#bucky barnes insert fan fiction

[buckets-and-trees]

Talk

Characters/Pairings: Pleasure Dom!Bucky x Female!Reader Word Count: 2k Summary: He's ready to give you everything you want and things you don't even know you need yet.

Content/Concept Warnings: BDSM AU, discussion of BDSM themes, oral (female receiving), praise kink, dirty talk, overstimulation, forced orgasm

Notes: TRIPLE THREAT SUBMISSION for @buckybarnesevents WEEK TWO of Hot Bucky Summer: "What Should I Call You?", my fourth square of @buckybarnesbingo K4 "Kink: Forced Orgasm, and my second square for Connect4 Alternate June-iverse: C2 "BDSM." Also, @biteofcherry, you totally called the BDSM vibes from that little last line tag game sentence I posted the other day - it was this, mwahaha!

Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You sat sideways on the couch, your arm draped over the back, legs tucked up comfortably beneath you. He mirrored your position, though with just one leg brought lazily up onto the couch, leaving his impressively thick thighs spread wide, teasing your fantasies.

Indulging fantasy was why you were there in the first place.

And you almost felt like this was any normal kind of Saturday afternoon with the new boyfriend you were eager to crawl into the lap of and be devoured by for the first time.

The setting fit – cozy living room of a sophisticated man’s apartment with leather furniture, modern art on the walls, small but sufficient kitchen, floor to ceiling windows along one side of the room that led to a private balcony, and a door that you knew would lead to the bedroom.

But it was just a little too tasteful to be real.

And he didn’t live here.

It was all designed to make you feel comfortable, an indulgent illusion of reality.

“You’re sure you’re not thirsty?” he asked.

He hadn’t offered anything alcoholic – strictly against policy so you were both sober – but you declined again with a shake of your head.

“Okay,” he said, “but remember it’s my role to make sure you always feel safe and taken care of, and that includes the small things like getting you a drink, and you can change your mind at any point. You’re not a burden. We are here for you and what you want.”

Warmth bloomed through your core – tinged with desire, but mostly just heat that was part comfort and part reticence. You had never taken such a bold measure of self-indulgence or self-care or self-discovery or whatever this could be called. It had taken almost two months for you to get from scoffing at the suggestion to sitting in the room on this couch across from the brunette Adonis who had said to call him Bucky (a nickname – you were asked to give a nickname as well when you registered and had gone with Rio).

“The last thing we should discuss, if you’re ready to move forward, is your safe word.”

“Brazil,” you responded without hesitation.

He smirked, but it was in no way unkind. “Rio and Brazil – I’m sensing a theme.”

“Another thing on the list of dreams to finally indulge,” the words tumbled out of your mouth.

“I hope that’s another thing you’ll choose to pursue.”

You laughed. “God, it’s so weird just how normal all this conversation feels. We just spoke at length about my kinks and limits and now I’m telling you my hopes and dreams. I’ve rarely shared this much of myself to anyone, and certainly not after only knowing them for less than an hour.”

“Well, part of that is that we all feel a little safer exposing ourselves to strangers because they’re not part of our routine,” Bucky said, “but there’s some trust that’s established by the mere act of us talking about your boundaries. It’s certainly a foundational part of the process. This only works when you feel comfortable with me, if you trust me – otherwise you cannot truly submit to me as your dominant in this arrangement.”

You nodded.

“Trust, strong communication – without them, there’s no way I can expect you to reasonably let go of your inhibitions either,” he soothed, moving his hand forward to brush his fingers over yours.

“The world of BDSM and kink is vast, but it shouldn’t be overwhelming. I never want you to feel like you’re an Alice who’s fallen down a rabbit hole and exposed to and expected to navigate the wonderland on your own.”

“I appreciate that. There’s…” you hesitated, but his rapt attention helped you feel like you could continue the thought on the tip of your tongue. “There’s a lot on the internet – a lot that I thought I knew about this stuff, but even just the registration and profile of preferences I had to fill out was pretty illuminating.”

After the basic registration you had been directed to complete an Experience and Curiosity Checklist that walked you through over 250 different activities and indicate whether you had tried it before or not, your pleasure during that activity if you had, and then a ranking of if you would like to try or do it in this setting – from never to need, if each activity was something you would entertain in a consensually forced situation, and if you would give, receive, or were up for both.

“Illuminating, huh?” Bucky grinned.

You felt just a touch of heat rise in your cheeks.

“You’re incredibly smart, and I like that,” he said, his grin turning to a softer smile. “That long and thorough profile? It’s the key to all of this – it’s not only for you, but also for me. I was matched to you ahead of anyone else on our staff. I’ve been preparing for you.”

“Like studying up?” you interjected.

“Of course, and the time we’ve spent up until now talking is for both of us, as well. You have a question you want to ask, something that wasn’t fully clear to you through your own research and filling out the profile. Ask it.” He tapped gently on your fingers, another motion of reassurance, connection.

“Forced orgasms.”

“I’m not surprised you would want to know more about that particular aspect.”

“I get the general concept, but I guess I don’t understand how that translates into practice,” you admitted.

Bucky nodded. “Sex should be engaged in for intimacy and pleasure – sometimes only pleasure, but not all the partners we are involved with are people we would trust to push us beyond our limits – either because a relationship is new, it’s a one-time thing, or because we don’t know how to communicate the limits and boundaries. Just like anything else, sex is a part of our experience as humans that we learn and grow and change with. A forced orgasm is a way to explore pleasure and power dynamics, but there must be that established trust. They can be both physically and emotionally intense because it could be exploring something new or pushing you past limits – you would give up power and be subjected to my whims.”

You took a deep breath and nodded.

“You give up power, but not safety – that’s important for you to remember. You always have your safe word or tap me three times if you can’t speak, I’ll always stop immediately. Forced can also be a specific part of roleplay scenarios. We can discuss it more, but I think you ought to experience it. Do you think we’ve built enough trust for us to begin?”

“Oh, now?”

“Yes, now, or we could talk more before we begin, we could talk and do nothing more tonight, or you could leave now and go think before your next appointment.”

You bit your lip, but only out of concentration for deciding, not out of nerves.

“What do you want?” he asked patiently.

“I want to begin the physical experience.”

“That kind of specificity will be rewarded, Rio.”

You grinned.

“You didn’t mark this very high on your profile, but I think you’re going to find out you have quite the praise kink.”

You half-gasped and half-giggled, surprised that he would say something so bold and yet also not.

“Strong independent woman like you? High achiever, determined. You’re not vain, and you don’t chase it, but you like recognition outside the bedroom, right?”

“Well, yes.”

“You’ll love it here, too, doll.”

You pressed your thighs closer together. A slow undercurrent of desire had been present since the night began, but as things began to transition, your core was beginning to thrum with anticipation.

“Bucky?”

“Yes?”

“Before we get started, I – well – just – thank you for not asking me why I decided to come here.”

“You didn’t ask me why I chose this profession. It might be oversimplification to say we’re both here because we want to be, but that’s the bottom line, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Know there will never be an ounce of judgment here – not for your desires, your kinks, your fears, your motivations. Don’t worry about doing anything wrong in there – we’ll be learning what your body wants together. You need to stop, we stop. You need to pause, we pause. You want to go slow or try something again or from a different angle, you tell me. Deal?”

“Deal.” God, he made you feel like the world was at your feet even though you were surrendering to him.

He stood up and pulled you with him. “One more thing.”

“Hmm?”

“In there, you call me ‘sir,’” he said. He brought your hand up and placed a whisper of a kiss on the inside of your wrist.

Everything in you melted instantly and you had to remind yourself to breathe.

“You got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

He smirked.

You knew he was going to ruin you.

You knew this, you knew you were ready and eager, and yet you also could tell nothing in your life had quite set you up for what you were about to experience if he had you pliant and nearly pleading for him after that mere gentle touch.

“Why don’t you head to the bedroom, I’ll give you a few minutes to get comfortable, and then I’ll come in.”

Two hours later, you were a writhing mess on the mattress, completely naked and splayed out for him while he was still fully clothed. His head was buried between your thighs, your hips firmly in place by his left arm pressing down on your pelvis. The fingers of his other hand were buried in your cunt, stroking the sensitive spot on your inner wall slowly and torturously – because every sensation down there was too much now.

He had traced his fingers over every inch of your limbs, teased your nipples, stroked your neck, ghosted his hands over your hips, teasing until you were pleading for him to touch your pussy.

He had told you once he started, he wouldn’t stop.

You knew he wasn’t lying, but you had never known an experience like this.

He had edged and denied your first orgasm until you were desperate and crying. The ultimate bliss had been blinding. He had praised you, told you your first orgasm with him had been truly beautiful, and your back had actually arched at his words, an inner keening. He’d been right about that kink.

And then he’d been nothing but relentless, bringing you to the edge and back again, then hurtling you over numerous times, with only brief moments of reprieve before torturing you with his lips, teeth, and tongue, with his hands, and with his words. Filthy promises of things he would do, dangled your fantasies in front of you, teased out admissions from you of even darker desires he as he presented new options you’d never considered, all the while pushing you into orgasm after orgasm. You keened and cried.

It was too much, and you told him so.

He disagreed, coaxing that you could give him another, and another.

“Sir,” you sobbed, “sir, stop, I can’t.”

Now the crying was continuous, and those were the only four words you seemed to be able to utter. When it devolved to only hitched breaths and sirs, Bucky slowed and stopped.

“Do you remember your safe word?” he asked.

“Yes,” you rasped.

“And?”

“I didn’t say it.”

He chuckled. “Just checking, Rio.”

“I know it’s Brazil! Break over, keep going.”

“It’s the endorphins – even though the overstimulation is there and it’s uncomfortable, the high with the endorphin release through the pain is its own trip, isn’t it?”

“Yes, yes, now keep your word and don’t stop until I’m utterly broken,” you whined, wiggling your hips as much as you could manage.

His low laugh made you shiver. “You’re going to be one of my favorites, I can tell.”

And then he pressed firmly on that spot inside of you and sucked hard on your clit in one sudden moment and ripped another orgasm and scream from you as you twisted one hand in the sheets and tugged his hair with the other, not ready to stop yet. He was as addictive as he was relentless, and you were not going to leave an ounce of this unexplored, and this was only the beginning.

READ THE SEQUEL: FEEL

End Notes: I feel like I knew some of the basics when it comes to BDSM and some of my fics have had BDSM elements, but I did a fair amount of research because I didn't want to do any disservice to the what a healthy relationship exploring BDSM might look like. This is one take. I found some very helpful insight at theduchy.com (specifically their BDSM Experience and Curiosity Checklist) and an article Bustle published by two sex educators that took a very straight-forward approach in discussing some of the basics. I'd go so far as to say there things that I learned or had reaffirmed or got better language/theory about by studying about BDSM that I think should just be base safe sexual practices (around consent, boundaries, exploration, trusting your partner, etc).

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[moonbeamoclock]

i just hate when it's tagged as something simply to gain attention, and then isn't that thing at all (people that tag their works as x reader and then write the 'reader' in a way that isn't inclusive to anyone that isn't skinny/white/dainty/feminine without a specific tag that is designed to attract people who are directly looking to consume that type of story, i'm looking at you.)

What to do when you don’t like a fic: a step by step guide

Step 1:

[the-kestrels-feather]

Get To Know Me Tag Game

I was tagged by the lovely @gyokujyn, thank you friendo!!

1. How did you get your nickname (or url)?

There's nothing especially deep to it tbh, my name is Kestrel and my go-to username is kestrelfeather (yes I know its a Warrior Cats name it haunts me every day) but it was taken already

2. What's the last thing that made you cry?

Not to trauma dump on this here Tumblr post but tbh I need to get better at actually feeling my feelings, because I don't remember the last time I cried, and it's not because I'm living my best life or anything it's because I bottle my feelings like a fine wine 😅🙃

3. What's your latest guilty pleasure?

I try not to feel guilty about things that being me joy but it is absolutely my shameless Self-insert OC created to date Bucky Barnes and is almost definitely the Nonbinary equivalent of a Mary Sue but they make me happy GOD DAMMIT Cringe culture is DEAD

4. What sports do you play/have you played?

So despite not being a sporty kid I've actually played a few! Itty bitty baby Kes played soccer, Tee Ball, and Softball at varying times, and did Ballet, jazz, and tap for like a year or two. But that all stopped when I turned 7 and FINALLY talked my parents into letting me take horseback riding lessons, and I did that for 11.5 years. I absolutely LOVED riding, and would ABSOLUTELY still be doing it, but unfortunately it's time and money I don't have so I just stare longingly.

5. What are your pet peeves?

People who don't chew with their mouth closed talk with their mouth full my mother even though she denies it, kids who come into the textbook distribution room I work in and go "I need a book" but when i ask them for a title, class, teacher, literally any information that woukd help me get them the correct book they just say "I don't know".

6. What is the first thing you notice about people?

Eyes. I suck at eye contact but if someone has pretty eyes I take notice

7. What is your eye color?

Great question tbh. Somewhere between blue and green, like a sort of teal-y color.

8. What super specific trope or genre is your kryptonite?

In non-fanciction settings: Gothic and Cosmic horror, action is fun, the fact that Librivox audiobooks of novels in the public domain are easy to find and extremely accessible, it's given me a strong love for classical literature, Picture of Dorian Gray is my favorite.

In Fanfiction settings: inject that Hurt/Comfort directly into my VEINS--. I'm also a big fan of any and all forms of Nonsexual intimacy.

9. What is your superpower?

As a Props Artisan I can make anything out of anything. I love making props from found objects, especially weapons. I was on a production of Romeo and Juliet and got to make all sorts of fun found object weapons because it was a post-apocalyptitc world

Some examples:

10. Which fictional world would you be happy to call home?

I know I would like. Instantly die. But I would love to live as a half-blood in the Percy Jackson world tbh.

11. What are your hobbies?

Listening to audiobooks and video essays, writing, learning to draw, video games, and crafting.

12. Do you have any pets?

I have one Dog, an 11 year old rat terrier mix named Peanut who owns my heart ❤️ I used to have pet land snails too, but unfortunately they have all passed on.

Bonus Peanut. Look at this little face how could you see this and NOT want to hand over all your worldly possessions to her:

13. What is your biggest toxic trait?

Oh jeez. I have a stubborn streak, but can also be really selfish.

14. Is there anything you're afraid you won't accomplish?

Oh BOY is there. My dream is to work Props for a Marvel movie and I worry I'll never get there. Also I'm just in general worried I'm never going to get a job in theatre/film which is my dream because it's the job I want, what I love, and what I went to school for and I'm scared I'll never get there.

15. What's number one on your bucket list?

The aforementioned dream of working on a Marvel movie!

Tags:

@bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky @navybrat817 @feraljazzpunk @buckybuckyboo and anyone else who wants to!

[karterroster]

one of the best bucky series I've read hands down. Sincerely recommend.

Who I was looking for -End

Summary: Even after you started wearing cuffs, the words are engraved in your mind as well as your wrist. You know you’re not destined for love as soon as you learn how to read. How could you? When the words “Sorry, you’re not who I was looking for” are written in black ink on your skin.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: injuries, fluff mostly, Tony is awful to himself as always, etc

Words: 5804 (Jeez)

A/N: Well, this is it. I cannot actually beLIEVE I’ve made it this far (considering my previous record was writing seven chapters and then leaving the fic forever :/) you guys have kept me motivated throughout this whole process and I’m SO grateful for all the feedback you have no idea. I freakin love this series so much but I’m so glad it’s over lol. Anyway, hope you like the ending. 🖤🖤🖤

Marsterlist

Mobile Masterlist

Part 25  Series Masterlist

Bucky doesn’t enjoy meetings, especially not at ass-crack o'clock in the morning.

Despite this fact, Bucky finds himself smiling (a rare occurrence, even when it’s not ass-crack o'clock) he’s been texting you all weekend, mostly random things that were too trivial to talk to the team about.

He was pleasantly surprised when he discovered you two had the same chemistry when texting that you did talking out loud. He got this tight, fluttery happiness every time his phone pinged. And he blanks and completely loses his train of thought at least twice a day when he remembers he has a soulmate. And it’s you.

The memory of your kiss is still fresh in his mind, he can’t quite believe it. Your lips had left a seared print upon his memory, like a brand. And sometimes he’ll press his fingertips to his mouth, just to remember the sweet pressure.

It’s embarrassing.

Keep reading

[sarahowritesostucky]

. || Masterlist || I'm Poor ||

. || Wanna-be Author ||

Click here to join my tag lists by fic genre preference!

Welcome to my blog! I'm Sarah, your friendly local pervert author. Be kind, stay weird, re-blog, and enjoy!

My Masterlist of deplorable smutty fanfiction

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♀️, "she/her," American

Erotic Romance e-book author (coming 2025)

pro-ship🍖🌈(aka vehemently anti-censorship)

🧑🏽‍🦽disabled creator

🍸sober alcoholic

mental health advocate ❤️‍🩹🧠

🎂 cake artist

tattoo fiend 💪🏽🎨

Atheist 😏

🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️ ✡️ally

🐒Italian greyhound mommy 🤪

❣️causes: food pantry, addiction recovery, crisis hotlines

I give blanket permission to draw, podfic, translate, or write fic inspired by my fic: just credit and link it

🧌Tumblr troll forecast: ☀️

I write Stucky, EvanStan, Chris Evans characters, SebStan characters, and reader-based fanfiction.

I reblog tons of fanart and other Marvel and MCU fan content.

I also write erotic fiction e-books under the penname L.T. Swann (available for purchase starting Dec. 2024!)

Currently Participating in the following B-I-N-G-O's

@anyfandomdarkbingo

@anyfandomgoesbingo (AFG kink)

@allcapsbingo

@steverogersbingo

@sebastianstanbingo

@ultimatechrisbingo

@marvel-smash-bingo

@badthingshappenbingo

@mcukinkbingo

@buckybarnesbingo

@multifandom-flash

Currently Writing For:

|| m/m || m/f || original characters || reader insert ||

Chris Evans

Sebastian Stan

Steve Rogers

Bucky Barnes

Ari Levinson

Andy Barber

Lloyd Hansen

Steve Kemp

Curtis Everett

Ransom Drysdale

Lee Bodecker

original characters: Bohdana "Bo" Harding, Lucas Dearbourne, Verne Dearbourne (neé Thibodeaux)

I'm poor. Tips in the Kofi🍵 cup are always appreciated

Commissions: contact via Tumblr messenger or Kofi

[ao3feed-thor]

When universes collide

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/YHkNpMR

by APhantom19

You are a young author, who spends their free time writing novels and a little bit of fan fiction. In your world, the Avengers are figments of a comic book writer's imagination. One day you're writing in a cafe and sending the final draft of your book to your publisher. The next, you awake in a parallel universe. 2023 becomes 2013. Your New York is no longer the New York you awake to.

Words: 4512, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Thor (Movies), Captain America (Movies)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Characters: Tony Stark, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Steve Rogers, Stephen Strange, James "Bucky" Barnes, James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Bruce Banner, Thor (Marvel), Loki (Marvel), Nick Fury, Wanda Maximoff

Additional Tags: Reader Insert, waking up in a new universe, knowing about the future from films, Adjustment Period, Author Is Sleep Deprived, author is shit posting, random idea that has probably been done before, Angst, Depression, Mental Illness, Denial, Grief, what is happening, will make tons of Taylor swift references, Reader Knows, fictional becomes reality, will be adding relationship tags later, Reader AFAB

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/YHkNpMR

[jadeglas]

Updates Tuesday (fics)

Heya, again!

Good news? My creativity is coming back!

Bad news? Some of my creative bad habits came back with them (story frogging - I'm incapable of focusing on only one story until it's completion for I am a story frog and must hop about from wip to wip at my whim)

So ... Let's break this down by story:

Supernatural Romance

I can't recall if I shared this last week (and I am too lazy to search for the post at the moment), but I have what I call my pre outline finished. I know what the Antagonist does in each of the 5 books of the series and I know what the generalized (as in 1 or 2 sentences) plot of each of the five books is. I'm still figuring out who is in each book and this is going slow?

Ok, remember back when I said I love fan fiction? My character creation process relies in part on other people's characters that I adore. (Not the actors that played them, when applicable, but the characters. Seriously, most of the time, the actors aren't even real to me.) I'll pick a "soul claim" and then think, ok, what would that character change if they had this backstory instead? Or this fear? Or this opportunity? I have to do this bc otherwise all my characters are vague copies of myself and each other. I only use characters I feel I know really well, but I don't always use their canon versions.

So, the first book in my series is called"Desert Wolf" for now and I know who the FMC is for this one (Hermione from Harry Potter), but I haven't fully figured out who the MMC is? (Maybe Ranger from the Stephanie Plum books?). The third one is lovingly called "Murder Bot Trash Panda" and will feature a version of Bucky Barnes as the MMC, but I'm still figuring out who the FMC will be. I'm not really sure who anyone else is yet... Also, the outlines are not really fleshed out besides this. And also-also, I had to set the novella aside for now bc my original idea doesn't fit there anymore. So, .... Yeah, I find myself avoiding these stories a lot because they feel like trying to find your way through a new friend's house in the dark. Like you know you're welcome there, but you still feel like a guest and you don't know where anything is.

Sanguine

I've only posted the first post/chapter of this on my side blog last week, and I'm planning to write alternating POVs, for the moment. Honestly, the story began as self indulgent, self insert Pitch Black fanfic, but I feel like it's firmly in my Supernatural Romance universe now. It's still for fun and self indulgence, though, so I'm not too worried with where it will fit with the other stories.

Anyone interested in this one should be aware that it will be based on a few of my fantasies, it will be spicy, and it will not depict healthy relationships or decisions. (nothing i would consider abuse, but some situations definitely in what I consider the "grey area") I'll be sure to tag as I post.

Scrawling Your Name On My Skin

This is another fic that won't feature the healthiest of relationships, but the characters will work on that as the story goes. This is a Hobbit AU fanfic that starts as a one sided Nori/Dwalin fic but will probably end up as an ot3 Dis/Nori/Dwalin. I'm not planning on anything too spicy, or at least not for a long while.

In the first fic, You're The One, Nori is the equivalent of 15 years old or so, and Dwalin is somewhere around 20 years old. There will be strong YA vibes, especially at first, and it will feature well intentioned obsession that gets called out as BS when those older and wiser realize what's happening.

Supers

This is a brand new one, as in still just vibes that I've found over the past week or so. I have some prompts that mesh well together, but i also have an older "mostly vibes" story that I could integrate with the prompts? Maybe?

The short version is that this universe has soul matches, which is someone who will majorly affect your life. Most people have only one, some will have multiple. A soul match might end up being romantic and/or sexual, but it certainly doesn't have to be. There's plenty of soul matches who can't stand each other - but each is the person who will affect the course of the life of the other one the most. Sometimes soul matches aren't reciprocated, too.

Anyways, this world also has some folks who have super powers, because why not?

The story is something along the lines of a young aspiring hero comes to the Big City to find a job and join the Hero's League, but ends up being the soul match of the most powerful (but not necessarily most well known) villain of the city. Hijinks ensue.

I have absolutely nothing written on this yet, but it's fun to play with the ideas.

Old Hobbit Retelling & Old Pitch Black Cross over

That's not what they're called, but that's what I'm calling them here, for now. These are two old fanfics, each of them sizable. I wrote them under a different handle, one of them was only posted in AO3, but the other was posted on here and AO3.

I've been feeling the urge to write on these, too, but... I'm not sure I could simply pick up where I left off? Like, I feel like I'd need to go back and potentialy rewrite the stories, which wouldn't be bad, but the Hobbit Retelling I'm thinking of changing up so I can treat it like original fic (which, there's enough that's different that once I change the names of people and places it won't be a problem), but it's HUGE and ... I don't know if I should?

They're both familiar and comfortable, but I don't know if I should go back to them.

I might just have to hold that thought in my head for a while until I figure out what to do with it.

And... Yeah, that about sums it up. Lots of ideas, not much progress this week. But now you know who all has been living rent free in my head, right?

Another progress report next week, hopefully with more progress!

If you're interested in reading anything I've got posted so far, THIS is the link to the master post on my fics sideblog, which I will keep updated as I continue to post.

Questions and comments welcome. I'll post again tomorrow, but you take care of yourself until then, ok?

(also, sorry for the weird song placement, i do most posting on my phone and my gremlin makes sure to keep the process interesting for me)

[buckets-and-trees]

Thank you for the reblog love on this!

On this fine Sunday morning, enjoy the thot of Bucky and Ari waking you up too early, but in a way that you can't complain about (you literally can't complain since something's in your mouth....)

To wake up to this ask? Have you no compassion on this the Lord’s day of rest?

No rest for the wicked on Sinday though…

So how about just a little drabble in the sheets?

Word Count: 500

Warnings: threesome, implied Somnophilia, fingering (mouth, vaginal, anal), light cumplay

You moan, stirring from sleep, but then you’re jolted from sleep and your eyes fly open, slight panic rising when you register your mouth is filled with two fingers, and you feel like you can’t breathe.

“Shh, doll,” Bucky’s deep voice the first thing for your brain to process, “close those lips and breathe through your nose.”

“And don’t let your pretty little head start to think,” Ari murmurs in your ear, his body pressed up against your back. “We finally broke you last night. Didn’t think we’d wait to play with our pretty girl again, did you?”

Ari brings one of his hands up to hold and caress your throat while Bucky begins to stroke his fingers slowly over your tongue. You whimper and close your eyes again. It’s too early to see anything yet in the dimmest traces of dawn nudging into the room. But you don’t need to do anything other than give your body over to these two men who were relentless in getting you between them and proved to be insatiable once they’d conquered you.

And you had tried to evade them for too long. Unable to move between them now, part of you wondered why. But a small whisper in the back of your mind still prodded around the edges of the pleasure they were already plying to your body that it was because you were certain they would consume you between them.

Bucky’s thigh was already wedged between your legs, opening you up, and with how wet you were with Ari’s fingers delving between and along your slick folds, you had no idea how long they’d been manipulating your body this morning.

Removing his fingers from your tongue, Bucky presses closer, chest to naked chest, laps at the drool that’s spilled out of your mouth at his ministration, and covers your lips with his, kissing you with unsatisfied hunger. His wet fingers join Ari’s at your cunt, and you writhe in pleasure, basking in the bliss.

But it was only a moment. They had other plans.

Ari’s fingers draw long strokes through your slick from your clit down to your hole, up and down, working in tandem with Bucky, and then he draws them further back, splitting between your ass cheeks and nudging at your tight puckered hole.

You yelp in surprise, turning your head abruptly to escape Bucky’s lips. “No, I’ve never-“ you protest.

“You will,” Ari growls into your neck. He presses his finger slowly but determinedly into your anus, only just enough to breach.

You gasp at the feeling.

Bucky mouths hot, wet kisses along your jaw. “We will only stop if you say the safe word.”

“You remember your word, right, Baby?” Ari prompts. His finger coaxes gently but insistently right there inside the entrance of your tight virgin hole.

You whimper and nod.

He squeezes at your neck. “Gotta hear it for sure.”

“Crimson,” you keen, both of your hands gripping Bucky’s shoulders.

“Good girl.”

“Now we’ll wreck you,” Ari promises, and he presses his finger further in.

[nony-bear]

Matched (Part IV)

This blog and ALL posts are for people 18 + ONLY.

I do not give permission for my works to be re-uploaded or copied in any way or form including translations.

Photo Found Here // Banner Made By Me

Dividers Found Here & Here

Parings: Alpha Bucky Barnes X Omega Reader

Warnings: ABO dynamics, gross alpha male behavior (not by Bucky), insecurities, slight medical talk, angst maybe?

Word Count: 2384

Summary: This is part four of the series Matched. The reader and Bucky begin participate in new tests and both have their second phone call. 

A/N: Part IV is officially here! There is something super exciting at the end of this chapter so I hope you’re all ready because I definitely am! I’m so excited that this story has been doing so well and progressing the way I’ve been dreaming about for ages! A super special thanks to @dadplease​ for beta reading this for me! If you don’t know Eun please go check her out she’s an amazing writer, and just an incredible human being! If anyone else is interested in beta reading for this series just let me know! Any likes and reblog or sharing of any kind would be greatly appreciated but as always this blog and all of its content is for people ages 18 and up and never do I ever give permission for my works to be re-uploaded or copied in any way or form including translations.

Series Masterlist

Part V

You groan as the phone rings loudly through your room, the sound echoing off the walls and making it impossible even to try to ignore it and return to your blissful sleep.

Rolling over, you shove your head under the pillow, trying to block it out, wondering what would happen if you simply didn’t answer or participate in today’s agenda. After last night’s call, you aren’t feeling particularly motivated, and regardless of the current circumstances, you’ve always been more of a night owl anyway.

After a few more seconds, you realize the ringing isn’t going to stop. Groaning again, you reach for the button blindly, refusing to open your eyes. Somehow you find it, hitting it a tad aggressively.

“Hi, Y/n! This is Luke! It's 8 am, so this is your wake-up call, and I will also be taking your breakfast order!” the overly chipper man sings over the phone.

“Good morning,” you yawn, not even being able to pretend to be half as awake as he is.

You order your breakfast, which Luke tells you will arrive soon with your itinerary, before you begrudgingly pull yourself out of bed.

Deciding to shower and freshen up for the day, you put some clean and comfortable clothes to wear, unsure what the day will exactly hold. If it is anything like yesterday, I won’t have to worry about looking presentable for anyone, you think to yourself.

As you shower, you let the hot water run down your back to keep you relaxed. Yet, you still can’t help but let your mind dwell on last night. The shock still floats in your thoughts as you recall the way Ben spoke and acted. You didn’t think they would let people like that into the program, and it’s waivered your confidence. Not that you were all that confident to begin with, but you were at least hopeful. However, now you’re just grateful for that satisfaction money-back guarantee the program promised.

After finishing up in the shower and redressing, you are sitting in the chair in your room and scrolling through your phone when there is a knock at the door. You’re internally thankful for the food’s arrival but also unable to help your curiosity about today’s activities.

When you open the door there is a tray left on the floor with your food and an envelope labeled Saturday.

Shuffling the food around his plate with his fork Bucky sighs as he waits for Steve to answer the phone. The punk basically had a heart attack this morning when he realized Bucky never called to check in with him last night.

“Buck?!” Steve says loudly as soon as he answers.

“I’m alright, I’m alright,” Bucky sighs and rolls his eyes.

Steve audibly sighs in relief. “What the hell, you were supposed to call me last night?”

“Hey- language, Steve,” Bucky chuckles, not being able to stop himself from teasing his best friend.

“Oh, shut it, Buck. You’re lucky I’m not there to kick your ass.”

Scoffing, Bucky laughs louder. “Whatever, punk. Look, I’m calling you now. Are you happy or what?”

“Well, how are things going? Everything seems- you know… okay?” Steve asks warily.

Bucky shrugs before he realizes that Steve can’t see him. “Yeah… the room they’ve got me set up in is nice. Everything seems like it checks out, nothing to be worried about.”

“Have you met anyone yet?” Steve asks curiously.

“Only one, but I didn’t get to see her- we talked on the phone. She seemed nice enough but nothing more,” Bucky tells him truthfully. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just too far out of practice.”

“Nah, Buck, you’ll figure it out. I’m rooting for you.”

“Thanks, pal.” Bucky smiles, and he appreciates Steve’s confidence but is now worried about letting him down. Getting Steve all worked up just for Bucky to return empty-handed? Sure Steve would understand, but Bucky would be left with a pang of weird heavy guilt knowing he worried Steve for nothing.

Once Bucky is able to get the only other 100-year-old super soldier he knows off the phone, he searches for his itinerary, preparing himself for whatever today shall bring.

FRIDAY ITINERARY

10:00 am: Event #1 - Laboratory Scent Matching

Participants will be individually escorted down by a program assistant to a laboratory testing pod. Once in the pod, each participant will find ten scent samples. Some samples have been collected from other participants, and others are from past participants to establish a baseline of data. When the participant presses the red button by their door, a program assistant will escort them back to their room.

11:30 am: Survey

After opening and testing each sample, participants will rank each sample via the survey they will receive in the email that they provided on their application forms. This survey must be completed, or the participant will be removed from the program. This survey aims to gauge scent compatibility and potential matches. This is only one of the data points used in the final matching calculation.

12:00 pm: Lunch

3:30 pm: Event #2 - Attraction Testing & Survey

Participants will remain in their rooms. Each participant will be sent a survey to the email they provided on their application forms. In this survey, participants will find cropped images of various facial features. The photos used are not of participants but have been chosen based on similarities to participants. This survey must be completed, or the participant will be removed from the program. This survey aims to gauge the possible physical attraction levels between participants. This is only one of the data points used in the final matching calculation.

6:30 pm: Event #3 - Pairing Call #2

Participants will remain in their rooms. Once all participants are served dinner, the phones in their rooms will ring. Participants will be connected to another participant on the line. Pairings are made based on the data collected on intake forms regarding designation, designation of interest, personality, values, interests, and hobbies. Participants will not be able to see one another and may choose to reveal any information they would like. Consider this a true “blind” date over your provided dinner. Participants are welcome to remain on the line until 10:00 pm.

10:15 pm: Survey

After participants have finished their pairing calls, they will be sent a survey to the email they provided on their application forms. This survey must be completed, or the participant will be removed from the program. This survey aims to gauge the success of the call and whether the pairing is a potential match. This is only one of the data points used in the final matching calculation.

End Of Itinerary - Participants may enjoy free time in their rooms.

“Looks like it’s going to be a long day….” Bucky mutters to himself before sighing and heading to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Anxiously, you wait at your door. It’s precisely 10 am, and your curiosity and nerves have gotten the best of you already as you feel as though you have been waiting for a lifetime.

Finally, there is a knock at the door, and you swing it open without hesitation. Luke, your only form of consistency in this whole endeavor is waiting for you.

“Hi! Are you ready?” he asks, smiling when he sees you so excited and obviously having been waiting for him.

“Yes! Thank you!”

The two of you make small talk about how you’ve settled in, but you choose to leave out the details of your awful first call to save yourself from embarrassment.

Eventually, one set of stairs and a few hallways later, you enter the facility’s more medical and laboratory-looking area through two large clinical-looking doors.

“Don’t worry- I know it looks a little scary, but it’s just set up this way in case we’d have a scent leak or something,” Luke says as the omega to omega senses you both share tell him you’re nervous.

Finding the right pod, Luke tells you to head in and hit the red button once you’re done, assuring you he’ll be there as soon as you need him. Again, you thank him for being so kind and helpful before going inside.

The pod is a small room that is more akin to a closet. There is a small desk with a nice comfortable chair, and on the table lies some scrap paper, a pencil, and ten small pill bottle-sized containers filled with some sort of translucent liquid, the thickness of corn syrup, and just barely tinted blue, inside them.

You walk over and sit down in the chair, studying all the samples and looking for any noticeable differences besides the labels numbering each one. Then, picking one up, you bring it closer to your nose and realize you can’t smell anything, noting that the containers must have some form of odor protectant to prevent the scents from mixing too much.

One by one, you take your time opening each individual container and taking in the scent of the mystery liquid inside. Each scent is different from the others, some sweet, some musky, some smokey, and so on, some even having a pleasant mix of the bunch.

Knowing you will have to rank them shortly, you try to determine what order they will fall. You quickly determine which ones to put very first and very last. And after deciding on the remainder of your lineup, you pull out your phone to complete the survey.

Before you hit the red button at the bottom of the page, you look down at the container labeled with the number eight again and unashamedly reach for it. Opening it, you take one last smell of the alluring scent reminding you of something musky mixed with sandalwood and the occasional note of some sort of clean herbal scent you can’t quite put your finger on as well- It can’t be eucalyptus- maybe pine? No, it’s quite that strong, You think to yourself. But, whatever it may be, the scent stirs something familiar within your heart. Despite being unable to recall why or how you know this scent, all you know is that you’d be quite happy smelling it for the rest of your life, in your home and your nest, on your skin; you could settle into it quite nicely.

Attraction Testing. Bucky reads over the description curiously, nose still overwhelmed from the amount of scenting he did today. The concept seemed strange to him, unable to imagine any of the girls he had dated back in the 40s. He wonders if he had a “type” or a feature he was particularly drawn to.

“Think, Bucky, what do you like?” he mumbles to himself, trying to imagine his “ideal” partner. Too many features flash through his mind to determine which ones he prefers. They are all so different, and he finds himself loving the beauty in that alone.

As he thinks, his phone dings indicating the attraction testing and survey have arrived. He sighs wearily and picks up his phone to open the message.

Bucky reads over his answer several times before submitting it, the statement seeming dumb but the truth nevertheless. He honestly was at a loss of how to narrow down all the things he found attractive in one person. Since being rehabilitated and seeing the state of the world, he was astounded by the diversity of people he saw and the beauty behind it all. Bucky never said it out loud, knowing it would be the butt of the joke for months around the compound, but he truly felt like everyone was beautiful. So besides the hopes of some pretty eyes to stare into and soft skin to hold gently, he didn’t really care what his match looked like. But he did hope they liked him- scars and all, he shudders internally before deciding to leave that bridge to cross once he gets there.  

After hitting the submit button, Bucky begins to click through the slides of photographs, rating preference levels on a scale from 1 to 10. The whole thing makes him feel a little uneasy, but he completes the entire survey regardless.

Once he is done, he tosses his phone down onto the bed next to him with a large sigh. Laying on his back and looking up at the ceiling, he calculates that there are now less than three hours until his next call. With the data the programmers have collected from his last call, the scenting test, and this attraction test, he hopes this call will go better than the first. He hates to admit it, but without Steve, Sam, and the rest of the crew popping up randomly to bug him, staying in the suite has started to feel a little lonely.

You pace back and forth in your suite. This call has to go better, right? You ask yourself as you walk. I mean, it can’t get much worse… you try to reason.

After the scenting and attraction testing today, the hopelessness of your last call stopped weighing so heavily on your shoulders. Of course, you are still nervous, but you realize one stupid jerk isn’t worth throwing this opportunity away. You came here looking for a mate, a true mate, someone you would love unconditionally, someone who would love you unconditionally as well, someone you would be able to spend the rest of your life with. You hoped more than anything that that person was here.

The clock ticks continuously as you ignore your food for the phone and count down like the ticks. Any second now.

And then it rings.

You watch it for a moment, suddenly realizing that maybe you don’t want to know what’s waiting for you on the other side.

It rings again and again, and you know you need to pick it up before the line disconnects.

Reaching out, your hands shake as you slowly pick up the phone. Raising it to your ear, you take a deep breath. “Hello?”

“Uhm- hi… I’m Bucky.”

Tag List: @dadplease​ // @connie326​ // @winters1917​ // @babybunnyblossom // @falling-solar-system​ // @5ini5ster // @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer​ // @mousee555​ // @sergntbarnes​ // @rebekahdawkins​ // @saiyanprincessswanie​ // @mugi-chwan95​ // @marvel-fanfic-writer-8675​ // @beabutterfly987​ // @dottirose​ // @ginger-swag-rapunzel​ // @bryceisalegend // @vicmc624​ // @here4thespice // @hawkeyes-queen // @daddys-littlewhitegirl​ // @justbehindmyself​

[chloelucia13]

Marvel Cinematic Universe Masterlist (on hold)

✴ = angst︱❁ = fluff︱✿ = smut︱✂ = trigger warning (listed in warnings)

Bucky Barnes

- Made of Ashes ✴ ✂

- Every Stumble and Each Misfire ✴ ❁ ✂

- Just a Little Bit ✿ ❁

- A Moment Apart ✴ ❁

- The Fast Times ✴ ❁ ✂

- Not Your Doll ✴ ❁ ✂

Series

Nothing Personal: enemies to lovers, Bucky Barnes x reader

Series Masterlist (completed) ✴ ❁ ✿ ✂

Personally: the sequel to Nothing Personal, Bucky Barnes x reader

- Series Masterlist (ongoing) ✴ ❁ ✂

[visbiscuit]

Peruvian Lily (1) – 𝐺𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝐺𝑜𝑜𝑑𝑏𝑦𝑒

Let a Thousand Flowers Bloom → masterlist. (1) Peruvian Lily → masterlist spotify playlist

I am NOT responsible for your media consumption. This blog is intended for a mature audience as are the stories on it. So if you are not at least 18, I suggest you read something else. If you recognize any name or characters, that means that I have no copyright on them, but their action in this work of fiction are mine as is the plot. This is a no-profit written work and I don't condone republishing it or copying it. Please, if you want to support me, reblog/like or comment. Thank you :) a.n if you'd like to be tagged in this, let me know with a comment!

pairing: Viscount!Steve Rogers x Dowager!(Mom)FemReader ( no description of ethnicity or body type ) . . . word count: 4k+ . . . chapter warnings: angst, dead!pietro maximoff (wanda is younger than him), steve rogers is a lonely man, double pov

𝄞 Stay -- Daniel Jang ,, SPOTIFY - YOUTUBE

Gentle readers,

word has reached me that some of you are finding my work... how was it? Ah, yes. Disgraceful. I don't find that a pleasant thing to say about me, but don't worry Lady Quill, it will remain between us, not another soul will know of this unfortunate adjective. If you'll allow me to retort, I believe that those who are disgraceful are all of you, greedy readers, who eat up gossip written on paper as if it were laws to be obeyed. Many question my identity without realizing that you are Lady Whistledown. The words you read here are nothing more than words spilled from your champagne-soaked lips spoken between puffs and giggles. I am only a conduit, the one who transcribes on paper things that have already been said but have not reached the ears of all. So, turn your gaze to your dearest friend and ask yourself if the scandal you have been part of has been revealed thanks to her. You can't even imagine what I hear every day and some of you should thank me for my leniency. I may not be so good in the future and then I will be truly disgraceful. For now, I will still show mercy to those who tremble at the very idea of appearing in the column of the day. I have decided, however, to punish you for your insolence. The news I am about to give you, has no names, no place, no time. There is someone highly coveted by the terrifying mamas who has decided to take part in the games of love. No one has officially announced it yet and the season is just days away from starting. Could it be a viscount? Or a duke? Or maybe a low-ranking simpleton who is more popular than he should be? Maybe our beloved (perhaps not too much) prince? It's not for me to reveal. Since you like to investigate, here's today's mystery for you. Let's see how you do and, please, don't be disgraceful!

Yours truly, Lady Whistledown LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 23 MARCH 1815

It had all happened in an instant. The silence that decorated the walls of the Rogers home, or as it was affectionately called by the family's closest friends - more than a hundred! (it was certainly something of which Viscountess Rogers was more than proud) - The House out of Time, had been abruptly interrupted by a female scream of no small intensity. Silence had always been something Steve had cherished, he didn't know exactly why, but the pleasure of hearing himself think was far greater than that of listening to other people tell of their experiences. In life, in that sense, he had been lucky. One son, no siblings or bastards to account for on afternoons off from classes. A single heir to rely on. Steve Rogers was a man of a thousand responsibilities, but at the cost of collapsing under the weight of them, he would face them all without anyone's help. Of course, family was important, as his mother was fond of reminding him, but his parents were also only children of only children, so they certainly couldn't boast of having a large, close-knit family. He was fine with that, he had his friends, the closest ones were to be considered almost like brothers. Rented siblings who could be removed in times of need. Sometimes he felt guilty for thinking this way, but then he readily realized that, in reality, even without this idea of his, things would not have been so different. Everyone had a title to guard, a home to inhabit, and a family to account for. Thankfully.

He squinted his eyes as his mother's voice pierced his ears, certainly not used to such demonstrations from the calm and poised viscountess. As much as she loved him with all her heart, Lady Sarah Rogers was a woman of duty. She was aware that in the childhood of her only son her role would not be that of a mother hen, but that of an educator who would direct him on the path that had already been designed for him by his ancestors. His father, the renowned Viscount Joseph Rogers had always had a distinct sympathy for his son. There was nothing better than having a single heir, and man to boot!, to whom he could leave his entire inheritance without the fear that a female child might have disturbed the family name. What a contentment it had been when the woman he had grown to love in time had given him such joy. A perfect son. An almost perfect son.

In his childhood, few had believed Steve could make it past ten years of age. Too skinny, too sensitive, he got sick too often and the treatment time was always too long. In spite of this, the boy had always shown an uncommon intelligence that would make him one day - if he had managed to get there - a Viscount worthy of note. He enjoyed mathematics, literature and even in studying history he was a prodigy. Night-time in the Rogers household in those days was a time of mourning, Steve's parents had already indulged in the idea that Joseph's title would die out with him, no one to take care of it. Steve had often heard what he would one day describe as wails of pain driven from his mother's mouth and had never forgiven himself for causing so much suffering. What had he done wrong to be born that way? He cried too, silently, locked in a ball on his bed, shaken by tremors, certain that no one could hear him. But Steve wasn't a give-up kid, quite the contrary. Another trait he was born with, and one that had always helped him get by, was certainly his stubbornness. So, one day, with a clear idea in mind, he read, no, devoured, all the books in the family library until his eyes met the printed name of Dr. Abraham Erskine and his theory about how every system had potential and he was able to stimulate that potential and turn it into reality. So, with some money stolen from his father and a pretty good outfit, Steve had gone to him and asked, no begged, him to save him. Save him from himself.

And so, Dr. Erskine had helped him find himself, not before contacting his parents who, after many months of questions and insecurities, had given their son into the hands of one of the geniuses of their generation. In doing so, they had gotten the Steve they knew hid beneath that armour of fragility, and from there on he had trained himself to always become a better version of himself.

Since Steve had come of age, Lady Rogers had transformed herself into the mama who lived only in the best dreams, or worst nightmares, of every bachelor in the town of Brookle. It had been months, no, years, that every morning, at seven and sixteen o'clock, not a second later, the viscountess entered her son's room - at first, she had even found him in... compromising situations - and woke him up with the certainty that this would be the day he would meet his future wife. Even outside of the canonical season. She had become a threat capable of following him and leaving him no time to gather himself and make his own decisions. It was good to be an only child, but sometimes Steve wished he had a twin brother to share those pains with. At that point, his mother's energies would be focused on two beings and they would not drown him with all their might. Now, at the age of nine and twenty, his mother had spent at least a decade foisting every damsel in town on him as perfect future viscountesses. The truth was, she didn't believe in the lackluster minds that would someday have to take her place either, but someday, Steve would have to marry one and teach her her duties as best he could. At worst, the future viscountess would be just another way to sire an heir. A crude thought, but a necessary one.

The papers scattered on Steve's desk were starting to lose all logical sense as he was well focused on listening to his mother's footsteps, much louder than usual, as they came closer and closer to his study. The man pinched the bridge of his nose and removed the glasses gently placed on it. He took a deep breath: his mother was not yet in the room and he already felt profoundly shaken and exasperated. Just in the same second that the door opened with force and determination, Steve made sure to be found with a smile on his face. He prayed to his guardian angel that Lady Rogers would not notice the falseness of his expression.

«Mother! What can I help you with?»

«Read» the command that came out of the slender woman's mouth confused him for a few seconds, but what he saw resting on her desk made him roll his eyes. In front of him, the latest issue of "Lady Whistledown" bothered him. Something on it had caused his mother to scream in dismay and come over to disturb him. Normally, he didn't pay much attention to it, today the damn gossip column was his enemy.

He didn't pick it up, he had no intention of giving rise to this type of things. «You tell me, and above all explain to me why you still listen to such... nonsense.»

If Lady Rogers was offended by her son's words, she didn't let him see it. «It cannot be nonsense if it is truth,» she said, then took up the paper again and cleared her throat. «"There is someone highly coveted by the terrifying mamas who has decided to take part in the games of love."» she read, then looked up into his face. «Is that you? Please say yes, amuse me.»

 Steve's cerulean eyes met his mother's which with he shared the same shade, the only thing that bound them together since he was the carbon copy of his father. Lady Rogers had been a wonderful girl, with a cascade of long brown hair caressing her hips and two eyes like the purest and most crystalline water. Now, after years of duties, she had become a tired, but splendid woman. Her long hair had turned into small and fast waves that reached her shoulders and her eyes were framed by dark circles not too evident and wrinkles due to the thousand smiles she gave to the love of her life, her son. Joseph hadn't married her for love, but Steve had come to understand over time why he had chosen Sarah as his wife. He didn't like the fact that it had taken some time for their relationship to become full-fledged love, but his father felt the burden of siring an heir far more than he could have imagined. This was exactly why Steve had no intention of marrying a woman he didn't love or, at the very least, didn't like. After all, he was a healthy man and, in his own words, still young. He could, for now, think of something else. That didn't mean, however, that he wasn't always on the lookout for the real diamond among the fake ones.

«That's why I tell you not to read this nonsense. This will surely be a ploy to keep the season from failing. No one wants a repeat of last one, especially after the Stark scandal,» Steve scratched his beard. It wasn't usual in those days to have facial hair on his face, but he would shave once the high season started where everyone would see him. «That being said and I tell you this from the heart, it may be that this year I am more inclined to look for the future Lady Rogers»

The Viscountess' eyes sparkled as they never had before. The thought of sharing secrets and gossip with a woman who was not a servant excited her. And, oh, the idea that soon a new member of the family would be scampering around the walls of the house made her heart tremble.

Steve noticed too late the quick movement of his mother who had turned his desk entirely around and wrapped him in an embrace so tight it cracked his neck bone. He gasped for a few moments before standing up and wrapping his arms around her as well. He realized that his mom's body was shaking, was she really crying?

«Oh, Steve! You've made me the happiest mama in town! I don't know how to thank you my son» she wiggled out of the hug and cupped his cheeks with her hands. «This is going to be the perfect season, I can feel it» then, as if lightning had struck her in the head, she let go of a gasp and straightened her dress with her hands. «There's no time to waste, Steven! The damsels are many and they are all waiting for you. I can already picture you with... maybe Lady Rhodes, or Lady Strange, there's even Lady Barnes.»

«Ah, ah, Lady Barnes is not in contemplation.»

«And why would that be?»

«Do you want your only child to die at the hands of a duke? She's James's sister, it would be like writing me a death sentence.»

His mother nodded, defeated. As much as the duke was one of the closest friends her son had, the overprotectiveness towards his sister was greater than any feelings of friendship. «I suppose you may be right.»

«When am I not right?»

His mother gave him a small slap on the back of the head. «Don't be vain, women don't like self-absorbed, narcissistic men.»

«Right, just like I don't like self-absorbed, narcissistic women.»

«Well... that takes a few names off the list.»

«What list?» in Steve's eyes it was possible to read terror.

«Don't be silly! My list, the one I've been making for years.»

The season that was coming would not soon be forgotten.

Gentle Readers,

with some satisfaction and a hint of mischief, I take note that my riddles are not to your liking. Not that this has upset me, you have always been used to having everything you desire after all. It is not your fault; it is more of a slight bug that has been circling you all your life. The thing that distinguishes this fortunate condition of yours and the real bug is that you would squash the latter without a second thought. Would you squash your luck in the same way? I have my doubts. But no more conundrums, just reality. I will not reveal the identity of the eligible bachelor on the market, there is only one day left before the season starts and it would be cruel of me to send a host of crazed mamas out to his mansion. I will reveal something else, though, and you're going to love it. Someone very dear to us is back in town. The dowager Countess Maximoff has landed on our shores. Could it be after a year of mourning she and her beautiful child are looking for someone to protect them? If you ask me, I find this in poor taste. Poor Count. Peace to his soul and to our damsels in search of husbands.

Yours truly, Lady Whistledown LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 26 MARCH 1815

As the first signs of a lush spring colored the meadows on the outskirts of Brookle, a carriage with a precious and important air traveled the long path that had been trodden years before to connect town and country. The winter wind still persisted, but from the small window, a young woman watched with incredible curiosity and surprise as the last remaining ice on the only lake in the area blushed and melted under the sun's rays. The scenery she had become accustomed to in recent years was extremely different from the spectacle of colors she felt lucky to be a spectator at that moment.

The city of Sokovia had entered her heart, despite its apparent coldness and austerity. Over the years, Lady Y/N Maximoff, born Y/L/N, had noticed the gentleness in the hard physiognomic features of the women of that place, who had always been trained to be perfect and rigid matrons. She had discerned the malice behind the eyes of the most astute men who had helped her to consider that city as her own. The servants of the last, and deceased, Earl had not simply been the ones who had helped her be the best she could be in her new role, they had become her family. Not having anyone known by her side had been the thing Y/N had hated most in the world. Not recognizing someone's smile. So, she had tried very hard to create a family for herself, and she hadn't cared that the family consisted of members of a lower social class. After all, family wasn't something to choose, it had happened and Y/N had welcomed her with open arms.

There had been a time when she couldn't even consider her husband as family. The one who, instead, should have been by right. She hadn't blamed anyone, getting married through some old business of her father's meant just that: the tying of one's life to a stranger. She had been fortunate in her misfortune. Pietro Maximoff had not only been a gentleman every step of the way in their relationship, but he was of an age for which he could take care of his children. Y/N had trembled when she had found out that one of her closest friends, Lady Yelena, had been given in marriage to a man about one and eighty years old. Fortunately for her, he had fallen ill not long after and left her to live out her life with no heirs to care for. In retrospect, Y/N would have preferred something similar as well.

Pietro's smiles had not only made her feel safe, but it had been the reason the spark had gone off between them. The only reason the young woman had fallen deeply in love with the Count. Her heart, at the sight of him, seemed to have raced miles and miles and the butterflies in her stomach had not stopped even after he had passed away. She had loved him dearly, as a best friend, as a guardian, as a lover...as a father. Pietro had been a wonderful father to their little girl. Just for her sweet little girl Zofie, Y/N had not allowed herself to wear the clothes of grief.

It had already been complex to explain to her that they would never see Pietro waiting for them again after a long day of walking around town, or that they wouldn't have to spend hours and hours in front of the window to see him riding back with a giant smile on his face. He had confided in her that Pietro had left on his own steed to protect his women from above, so that he could always see them and be close to them. And Zofie had cried, had cried so much that she hadn't stopped for days and risked asthma attacks. And Y/N had cried her heart out. She had cried blood, but she had never allowed a tear to run down her face. Zofie had already lost a father at four years old; she didn't need a mother wracked with grief.

It had taken little for her to realize that her presence in Sokovia was no longer required. With no son to pass the title on to, the new Count of Sokovia had become a distant cousin of her husband, who had taken it upon himself to kick Y/N out of the quarters he had occupied up to that point. She hadn't suffered much from the new Count's behaviour, but she hadn't expected the time to move away from Sokovia to come so soon. Probably, given the love the citizens had for her, she could have stayed there as long as she wanted, but she needed a change of air. She needed to get away from all the memories she hadn't given herself permission to remember. Plus, besides missing her family in Brookle, she vowed to help Wanda Maximoff, her sister-in-law, find a husband. Another way to try not to block out her own life and continue to care for her daughter. Zofie had become the only reason not to break down for good and she would hold on to her as long as she could.

«Mommy,» a little voice as sweet as honey freshly plucked from the hive took her mind off the view and turned her around. Sitting in the seats of the most comfortable carriage she had been afforded, Zofie Maximoff at five years - and four months (and two days!) - was synonymous with beauty. A mane of very long hair framed her chubby face and in her greenish eyes you could see the hyperactivity that characterized her. Barely visible freckles adorned her small face and her lips were plump and identical to her father's. The truth was that no one could doubt that she was Pietro's daughter. Their resemblance was a painful gift that had been bestowed upon Y/N. «How wong until we get therrre?» even her accent was that of Sokovia. Everything reminded her of her late husband.

The young woman smiled at her daughter's small speech defect, she couldn't pronounce the letter "r" correctly and despite numerous lessons with an experienced tutor, they had quickly realized that this was not something due to age, but something that would always accompany her. So, they had concluded with this part of the lessons and proceeded to teach her everything she needed at that tender age as per the textbook. «I really don't know, butterfly. Wait, let me ask Vis»

«Yes, please because I'm so hungrrry.»

Y/N giggled at her daughter's impatience. «Alright.» Gathering up the ruffles of the dress she'd decided to wear for that trip, thankfully not too bulky, she leaned toward the small window that led to the driver's chair. She couldn't make out the face of her faithful coachman, but only saw his shoulders covered by the typical livery of the colors of the city of Sokovia, red, blue and a slight splash of white. «Vis, how much longer?»

The man muttered something, probably a command to the horses to entice them onward, and then turned his face to try to look at the woman. «I don't think it'll be long, we'll definitely get there before dark, Lady Maximoff,» he shot her a polite smile.

«No need for all this formality, Vis, but thank you very much» she returned to her daughter's side and adjusted the sleeves of her dress. «We'll be there in no time, if you want I have some toasted bread with raspberry jam.»

«Mhh...» the child tapped her chin with a little finger «No, no, I'w wait. I wanted something with chocolate» she moved her dangling little legs back and forth, smiling. She had recently dropped her first tooth and a little window could be seen every time she laughed. Y/N always thought of her little girl's smile and hoped it was always on her face.

The young woman returned the joy. «Chocolate, huh? Did you think you were going to fool me, butterfly?» she began to tickle her and her daughter's laughter was so infectious that she started laughing too. «Next time I'll make sure to pack some chocolate because it seems to be the only thing this little monster wants to eat» she teased her a little.

Zofie nodded vigorously, still with tears in her eyes from being tickled. «Chocolate is good forrr you!»

«Yes and bunnies fly.»

«They could!»

«They do?» Y/N adjusted her position to turn more with her body towards her daughter. The carriage was certainly one of the better ones, but she found them terribly uncomfortable. «And in what world?»

Zofie's expression turned fair. «In my worrrld!» then she took a big breath and Y/N realized that a soliloquy of at least three minutes was coming. Her daughter wouldn't even notice if she was listening. «In my worrrld bunnies can fly! And they rrreach high, high, high until they rrreach the clouds which to me arrre made of cotton and sugarrr. I once dreamed of jumping on them! They werrre all soft and I even hugged one! At one point I saw Daddy with his horrrse too! What was his name? » he looked at her with his big eyes.

Y/N's mind had stopped at the sweetness of her daughter's words and stiffened when she heard Pietro mentioned. She hadn't intended to erase every memory of her father from Zofie's head, but a selfish part was screaming at her to force her daughter to stop thinking about the past. She certainly wouldn't, but she felt as guilty as if it had happened. «His name was Quicksilver.»

Zofie clapped her hands together. «That's rrright, that's rrright! What a strrrange name for a horrrse though, do you know why Daddy picked it, Mommy?»

«Because his blond mane reminded him of sterling silver and no one had ever outrun him. When your father rode that horse, it was as if they became one. I never saw him so free and carefree except with Quicksilver and when he hugged you. That's why Quicksilver accompanied him to heaven, because they wanted to be together all the time."

«But I want to be with my daddy, too.»

«Someday you'll see him again and tell him about all your adventures. Maybe if you're old enough, Daddy will let you ride the horse.»

«Rrreally? You prrromise me that, Mommy?»

«Cross my heart, butterfly.»  

TAGLIST: @sanne-kijani @rootcrop @aloneatpeace 

next

[griff-us]

Series Title: Violent Delights; Violent Ends.

Pairing: Mob!Bucky/Black!Reader, Mentions of Mob!Steve/Black!Reader

Warnings: Violence, Drug Use, Alcohol Consumption, Gore, Torture and Mentions of, Death, Murder, Blood, Smut. Chapters With Specific Warnings Will Be Tagged Accordingly.

Summary: Childhood friends; brought together with an empire in mind. James was born and bred to rule. He commands the boroughs; an expectant yet benevolent leader. Steve serves as his right hand; a calculative lieutenant. But you? You were born to serve as the left hand. You were conditioned to protect— at any cost.

You thrive in the shadows so they might enjoy the light. But just how much are you willing to sacrifice?

Series Playlist

A/N: Hey there! This has been sitting in the back of my head for some time. I really wanted to write out a nice long slow burn mob au for a black reader specifically, so here we are. Be warned this is nitty-gritty; depictions of violence, drug use, sex, and all. That being said minors DO NOT interact. You will be blocked. I plan to update once a week. Hope yall enjoy!

Prologue

One

Two (2/6/22)

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

[haileygarciasunshine]

Christmas Advent Calendar

Created: 12/01/22

Last Updated: 12/01/22

Author's Note: Please feel free to send me fic requests!! See who I write for

December 1st: Winter Cookies - Dean Winchester x Reader

[val-writesstuff]

Open communication is so sexy 😻

Talk

Title: Talk Fandom: MCU Characters/Pairings: Pleasure Dom!Bucky x Female!Reader Word Count: 2k

Summary: He's ready to give you everything you want and things you don't even know you need yet.

Content/Concept Warnings: BDSM AU, discussion of BDSM themes, oral female receiving, praise kink, dirty talk, overstimulation, forced orgasm

Notes: TRIPLE THREAT SUBMISSION for @buckybarnesevents WEEK TWO of Hot Bucky Summer: "What Should I Call You?", my fourth square of @buckybarnesbingo K4 "Kink: Forced Orgasm, and my second square for Connect4 Alternate June-iverse: C2 "BDSM." Also, @biteofcherry, you totally called the BDSM vibes from that little last line tag game sentence I posted the other day - it was this, mwahaha!

You sat sideways on the couch, your arm draped over the back, legs tucked up comfortably beneath you. He mirrored your position, though with just one leg brought lazily up onto the couch, leaving his impressively thick thighs spread wide, teasing your fantasies.

Indulging fantasy was why you were there in the first place.

And you almost felt like this was any normal kind of Saturday afternoon with the new boyfriend you were eager to crawl into the lap of and be devoured by for the first time.

The setting fit – cozy living room of a sophisticated man’s apartment with leather furniture, modern art on the walls, small but sufficient kitchen, floor to ceiling windows along one side of the room that led to a private balcony, and a door that you knew would lead to the bedroom.

But it was just a little too tasteful to be real.

And he didn’t live here.

It was all designed to make you feel comfortable, an indulgent illusion of reality.

“You’re sure you’re not thirsty?” he asked.

He hadn’t offered anything alcoholic – strictly against policy so you were both sober – but you declined again with a shake of your head.

“Okay,” he said, “but remember it’s my role to make sure you always feel safe and taken care of, and that includes the small things like getting you a drink, and you can change your mind at any point. You’re not a burden. We are here for you and what you want.”

Warmth bloomed through your core – tinged with desire, but mostly just heat that was part comfort and part reticence. You had never taken such a bold measure of self-indulgence or self-care or self-discovery or whatever this could be called. It had taken almost two months for you to get from scoffing at the suggestion to sitting in the room on this couch across from the brunette Adonis who had said to call him Bucky (a nickname – you were asked to give a nickname as well when you registered and had gone with Rio).

“The last thing we should discuss, if you’re ready to move forward, is your safe word.”

“Brazil,” you responded without hesitation.

He smirked, but it was in no way unkind. “Rio and Brazil – I’m sensing a theme.”

“Another thing on the list of dreams to finally indulge,” the words tumbled out of your mouth.

“I hope that’s another thing you’ll choose to pursue.”

You laughed. “God, it’s so weird just how normal all this conversation feels. We just spoke at length about my kinks and limits and now I’m telling you my hopes and dreams. I’ve rarely shared this much of myself to anyone, and certainly not after only knowing them for less than an hour.”

“Well, part of that is that we all feel a little safer exposing ourselves to strangers because they’re not part of our routine,” Bucky said, “but there’s some trust that’s established by the mere act of us talking about your boundaries. It’s certainly a foundational part of the process. This only works when you feel comfortable with me, if you trust me – otherwise you cannot truly submit to me as your dominant in this arrangement.”

You nodded.

“Trust, strong communication – without them, there’s no way I can expect you to reasonably let go of your inhibitions either,” he soothed, moving his hand forward to brush his fingers over yours.

“The world of BDSM and kink is vast, but it shouldn’t be overwhelming. I never want you to feel like you’re an Alice who’s fallen down a rabbit hole and exposed to and expected to navigate the wonderland on your own.”

“I appreciate that. There’s…” you hesitated, but his rapt attention helped you feel like you could continue the thought on the tip of your tongue. “There’s a lot on the internet – a lot that I thought I knew about this stuff, but even just the registration and profile of preferences I had to fill out was pretty illuminating.”

After the basic registration you had been directed to complete an Experience and Curiosity Checklist that walked you through over 250 different activities and indicate whether you had tried it before or not, your pleasure during that activity if you had, and then a ranking of if you would like to try or do it in this setting – from never to need, if each activity was something you would entertain in a consensually forced situation, and if you would give, receive, or were up for both.

“Illuminating, huh?” Bucky grinned.

You felt just a touch of heat rise in your cheeks.

“You’re incredibly smart, and I like that,” he said, his grin turning to a softer smile. “That long and thorough profile? It’s the key to all of this – it’s not only for you, but also for me. I was matched to you ahead of anyone else on our staff. I’ve been preparing for you.”

“Like studying up?” you interjected.

“Of course, and the time we’ve spent up until now talking is for both of us, as well. You have a question you want to ask, something that wasn’t fully clear to you through your own research and filling out the profile. Ask it.” He tapped gently on your fingers, another motion of reassurance, connection.

“Forced orgasms.”

“I’m not surprised you would want to know more about that particular aspect.”

“I get the general concept, but I guess I don’t understand how that translates into practice,” you admitted.

Bucky nodded. “Sex should be engaged in for intimacy and pleasure – sometimes only pleasure, but not all the partners we are involved with are people we would trust to push us beyond our limits – either because a relationship is new, it’s a one-time thing, or because we don’t know how to communicate the limits and boundaries. Just like anything else, sex is a part of our experience as humans that we learn and grow and change with. A forced orgasm is a way to explore pleasure and power dynamics, but there must be that established trust. They can be both physically and emotionally intense because it could be exploring something new or pushing you past limits – you would give up power and be subjected to my whims.”

You took a deep breath and nodded.

“You give up power, but not safety – that’s important for you to remember. You always have your safe word or tap me three times if you can’t speak, I’ll always stop immediately. Forced can also be a specific part of roleplay scenarios. We can discuss it more, but I think you ought to experience it. Do you think we’ve built enough trust for us to begin?”

“Oh, now?”

“Yes, now, or we could talk more before we begin, we could talk and do nothing more tonight, or you could leave now and go think before your next appointment.”

You bit your lip, but only out of concentration for deciding, not out of nerves.

“What do you want?” he asked patiently.

“I want to begin the physical experience.”

“That kind of specificity will be rewarded, Rio.”

You grinned.

“You didn’t mark this very high on your profile, but I think you’re going to find out you have quite the praise kink.”

You half-gasped and half-giggled, surprised that he would say something so bold and yet also not.

“Strong independent woman like you? High achiever, determined. You’re not vain, and you don’t chase it, but you like recognition outside the bedroom, right?”

“Well, yes.”

“You’ll love it here, too, doll.”

You pressed your thighs closer together. A slow undercurrent of desire had been present since the night began, but as things began to transition, your core was beginning to thrum with anticipation.

“Bucky?”

“Yes?”

“Before we get started, I – well – just – thank you for not asking me why I decided to come here.”

“You didn’t ask me why I chose this profession. It might be oversimplification to say we’re both here because we want to be, but that’s the bottom line, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Know there will never be an ounce of judgment here – not for your desires, your kinks, your fears, your motivations. Don’t worry about doing anything wrong in there – we’ll be learning what your body wants together. You need to stop, we stop. You need to pause, we pause. You want to go slow or try something again or from a different angle, you tell me. Deal?”

“Deal.” God, he made you feel like the world was at your feet even though you were surrendering to him.

He stood up and pulled you with him. “One more thing.”

“Hmm?”

“In there, you call me ‘sir,’” he said. He brought your hand up and placed a whisper of a kiss on the inside of your wrist.

Everything in you melted instantly and you had to remind yourself to breathe.

“You got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

He smirked.

You knew he was going to ruin you.

You knew this, you knew you were ready and eager, and yet you also could tell nothing in your life had quite set you up for what you were about to experience if he had you pliant and nearly pleading for him after that mere gentle touch.

“Why don’t you head to the bedroom, I’ll give you a few minutes to get comfortable, and then I’ll come in.”

Two hours later, you were a writhing mess on the mattress, completely naked and splayed out for him while he was still fully clothed. His head was buried between your thighs, your hips firmly in place by his left arm pressing down on your pelvis. The fingers of his other hand were buried in your cunt, stroking the sensitive spot on your inner wall slowly and torturously – because every sensation down there was too much now.

He had traced his fingers over every inch of your limbs, teased your nipples, stroked your neck, ghosted his hands over your hips, teasing until you were pleading for him to touch your pussy.

He had told you once he started, he wouldn’t stop.

You knew he wasn’t lying, but you had never known an experience like this.

He had edged and denied your first orgasm until you were desperate and crying. The ultimate bliss had been blinding. He had praised you, told you your first orgasm with him had been truly beautiful, and your back had actually arched at his words, an inner keening. He’d been right about that kink.

And then he’d been nothing but relentless, bringing you to the edge and back again, then hurtling you over numerous times, with only brief moments of reprieve before torturing you with his lips, teeth, and tongue, with his hands, and with his words. Filthy promises of things he would do, dangled your fantasies in front of you, teased out admissions from you of even darker desires he as he presented new options you’d never considered, all the while pushing you into orgasm after orgasm. You keened and cried.

It was too much, and you told him so.

He disagreed, coaxing that you could give him another, and another.

“Sir,” you sobbed, “sir, stop, I can’t.”

Now the crying was continuous, and those were the only four words you seemed to be able to utter. When it devolved to only hitched breaths and sirs, Bucky slowed and stopped.

“Do you remember your safe word?” he asked.

“Yes,” you rasped.

“And?”

“I didn’t say it.”

He chuckled. “Just checking, Rio.”

“I know it’s Brazil! Break over, keep going.”

“It’s the endorphins – even though the overstimulation is there and it’s uncomfortable, the high with the endorphin release through the pain is its own trip, isn’t it?”

“Yes, yes, now keep your word and don’t stop until I’m utterly broken,” you whined, wiggling your hips as much as you could manage.

His low laugh made you shiver. “You’re going to be one of my favorites, I can tell.”

And then he pressed firmly on that spot inside of you and sucked hard on your clit in one sudden moment and ripped another orgasm and scream from you as you twisted one hand in the sheets and tugged his hair with the other, not ready to stop yet. He was as addictive as he was relentless, and you were not going to leave an ounce of this unexplored, and this was only the beginning.

End Notes: I feel like I knew some of the basics when it comes to BDSM and some of my fics have had BDSM elements, but I did a fair amount of research because I didn't want to do any disservice to the what a healthy relationship exploring BDSM might look like. This is one take. I found some very helpful insight at theduchy.com (specifically their BDSM Experience and Curiosity Checklist) and an article Bustle published by two sex educators that took a very straight-forward approach in discussing some of the basics. I'd go so far as to say there things that I learned or had reaffirmed or got better language/theory about by studying about BDSM that I think should just be base safe sexual practices (around consent, boundaries, exploration, trusting your partner, etc).

[plaid-shirtsandvibranium-arms]

A Beautiful Darkness (1)

Summary: Bucky and Steve meet another super soldier with a dark past and an unpredictable vicious nature. Both are drawn inexplicably to the woman who was now temporarily joining their team to help take down an enemy that had once again reared its ugly head. 

Fandoms: Avengers

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Warnings: SMUT (DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE BELOW 18), Angst, Dry Dark Humour, Unapologetic Violence, Gore, Lots of Blood, Lots of Cussing, Torn Limbs, Biscuit Thievery

A/N: Hello, my darlings! I know I have an ongoing series already (Those Linked by Destiny), but my brain just won’t let me live until I fulfill this idea first. This is my first venture into smut so please bear with me. No smut in this particular chapter but the next one has oodles of it. Let me know what you think!

Masterlist

1: The Wrath of a Goddess

The Avengers each filed into the compound's common room with sullen faces and hunched shoulders. With each heavy step they began to unbuckle their weapon holsters, loosen their tactical suits, disassemble their armor, and silently pick apart the last mission on what they could have done better. The mood blanketing the team was somber and tired which is why none of them were prepared to be greeted by a stranger perched on a barstool in the kitchenette casually having a snack.

"Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?" Tony snarled recovering first and aiming a charged blaster at the intruder.

The rest of the team immediately snapped to attention and aimed their own weapons, their own fatigue forgotten for the moment. The target though was decidedly unbothered as you took another one of Tony's expensive biscuits, dipped it in the coffee, and popped it in your mouth.

Bucky and Steve noticed that there was a peculiar grace and fluidity to the small movements. You looked oddly harmless enough aside from the fact that you had just broken into the Avengers Compound without raising any alarms which was arguably more secure than the Pentagon as Tony liked to boast. Your hair was piled atop your head in a messy bun, bare faced, a beat up sweatshirt, and satin sleep shorts that barely even covered your thigh. You looked like you had left bed and haphazardly dressed before coming there.

You spun the seat with your boot to face the Avengers, two of which gasped in surprise. At this view, the super soldiers noted that while your frame was slim the clearly toned muscles on your legs showed that you held some strength.

"Y/N?" Natasha asked in disbelief.

"Hey, Nat," you said with a toothy smile. You craned your head to the side and smiled wider when you found the face you were looking for. "Hi, Clint. Thought you were retired?"

He shrugged as he tucked away his bow. "Thought you were retired."

You shrugged in return causing a grin to grow on his face, happy that the easy dynamic between you two was still intact after all these years apart.

"Excuse me! Can someone explain to the rest of the class what the hell is going on?" Tony interrupted and scowled deeper when he saw you reach for another biscuit. "And can you stop eating my secret stash?"

Never one to pass off a chance to aggravate someone unnecessarily, you purposely exaggerated the way you slid the treat into your mouth. Tony threw his hands in the air in exasperation while he fought the urge to blast you out of spite.

"Y/N, what exactly are you doing here?" Natasha asked. She had put away her weapons as well, the rest of the Avengers following her lead albeit reluctantly. She and Clint approached to stand across from you with each grabbing a biscuit much to Tony's displeasure.

Sam, Bucky, and Steve were more hesitant to get nearer despite the obvious familiarity you had with their teammates. They chose instead to hang back with Tony as they carefully watched your movements for any sign of hostility.

"She's here for me."

None of them needed to turn around to know who it was. Nick Fury had a voice that was just as distinct as his presence. The man with the eye patch came front and center to meet your cold glare.

"Good to see you, Agent Athena," he said cautiously as if approaching a wild animal.

"Just Y/N. I'm a civilian, Nick, and you sure took your sweet time getting here," you scoffed.

"Thought it would be best to wait until their slow asses got here."

"I know what you did."

"You wouldn't take my calls."

"I know you led them to me."

"No, they were already on you. I simply did not intervene."

"I'll kill you if this happens again."

"I know. Why the hell do you think I left you alone all these years?"

Tony was astounded. Nick was a manipulative son of a bitch who will use any means he has to get a team together or to complete a mission. It was always for the greater good, a greater cause that justified the inconvenience of so many others. It was only this moment that he saw a genuine concern for his safety at a mere verbal threat and what looked suspiciously like regret for roping some poor civilian in. He needed to know everything about this girl right now.

You regarded the Director's words and the almost indiscernible tick of his jaw. He was nervous. You smirked. Good. That confirmed that he truly must be desperate to resort to disrupting your peace. You nodded, satisfied. Fury's shoulders relaxed for a fraction of a second but before anyone aside from you could notice, he had reverted back to his normal hard exterior.

"Got anything useful for me?"

You rolled your eyes at Fury before wordlessly jumping down from your seat. Despite your heavy boots, your footsteps were light as a cat's. Bucky noticed this despite being partly distracted by your naked legs and your shapely rump.

Steve on the other hand was paying more attention to where you were going. He frowned as he watched you go around to the back of one of the sofas at the other end of the common room. Whatever he was expecting you to pull out, it definitely wasn't a half conscious man twice your size who was bound and gagged.

With what looked to be very little effort, you pulled the man by the back of his disheveled black suit to kneel in front of the group of superheroes. Tony was more than just surprised by the show of strength, looking around the room though he noticed that Natasha, Clint, and Fury were unfazed. His mind began buzzing with theories on what exactly you were.

"Who's your friend, Y/N?" Clint said with a smirk.

"This is Lawrence, the bitch that knocked over my completed Hogwarts Lego model when he attacked me in my home tonight."

Bucky didn't fail to notice that your tone seemed to imply that you were more pissed off about your ruined toy rather than the attempt at your life. You slapped the man's face a few times until he opened his one good eye, the other not opening from how badly his face had been beaten.

"Hi, Lawrence." Your tone was sweet but your smile was sinister, a sight that caused the captive to immediately struggle against his restraints. You clapped a firm hand on his shoulder to still him. "Tell the nice Avengers here what you told me and I'll give you up to SHIELD custody.

Deal?"

Lawrence nodded his head rapidly, the fear and desperation clear in his eyes. You nodded in acceptance and ripped off the duct tape covering his mouth.

He gasped at the sting before suddenly pleading his case to Earth's Mightiest. "You gotta get me away from this crazy bitch!"

There was an audible crack heard around the room when your leg connected with his ribs. Even Natasha winced at the impact and Sam let out a string of expletives. Steve was beginning to think that this conversation was better suited to an interrogation room.

"That's not nice, Lawrence," you said softly as if talking to a toddler. "Tell them."

He groaned in pain but nodded his compliance. "The man you're looking for is Allan Levy. His base is in Boston. All the intel you have for potential suspects and bases were decoys."

"How the hell have we been fed bad intel?" Tony asked, rightfully enraged. All of their intel had come either from his own systems or from SHIELD's intelligence team. That could only mean one thing and the stress was already triggering his acid reflux.

"Lara Chan and Emmanuel Smith," Lawrence grunted after catching a sharp look from you. "They're technical analysts and coders in SHIELD who have been planting false leads in your systems for months."

"Who sent them?" Bucky growled, knowing the answer but needing to hear it.

"Hydra."

That one word threw the whole room into chaos with most of the animosity directed at Fury.

"What the hell is going on, Fury? I thought we fixed that problem years ago! Now you're telling us that Hydra is back and somehow under our roof again?"

Steve was fuming. Not only were they led on a wild goose chase but somehow this organization was back. A large part of his frustration was also due to his protectiveness of Bucky.

Fury met the Captain's anger unflinchingly. "Why the fuck do you think we're having this conversation right now, Cap? I suspected something was wrong when you came up empty on the second base you hit and they're not stupid enough to try the same shit twice. They're risking it all right now for one reason."

"Are you gonna tell us or do we have to guess?" Tony snapped.

A sharp cry from the captive caught everyone's attention. You had landed a firm kick to his spine from your comfortable seat on the armchair. No one knew how or why but you were now munching on Tony's biscuits again.

"Project Olympus," Lawrence groaned.

"Are you seriously eating my cookies again?" Tony said making a move to snatch them away from you only to stop mid stride as the words registered. "Hold on. Project Olympus is a myth! It's an old wives tale in SHIELD."

"What the damn hell is Project Olympus?" Sam interrupted. He was sorely confused with the information provided only birthing even more questions.

"Project Olympus is basically a ghost story in SHIELD. The legend goes that there was a top secret faction in SHIELD that was aimed to create and train Agents that would be the first line of defense for the world. A league of heroes to be deployed when shit went down," Tony began to recount what he remembered of the tale.

"That sounds suspiciously like the Avengers Initiative," Sam commented.

"It essentially was, but the key word here is create," Fury added.

"Super Soldiers," Tony said simply.

"No," Steve said through gritted teeth.

"Yes, Capsicle. You were the first of your kind, but you were gone and they wanted more soldiers like you. This was said to have happened way before anyone had any idea that you were alive but frozen in the middle of the ocean," Tony continued. "But that's impossible. Like I said it's all just a story. There are no files, logs, or any traces of anything even remotely referring to it. I know because I've tried extensively. There's no possible way - "

You watched in amusement as the cogs in his head turned, putting all the pieces together. You bit into another biscuit and leaned back on the chair while you waited. As he turned his head slowly to stare at you with his jaw open, the rest of his team followed suit. You could practically see the lightbulb flash above their heads and had to hold in a laugh.

Project Olympus.

Fury had called you Agent Athena.

"Bingo," you said tapping the side of your nose with your finger.

Steve and Bucky understood now why your movements felt somewhat familiar to them. The fluid yet sharp actions, the strength, the way your eyes scanned the room and each one of them to assess potential threats, the fear in your captive, even the tinge of trauma in your gaze. They saw it everyday in each other.

"They could have looked for the formula for the serum elsewhere. Why did they go after you specifically?" Fury asked. Instead of answering, you landed another kick to your captive's back.

"Her eggs!" he screamed. "They wanted to breed her to raise super soldiers."

"Sick fucks," Natasha growled, deeply offended at the means Hydra was willing to take.

"I take it this means you're in?" Fury asked you, almost hopefully.

"Just this once," you nodded. "Allan Levy made it personal. I'm taking down that motherfucker either way, Nick. Coming to you was a courtesy."

"I appreciate it. Welcome to the Avengers. We'll set up a room for you in the compound and get you whatever you need. Natasha or Clint can show you to your room."

You waved your hand to dismiss him. "FRIDAY already hooked me up. What do you think I've been doing while I waited? You know I have a short attention span."

"Did you do something to FRIDAY?" Tony looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack.

"Go get some rest. We'll talk in the morning," Fury said ignoring the angry billionaire.

"No, we're talking right now. I have a million questions I need answered," Tony insisted.

"Just read my file. Oh no, wait. There is no file." You smiled slyly, his huffing only further amusing you. "Calm your tits, Stark. I'm sure Nat, Clint, and Nick will brief you extensively once I'm out of here."

On cue, both super spies raised their thumbs in confirmation. You smiled at them both before turning back to Fury.

"Did you get everything you needed from him?" you asked cocking your head at the captive.

"Yeah. We can transfer - "

A loud gunshot erupted in the room catching everyone off-guard. Every single person ducked for cover at the sound except for you and Fury. You stood there keeping your eyes locked with Fury's, your arm outstretched clutching a smoking gun aimed at a now lifeless Lawrence.

"Good night, Nick."

The stench of gunpowder and blood was thick in the air and not a word was said until you had disappeared down the hall. The look of horror and shock was shared by each face on the team.

The Avengers had moved to the conference room after the mess you made in the common room. They all sat in silent shock for a while just each trying to process your actions while the cleaning team restored the other room. More than the sudden execution, they were all haunted by the look in your eyes.

"We can't have that psychopath on our team, Fury," Tony said quietly, almost in a whisper as if fearing that you would hear him and shoot him next.

"That woman is downright vicious," Sam mumbled as he shook off the chill that ran through his spine.

"She wasn't always like that you know," Clint said sadly. His arms rested on the table and he was fiddling with his hands. "I knew her before Project Olympus. She was a code breaker, technical analyst, strategy runner, basically a whiz with a computer. Could give you a run for your money, Stark."

Tony scoffed but that did explain how you bypassed his security and left no trace. He checked. It was clean. He wouldn't admit it but he was impressed.

"She was the best we had," Fury agreed. "Still is. Nobody has come close to her skill. What she can do in 30 minutes takes at least nine days for a full team."

"So she was the resident genius! Big deal."

It was Clint's turn to scoff at Tony's remark. "It was way more than that. Any mission she plans out is sure to be completed in the fastest time possible with little to no casualties for both sides."

Everyone else furrowed their brows in confusion. Being in the Avengers meant that exploding vehicles, collapsing skyscrapers, and bloody battles were standard for a mission. It was normal to charge in guns blazing for them.

"I remember the first Y/N mission I had," Natasha said with a fond smile. "I followed her instructions to the tee and finished in 16 minutes. I didn't run into a single soul. It felt so weird that I thought for sure I must have gone to the wrong place.

"My record is 9 minutes. Zero casualties or injuries," Clint chuckled.

"Show off," Natasha teased with a soft shove to his shoulder. "Later I found out that she activates in perfect intervals several small distractions like package deliveries, emails notifications, news bulletins, and even coffee brewing to allow you a small window to slip through. They're so stupidly mundane and timed perfectly that no one gets suspicious until weeks later. She's a fucking genius for sure."

"Y/N didn't care if it's enemy or ally blood that will be spilled. To her, people are people and a life is a life. So she goes through all that trouble to make sure that no one even gets a papercut," Clint said with a wistful smile. "Plus she told me she liked puzzles and it was like a high stakes jigsaw puzzle to her."

Natasha laughed, shaking her head. "Adorable little weirdo."

Steve and Bucky smiled. The image of you happy and idealistic somehow warming their hearts. It was strange, but they felt a strong urge to do anything to see you smile in peaceful joy.

"That sounds nothing like the murder fairy we all just saw," Sam said.

Fury sighed, his shoulders were heavy with guilt that they were yet to understand. "Y/N wanted to help more. Said she wanted to be more hands on with helping the cause, but she kept failing agent physical exams. Her mind was strong as all heck but her body wasn't."

"Kid was legally blind with how thick her glasses were," Clint laughed. "Scrawny and uncoordinated too like a baby deer."

Steve couldn't stop his smile from growing wide. You were just like him, just wanting to fight for his country even if his body refused to cooperate. He just wanted to have a greater purpose and be able to make the world a better place. He felt more connected to you with this new knowledge.

"We approached her for Project Olympus and she jumped at the chance immediately." Fury took a moment to shake his head in regret. "Well you know how the serum works. We called her Athena, a warrior goddess with the wisdom in strategy of a seasoned general."

"You don't send a weapon like that just to retrieve secrets. You send it to kill whole armies and target leaders of terrorist cells," Natasha said darkly. "At first she was okay. She was fighting to protect the world from horrible people so she learned to deal with the blood on her hands. One day she snapped. You know the rest of the ghost story, Tony?"

He nodded slowly as he recalled the ridiculous story that was whispered among agents. "Rumor has it that the super soldier murdered everyone who had anything to do with Project Olympus and shut the whole program down. Every file burned and every trace deleted. No bodies were ever found. There was something wrong with the serum that drove it insane."

"Rumors are hardly ever true. This would be the exception," Fury said with a smirk as he scrolled through his phone. "But if you have any doubt take a look at the screen. These images were taken by the cleaning crew sent to her house tonight. Take a look now because in 30 seconds this will be automatically deleted."

Each face in the room reflected varying degrees of horror, sadness, fear, and disgust as Fury flicked through the photos. It showed absolute carnage. The living room and kitchen was completely trashed, but what was more notable was the fact that blood was everywhere; the walls, furniture, floor, and even on the ceiling. More disturbing still was how random torn limbs, internal organs, and ripped up torsos were strewn across the destruction. None of them could be certain, but there was at least 18 bodies there. Counting the captive you brought to the Compound, that made at least 19 people that you murdered on your own. Sam's face paled and he looked like he was about to vomit.

Just like Fury said, the screen suddenly went black and the photos were gone without a trace in exactly 30 seconds.

"There's one thing about that rumor that's not true." Fury started to tap his fingers on the table in a subtle and rare show of nerves. "There was nothing wrong with the serum. She found out the truth about Project Olympus."

"There are 12 gods in the Olympus myths and Athena is just one of them. There are 11 more that needed to be recruited," Natasha swallowed hard. "Y/N thought she was being sent to eliminate bad people, but the truth was she was being sent to target families with young mutant children."

Bucky clenched his fists, the metal plates on his arm shifting noisily. He knew where this was going having an intimate knowledge of Hydra, but it took all of his will to keep his anger in check.

"She didn't know at first because sometimes she was sent to deal with legit threats, but she began to get suspicious quickly. Hydra decided that kids are easier to brainwash naturally and to grow loyalty organically. They're impressionable and also grieving for the loss of their families. She eventually found out," Fury said his head hanging low. "She tracked down every motherfucker that had a hand in Project Olympus. Killed every single one in cold blood, rescued all the kids and sent them to Xavier's school, burned down every base and document, then released a virus into the internet that actively obliterates any mention of it. No one could stop it. No one could stop her."

Bucky's heart clenched as he felt the connection to you snap in place just as it did with Steve. His though was far darker. You were tricked into serving a false cause by taking advantage of your desire to help people. Forced to serve the purpose of a sick organization. He could only imagine the rage that burned through you when you found out. Children. He would have done the exact same thing. He admired your intelligence even more now because even in what he assumed was a blind rage, you had strategically followed a plan that would protect the children and ensure a better future for them.

"If she killed off everyone who knew about Olympus then how come you three know?" Tony asked as he rubbed the stubble on his chin.

"Y/N was still Y/N underneath the anger," Clint murmured. Sam saw a hint of tears before his teammate blinked them away. "She only killed those who actually knew what Hydra was doing with Olympus. She spared the three of us because we honestly didn't know."

The archer was still grateful for that small mercy. If not for that, he wouldn't have the life he had right now with his family. He thanked every god there was to ever exist that he was spared.

"She came to me you know," Fury said softly. "She told me her suspicions and I didn't believe her. Even if I did I wasn't a Director yet back then. I hardly had any pull to do anything. I never forgave myself for that."

"If we had listened to her then we would have been able to weed out Hydra way before the Avengers were even formed. Maybe we could have saved Bucky earlier too," Natasha added.

Tony looked at the faces of his colleagues. He understood now. He was the first to speak after a long drawn out silence that was heavy with the ghosts of past regrets.

"Fury?"

"Yeah, Stark?"

"I really don't want that psychopath on our team."

Masterlist

[gagmebucky]

His metal hand easily pins your wrists above your head, his body slotted between your thighs keeps them from closing. You can feel the hard pressure pressing against your center, your hips involuntarily writhing and rocking against it in a half - attempt to escape the hold.

It’s impossible to break out of, and you’re in disbelief of just how turned you are, and you don’t know if you keep wiggling to get away or to burgeon the heat in your gut.

His eyes are a penetrating blue that pierce your soul, a cocky twist of his lips as his nose inhales up the column of your neck, coming over to nip at your ear lobe. “Keep doin’ that, doll,” he purrs, and it shoves a shudder down your back, “and I’m gonna have to fuck you the lesson into you.”

in which a smart-mouthed comment leads to an instructive sparring session with bucky. (includes dirty talk, unprotected sex, mirror sex, enemies to lovers.)

do not repost.

—

The first time you met Bucky Barnes, he embarrassed you.

Admittedly, you deserved it, talking while he tried to instruct his standard level combat class. But, Christ, you were just nervous; plucked out of illegal hacking to work at one of the most dangerous agencies in the world, you were only rambling insubordinately to distract from your anxiety.

But the handsome bastard just had berate you in front of everyone! And, yes, by the end of class, he had publicly apologized to you, admitting his wrong doing, that he should not have went about it in such a disrespectful way.

Problem was, the damage was done. Your ego, a very impenetrable one, was thoroughly bruised, you couldn’t simply forgive how your skin prickled warm in humiliation, face flushed as unwanted attention was forced onto you.

Unbeknownst to him, at the time, he made a deadly enemy—a relentless and annoying one.

You see, you’re the biggest asshole you know, and you know Loki and Tony Stark (both concede to your self - proclaimed title). You, also, turned out to be more skilled than the higher - ups realized, later landing you in the big leagues, one of the primaries in technological support on his team.

A few months now, and you haven’t forgotten. Neither has he because, holy shit, you’re actually a walking pest; the personification of a fly buzzing in one’s ear despite repetitive swats. Truth be told, at this point, it isn’t even about him embarrassing you ages ago, it’s just plain fun.

There’s this inexplicable rush that pounds through you when those baby blues glint almost black, his jaw ticking, and his fists curl at his sides like he’s barely keeping himself from wrapping a metal hand around your throat.

You practically quiver every time.

In this particular incident, you don’t even remember what you said, an offhandedly comment to the effect of him having no technique (a bald-faced lie, you already know).

You didn’t realize how far you went until: “That’s it!” he’d snarled, slamming you against the nearest wall in the common area, every muscle in his body coiled in restraint. “Training module, now!”

Which brings you here in the training room (because you jest, you quip, you snark but ultimately you’ll obey him). It’s large white expanse, mirrors on one wall, floored padded with black mats, springy underneath your toes. Advanced technology equipment is tucked neatly away on the walls since it’s only going to be you and him, plain hand to hand combat.

Your attire is accordingly, tight but flexible yoga pants and matching sports bra, hair tied high in a ponytail. Barefoot, you bounce to the center of the mats, glancing around at the empty space, nostalgic and a little surprised you beat him there. For a second, you question whether or not he was serious.

Until the automatic doors open and close, in walking his nonchalant mass of six feet, loose fitting tank top and black sweats, metal arm shining underneath the cool lighting. His handsome features are on full display, shoulder length hair tied in at the nape of his neck, a few raven tendrils hanging free. Blue eyes take upon yours, cool as the ocean, glittering like the sun on waves, a faint curve of his lips as he looks at you.

You note, with a flutter of your heart, his demeanor is a contrast to the rage he showed previously. You fold your arms and smirk, already knowing you’re going to invoke that again. “How are you gonna be late to a meeting you called?” you criticize like you’ve room to talk considering your usual aversion to punctuatiality.

To your surprise, you have no effect—at least, not the one you’re use to. All he does is chuckle, a husky but soft vibration, and step further in; a whiff of his spring fresh scent breezing into your nose, and you have to resist the urge to inhale deeper.

“This isn’t a meeting, doll,” he says, friendly. It eviscerates completely with dark spear of his gaze, something there that cultivates desire and fear inside you, and he clarifies, “This is a lesson.”

You accidentally laugh, hands flying to your mouth to smother it, ignoring what thrums low in your belly: instincts suddenly alive, the possible consequences of your behavior beginning to settle in. “Excuse me?” is all you can manage, your demeanor displaying that you refuse take him seriously.

His confidence doesn’t waiver like you need it to. An amused quirk of his lips, pressing on with lazy strides, almost encircling. “Do you know what your problem is?” he rhetorics, blinking at you, head tilted. “You aren’t nearly as good as you think you are, and it’s about time someone show you that.” A cocky smirk tugs at his kissable lips, rolling his shoulders in preparation, now coming a few inches away. “Obviously, you want that to me be.”

You are so not scared; it may stun you—turn you on a bit—but you are not worried whatsoever. You take reassurance in the knowledge that Bucky Barnes is not like you. He doesn’t have ability of that dark provokation like you. If he did, he would’ve done it by now, but he’s too much of a goody - goody. Right?

Hiding your inner doubt is easy because it always presents outwardly mocking. “Oh, the Winter Soldier is trying to intim—”

Your taunting is abruptly cut off in a matter of seconds when he hooks his ankle around yours and sweeps outward. Effectively knocking you off your footing, you go tumbling to the ground, a splat as your body collides face down into the plastic cushion.

“Shit,” you breathe roughly, blinking rapidly to adjust your world being turned upside down. “We’re seriously doing this.” The dizziness fades, and your eyes flicker to his that burn into you. Your is smile wry, unable to resist your teasing nature. “Is this how you like it, Barnes?” You slowly rise. “I bet you’re probably getting off on this.”

“You’re projecting right now, doll.” His eyes narrow dangerously, glancing at your chest, specifically your hard nipples, and inhales deeply; a smirk appearing. “I know that for a fact.”

Your jaw clenches, and you finally get to your feet. “I’m gonna rip that arm off and beat you with it,” you say and look up but he’s gone. A man that built shouldn’t move that quick or that soundless. By the second, you feel he’s behind you, it’s too late.

A sharp kick to the back of your knees sends you to them, almost falling forward on your face if not for the hand that tangles in your hair. He pulls your head back, forcing eye contact, bright blue eyes above yours.

“You look pretty like this, doll. I should get you on your knees more often. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You refuse to answer—yes, please, yes—and he tugs on your hair in silent command, the sting in your scalp too good to stop a noise from vibrating from your throat. “Now who’s getting off on what? Always knew you liked it rough, ice queen.”

Your eyes narrow into his, and your elbow jabs back, hitting the monosynaptic reflex that has him involuntarily releasing you. Knocked off balance, you quickly reach behind, catching his wrist to flip him forward.

In time with his back colliding with the ground, a quickness rivaling his, you lithely roll on top of him. Straddling him at the waist, you attempt to pin his wrists down but they rotate to grab yours. In tandem, his hips cant up, a bulge that rubs along your center that momentarily paralyzes you.

Arousal sinks its teeth into you again, something he takes advantage of, your hands flying to his chest. His arms snake around your middle, one hand grabbing your pony tail again, eye sight upward as he leans up to run his nose along your throat.

His lips brush over, a faint purse like he’s going to kiss the soft junction there, and it has you weak. Suddenly, he smirks, a scorching curve on your skin. “Too easy,” he breathes, then he’s on top of you.

His metal hand easily pins your wrists above your head, his body slotted between your thighs keeps them from closing. You can feel the hard pressure pressing against your center, your hips involuntarily writhing and rocking against it in a half - attempt to escape the hold.

It’s impossible to break out of, and you’re in disbelief of just how turned you are, and you don’t know if you keep wiggling to get away or to burgeon the heat in your gut.

His eyes are a penetrating blue that pierce your soul, a cocky twist of his lips as his nose inhales up the column of your neck, coming over to nip at your ear lobe. “Keep doin’ that, doll,” he purrs, and it shoves a shudder down your back, “and I’m gonna have to fuck you the lesson into you.”

Your back arches, body unable to resist the effect he has on you. “Cheater,” you choke. “You’re cheating.”

“Maybe.” He chuckles. “If you didn’t like it so much.”

Two can play at that game, you realize. You work yourself in a provoking, encouraging grind; it extracts a throaty groan from him, swelling bigger against you. It’s fucking good, and you almost give in but the ruse somehow stays in tact.

You tilt your head down to catch his lips. He doesn’t hesitate to kiss you, relaxing as you allow him to taste you, a shallow and slow entanglement. His hand lets go of yours, both going to cup your cheeks presumably.

But in that split second, you shove him shoulders, the surprise sending him wayward as you slip from underneath him. Tingling all over, you force yourself to your shaking legs, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

“Good girl,” he commends breathlessly, impressed, following your lead, but straightened with confidence. A few strands in his face that he tucks back, looking at you wolfishly, lax stance with no intention on actual combat.

“We aren’t—you aren’t sparing with me.”

That’s a fact. You’re an idiot for not realizing it sooner; you’ve seen him in action through your computer screen and in person. He’s skilled, quick and efficient—takes opponents down in matter of seconds, real or in training simulations. There’s no with toying them like he does with you.

It might make sense he’s trying to get you back and wants to draw it out except these moves are kindergarten, nowhere near the true power he possesses and pain he can invoke. Instead, he hasn’t tried once, not like he should considering how you’ve treated him. So why?

Your eyes narrow suspiciously, the gears not yet turning. “The hell are you doing, Barnes?”   

“I told you.” You’re encircling him, or he’s encircling you—the syntax important to differentiate who’s in control, and you’re slowly realizing it isn’t you. That calculated manner is rearing itself, but not in the way you’re use to, or yet understand. “This is a lesson.”

“And what lesson is that?”

“That fighting your attraction to me, trying to hide behind that smart fucking mouth of yours, is pointless.” The knowing edge to his voice, the undeniable fact of it, feeling it in your bones; it making you reckless. “That you can keep fighting against me, but you’ll keep losing.”

As if in exemplification, he thwarts your wild attempt to punch: a jab aimed at that sharp jaw he catches, the power pushed through you absorbed by his hand covering your fist. In an easy manhandling, he pulls you forward and spins you around, an arm caging across your waist.

The position angles you both in front of the mirrors: a front row view of your losing. Your back molds to his abdomen, a faint pain in your shoulder as he braces your forearm at your lower back. His other anchors across your hips, fingers curled securely around your hip bone. He’s staring back at you, unmoved by how you fight against the containment, loose strands framing his face.

“Or. . .” he speaks in your ear, eyes clouding with an intensity that silently stills you. “Or, you could just fucking admit it. That you’re hotter than you’ve ever been because you get off on me, that this is like a dream come true.”

No doubt, he feels the heaviness in your breathing, how it hitches as your heart stutters. That defiant trait has been waning since the start, and he knows it’s on the verge of disappearing in his wake. Still, you force indifference: not yet able to accept how he’s effortlessly flipped the script.

“You - you wish.”

“Is that so?” He smirks at your reflection, never missing a beat. “Then why are you wet?”

Before you can vehemently deny that entirely correct deduction, he’s shoving his hand under your pants and panties, palming your slick sex with a rough knead: an undeniable confirmation of how badly you want him, and the snap of what control you’ve been trying to maintain. Just like that, you’re careening into his touch with a whimper.

“Fuck me,” he says with a note of disbelief as you coat his fingers. “Now, feel that.” To emphasize his point, he’s digging in even harder, fingers undulating up and down your folds so harshly you’re almost squealing, writhing against the pressure. “Your little pussy is fuckin’ soaked ‘cause of me, doll. Might as well as admit it, now. Can’t hide it anymore.”

“Bucky—” you moan, squeezing your eyes shut because you can’t handle the satisfaction he’s getting from making you fall apart in the palm of his hand, your own arousal that rises as a result of. “I - I—”

“Did y’think I’m an idiot? Y’think I didn’t know you provoke me on purpose?” He’s got you now; the heat of his stare on your reflection forcing your gaze back open. “That you’re so needy for me you have to resort to pissing me off? That you’re practically dripping every time you’re in the same room as me? I bet you touch yourself just thinkin’ about me, thinkin’ about what I’d do if I got my hands on you.”  

You can only whimper, a whiny plead, a nonverbal: don’t stop, please.

“Now, c’mon, and say it,” he goads heatedly. “Let me hear you and, I swear to God I’ll fuck you so hard, you’ll cry.” Pools of darkened blue penetrate you with promise. “If you don’t, I'm gonna have to leave you here, doll. Think you could stand that? Think your little fingers would make you feel better than mine?”

“I want you, Bucky!” you gasp because you know the answer is big N-O. “God. I want you so bad.”

His lips tilt and brush along your temple. “I know, doll.” It’s a proud remark, either of the fact, or that you admitted it, probably both. In any other situation, it’d drive you crazy; in this way, it also down but for an entirely different reason.

For the admission, he rewards with a focused, targeted onslaught; his calloused fingertips press hard and swirl relentlessly against your bundle of nerves. Heat begins spiraling out at an alarmingly rapid rate you didn’t think was possible, shooting throughout your body, and he has you frenzied with pleasure.

Your head falls to his shoulder, throat bared as encouraging sounds vibrate up. Taking the opportunity, he kisses along the column of your neck, teeth sinking to make marks that’ll be there days after, the sting echoing in your clit.

Amongst this, the hand between your thighs is working overtime, his other follows the curve of your body to massage a sports bra - clad breast. “Off.” His voice is a growl on your skin, and amid the sensations, you manage to shakily pull the straps down your shoulders.

Your breasts bounce free, nipples like pebbles, prickling with desperation for his touch; something he automatically knows, a metal hand caressing and pinching your peaks between his fingers until you’re crying out.

“Now look at that.” He’s utterly thrilled by your reflection. “Writhing in the palm of my hand like a cat in heat. No smart comments, doll?” He knows you don’t, shaking your head in sheer desperation. “Exactly what I thought. Good girl.”

It’s perfectly too much, and you shatter: “Oh, shit. B - Bucky, I’m gonna—” Flames blaze your senses, a wave of bliss rocking through every inch of you. You seize up, riding it out as he watches intently, ministrations slowing as you jolt and jerk beneath him.

The residual shocks have you trembling, your only support the mountain of a man behind you who loosens up to let you slide down to the ground. Your knees hit the black mat, a hand reaching forward to the cool mirrored glass, heavenly against your fevered skin.

Ragged breaths stuttering past your lips as you recover, short lived because Bucky’s sinking his knees, too, grabbing the hem of your pants. You look up, his eyes smug against yours as he renders the stretchy fabric into tattered spandex; he rips it right down the middle, your panties included, a gust of cold air breezing over your heated center.  

Your attention shifts from his face to below, breathing hitching when you get a glimpse of his hard anatomy freed from the confines of his sweats: long, thick, bulbous tip angry with tears of pre cum. That is going inside you? A part of you ravenously rises to the challenge while another is shrinking away in doubt.

He notices your bewitched stare, a satisfied tilt of his lips, his arm hooking back around your waist, an affirmation that, yes, yes it is. “Keep watching,” he rasps, a hand guiding himself between your slippery folds. “Don’t fucking look away, doll. I want you to see your pretty little pussy taking my cock like this.”

And, he pushes it, eliciting a gasp as your swollen channel swallows him up, a sting at his girth and sensitivity, and you’re stuffed to the very brim. The sight is transfixing, much hotter than you initially anticipation—erotic to see yourself so lewdly.

Your fingertips curl into the mirror, a handprint to be left in your wake; electrified desire restarts in the pit of your stomach. “Bucky. . .” You’re whimpering in need, your velvety walls flutter and squeeze around him but he remains still inside you.

You check his reflection: a vein in his neck pulsing that you’ve only seen when you’ve really pissed him off, jaw tight and ticking in restraint, slow breaths through his nose. His eyes pierce yours, the silent pleading glimmer to your striking orbs.

“Beg,” he says. “I want you to look at yourself, and beg me to fuck you.”

There should be some resistance, right? Something like common sense to make you think twice about giving in, but there isn’t. You swallow thickly, forced to take in how debauched you’ve become because of Bucky Barnes.

Your face is flushed with warmth, a light sheen of sweat across your forehead, lips stained with spit, a frizziness to your hair: ripped clothes, bra a string around your ribs. Effectively, you’re a mess: a wanton and dishevelled mess of a woman—all at the expertise of him.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please. . . please fuck me, Bucky.”

Delight gleams in desire heavy blue eyes, his lips pressing against your pulse to murmur, “When my sweet girl asks so nicely. . .”

That’s when the fucking finally begins: long strokes that delve deep as possible, hard and quick. A hand still on the mirror grounds you, the other clutching his forearm across your waist, your hips rocking back to meet him for every thrust.

“You look so - so pretty like this, doll, wrapped so tight around my cock. Should’ve had you like this ages ago, should’ve fucked you the second you thought you could mouth off to me,” he growls in your ear.  “Don’t you agree?” Overcome by the bliss building, you can’t form a verbal answer, which makes him repeat with punishing slams: “I said, don’t—you—agree?”

You’re all in now—well, he’s all in—and getting fucked by Bucky Barnes has done something to your usually prideful ego because you’d do just about anything he said. You don’t even blink. “Yes!” you moan, breath fogging up the mirror, eyes on his. “Y - yes!”

His hand slips down and hones in on your clit. “Good girl.” Being at the end of the Winter Soldier’s temper is fun, but being at the end of his praise is unbelievably better. “You’re gonna cum, again, aren’t you?” He’s smiling into your hair. “Not yet, doll. Wait for me.”

At this point, he’s just showing off—giving you impossible orders knowing you’ll do it, knowing you’ll do your absolute best to please him. And why does that turn you on so? You whimper and spasm around him. “Bucky, please.”

“You fucking heard me. Not yet, not yet—” Your muscles are like a vice, tensing every other second as he spears into you with a vengeance. He curses, and you knows he’s approaching the end of his rope. Which is good because you can’t get a hold of your own.

“Please, please—” That hits the spot, literally, as he surges forward and buries himself to the hilt, your name a curse and prayer. You swell at the same time he does, a kaleidoscope of fevered feelings that have blinding white seizing you: clamping down while the heavenly feeling is drawn out by him filling you hotly.

Your forehead rests on the glass, small tremors working through you, both of your shaking hands pressed against. “I can’t believe we actually, finally, just—” You’re speechless that it happened, but that’s not what cuts you off—it’s that he’s still inside you, still just as hard as before, twitching.

“You say that like we’re done.” His eyes are sparkling with something wicked in the mirror. “Oh, doll. I’m getting you back for every one of those smart ass comments, and you’re going to take it all.”

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