ClubOwner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary:  When your boyfriend messes up with the wrong people he offers you up as free labour in Bucky Barnes Club.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, Violence,  Blood,  Noncon/Dubcon Elements, Dark Themes, Manipulation, Psychological Domination, Public Humiliation, Power Play,  Possessiveness, Rough Sex, Chocking, Degradation Kink, Fear Kink, Bucky Being a F**king Monster (And we love it!), Unprotected sex, Fingering.  NO BETA

A/N: Final part to series that was part of my entry for  @avengers-assemble-bingo  for Bucky 108th Bday event  This is the conclusion!   Part One Here & Part Two I don’t know if I’m going to do anymore parts for this… but we’ll see what happens, never say never.. Square: a1 – Clubowner AU Card Number: 4B003

The month had unraveled like a slow-motion disaster, each passing day tightening the noose around Brock Rumlow’s neck. He had made promises, excuses, spun lies into makeshift bandages, but in the end, none of it mattered. His time was up.

And you felt it.

That morning, you had woken to the sound of Brock pacing. The sharp rhythm of his boots on the floor, his muttered curses, the occasional snap of his knuckles cracking- it painted a picture of a man cornered. His frustration was a living thing, a beast clawing at the walls of your apartment, suffocating the space between you.

You had learned long ago when to step lightly. When to make yourself small.

So, you had dressed in silence, slipping into your clothes quickly, avoiding his gaze. His energy was volatile, his movements erratic, his words clipped when he finally spoke.

“Where the fuck are you going?”

Your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag. “Work.”

His nostrils flared, jaw ticking. He said nothing more.

You didn’t wait for an argument. You were out the door before he could sink his claws in deeper. 

You’d hoped that you’d be able to relax at your desk, but you didn’t. The idea of eating lunch just made your stomach twist with nausea. The tension from home, from Brock, seemed to follow you into your shift behind the bar. Everything felt just as wrong here as it did there. No one really looking at you. The girls you thought you’d made friends with exchanging glances, whispering when they thought you weren’t listening.

Something was very, very wrong.

It was 1 AM when a hand finally came down on your shoulder.

"You’re wanted upstairs."

Your mouth went dry. Your hands shook.

This was what they meant when they said ‘dead man walking.’

The hallway smelled of whiskey and old leather, but beneath it, the iron tang of blood coiled sharp in your nostrils. You could seen see the blood stains, dark on the burgundy carpets that weren't able to fully disguise it's presence.  The sounds filtering from Bucky’s office were unmistakable- flesh meeting flesh, the wet squelch of impact, the grunted responses of pain.

Then came the voice- low, controlled, laced with something far more dangerous than anger.

"One month. I gave you an entire extra month!"

Another wet impact. A groan. A sickening thud that made your stomach twist.

"Your girl’s bought in more than you have."

A muffled noise- Brock trying to speak, cut off by a sharp crack, followed by a wheeze of pain.

"Stop treating me like I’m stupid, Rumlow!"

Your breath stilled in your chest. Your fingers curled into your palms as you hesitated just outside the door, pulse hammering against your ribs. You knew what was waiting for you inside, knew that once you crossed that threshold, there was no looking away.

But Bucky Barnes had summoned you.

And you had never really had a choice.

You knew what you would see before you even stepped inside.

Still, the sight of Brock’s slumped, battered form made your stomach turn.

He was barely upright in the chair, wrists bound, head lolling forward. Blood painted his face in crimson streaks, dripping sluggishly from a gash at his temple. One eye was swollen shut, lips split, breath coming in wet, rattling drags.

Bucky stood near his desk, rolling his sleeves back down, movements methodical, almost bored. The contrast was staggering- where Brock looked like something discarded, Bucky was pristine, composed, a man who had never lost control a day in his life.

He wiped his knuckles clean on a handkerchief, exhaling a slow breath, before finally lifting his gaze.

Right to you.

“You’re out of options, Rumlow.”

The words slithered through the air, finality threaded in velvet.

Bucky took a step forward, and the weight of it settled over you, thick as smoke, as it pressed into your lungs. The air itself seemed to shrink, heavy with the scent of blood and the unshakable authority he carried in every movement. Your pulse stuttered, throat tightening as though his presence alone had wrapped invisible fingers around your neck, demanding your submission before he had even spoken. The way he moved- deliberate, assured- sent a slow crawl of heat down your spine.

Rumlow stirred, his remaining eye cracking open, gaze flicking between you and Bucky. His bloodied lips curled, voice thick with spit and venom.

“She’s mine, Barnes.”

Bucky hummed, something dark and knowing flashing behind his eyes. He lifted a hand, dragging a slow, lazy fingertip from your jaw, down your throat, over your collarbone.

“Not anymore.”

The silence pressed heavy, thick with unspoken truths.

Bucky traced the pad of his thumb over your lower lip, the touch deceptively soft. A claiming.

“She’s not yours,” Rumlow spat, voice cracking. “She’s not- ”

“She is now. You practically gift wrapped her for me." 

Rumlow made a sound- half snarl, half choked breath- but he wasn’t fighting anymore. He was just watching. Watching as Bucky’s hand traveled lower, over the curve of your waist, thumb dipping just beneath the waistband of your skirt.

"You’re the only thing he’s got left to give me,” Bucky mused, voice low, edged with satisfaction.

Your breath hitched. You wanted to protest, to say something, but your body betrayed you, frozen beneath his touch.

Rumlow's breathing turned ragged, his body tensing against the bindings, his fingers twitching uselessly where they were tied. His chest heaved, each breath coming out in thick, rattling bursts, fury barely held beneath the surface. He shifted against the chair, as if testing the strength of the restraints, his shoulders bunching, his jaw clenching so tight it looked like his teeth might crack.

But he wasn’t struggling to fight anymore.

No, this was different. This was a man trying to cling to something already slipping through his fingers, too slow to stop it, too weak to change the outcome. His good eye darted to you, frantic, flickering with something ugly- accusation, betrayal, the last remnants of his pride bleeding out alongside his dignity.

And then, the realization hit him fully.

He had already lost. He saw it, too.

"Christ, you fucking whore!" His voice is a wet rasp, thick with blood and fury. He spits in your direction, and you feel it hit your hand, warm, sickening. Your stomach clenches, but you don’t move.

"Knew it! Knew you'd been putting out for him! Fucking slut!" The venom in his voice is weaker now, laced with something that sounds almost like fear. Like he’s realizing too late that he’s already lost.

Bucky doesn’t even flinch. His fingers only tighten against your waist, his amusement evident in the smirk that curls at his lips. "That’s it, Doll," he murmurs, his voice laced with mock sympathy. "Look at him. Not even worth the effort, is he?"

Bucky leaned down, breath fanning against your ear, his words for you alone. “Tell me, sweetheart… did he ever deserve you?”

Your pulse pounded. Your fingers curled into fists. And you hated that you didn’t have an answer. Brock had used you, stomped you down, sold you off. Hate sizzled under your skin. 

Bucky’s lips ghosted against your jaw. “Didn’t think so.”

He chuckled, low and dark, the sound curling around your spine like smoke. His fingers trailed along your cheek, smearing a streak of Rumlow’s blood across your skin. His touch was deceptively gentle, reverent almost, a stark contrast to the brutality he had just unleashed.

“Just a sad, sad loser,” he purred, thumb pressing against the curve of your jaw, tilting your head back to him. “Who threw away the only thing that should have mattered.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers toyed with the button on your blouse before he started to undo them. The cool air of the room kissed your exposed skin, but the heat of his palm followed, searing in its wake. His fingers lingered, tracing over your collarbone, dipping lower, teasing, claiming.

“Want someone better, don’t you?” he murmured against your ear, the heat of his breath making you shiver. “Someone who knows what you are.”

A soft whine escaped your throat as he guided you toward the desk, his grip firm but never forceful. His hands knew their way around your body, knew exactly how to make you tremble. Your shirt hanging open. 

“Loyal till the end, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he mused, lips dragging over your temple. “Would’ve let him drown you to save himself.”

Your stomach twisted because you knew it was true. Brock never would have taken the fall. Never would have bled for you.

Bucky’s fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your skirt, teasing at the sensitive flesh beneath. His smirk was lazy, knowing, pleased.

“I know a prize when I see it,” he whispered. “Know when something good comes into my life.” His fingers pressed, slow, firm. Your lips parted in a sharp inhale. “And you want to be good, don’t you?”

Your knees felt weak, your body betraying you, betraying everything you thought you knew about yourself.

“Want to show him what he’s going to miss?” His teeth scraped along the shell of your ear, voice thick with amusement. “What you’ve needed?”

You should have pulled away.

Your mind had screamed at you to move, to step back, to reclaim the last shred of control you still had. But your body betrayed you- breath shallow, fingers twitching at your sides, legs weak beneath the weight of his touch. The heat of him, the scent of leather and blood, the quiet, possessive hum vibrating against your ear- it held you there, trapped between defiance and surrender.

Bucky had given you a choice.. 

But it wasn’t really a choice, was it?

You could fight, but what would that change?

You could run, but where would you go?

And maybe, just maybe, there’s a part of you that wants this.

That wanted to hurt Rumlow back for everything he’d done to you. That wanted to let go, let someone else take control for once. That wanted to belong to someone who wouldn’t throw you away when it was convenient.

You didn't answer.

You didn't need to.

Bucky knew.

His hands moved slow at first, teasing, testing the waters, making you feel every second of his touch. The rasp of his calloused fingers against your skin. The heat of his palm as it pressed against your stomach, your hip, the inside of your thigh.

He slid your blouse off your shoulders, letting it drop to the floor in a whisper of fabric, his fingers grazing along your bare skin as he went. His touch was slow, deliberate, reinforcing the control he had over this moment since the second you stepped through the door. Your breathing was sharp, shallow, your pulse thundering against his lips when he dragged them down the side of your neck.

Rumlow shifted in his chair, hands curled into fists. You could feel his anger, his humiliation, but you didn't look at him jsut threw him. 

Because he had never really looked at you.

Never really saw you at all.

“Look at her,” Bucky murmured, fingers pressing under your chin, tilting your face toward Rumlow. His voice was dark, cruel, intoxicating. “She was never yours.”

His hand slided under your skirt, rough fingers pushing aside the thin barrier of your panties. Your body betrayed you, your hips shifted into his touch, breath catching when he draged his fingers along your slit.

“She’s dripping for me,” Bucky chuckled. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Shame burned your cheeks, your body trembling against his as he stroked you, teasing, relentless.

Rumlow watched, silent rage carved into every muscle. His breath came fast, shallow, his chest heaving. He hated this. Hated you.

You hated him back. 

This was his mess, Brock had pulled you into this whole circus. 

Now you were stuck, trapped in world you never wanted to be part of. 

A tangled mess of emotions coils in your stomach- shame, defiance, something darker still. The heat of Bucky’s touch branded you, claiming, unraveling you inch by inch. You should resist. You should hate this. But the way Rumlow seethed - it stirs something primal, something that makes your thighs press together but Bucky parted them instead. 

And it only made you wetter.

Bucky’s grip tightened, his other hand curled into your hair, dragging your head back so he could nip at your throat. “Good girl,” he murmured against your skin. “That’s it. Let him see.”

His fingers kneaded the soft flesh of your chest, cupping, squeezing, rolling your nipples between rough fingertips as his lips ghosted over the shell of your ear. “Take it off,” he whispered, voice thick with command. “Show him.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your fingers trembled as they reached behind your back, unclasping your bra. The fabric slid down your arms, baring you to the cool air of the room, but the heat of Bucky’s touch was already there, claiming every inch of exposed skin.

“Look at her” Bucky purred, his hands finding their way back to your chest, massaging, teasing, reveling in the way your body responded to him. “You threw this away.”

Shame burned at the edges of your mind, tangled with something deeper, something darker. You hated Rumlow- hated him for dragging you into this, for making you a pawn in a game he was too stupid to win. But more than anything, you hated the way your body responded to Bucky’s touch, the way his control settled over you like something inevitable.

Bucky’s hand slid down your stomach, over the curve of your hip, gripping the waistband of your skirt before spinning you around and bending you forward over his desk. The sound of his chair scraping across the floor as he kicked it away sent a shiver down your spine.

One large hand pressed firm against the back of your neck, keeping you in place, while the other slid down, tracing the swell of your behind before slipping between your thighs. His fingers pushed inside you with ease, stretching, exploring, claiming.

“You’re mine now,” he murmured, voice deep and satisfied. “And he gets to watch every fucking second of it.”

Bucky worked you open with slow, torturous precision, curling his fingers just right, his touch unrelenting as your body betrayed you further. Your breath hitched, a soft whimper slipping past your lips as heat coiled low in your belly. His grip on your neck eased slightly, but only so he pressing possessively against you.

“Yeah, Doll,” he purred, the deep rumble of his voice sending a fresh wave of arousal through you. “Bet he never did this for you.”

A sharp pang of resentment twisted through you, shame tangling with reluctant pleasure as you realized- he was right. Brock had never touched you like this. Never made you feel like this.

Your hips had rolled back against his hand before you could stop yourself, seeking more of the friction he so cruelly teased. The motion made you aware of the thick, hard press of his cock against your backside, straining through his pants.

Bucky chuckled, a dark, knowing sound. “That’s it, baby. You want more, don’t you?”

Your answer came in the way your thighs shook, in the way your body arched instinctively into his touch. He let go of your neck then, his hand snaking around to your mouth, fingers pressing against your lips. “Open.”

You hesitated only a second before he slid two fingers past your lips, pressing down on your tongue, letting you taste the remnants of your own arousal.

“Oh yeah, let me feel that tongue,” he groaned, his fingers thrusting in slow, deliberate movements, his other hand still buried between your legs, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

That idea made your core clamp down around his fingers, the rush of heat twisting low in your stomach. Rumlow made a noise- something between a growl and a choked breath- but you couldn’t focus on that. Not when you were so close.

Bucky felt it, too. "That's it, Doll," he murmured, voice thick with approval, fingers pushing deeper, curling just right. "Go on. Come for me."

Your body betrayed you completely, the pleasure crested so fast and sharp that you barely recognized the sounds spilling from your lips. The air thickened around you, every nerve alight as your thighs trembled, your hands scrabbling weakly against the desk for something- anything- to anchor you. The sharp tang of sweat and musk filled your senses, your pulse hammering in your ears as your mouth fell open in a choked gasp, your body wracked with sensation so intense it was almost unbearable. Your nails dug into the desk as your legs trembled, a strangled cry escaping as the tension snapped and pleasure crashed through you in waves.

Bucky groaned low in his throat, feeling the way you clenched around his fingers, dragging it out, letting you ride every last ripple of sensation. And then, just as you sagged forward, boneless and panting, he pulled his hands away.

The loss made you whimper, but he only chuckled, lifting his fingers to his mouth. His tongue flicked out, tasting you, slow and deliberate. "Sweet," he mused, smirking as he turned his gaze back to Rumlow. "Bet you never even tried, huh?"

Brok snarled, but he was powerless, his bindings holding him tight. His face was twisted in barely contained rage, humiliated, but Bucky only laughed, rubbing his slick fingers together before finally reaching for his belt.

The sound of the buckle coming undone made your breath hitch, anticipation and something darker pooling between your legs. You barely had time to process it before his wet hand- still damp from your mouth- pressed down on your shoulders, guiding you forward until your chest met the cool surface of his desk. His other hand tangled into your hair, tugging your head up just enough to make you face Rumlow again.

"Look at her, Rumlow," Bucky murmured, his voice dark and mocking. "You're going to watch. Like a good boy."

Then he pushed into you, the stretch of him immediate and overwhelming. Your fingers clawed at the desk, your breath coming in quick, uneven pants as your eyes rolled back.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck- "

Bucky’s grip tightened in your hair, keeping you steady, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. "No, no," he corrected, his voice thick with satisfaction. "You're going to take it. You're going to love it." 

The stretch was too much. He was too much. Your walls clenched around him instinctively, body trying to fight the intrusion even as another part of you surrendered. The burn made your breath hitch, made your nails scrape against the wood of his desk as your legs trembled beneath you.

Bucky felt it. Felt the way your body fought him, trying to adjust, trying to take him. And he loved it.

“Easy pretty girl,” he murmured, his tone mockingly sweet as he dragged his cock out a fraction before pressing in again, forcing your body to yield. His grip in your hair tugged your head back, keeping you from burying your face in the desk. He wanted you watching. This time you whined loudly, your eyes getting wet as tears pricked in the corners.

“Shhh, Doll. I know it’s a lot,” he purred, his chest pressing against your back as he leaned down, lips just by your ear. “But you’re gonna take it for me, aren’t you? Be a good girl and let me ruin you?”

You let out a choked sound, half whimper, half moan, your body torn between resistance and something darker. The pressure, the overwhelming fullness- it was too much and not enough all at once.

Bucky groaned, his grip shifting from your hip to the nape of your neck, pressing you down harder. His is fingers flexed, tightening, possessive. “That’s it, baby. Stop fightin’ it. Just let me in.”

You whimpered, body finally starting to give in, your muscles loosening, letting him sink deeper.

“There you go, sweet girl,” he cooed, his thrusts turning slow, deep, merciless. “That’s what I thought. You just needed me to break you in a little, huh?”

"Buck-Auh." 

Your legs were shaking now, your breath coming in uneven gasps as your body stopped resisting. It was all too much, too overwhelming- the feeling of him stretching you, filling you, owning you, the weight of his body that pinned you down, the way his voice slithered into your ear, hot and filthy and so damn cruel.

And Rumlow. Watching. Seeing everything.

Bucky made sure of that.

He tugged your hair again, tilting your head enough that your blurred gaze met Brock’s, that he could see the way your lips parted, the way your eyes fluttered shut every time Bucky pushed deeper.

“See that?” Bucky grunted, his voice sharper now, his thrusts harsher, shaking the desk with each movement. “See how much she likes a real man fucking her, Rumlow.”

Your whimper had only made him smirk. His other hand had left your hip, dragging up your stomach, up your chest, gripping your throat, holding you still.

Bucky wasn’t  done teaching.

“You feel that, sweetheart?” he murmured again, his hand tightening around your throat, forcing your head up, keeping your back arched as he pounded into you. “This is what it means to be owned.”

A strangled moan tore from your throat, your vision blurring as the sensations overwhelmed you. You didn’t know when the fight left your body- when your resistance melted into submission, your hips pushing back. “That’s  it Doll,” he groaned, satisfied. “That’s what I wanted. Knew you’d learn.” His pace didn’t slow, hips slamming into yours, forcing you to feel every inch of him, every stroke dragging along your sensitive walls, making your nails dig deeper into the desk.

Your body was burning, your legs weak beneath you, pleasure a tightening coil in your stomach. The desk holding you up more then your legs did.

But he wasn’t going to let you go so easily.

“You got to learn, too, Rumlow.” Bucky’s voice was mocking, dripping with cruelty as he pulled you back by your hair, your neck arching, your chest lifting off the desk. “You watching? You paying attention?”

A low, muffled noise- Rumlow’s disgust, his helpless fury. But it didn’t matter.

Bucky owned this moment. Owned you.

His hand slid down your stomach, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing in tight, slow circles, teasing you, making your thighs tremble.

“You’re gonna come for me,” Bucky ordered, his breath hot against your ear, his thrusts unrelenting. “You’re gonna come while he watches. Gonna show him what it looks like to be fucked by someone who knows what he’s doing.”

Your body shook, heat cascading through you, your muscles locking as the pressure inside you snapped. Your orgasm slammed into you, your mouth falling open in a silent scream, your body tightening around him like a vice.

Bucky cursed, his fingers digging into your hip, riding it out with you, his thrusts never stopping, never giving you a moment to breathe.

“Oh god, oh god..”

Then his hand left your hip, sliding up, fingers to wrap back around your throat. Not just to hold you this time. The pressure was immediate, firm but controlled, cutting off just enough air to make your head go light, your pulse pounding against his palm. Your vision blurred at the edges, black creeping in like ink seeping through water.

"That’s it, Doll," he groaned, his grip tightening. "Give it to me. Let go. Give me the another one."

Your body spasmed around him, muscles clenching, the sharp pleasure twisting with the darkness creeping into your mind. You barely heard your own ragged moan, barely felt the last desperate pulse of your orgasm before the world faded, before you felt him spill inside you- hot, claiming, absolute.

Bucky held you there, his cock buried to the hilt, his hand still wrapped around your throat as he emptied himself into you. The last thing you felt before the blackness swallowed you whole was the deep, satisfied hum of his voice against your ear.

"That’s my girl."

TAG: @swiggityswoody52

[delicatebarness]

the Red Rooms | prologue

Summary: In the gritty underground, the Red Rooms is a notorious establishment, in which, you must navigate a perilous hierarchy and prove your worth amidst a world of seduction and power.

Warning: Prostitution/Sex Work. Sexual Harassment/Assault. Violence/Threats. Power Dynamics/Control. Emotional Distress.

Word Count: 1579

Spotify Playlist | Support: Ko-FI

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

A/N: A lot of you asked for this one so here it is. Also, this is a part of 'Prologue Season' so if you do want more, you gotta let me know :D - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

The Red Rooms: I have tagged everyone from the OG post about this fic, but please let me know if you'd like to be added/removed - @scott-loki-barnes | @bo0mccc | @zuri-767-666 | @buggy14 | @curlycow01 | @waywardhunter95 | @saranghaey | @scoonsalicious | @thezombieprostitute | @crazyunsexycool | @startcarvingdarling | @jae0515

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @mrsnikstan | @lanabuckybarnes

Pulsing like a heartbeat, the city’s neon glow cast long shadows across the grime-slicked streets of the underground district. Among the towering spires of steel and glass, you stood at the doorstep of the more notorious establishment in the district: The Red Rooms. Ran by Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, the sprawling brothel was a labyrinthine for those to seek pleasure and escape. For you, it was neither. You were here out of desperation. 

Inside, an unspoken hierarchy governs the world, symbolized by the height of a girl’s heel. The higher the heel, the more power and influence the girl wields. And, at the pinnacle of this ladder stood Natasha Romanoff. Clawing her way to the top, she proved her worth through years of cunning strength, and an unwavering will. Now, Steve and Bucky entrusted her with an immense responsibility– overseer of the girls, she would recruit, assign, and train the girls in the art of seduction. 

Natasha knew every girl under her command, she understood their strengths and weaknesses, and with sharp eyes and that knowledge, she maintained order and efficiency. So when you, a lost soul, bedraggled and tired, appeared on the doorstep of The Red Rooms, Natasha’s skepticism was palpable. 

You were different from the other girls, too innocent, too fragile– Natasha could tell in your pleading eyes. 

“Please,” you begged, your voice small and trembling. “I need a chance. I’ll do anything.” 

Narrowing her eyes, Natasha’s lips curled, a mix of amusement and disbelief. “Anything, you say?” she mused, tapping her manicured fingers against the back of her clipboard. “Alright,” she finally said, her voice firm. “But, you need to prove yourself or you’re out. And, you’ll start from the bottom, in flats.” 

“Thank you,” you beamed up at her, your gratitude boundless. “I won’t let you down.” 

Her tone left no room for failure as Natasha replied. “See that you don’t.” 

Swelling within you, your gratitude was overshadowed quickly by the reality of your situation. The world you were thrown into was as foreign as it was ruthless. Eyes mixed with curiosity and disdain followed you, towering heels clicked against the grime, and sticky floors as they passed. You were a lamb among wolves, out of place.

The menial tasks were assigned to you at first– scrubbing the floors, fetching drinks, and running errands. “Here,” Natasha said, handing you a mop and bucket, “the VIP lounge needs cleaning. Make it quick; clients hate waiting.” 

Nodding, you got straight to work, knowing that each task you completed was one step closer to proving yourself. Slowly, Natasha began to see glimpses of your strength as she watched you closely, her sharp eyes never missing anything. 

~

The girls in The Red Rooms rarely saw their bosses, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes– preferring to remain in the shadows, the men oversaw their empire from their office. They were only known to descend when they were bored and in need of entertainment themselves. 

One night, as the red hue of the lights flickered and the floor buzzed the murmurs of secrets and transactions, the men stood observing the floor from their office, taking in every detail. That was when you caught Steve’s gaze. 

“Why the fuck is there a lost puppy on the floor?” He muttered to Bucky, annoyance and curiosity laced in his tone. Bucky stood with an inscrutable expression as his gaze followed Steve’s, landing on you. “What is Romanoff thinking?” 

The men continued to watch you, for a moment longer, Steve’s eyes narrowing as he assessed your movements. You could sense the intensity of their stares, the weight of Steve’s scrutiny, even from the floor below, and it made you nervous. A heat rose within you, flushing your cheeks. You tried to focus on your tasks and ignore them.

Later, Steve called Natasha up to the office. “Romanoff, what’s the deal with the new girl?” he demanded in a low but firm voice. “She’s not even in heels. We have a reputation to uphold.” 

Meeting his gaze, Natasha never flinched. “She’s different, Rogers. She needs a little time… but she has spirit and is an eager learner.” 

Steve’s eyes darkened as they bore into hers, he searched for any sign of doubt. “She better be worth it. We can’t afford any liabilities.” 

“She will be,” Natasha assured him, her tone unwavering. “Just trust me on this.” 

With a grunt, Steve dismissed Natasha. He was not entirely convinced, yet he knew better than to question her judgment. After all, she had earned her position through intelligent decisions. Meanwhile, Bucky’s intrigue grew. He stayed stood at the window, watching you more closely. An instinct coursed through him– he had to ensure you were safe from the predatory patrons. 

As the nights went on, the pressure mounted. Now and then, you’d catch a glimpse of Bucky observing from above, his presence felt like a warning but yet, a strange comfort. On this particular night, Natasha handed you a tray of drinks. 

“Serve them,” she instructed, nodding and pushing you by the small of your back toward a table of upstaters in the VIP lounge. “And remember; confidence.” 

Taking a deep breath, you approached the table. Keeping your hands steady despite the growing flutter in your stomach, you served them quickly and efficiently. The clients barely looked up at you, engrossed in their conversation, except for one. A taller man, with a gleam in his eyes, took an interest in you. His gaze lingered as you bent to place the drinks on the table. Suddenly, you felt his hand start to slide up the back of your leg. 

“Well, aren’t you a sweet little thing,” he murmured, his fingers tracing patterns along your inner thigh. “How much for you?” 

Fear and discomfort flooded your senses, causing you to freeze in the moment. Remember Natasha’s advice, you tried to remain composed. “Confidence,” her voice echoed in your mind. Straightening up, you forced a polite smile as you began moving away from his reach. 

His grip tightened against your skin before you could escape. “Don’t be shy, baby,” he cooed, a smirk played on his lips. “I don’t bite… hard.” 

“I-I’m not available t-tonight,” you stuttered, your voice betraying you. The fear gnawed at you. “An-another time, p-perhaps?” You tried to retreat again, but he wasn’t having it. His hand only tightened, and before you knew it, he pulled you closer.

“Come on,” he said, his smirk growing as he dragged you onto his lap. “Let’s have a little fun.”

Your heart began to race as you struggled against his hold, panic surging through you. “Please, I–” 

Just then, a shadow detached itself from the darkness. Emerging with a swift and decisive stride, Bucky’s expression was a mask of controlled fury. His presence commanded the attention in an instant. 

“Let her go,” he was cold, authoritative. The man flinched under the carried weight of Bucky’s tone. With an intensity, promising trouble, his eyes locked onto the man’s.

The man’s confidence wavered, faltering his grip as he met Bucky’s gaze. “Hey, I was just–”

“Not interested,” Bucky cut him off, no argument brooked in his tone. Reaching out, he firmly but calmly pulled you away from the man’s lap. “If you have any more questions, you can take them up with me.” 

Realizing he was outmatched, the man grumbled and slunk back, he was deflated. Guiding you away from the table, Bucky’s touch was gentle. He led you out of the immediate fray, to a quieter corner. 

“Are you alright, little pup?” Bucky softly asked, his voice laced with concern.

You nodded, trying to steady your breathing. Once you looked up at him, your eyes were wide and tear-filled, and your lower lip trembled slightly. “T-thank you, M-Mr Barnes, I didn’t t-think–”

Bucky’s expression softened, and for a moment there was a rare flicker of empathy in his eyes. “No need to thank me,” he interrupted, his gaze steady and reassuring. “Just doing my job.” 

Your voice was barely above a whisper, shaking your head. “I just… I don’t want to get in trouble.” 

“You’re not in trouble,” Bucky said firmly, his hand reaching to cup your cheek, his thumb reassuringly wiping a stray tear away. “You’re doing your best, and that’s enough. If anyone gives you trouble, you come straight to me. Is that understood, pup?”

Biting your lip to hold back more tears, you nodded again. “I understand, Mr Barnes.” 

“Good girl,” he replied gently, his protective gaze lingered on you a moment longer before he took a step back. His hand slipped away from your cheek as he straightened up, but his eyes never left yours. “Now, get back out there, there are drinks to be served.” 

“Y-yes, sir,” you whispered, wiping away the last of your tears, your resolve strengthening. 

With a final nod, Bucky turned on his heel and disappeared back into the shadows. Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and stepped back onto the floor. The crowd murmured, swelling around you. 

As you moved through the floor, you couldn’t help but feel the eyes of the patrons on you, you held your head high this time. Balancing your tray of drinks with newfound confidence and a determination to push forward. 

You caught sight of Natasha, giving you a slight nod of approval before her eyes flickered briefly toward the shadows, where Bucky stood watching. And, with each tray you served, your fear and hesitation diminished. 

---

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

[holylulusworld]

Next to me

Title: Next to me.

Square filled for @spnquotebingo​​​​​​​: (“Just 'cause you fall on your ass doesn't mean you have to stay there.” - The Boys)

Summary: Can Dean make everything up to you? Will you still be next to him.

Word Count: 2,4k (including lyrics)

Pairing: Clubowner!Dean x fem!Reader 

Characters: Sam Winchester, Gadreel

Rating: Mature

Warnings: angst, language, fluff, jealous Dean, low self-esteem (Dean), caring reader, mentions of financial problems, drunk Dean, alcohol abuse

A/N: Lyrics taken from Imagine Dragons ‘Next to me’. The song matched the story so here we go.

Divider by @firefly-graphics​​​​

SPN Quote Bingo masterlist

<< Part 1

He leans against the bar counter with his back to the bartender. Beer in one hand, the other gripping the edge of the counter hard enough to hurt, Dean watches your every move. 

Since that night a few weeks ago, he’s obsessed with you. – Maybe he always was and was just too chicken to admit.

“Boss, did you hear what I said?” Gadreel, smirks behind Dean’s back. “Y/N is only doing her job. You wanted her to take care of the VIPs tonight.”

“No reason to wear such a short dress or to flirt with that son of a bitch,” teeth gritted Dean slams the bottle of beer onto the bar counter, ignores you flinch at the motion, frowning when you meet Dean’s angry eyes. “Do you think she wants that rich dude?”

“Uh—I got no clue boss,” while Dean watches you flirt with the VIPs, Gadreel tries to stay out of your business. He saw you heartbroken and shattered more than once and wishes, you would move on from Dean. “Maybe she’s looking for someone reliable, you know.”

“Reliable, right,” eyes dropping to his hands Dean sighs deeply.

He’ll never make enough money to buy you the house you dream of. Sometimes he admits to himself he’s not good enough for you, and never will be.

“Just saying, you should make a move before it’s too late, Dean. The girl won’t wait forever. She wasted too many years on you, boss,” Gadreel turns his attention toward a customer, and misses Dean’s pained expression.

“He’s not wrong—”

“Where’s Dean?” looking around the crowded club you frown. “He wanted me to check on the numbers, Sam. Don’t tell me he went off with yet another girl,” your heart drops when you don’t see Dean at the club. He promised to do better and yet here he is, having another one nighter.

“I think he wanted to check on the numbers, but he took a bottle of Jack,” Sam wonders. “The club, I think Dean’s in trouble. He didn’t pay the latest bills.”

“Shit,” biting your lower lip you look up at Sam. “How bad is it, Sam?”

“One more month and the club is history. It’s always crowded but Dean is behind with electricity, water, and so on. I’d like to help him, but I just bought a house.”

“Fuck, that’s bad,” you sigh deeply. “Dean loves the club. It’s his heart and soul, his home. He can’t lose the Bunker, Sammy. I got to talk to him…”

Something about the way that you walked into my living room

Casually and confident lookin' at the mess I am

But still you, still you want me

His eyes watch you warily when you walk into his living room. He doesn’t say a word, rather takes another swig from the half-empty bottle of Jack.

“Sweetheart,” he slurs, eyes half-lidden now. “Did you like that douche? I bet he can give you everything you ever dreamed of. Not like me.”

“Heard from Sam your club won’t make it another month,” you are blunt, that’s something Dean always admired. You don’t talk about nonsense or try to make things look better. “I spared some money and could help you out.”

Stress lines and cigarettes, politics, and deficits

Late bills and overages, screamin' and hollerin'

But still you, still you want me

“Spare your money, Y/N,” he mumbles but his heart flutters when you take the bottle of whiskey out of his hands to place it onto the table. He doesn’t say a word when you sit next to him to lean your head against his shoulder. “No one can save it.”

“Dean,” you take his hand, hold it gently to press your lips to his knuckles. “Let me help you save the club. I know you love it.”

“It’s all I have,” he whispers, eyes glued to your hands holding his trembling one. “You shouldn’t waste your money or time on me.” The usual self-confident and cocky man sits next to you, hope long gone. “I’m sorry…”

Oh, I always let you down

You're shattered on the ground

Still, I find you there

Next to me

And oh, stupid things I do

I'm far from good, it's true

But still, I find you

Next to me

“What for?” you ask, knowing Dean is not in the condition to talk right now. Booze runs through his veins, and you know all too well; he gets sentimental while being drunk. 

“I always let you down, Y/N,” he buries his nose in your hair, sniffling silently. “You deserve better.”

“Yeah, maybe I do,” you pat his thigh, just letting his words sink in. “But I’m kinda stuck on you, Winchester. And you are not too bad to look at. How about we get you to bed and talk about the club in the morning?”

“Why don’t you see the bloody mess I am, sweetheart? ‘m not worth it,” he mumbles against your hair. “Go home and find a nice guy, someone not hurting you every other week. I just can’t handle my life right now…”

“Or like ever,” you sling one arm around Dean’s waistline, force him to stand on unsteady legs. “Come on, Winchester. Let’s go to your bedroom. You need to sleep the alcohol off. Tomorrow is another day.”

“Another shitty day,” Dean mutters. He sighs deeply, tries to convince you to just give up on him. “Y/N, I need you to leave me. Run and never come back.”

“I will try, Dean. Now let me bring you to your bedroom and take care of you,” you softly say. “We can talk about me leaving you in the morning.”

There's something about the way that you always see the pretty view

Overlook the blooded mess, always lookin' effortless

And still you, still you want me

I got no innocence, faith ain't no privilege

I am a deck of cards, vice, or a game of hearts

And still you, still you want me

“Eat, drink the water and take some Tylenol,” pointing at the breakfast you made for Dean you smirk. “If you don’t eat up, I’ll feed you, Winchester.”

“Why are you still around? Didn’t you hear, I hit the bottom. Dean Winchester can’t even pay shit for his club anymore,” Dean pokes the food with a fork, sighing deeply. “I believed I got one thing right. Even though I messed up everything else in my life.”

“Dean, just 'cause you fall on your ass doesn't mean you have to stay there,” you pat his back gently, offering comfort once again. “Let me check on the numbers. The club is crowded every night. Something can’t be right.”

“I-I paid for Sammy’s house, okay,” he whispers. “He couldn’t effort it, so I talked to the owner, paid half of it, and asked the man to tell Sammy he changed the price.”

“Oh, Dean,” you wrap your arms around his waistline, hide your face in his back. “You will lose your dream to help Sam? Why?”

“He deserves a home for his family,” Dean looks at the plate with eggs and bacon, smiling softly as you made the food only for him. “I’ll find something new, promised.”

“I spared some money,” he sighs at your words, shaking his head furiously. 

“No, you won’t give me your money. And it wouldn’t be enough, though.”

“It’s my money and I can do whatever I want with it. Now eat and we can have a look at your books, the numbers, and your debts. Maybe I can help you out. If not, we will find another way…”

Oh, I always let you down

You're shattered on the ground

Still, I find you there

Next to me

And oh, stupid things I do

I'm far from good, it's true

Still, I find you

Next to me

Dean watches you, a content smile on his face. While you check on the papers, the numbers, and his debts he tries to not stare at you. 

“Okay, you make enough money per night. The problem is the mortgage,” pinching the bridge of your nose you ponder how to help Dean. “You can pay electricity, water, and alcohol for the next month.”

“I know, Y/N,” Dean throws his hands up. “But, this doesn’t help me pay for the mortgage, okay. The bank will take the club and everything I own. I should just give up.”

“Let’s see—” after thumbing through the papers again you make notes. “I think I got an idea, Dean. I don’t know if you will like it but it’s the only way to save the club and my job.”

“Guess you think I did another stupid thing when I paid for Sammy’s house,” he looks at you, a shy smile on his lips. “He’s my baby brother and he was down when he couldn’t effort it.”

“Dean, it’s not a stupid thing to help your brother,” you pat his thigh, wondering if Dean will ever put himself first. “Sam is a grown man now, Dean. You must stop being the big brother and care for yourself.”

“I don’t know how to stop being the protective big brother,” he sheepishly admits. “All my life Sammy was the person I put first. He’s going to have a family with Ruby sooner or later and I wanted him to have it all.”

“You deserve it all too, Dean,” you say a bit too harsh. “If only you could commit and not push the people loving you away all the time.” blinking the tears away you focus on the papers in front of you, not the heat coming out of Dean’s body or his hand on the small of your back.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he whispers guiltily. “I know helping me, being there for me isn’t easy. I’m a mess.” you laugh at his words. “A hot mess.”

“Hot, yeah—” you nod, grinning when his hand moves over your back, soothingly caressing your body. “I want you to allow me to help you with this. I got a few ideas and need to check on a few things at my apartment first but, we are going to save your club, baby.”

“You want to sell the apartment you got from your parents?” Dean blinks a few times before he crosses his arms over his chest. “I can’t let you do this.”

“Dean, I can save the club if I sell my apartment. I-I could look for a cheap apartment. If you lose the club, I’ll lose my job and can’t renovate the apartment. So, this way I can at least save my job.”

“Baby girl,” whispering the word Dean cups your cheek. “I can’t let you ruin your life for a man like me,” he brushes his lips over yours, sighing when you cup the back of his head to deepen the kiss. “Don’t do this to yourself, sweetheart.”

“That night, you said you love me,” you breathe against his lips. “Did you mean it? Are you simply afraid to let me in?”

“I would do anything for you—” he admits shyly. His usually cocky attitude got replaced by uncertainty and he looks at you, smiling softly when you run your hand over his cheek. He leans into your touch, even closes his eyes to enjoy your warmth. “Sweetheart.”

“This should be enough to pay the mortgage and the rest of your debts,” you thumb through the papers on your bed, humming to yourself while Dean nervously paces around the room.

“I can’t let you do this,” distracted by your ass in your too-tight shorts Dean groans. “Fuck Y/N, don’t tempt me.”

“What’s wrong Winchester?” you nibble at your pencil, smirking to yourself when you feel the bed dip. “I’m focused on work, nothing else.”

“You are wearing little to nothing and try to seduce me, little vixen,” he grunts, hand moving over your ass. “Stop playing dirty.”

“I’m not playing dirty,” you roll onto your back, smirking when Dean roams your body with his eyes. “I will own half of the club, that’s a good investment. And you will let me live at one of the apartments above the club, rent-free. That’s a bonus.”

“Baby girl, I can’t,” you sit up to press your index finger to his lips, shaking your head lightly. “Please, listen to me.”

“I’m not listening to my heart right now if that’s what concerns you, Dean. I love my job and the club. Everyone would lose their job, including Gadreel, Gabe, and Jo. They are my friends, and I will not let them down,” Dean resigns, knowing it’s useless to fight with you when you made up your mind.

“So—,” he says, looking at you, eyes fluttering shut again when you lean closer to kiss his lips, “we will be neighbors? Sounds like you are going to be my sweetheart sooner or later, Y/N.”

“If only you would open your eyes and see what’s right in front of you, Dean,” you peck his lips, “you would have seen that I always was your sweetheart…”

Six months later…

“Looks good,” shuffling on his feet Dean watches the band on the stage. “It was a great idea to bring in live music every Friday and Saturday,” Dean places his hand on the small of your back, smiling fondly when you lean in his touch.

“You only needed a smart girl to figure things out for you,” you quip, winking at one of the regulars. “He brought his entourage again. Tonight, we will make a lot of money.”

“I hate that douche,” Dean wraps his arm around your waistline to bring you to his chest. “He always looks at my girl.”

“Now I’m your girl, Winchester?” you question, smiling up at Dean. 

“Thank you, Y/N,” he pecks your lips. “Thank you for taking a chance on me and for being right next to me anytime I need you.” Dean kisses you again, moaning when you slide your fingers through his hair. “I love you.”

“You better do—"

So thank you for taking a chance on me

I know it isn't easy

But I hope to be worth it

So thank you for taking a chance on me

I know it isn't easy

But I hope to be worth it

Oh, I always let you down (I always let you down)

You're shattered on the ground (shattered on the ground)

But still, I find you there (yea-)

Next to me

And oh, stupid things I do (stupid things we do)

I'm far from good, it's true

Still, I find you

Next to me (next to me)

Tags in reblog.

[j2-are-eternal]

The Horned God of Disco

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 31142

The year is 1979, the dawn of a new decade is just around the corner.

Jared Padalecki is a passionate young dancer and disillusioned college student.

Jensen Ackles is the sleazy club owner who changes Jared's life and helps him become the Goddess of Dance he was meant to be.

Walking into your dorm room and finding your ‘so-called’ boyfriend balls deep in some guy wasn’t the best start to the weekend for Jared. He and Chad had only been ‘dating’ for three months. It had been secretly so but it seemed that Chad had been making quite a name for himself around campus by screwing anything that proclaimed to be gay, including some alpha male frat boy called Tom who just happened to be the ‘some guy’. Jared mentally waved that relationship goodbye, grabbed his dance bag and left the room. ‘Disco dance it off, Padalecki’.

Read the rest on Ao3

[key201303]

Pairing: Clubowner!Moonbin x Fem!Reader x MafiaMember!Sanha + Eunwoo as reader brother and Rocky as reader bff

Genre: Angst, slight fluff from time to time, mafia AU, smut, mini serie (based on Bad Idea MV)

Warnings: Suggestive content, NSFW content, +18 content, smut, mentions of alcohol, mentions of drugs, mentions of death, mentions of weapons, mentions of torture, mafia AU.

Plot: You never wanted to be part of a mafia. You never wanted that life. But the moment you see Sanha pointing with a gun at your older brother one of the days you accepted his invitation to go out with him, the only thing you can do is accepting his offer of joining his mafia to keep Eunwoo alive.

2 years later, when you go back to that club to get the payment of some random man that were in debt with Sanha, who was now your boyfriend, the shy and handsome owner of the club saves you from a fatal ending when the man you were supposed to kill if something went wrong was about to shoot you.

Now you’ll have to decide if you want to stay with Sanha or if you want to quit that terrible life and start a new one with Moonbin. But things won’t be as easy as it sounds and there are too many factors to consider if you want to keep being alive and, more importantly, if you want to save Eunwoo.

Taglist -> (Let me know if you want to be added!)

A/N: I’m super excited about finally starting a little something with Astro 🤩 I really hope you guys enjoy this as much as I’ll enjoy working on it 💜💜

Chapters

Chapter 1: “Join me?”

Chapter 2: “You or your brother.”

Chapter 3: “It’s not a goodbye.”

Chapter 4: “Neither the bad is so bad nor the good so good.”

Chapter 5: “There are some offers you cannot refuse.”

Chapter 6: “I love you.”

Chapter 7: “This is not a night stand, right?”

Chapter 8: “This is not okay.”

Chapter 9: “It was a bad idea.”

Chapter 10: “Once you’re in, you’re in. There’s no turning back.”

SANHA ENDING: “It wasn’t such a bad idea.”

MOONBIN ENDING: “It wasn’t such a bad idea.”

COMING SOON...

[ao3feed-klance]

Piano Man

read it on AO3 at http://ift.tt/2kfzW6f

by ToughGirlGGBG

Keith Kogane. He was a teacher in the day, and worked at a club at night. The club, was Voltron's. Ran by his older brother Shirogane Takashi and owned by Shiro's girlfriend, Allura. Keith made drinks, and played songs on the piano occasionally. But, one day, his brother brought in an up and coming band. The Paladin's. Keith is fine with all of them, but one. The lead singer, Lance McClain. A stubborn asshole who he had a one night stand with and who his brother eventually gets to work with him at the club. What happens when the other Paladins find out Keith can play piano? And the occasional guitar?

Keith also knew that this band looked familiar. But he just didn't know how! He blamed it on the accident, but maybe, just maybe, they can help him figure it out.

Words: 1384, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M, M/M

Characters: Keith, Shiro, Allura, Coran, Hunk, (Some) Shay, Nonbinary Pidge - Character, Lance

Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron), Allura/Shiro (Voltron), Hunk/Shay (Voltron), Keith & Shiro (Voltron)

Additional Tags: AU, teacher!au, band!au, Club!AU, Teacher!Keith, bartender!keith, Piano/GuitarPlayer!Keith, BandMember!Lance, Bartender!Lance, BandMember!Pidge, BandMember!Hunk, ClubOwner!Allura, ClubOwner!Shiro, Brogane, non-binary Pidge, Implied Sexual Content, Foreplay-ishy stuff, Alcohol, Swearing, One Night Stand, one night stand turned relationship, How Does One Tag?!, First story on ao3, Bilingual Lance (Voltron), Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Gay Keith (Voltron), Aromantic Asexual Pidge, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Past Rivalry, One-Sided Rivalry, Past Accidents, Past Relationship(s)

read it on AO3 at http://ift.tt/2kfzW6f

[ao3feed-jensoo]

by killthis1oves

A song inspired chaelisa au ♡. ( A NEW WATTPAD STORY) Where Lisa is a famous dancer & clubowner of 'BLACKP!NK' in Seoul, and Rosè is a college student with dreams of becoming a singer. After a breakup with her longtime boyfriend, Rosè decides to sing a song after some encouragement from Jennie & Jisoo. A song that will leave Lisa wondering who this new masked 'mystery girl' is.

MINOR SHIPS: Jensoo & Rosekook, with brief mentions of Jenlisa (if any weird names come up, they're completely fictional characters!)

Words: 18378, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: BLACKPINK (Band)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/F, F/M

Characters: Park Chaeyoung | Rosé, Lalisa Manoban | Lisa, Jennie Kim, Kim Jisoo (BLACKPINK), Jeon Jungkook

Relationships: Chaelisa, Jensoo - Relationship, rosékook - Relationship, rose x lisa, Lalisa Manoban | Lisa/Park Chaeyoung | Rosé

Additional Tags: Romance, Fluff, dancer lisa, singer rose, bartender jennie, model jisoo

[societyfolklore]

 Favour - Part 1

Title: Favour (Part 1 of 3) Pairing: ClubOwner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary:  When your boyfriend messes up with the wrong people he offers you up as free labour in Bucky Barnes Club.

Word Count: 1.7K

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, Smut (eventually) DubCon (squint), forced labour, Jerk boyfriend, swearing, threatening behaviour, eventual violence and blood.    

A/N: my entry for  @avengers-assemble-bingo  for Bucky 108th Bday event  Will be posting the whole fic over March (hopefully) Square: a1 – Clubowner AU Card Number: 4B003 The night air was thick with the scent of sweat, booze, and bad decisions. The Winter King wasn’t the kind of club where mistakes went unnoticed. It was a place where men like Bucky Barnes built empires and burned anyone who got in their way. And tonight, Brock Rumlow was about to learn that firsthand.

You barely had time to throw on fresh clothes before Brock was pulling you out the door. He had been pissed the second you got home- late because of the damn train delays- and even more pissed that you didn’t change fast enough.

“Told you to wear something nicer. Something more.” His fingers gestured vaguely at his own chest, scowling at the modest neckline of your top. *“*You know- show off the girls a little.”

You ignored him, just like you always did when he got like this. You were already exhausted from work, and now you were being dragged by the wrist into Winter King- the club Brock and his friends frequented- but no one explained to you why. Only that it had something to do with a 'favor' 

“Don’t say anything, alright?” Brock hissed under his breath as you approached the entrance. “Just stand there and look pretty.”

Your stomach churned. You weren’t stupid- you knew Brock was into some underhanded things. Once upon a time, that had been thrilling. You had liked the way he made your head spin, the rough stubble, the gruffness, the edge of something dangerous.

But now? Now he was just Brock. And you were starting to see through the cracks.

“These guys are a big deal,” Brock muttered as you neared the door, adjusting his jacket. “So just... let me talk, okay? Hopefully, I can get out of this mess.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What mess, Brock?”

He didn’t answer right away. The grip on your wrist tightened. “Just need more time.”

That was all the confirmation you needed.

Your stomach sank. You had been through this cycle before- Brock needed time, which meant Brock owed money.

“This got to do with that truck?” you whispered.

Brock’s jaw ticked. His fingers twitched at his side before his grip on your wrist tightened sharply, a silent warning. His eyes flicked toward the bouncers at the door, then back to you, voice dropping lower. “Shut up.” The words came out as a hiss, sharp and laced with frustration, but there was something else there, too- something uneasy. He didn’t want you talking, not just because he was annoyed, but because he was afraid of what you might say.

You yanked your wrist out of his grip, rubbing at the sore spot he left behind. “You always do this,” you muttered, voice sharp but quiet enough not to draw attention.

Brock shot you a glare. “Do what?”

“Get in over your head,” you snapped. “Drag me into it without telling me a damn thing.” Like the time you'd had to drain your savings to pay back a bookie. 

His face darkened. “Don’t start, alright? Not now.”

“Not now?” You scoffed, crossing your arms. “You didn’t tell me shit before we got here, Brock. You didn’t say anything about money, about owing someone like Barnes- ”

“I said shut up.” His voice was low, dangerous. It wasn’t the first time he’d spoken to you like that. But tonight, it cut deeper.

He was supposed to handle a job for Bucky- whether it was moving product, money laundering, or setting up a deal- but he botched it.

Worse? His failure cost Bucky money. A lot of it.

Now, he owes, and in Bucky’s world, debts always get paid.

Inside Bucky’s office, the tension was suffocating.

He took a few steps inside, rolling his shoulders like he was settling into familiar territory, but there was an edge to it- like he was waiting to see how Bucky would respond before pushing too far. His confidence wasn’t quite as effortless as he wanted it to be. "Gotta say, the place looks different when it's not packed wall-to-wall with people. You almost get to appreciate the decor."

Bucky didn’t respond. Didn’t even look up right away. He simply sat behind his desk, fingers drumming idly against his glass of whiskey, the weight of his silence stretching thick in the air.

Rumlow cleared his throat, shifting slightly. "Didn’t know you were gonna call me in so soon, Barnes Figured I had a little more time to- "

"Cut the bullshit," Bucky cut in, finally lifting his gaze. His voice was smooth as silk, but carried the weight of iron. "Now, where’s my fucking money?"

Rumlow barely sat down before the excuses started pouring out. "Look, I don’t know what to tell ya." He tried to sound charming, like he could talk his way out of this, but even you could hear the desperation lurking beneath it. "The intel was bad, alright? The cops showed up, I barely got outta there with half the shipment- "

Bucky exhaled sharply, amusement flickering across his face before it disappeared into something colder. He rolled the glass between his fingers, the ice clinking softly, before taking a slow sip. His other hand adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, movements unhurried, controlled- like a man who had already decided the outcome of this conversation before it even started. “Cops? Thought you were smarter than that, Rumlow.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “You still owe. You think I just give out extensions?”

Rumlow’s face twisted in frustration. “Come on, Barnes. I did you a favor, fronting up this little venture, I'm out too.”

Bucky’s fingers stopped drumming. The room grew eerily quiet, the kind of silence that made your skin prickle. Then, he let out a low chuckle. “Oh you're out of pocket..” he echoed. “I took a chance on you for this job. You said you could handle it, promised to deliver, and now I'm out of pocket and short inventory.”

Rumlow clenched his jaw, frustration bubbling under the surface. “My boys and I are good for this. But I can't control everything, Buck- ”

Bucky’s expression darkened instantly. “It’s still Barnes to you, Rumlow.”

Your stomach twisted as you shifted awkwardly in your seat. The neon glow of the club lights flickered against the dark mahogany of the office. You didn’t belong here.

You never did.

But when Brock told you he was in trouble, when he said he just needed 'a little favor,' you hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t expected to be brought here- to him.

Bucky Barnes wasn’t just a club owner. He was something else entirely. The kind of man that made people lower their voices when they spoke his name. The kind of man who didn’t need to raise his voice to make people listen. And right now, he was looking at you like he was deciding whether or not you were worth the effort.

Rumlow shifted in his seat, desperation oozing from him. “Look, I don’t have the money yet, you know I can get it sorted, I just need some time. But I got an offer. Help ease the sting a bit.”

Bucky arched a brow, not even trying to hide his boredom. “Enlighten me.”

Rumlow gestured to you.

“She can work for you- bartending, club floor, whatever you need. She’s not useless.”

Your head whipped around.

Was your boyfriend serious? You had a job- a copywriter at an advertising agency. Not this.

“She used to do this in college,” Rumlow continued, barely sparing you a glance. “She can pull her weight.”

The air in the room shifted.

For the first time, Bucky actually looked at you. Really looked at you. His gaze swept over your frame, slow and considering. Not in the way Rumlow did, not like you were something to be used and discarded. No, Bucky Barnes looked at you like he was measuring your worth.

A lazy smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “You’re offering me your girl to pay off your debt?” he asked, amusement flickering through his tone. “That’s low. Even for you.”

You opened your mouth- to protest, to argue, to say something- but Rumlow beat you to it.

“She can handle herself,” he insisted. “It’s just bartending. You get free labor, she'll even hand over tips.”

Bucky hummed, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. He turned his attention back to you. “That true?” he asked. “You need a job?”

Your pulse pounded.

Before you could even open your mouth, Brock scoffed. "She’s got a day job. But a second job at night wouldn’t kill her."

Bucky's eyes flicked between you and Rumlow, lips curling, not quite amused, not quite impressed. His tone, when it came, was low and edged with something dangerous, a quiet warning wrapped in velvet. "You always let him talk for you, sweetheart? Or you got a voice of your own?"

Your jaw tightened. You didn’t want to be here. You didn’t want to owe anyone anything. But your options were slim to none, and you could feel Rumlow’s grip tightening on your wrist. A warning.

This wasn’t a question. Not really.

And yet, something about the way Bucky watched you made it impossible to lie.

“…I can work nights,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky exhaled a slow, knowing chuckle. Then, he leaned back in his seat, draping an arm over the back of the booth. “Alright,” he said. “You work for me now.”

Rumlow let out a relieved breath. “Good, so we got a deal- ”

Bucky’s gaze snapped back to him. “Oh no,” he corrected. “You still owe me. She just bought you a little more time.”

Rumlow’s nostrils flared, his grip tightening on you again, but Bucky’s tone was enough to shut him up.

“Careful,” Bucky murmured, watching the way Rumlow’s fingers dug into your skin. “You’re already in deep. Don’t make it worse.”

Rumlow hesitated, then released you, jaw clenched tight.

Your throat felt dry. "His mess is my mess," you murmured before you could stop yourself- your mother’s voice in your head, telling you to be loyal, even when it hurt.

You could still hear her words, crisp as the winter air back home. Family sticks together. Loyalty is everything. You don’t abandon the people you love, even when they make mistakes.

But was this loyalty? Or just fear of what came next if you let go?

No, just too stupid to get out while you still could.

For the first time that night, you realized just how screwed you really were.

[ao3feed-voltronlegendarydefender]

Piano Man

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2kfzW6f

by ToughGirlGGBG

Keith Kogane. He was a teacher in the day, and worked at a club at night. The club, was Voltron's. Ran by his older brother Shirogane Takashi and owned by Shiro's girlfriend, Allura. Keith made drinks, and played songs on the piano occasionally. But, one day, his brother brought in an up and coming band. The Paladin's. Keith is fine with all of them, but one. The lead singer, Lance McClain. A stubborn asshole who he had a one night stand with and who his brother eventually gets to work with him at the club. What happens when the other Paladins find out Keith can play piano? And the occasional guitar?

Keith also knew that this band looked familiar. But he just didn't know how! He blamed it on the accident, but maybe, just maybe, they can help him figure it out.

Words: 1384, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M, M/M

Characters: Keith, Shiro, Allura, Coran, Hunk, (Some) Shay, Nonbinary Pidge - Character, Lance

Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron), Allura/Shiro (Voltron), Hunk/Shay (Voltron), Keith & Shiro (Voltron)

Additional Tags: AU, teacher!au, band!au, Club!AU, Teacher!Keith, bartender!keith, Piano/GuitarPlayer!Keith, BandMember!Lance, Bartender!Lance, BandMember!Pidge, BandMember!Hunk, ClubOwner!Allura, ClubOwner!Shiro, Brogane, non-binary Pidge, Implied Sexual Content, Foreplay-ishy stuff, Alcohol, Swearing, One Night Stand, one night stand turned relationship, How Does One Tag?!, First story on ao3, Bilingual Lance (Voltron), Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Gay Keith (Voltron), Aromantic Asexual Pidge, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Past Rivalry, One-Sided Rivalry, Past Accidents, Past Relationship(s)

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2kfzW6f

[holylulusworld]

Dean Winchester Club/Bar/  Restaurant AU’s

Masterlist for all Club/Bar / Restaurant !Dean one-shots/mini-series

Contains: 💦 smut   // 💔 angst // 💕 fluff // 🖤 light smut // 🔙 prequel

Foody Queen 💕

His Foody Queen 💕 💦

___

Smirk of the devil 💦💔

Next to me 💔💕

Divider by me *for my blog use only!*

Fine more Dean Winchester stories here: Dean Winchester Masterlist

[societyfolklore]

Favour - Part 2

Title: Favour (Part 2 of 3) Pairing: ClubOwner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary:  When your boyfriend messes up with the wrong people he offers you up as free labour in Bucky Barnes Club.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, Smut (eventually) DubCon (squint), forced labour, Jerk boyfriend, groping, (hinted) domestic violence, swearing, threatening behaviour, eventual violence and blood.   

A/N: my entry for  @avengers-assemble-bingo  for Bucky 108th Bday event  Will be posting the whole fic over March (hopefully)  Part One Here I'll admit this one feels a little clunky.. please be gentle, sometimes you just got to go with what you got (otherwise I'd been on this one for DAYS and I have other plans..) Square: a1 – Clubowner AU Card Number: 4B003

The Winter King isn’t just any club- it’s Bucky Barnes’ empire, and each night when you got behind the bar, you felt the weight of it.

You thought bartending wouldn’t be too bad. You’d done it in college, handled the late nights, the occasional grabby hands, the customers who slurred their words by the third drink. But this?

This was different.

The men who came here didn’t get drunk and rowdy the way they did in other places. The crowd only got loud on weekends, but even then, it wasn’t the same kind of chaos you’d known before. These people didn’t stumble over their own feet or slur their words until they could barely order. They knew exactly what they were doing.

They didn’t shout for your attention. They expected. Expected their drinks to be poured before they asked. Expected silence when they discussed business. Expected you to know when to disappear and when to stay put.

The club pulsed with something electric, dangerous. Even when you didn’t see him, you felt Bucky Barnes. His presence was woven into everything- the way the staff moved, the way conversations hushed when he walked through, the way people seemed to breathe differently when they caught his eye.

Your days still followed the same pattern- waking up, dressing in your office clothes, sitting in your tiny cubicle, sending emails, attending meetings. Your nights, however, had become something else entirely. It had only been a few weeks. It felt so much longer.

But some things didn’t change.

Brock. He was still making this harder for you than it needed to be.

You barely had a second to breathe before you saw him- slouched at the bar like he belonged there.

Brock didn’t wave you over. He expected you to come to him.

You hesitated, just for a second. A fleeting pause that wouldn’t mean anything to him, but you felt it- the weight of it.

It wasn’t just that he expected it. It was the way he always did. Like it was your place, like you had no say in it. Like he owned you.

But you still moved, because you always did. Because fighting wasn’t worth it.

You didn’t want to. But you did. You had to.

You were supposed to be working, taking care of the people who actually paid, barmaid to your boyfriend. But that never seemed to matter to Brock.

You set a glass down in front of him- one of your two staff drinks for the night.

He smirked, lifting it like it was some grand gesture, like you were doing him a favor instead of him taking what he always did.

"Skirt’s getting high, sweetie."

Your fingers curled around the bar’s edge, but you didn’t answer. He always did this- commented on the uniform Barnes had given you, like you had any choice in what you wore. Like you had any choice in anything anymore.

not playing

"Thought you only wore that lip color when I take you out," Rumlow tilted his head, his eyes tracking your mouth like it belonged to him. "What are you wearing it here for?"

When was the last time he had actually taken you anywhere?

"It’s for tips," you muttered. "You know- to get us out of this mess."

Rumlow laughed. Loud. Arrogant. Like the whole situation was funny.

Your shoulders locked tight, the muscles in your back tensing as if bracing for impact. A bitter taste crawled up your throat, but you swallowed it down.

He wasn’t laughing at the situation.

He was laughing at you.

Like you were the joke.

"I gotta go see to the tables. Don’t be a nuisance."

You turned before he could say anything else, leaving him there with his drink, his gaze burning into your back as you walked away.

Rumlow found you before he left.

He had already blown through his free drinks, but that was never enough. He always wanted more- more attention, more control, more of you.

His hand landed heavy on your hip, fingers curling into the fabric of your uniform like he had every right to touch you. You flinched, but he didn’t let go. His grip tightened, fingertips pressing into your skin, possessive, claiming.

"Don’t wear your legs out, baby," he murmured, his fingers slipping lower, gripping the inside of your thigh, pressing his palm against you through the thin fabric. "Wouldn’t want you too sore to spread 'em for me later. me to start feeling neglected would you, huh?"

The words slithered down your spine like oil, thick and suffocating. The weight of his breath, hot and reeking of whiskey, fanned across your neck. You swallowed the nausea bubbling up your throat.

Too much. Too close. Too public.

You forced yourself to stand still, to stay composed, while his hands lingered where they shouldn’t.

"Brock," you warned, voice a whisper edged with unease.

He didn’t care. He never did.

His chuckle was lazy, confident, laced with that same sickening entitlement and ownership he always carried. "What? You embarrassed? C’mon, sweet thing, gimme a kiss before I go."

You tensed as he leaned in, the stench of alcohol thick on his breath. His lips ghosted over your cheek before dipping lower, his teeth scraping the sensitive skin of your jaw.

Heat crept up your face- not from desire, but from humiliation. Your skin crawled under his touch.

You wanted to shove him away, wanted to yank his hands off you, break free.

But the club was watching.

Eyes were everywhere.

So, you smiled instead- thin, tight, something that didn’t reach your eyes.

Like always.

And as Rumlow finally pulled away, muttering something about seeing you later, you caught a glimpse of something in your peripheral vision.

A shadow. A presence. Watching.

Bucky.

His gaze was unreadable from across the room, but you felt it settle over you like a second skin.

He saw everything.

And for the first time that night, a different kind of unease curled in your stomach. A cold shiver traced its way down your spine, a prickle at the base of your neck. The weight of Bucky’s stare settled over you like a second skin- unshakable, inescapable. He had seen everything. And he wasn’t looking away. *#*#*#*

It was your third weekend working when Brock decided to make another appearance, this time bringing the 'boys' along. You suspected he had stopped by to 'drop off' to Barnes before making himself comfortable in one of the booths. You were used to most of them- used to the crude language, the obnoxious jokes, the way they carried themselves like they owned every room they walked into.

You’d sat them in a corner, hoping to contain them, to keep their presence from spilling over onto the rest of the floor. If anyone was going to deal with them, it should be you. They were your burden.

As you bent over to place their drinks on the table, Jack pushed it too far.

It started with a brush of his fingers, a light touch at your waist as you leaned forward to set a glass in front of Brock. You stiffened as his hand moved lower, sliding over the small of your back. You tried not to react, to ignore it, to hope he’d stop on his own.

He didn’t.

You straightened, stepping away. Jack followed. He stood, crowding into your space, his scarred face split into a lazy smirk.

"Aww, don't get all shy on us now."

The table laughed.

You held the tray against your stomach, fingers tightening around the edges. God, his whole expression reminded you of a shark. You turned, looking at Brock, waiting for him to say something, to intervene. But he didn’t. Didn’t even look.

Jack’s hand slid lower. A bold squeeze at your hip, fingers digging in like he had a right to you.

You stiffened. "Stop. Jack..."

God, they were always like this when they drank. You should have cut them off a round ago. But Brock had already started grumbling when you hesitated to serve them their last round.

Jack tilted his head. "Make me."

The laughter swelled around you, loud and taunting. Rollins grinned. Brock crossed his arms, leaning back in his seat, still not caring.

Jack’s hand moved again- firmer this time, testing, lingering.

You grabbed his wrist, shoving it away. "I said stop. I'm working."

A chorus of mocking laughter. A scoff from Rollins.

"Relax, sweetheart, just having fun."

Jack took a step closer, pulling you into him.

And then-

He was gone.

One second he was there- smirking, groping. The next, he was being yanked backward, fast, hard.

A chair scraped against the floor. A muffled grunt. Someone stumbled.

And then? Just the steady thrum of the music.

No raised voices. No threats.

Just movement. Precise. Deadly.

You blinked, turning your head toward the entrance. Brock, Jack, and the others were being hauled out of the club like garbage on collection day.

Your breath came short, shallow, but no one said a word to you. The table was a mess- spilled drinks, abandoned glasses.

You swallowed, pushing past the tremor in your hands as you reached for the rag tucked into your belt. Clean up. Move on. Keep your head down.

You had barely set the first glass onto the tray when a hand closed around your wrist.

"Someone else can handle that," a voice murmured, low and sure. "Why don’t you take a break?" Your pulse stuttered. Slowly, you turned your head- blue eyes locked onto yours. "Go. Sit. Down. Doll"

Bucky’s voice was measured, calm, but there was something in it, something unchallengeable.

You straightened, hesitated, then shook your head and continued stacking the overturned glasses onto the tray. Busy hands kept the world steady.

"I'm fine," you murmured. "Really."

Sitting meant admitting that you hadn’t had control of the situation, that you hadn’t been able to handle it on your own. That you weren’t in charge of your own life anymore- not with Brock, not with your boss at the agency, and now, not with Barnes.

Your nights belonged to him now. Nothing was yours anymore.

"You're shaking."

You swallowed. "Just a scare. No harm, no foul. Boys get out of hand, I should’ve- "

What excuse were you going to offer this time? For Brock? For his friends? For yourself?

Bucky exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "No one touches the staff. Just a rule. No matter who they are."

There was something else in his voice, something edged and final, and when you made yourself look up, really look at him, your pulse hammered harder.

He didn’t need to say it.

You were under Bucky Barnes’ protection now.

Whether you wanted to be or not. *#*#*#*

The street outside the club was thick with the city’s night air- damp, buzzing with the energy of people spilling out of bars and stumbling toward taxis. But you barely noticed. Because Brock was there.

Leaning against the brick wall like he’d been there for hours, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently. He straightened when he saw you, his stance unsteady, his movements sluggish. Still drunk.

You barely had time to react before his hand clamped around your arm.

“What took you so long?” The words slurred, thick with the stench of bourbon, sweat, and something bitter underneath.

You tried to jerk your arm away. “I was working you know I have to-"

His grip tightened. Too strong. Too familiar. “Swear you’re starting to like it in there.” His voice turned sharp, words biting at the edges. Accusing.

You rolled your eyes, exhaustion curling into your bones. The kind of exhaustion that lived under your skin, made your limbs feel heavy, your breath short. You were always tired.

Tired of Brock. Tired of his moods, his endless complaints, his expectations. You gave and gave, and it was never enough.

Two jobs. A life spent keeping him afloat. Cutting corners, skipping meals when rent ran too high, covering his messes, standing by him when you should have left. He demanded, took, bullied. And you? You let him.

But not tonight.

You stumbled forward when he yanked you closer, your breath hitching as your body collided with his. The sudden movement sent your heart slamming against your ribs, a sharp, panicked rhythm that you couldn’t suppress. His grip was unrelenting, his fingers pressing into your skin, and for a moment, you thought he might not let go. Your pulse roared in your ears, drowning out the distant murmur of the city, of the club just behind you. You tried to pull back, but his hold only tightened, dragging you further into his orbit. "You think you’re special just ‘cause Barnes lets you work here?" His breath was hot, thick with alcohol, and your stomach twisted at the rancid scent. A chill ran down your spine, your body torn between the instinct to freeze and the desperate urge to break free.

The words hit differently than they should have. Not because he was jealous- he wasn’t. But because you could hear it.

The desperation.

His anger wasn’t at Bucky.

It was at you.

Because you weren’t grovelling. Because you weren’t apologizing. Because you had stopped caring.

You turned to leave, but he grabbed you again- harder.

“Don’t care what he’s put in your head. You’re mine.” His voice dropped lower, a growl in his throat. His fingers dug into your wrist, unyielding, bruising. "Your in there because I put you there!"

Your breath caught. Your pulse slammed against your ribs. His hand twitched.

You saw it- the way his fingers flexed, the way his wrist shifted ever so slightly, lifting, poised.

The moment stretched, suffocating, as if the entire world had narrowed to that single, unspoken decision hovering between you. He could do it. You knew that. You weren't holding your cheek right now because he'd decided. Not because you stopped him. Not because you could have.

His hand hovered there for a second too long before he dropped it. Like he was granting you mercy.

You exhaled sharply, the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding spilling past your lips in a shudder. Your whole body felt wired, braced for something that hadn’t come- not this time.

Then, he shoved you. Not hard enough to send you sprawling, but enough to remind you that he could have. That you were his to move, to control, to keep in line.

Your feet stumbled against the pavement as he forced you down the street, his fingers clamped around your wrist like a cuff.

"You think you’re somethin’ now, huh? Just ‘cause you got some eyes on you?" His voice was a low growl, meant just for you. "Barnes might like to look, but he ain’t gonna save you. He ain’t gonna take you home. You’re mine, sweetheart- always have been."

"It's not like that Brock, you know that.." Brock stopped glaring at you, pulling you down the street. But you felt it again.. A pressure- a presence. Turning your head back towards the building.

As your gaze lifted, heart hammering in your throat.

Bucky.

Upstairs. Standing at his office window. Watching.

Expression unreadable. Hands tucked into his pockets like he wasn’t watching everything.

Rumlow didn’t notice. Too caught up in his own temper, too wrapped up in whatever twisted logic had convinced him he still had any say over you.

But you noticed.

And for the first time that night, a different kind of unease settled in your stomach. *#*#*#*

You didn’t hear Bucky come in.

The storeroom was small, the hum of the refrigeration unit the only sound as you stacked bottles onto the shelves. The cold air did little to stop the warmth creeping up your neck. You should have expected him. You hadn’t seen him in days- not since the weekend. Not since Brock and Jack... But still, he felt like a shadow. Some predator lurking in the corners of your vision, a dog standing guard. Even when he wasn’t there, you felt him, like the prickle at the back of your neck before a storm breaks.

You found your spine stiffen as you went about the task of restocking the bottles, you were too tired to put up walls. To attempt to hide how uncomfortable you were.

“You prefer to keep your head down don't you?" You didn't look up at his question. "you work hard. You don’t complain.”

His voice was low, approving.

You stiffened further, fingers tightening around the glass bottle in your hands. You were expecting him mention the way you'd been hauled down the street, after he'd made sure you were safe inside his walls. You expected disapointment in his voice.

"Just, doing my part." You exhaled through your nose, carefully placing the bottle onto the shelf. “I’m sorry- for the other night. I’ll tell Brock and his friends not to come anymore.”

A slow hum. A breath of consideration.

“Not your actions to be sorry for, doll.”

You turned to face him then, already regretting it. He was standing too close, blocking the only exit, his broad frame filling the space. His scent- cedar and something darker, something you'd noticed was unmistakably him- wrapped around you.

His eyes flicked over you, assessing, measuring.

You were more aware of the 'play marks' Brock had left on your skin, the ones your clothes barely covered. Did he see them? You played with the collar of your shirt making sure the top button was done up.

The way Bucky looked at you made your stomach twist. Like he already knew**.**

Your fingers flexed at your sides, as if you could shake off the phantom weight of Rumlow’s hands, his voice still lingering in your ears. "Wouldn’t want Barnes thinking you’re saving yourself for him, huh?"

Your stomach clenched, a heat crawling up your spine.

Bucky’s eyes dropped, tracking the way your hands curled into the hem of your uniform, a small tell that you weren’t as composed as you wanted to be.

“You’re shaking again.”

You swallowed, straightened your back. “Just been a long week already. Didn't get the chance to eat lunch that- ”

Bucky didn’t let you finish. He exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled, like he was biting back something sharper, his hand lifting just slightly.

You fought the urge to flinch.

"Sorry- did you want something from in here?" You asked, reaching for something, anything, to ground yourself.

"Ardbeg, the ten-year-old."

Something in his voice sent a shiver down your spine. Final. Absolute.

The air between you shifted, stretched thin. You could feel the heat of him, the way his body barely moved but still felt closer.

You turned to grab the bottle from one of the higher shelves, your breath catching when you turned back and his fingers brushed yours as he took it from your hand.

It was fleeting, but intentional.

“Brock seems to think you belong to him,” he murmured, tilting his head. "Seems to think he can do whatever he wants with you. Even offering you up to me.."

Your throat felt tight. You swallowed, but it didn’t help.

His voice dipped lower, just enough to make your breath hitch. “Is that what you want?”

Your pulse kicked up, a sharp, sudden thing you couldn’t control. You hated that he got to you. That he made you feel something. You were here because you were loyal. Brocks mess was your mess, that was the whole point. You weren't allowed to doubt.

But Bucky caught it. You knew he did. The way his mouth moved, the light shifting in his eyes. He knew what he was doing. Making you feel like you were standing on quicksand.

“A shame,” he murmured, blue eyes glittering under the dim storage light. “A girl like you, wasted on a useless piece of shit like him.”

The words landed like a gut punch. Because they were true. You just didn't beleive them, not really. Brock had his hands on you just because he could. Because he knew you wouldn’t stop him.

But how was Bucky any different? They were all violent, dark men. The only difference was that Bucky made you step into the fire on your own.

The silence between you grew heavy, charged with something unspoken, something sharp.

Then, he leaned in, just a fraction, voice smooth as silk, pressing the knife in just a little deeper. The weight of his words settled over you, curling in your chest like a cold knot. It wasn’t just a question- it was a challenge, a slow, deliberate pull at the loose threads you’d been trying to keep from unraveling. A sinking feeling gripped you, the kind that made your stomach twist, that whispered in the back of your mind that you were running out of excuses. Running out of time.

“Tell me something, sweetheart- what exactly do you need him for?”

The words settled deep, twisting into the parts of you you’d spent so long ignoring. The parts that knew you deserved better, that whispered how tired you were of carrying the weight of someone else’s failures.

Your breath stilled in your chest. You tried to conjure up a reason, something- anything- to justify Rumlow, to justify your place at his side, but the words sat heavy on your tongue. They wouldn’t come.

Bucky watched you, waiting, letting the silence stretch until it wrapped around your ribs like a vice.

"You seem to do much better, not carrying deadweight."

Bucky shifted back slightly, his attention flicking from the bottle in his hand to you. His fingers tightened just a fraction around the glass, the movement subtle, controlled. His expression didn’t change, but something unreadable passed through his eyes- calculated, lingering. A moment stretched between you, tense and expectant, before he finally spoke, voice smooth, deliberate.

"Something to think about, when all this is over." The weight of his words still pressed into your skin, heavy, inescapable.

And just like that the conversation was over.

You exhaled only when the door swung shut behind him, the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding spilling past your lips in a shaky rush. Your hands found the edge of the nearest shelf, gripping it just to steady yourself. The air in the storeroom felt heavier, still thick with the weight of his presence. You rubbed your arms, trying to chase away the lingering chill, but it did nothing to shake the feeling that he had left something behind- something unseen, something crawling beneath your skin. The room still felt too small, too full of him, even in his absence.

His words echoed, curling into the quiet corners of your mind, sinking into the space Brock had carved out in you over the years.

Why did he say it like that?

Like ‘when all this is over’ wasn’t too far away.

[societyfolklore]

Bucky Barnes 108th Birthday Bingo Masterlist

Favour (ClubOwner!Bucky Barnes X Female Reader, ClubOwner AU – A1) Part One / Part Two / Part Three

Trapped Together (Bucky Barnes x Female Reader, I didn’t do a thing – A2)

Under the Brookly Star(Young!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader, Childhood friends to Lovers – B1)

Not So Surprising After All (Bucky Barnes x Female Reader, Surprise Celebration – B2)

[holylulusworld]

Timezone reblog

Next to me

Title: Next to me.

Square filled for @spnquotebingo​​​​​​​: (“Just ‘cause you fall on your ass doesn’t mean you have to stay there.” - The Boys)

Summary: Can Dean make everything up to you? Will you still be next to him.

Word Count: 2,4k (including lyrics)

Pairing: Clubowner!Dean x fem!Reader 

Characters: Sam Winchester, Gadreel

Rating: Mature

Warnings: angst, language, fluff, jealous Dean, low self-esteem (Dean), caring reader, mentions of financial problems, drunk Dean, alcohol abuse

A/N: Lyrics taken from Imagine Dragons ‘Next to me’. The song matched the story so here we go.

Divider by @firefly-graphics​​​​

SPN Quote Bingo masterlist

<< Part 1

He leans against the bar counter with his back to the bartender. Beer in one hand, the other gripping the edge of the counter hard enough to hurt, Dean watches your every move. 

Since that night a few weeks ago, he’s obsessed with you. – Maybe he always was and was just too chicken to admit.

“Boss, did you hear what I said?” Gadreel, smirks behind Dean’s back. “Y/N is only doing her job. You wanted her to take care of the VIPs tonight.”

“No reason to wear such a short dress or to flirt with that son of a bitch,” teeth gritted Dean slams the bottle of beer onto the bar counter, ignores you flinch at the motion, frowning when you meet Dean’s angry eyes. “Do you think she wants that rich dude?”

“Uh—I got no clue boss,” while Dean watches you flirt with the VIPs, Gadreel tries to stay out of your business. He saw you heartbroken and shattered more than once and wishes, you would move on from Dean. “Maybe she’s looking for someone reliable, you know.”

“Reliable, right,” eyes dropping to his hands Dean sighs deeply.

He’ll never make enough money to buy you the house you dream of. Sometimes he admits to himself he’s not good enough for you, and never will be.

“Just saying, you should make a move before it’s too late, Dean. The girl won’t wait forever. She wasted too many years on you, boss,” Gadreel turns his attention toward a customer, and misses Dean’s pained expression.

“He’s not wrong—”

Weiterlesen

[holyluluslibrary]

Library reblog

Next to me

Title: Next to me.

Square filled for @spnquotebingo​​​​​​​: (“Just ‘cause you fall on your ass doesn’t mean you have to stay there.” - The Boys)

Summary: Can Dean make everything up to you? Will you still be next to him.

Word Count: 2,4k (including lyrics)

Pairing: Clubowner!Dean x fem!Reader 

Characters: Sam Winchester, Gadreel

Rating: Mature

Warnings: angst, language, fluff, jealous Dean, low self-esteem (Dean), caring reader, mentions of financial problems, drunk Dean, alcohol abuse

A/N: Lyrics taken from Imagine Dragons ‘Next to me’. The song matched the story so here we go.

Divider by @firefly-graphics​​​​

SPN Quote Bingo masterlist

<< Part 1

He leans against the bar counter with his back to the bartender. Beer in one hand, the other gripping the edge of the counter hard enough to hurt, Dean watches your every move. 

Since that night a few weeks ago, he’s obsessed with you. – Maybe he always was and was just too chicken to admit.

“Boss, did you hear what I said?” Gadreel, smirks behind Dean’s back. “Y/N is only doing her job. You wanted her to take care of the VIPs tonight.”

“No reason to wear such a short dress or to flirt with that son of a bitch,” teeth gritted Dean slams the bottle of beer onto the bar counter, ignores you flinch at the motion, frowning when you meet Dean’s angry eyes. “Do you think she wants that rich dude?”

“Uh—I got no clue boss,” while Dean watches you flirt with the VIPs, Gadreel tries to stay out of your business. He saw you heartbroken and shattered more than once and wishes, you would move on from Dean. “Maybe she’s looking for someone reliable, you know.”

“Reliable, right,” eyes dropping to his hands Dean sighs deeply.

He’ll never make enough money to buy you the house you dream of. Sometimes he admits to himself he’s not good enough for you, and never will be.

“Just saying, you should make a move before it’s too late, Dean. The girl won’t wait forever. She wasted too many years on you, boss,” Gadreel turns his attention toward a customer, and misses Dean’s pained expression.

“He’s not wrong—”

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