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chrisevansredbelt · 3 years ago

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Just a Stranger

pairing: mmmm like ceo!frank castle x stripper!reader

warning: no smut today i’m sorry but this is a cute little story starter no? suggestive themes, semi lap dance.

summary: your regular customer hasn’t visited in weeks. but he comes back with a proposition for you.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*･ﾟ☆

Sighing to yourself, you begin recounting your money, losing count after hearing the door to the locker rooms slam. Muttering the numbers under your breath, you just about finish your stack of dollar notes before getting tapped on the ass.

You would’ve clocked your fist straight into their face had you not heard their heels pattering throughout the room. Spinning around, you find your dear friend and colleague Natasha.

You smile up at her and before you can greet her, she speaks first. Resting her ass against the counter, she smiles tellingly down at you in your seat, “You’ve got a visitor.”

You immediately knew what that meant. Hell, every girl that worked here knew what that meant and you wouldn’t be surprised if a few regular customers even knew as well.

Stuffing all your money into the safety of your money bag and tying it shut, you quickly fix up your hair and makeup. Natasha just snorts at you, leaving you to it as she goes back out onto the main stage.

You practically reapplied your whole makeup, having worked your ass off on the poles last and bar tonight, you were dishevelled. And it was no help that it was some guys 21st birthday and he’d rounded all his friends and dads to come join him in his celebration. As good as the money was, you hate 21st birthday celebrations. They’re just a bunch of horny college kids doing sport and their dads are no better (just hotter).

Slipping your heels back on, you don’t even care for the ache of your feet. Before you leave, you grab the key from the hook above the door and practically skip your way over to the extra extra private room.

The private rooms for private dances are all on the bottom floor. However, this special room that you need to hike the spiral staircase to get to, is a much more private room for much more private activities.

It’s not as in use as you may think. The girls here aren’t just willingly offering themselves to anybody. And no amount of money could get a girl up there. No, these rooms are for special customers only. Special customers as in, the men that work under the big man that owns the club, Tony Stark.

He has heaps of men, of all shapes and sizes, and we all love them. They’re basically our colleagues when you think about it, all working under Tony- sometimes on top- depends how he’s feeling.

The upstairs isn’t just a bedroom either, it’s a whole apartment, if you will. Tony throws a few parties there every now and again or if a girl has troubles with her housing then it’s a free bed and breakfast. Tony takes care of us.

You keen in excitement as you reach the top of the stairs, shoving the key into the lock and opening the door.

It’s eerily quiet, but you smell him. You could’ve dropped to your knees, it’s been so long.

You make your way through the usually crowded and dark loft. It was hard to recognise this place after seeing what it looked like during one of Tony’s more intense parties. Strobe lights and filled with smoke. When it wasn’t occupied, it had a warm feeling. Homey, even. The lights were a warm tone, the decor was so inviting and the view of New York from across the manhattan bridge was just a dream.

The click of your heels was made silent by the fluffy carpet and you’re glad, hoping to catch him by surprise because you always loved the way he lit up whenever he saw you.

As you exit the foyer, into the main living area, you spot the back of him sitting comfortably on one of the couches, drink in hand and blunt in the other as he looks out at the view.

Sneaking up behind him, you cover his eyes softly with your hands and feel him jump under your skin.

“C’mon now.” Frank snorts, placing his drink down and his blunt in his mouth to softly grasp your hands in his and remove them from his eyes to see you.

He smiles wider, looking over you, subtly admiring you. It’s been so long.

With both your hands in his grasp, he easily pulls you over the couch and into his lap.

“Hey, stranger.” You sigh as you get comfortable, hands wrapping around behind his neck and playing with the soft strands of hair that tickle your wrist.

As he goes back to retrieve his drink from the table, he scoffs and removed the joint from his mouth, “Stranger?” He asks, blowing the smoke away from your face.

You shrug, sliding your hands down his chest, “You haven’t visited in like a month.” You pout before looking up at him, “You find a replacement for me?”

“Never.” He barely hesitates. Deep down you know it’s true, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t cross your mind in his absence.

Leaning in to, what Frank would think, to kiss his neck, you whisper in his ear, “Liar.” You sneer, “I can smell her on you.”

Your plans to make Frank freak out and beg on his knees for your forgiveness and to tell you you’re the only one he wants fails as he just scoffs. Pulling your face out of his neck, he’s glad to finally see your face again and brings his hand up to give you a pull of his cigarette, “You’re so dramatic.” You wrap your lips around the end of the joint and inhale, “You should try your luck in acting.”

“Mmm, what kind?” You ask suggestively, pulling away and blowing out the smoke, “You could be my colleague.”

“You’re ridiculous.” He shakes his head with a laugh.

“You’re telling me Punisher Porn isn’t what the people want?” You ask jokingly, but also not. You wouldn’t mind doing porn if it were with Frank, “It even sounds cool.”

Totally ignoring your last comment, he just places his blunt in the ash tray on the coffee table and his finished drink beside it as he places his hands over your hips, giving you his full, undivided attention, “Did you miss me?” He asks and you don’t answer straight away. Instead you just shrug, avoiding eye contact as you play with the fabric of his shirt, “C’mon, I missed you.” He nudges your chin up with his rough finger so that you’re forced to look up at him, your lips inches apart, “My favourite girl.”

Just as he leans in you cover his mouth with your hand, “No kissing.” You remind him.

Regular customers aren’t even supposed to touch you, let alone kiss you. And if that’s how you need to treat Frank in order to get him to realise your worth, then so be it.

“Don’t do that to me.” He whines, kissing your hand instead as he pulls it off his mouth and over his chest, “C’mon, you really think I was with another woman?” You don’t answer, instead just shrug yet again, “If I whipped out my balls right now, I promise you they’d be blue.”

“Then where were you?” You ask, starting to give him the benefit of the doubt.

He doesn’t answer straight away. Rather, looks at you for a moment probably to decide whether to lie or to tell the truth… and from his answer, you assume it’s the truth.

“Vegas.” He says cautiously and you roll your eyes, “It was a business trip!”

“I don’t even take private dances anymore for anyone but you and this is how you repay me?” Though it’s sort of said in a joking matter, it can’t be anywhere far from the truth. You truthfully have not taken anymore customers for private dances all because of Frank. He didn’t want to ‘share’ you. Well, you didn’t want to share him either.

“Baby, what do I have to do to convince you that you’re the only one I care about?” He finally pleads, fingers softly digging into your ass, “What time do you finish?”

You’re unable to contain the small smile that plays at your lips, “I’m already off.”

“Come back to my place then.” He asks and for the first time that night, he has you stunned. He’s never asked you to come back to his place before. He’s joked about it- you both have- but it never seemed like it would ever happen, “We can get a pizza or something and I’ll fuck you on every surface in the house.”

There was something very intimate about it all- being invited to Franks house. Sure, you’ve fucked before, but it was always up here in the club. Being fucked in his house where you would probably stay the night and share the same bed until the morning… that you would be more than happy doing every day.

“What d’ya say?”

“I say…” You start off, all blushy and smiley now, “We better hurry otherwise we’ll miss the pizza.”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*･ﾟ☆

i’m still working on the bj gif fic don’t worry

#jon bernthal #frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle smut #the punisher #frank castle x you #the punisher x reader #the punisher smut

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lcngliive · 1 year ago

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natasha & yelena ( @drvcxrys )

natasha had no idea if yelena remembered who she was or not, which was strange - she always had yelena, even when no one else was there. "the weather really has chilled out over the last few weeks, I wonder if it will snow,"

#natasha || interactions #natasha || private starters #&& yelena

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infcinity · 2 years ago

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hwevent15: murder mainia

natasha & loki ( @mischiefxmuses )

"whatever it is you have to say, save it for later - I'm not in the mood for whatever it is," it wasn't the most friendly thing she could have said to loki, but natasha really wasn't in the mood for anything right now. she hadn't even been back home to her apartment to change yet. she was still wearing the same clothes as yesterday - for when she found wanda with steve. "I have a lot of shit to deal with so if it's something important to help me stop whatever's happening then spit it out, if it's not then I don't care,"

#natasha || interactions #natasha || private starters #&& loki #death mention tw #murder mention tw #hwevent15

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avengerscompound · 2 years ago

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The Tower - The Science Conference

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 2535

Warnings: smut (MMF bisexual threesome, triple penetration)

Synopsis: Tony and Bruce attend a Science Conference to support Elise. After her lecture they have their very own private conference.

Author’s Note: Requested by K-Destiiny on Wattpad. You can send in your requests too.

The Science Conference

This take place just after The Tower and before the Holiday Special.

Fear of public speaking has long been said to rate higher than any other fear. Above spiders, incursions from outer space, even death. As I stood at the podium in front of a crowd of mostly strangers staring up at me - I could see why.

It was stupid really. With everything I’d been through in my life, you’d think standing up and giving a lecture on spontaneous mutation would have been a cakewalk. I’d run away from home at seventeen and put myself through college. I dated not one but two ex-Russian assassins. I’d been kidnapped and held hostage - and on one occasion I’d infiltrated a HYDRA base and helped take it down.

Yet here I was, standing in front of a full room, just talking about something I had been studying for years, and my heart was hammering so hard that I think I might have been speaking a little too loud just so I could hear myself over it.

In the sea of faces in front of me, most of whom I didn’t know, there were two that I knew very well right at the front, beaming up at me like I was giving a lecture on how I’d personally hung the stars in the sky.

I’d been invited to talk at a Theoretical Evolutionary Genetics at Berkley. Bruce was speaking soon, and Tony had tagged along out of interest's sake. At least that’s what he’d said. I felt like there was some pride in the fact that this was my first big conference lecture, and he wanted to be there for it.

I was glad they were there. For starters, looking down and seeing them both beaming up at me, had a calming effect. It wasn’t just that though. I didn’t get to go out with them very often. We didn’t date the way most people did and this was an actual trip together to San Francisco. We were staying in a hotel and going out to dinner together. We were even going to take a couple of days to do touristy things, despite Tony’s objections. It was nice seeing them getting recognition for things outside of Avengers stuff too. Tony did draw attention even here, but it was Bruce who was the star of the show. Everyone wanted to talk to him, and I loved getting to see that.

Most of all, it felt so fucking good to have two people there to support me like this. I’d never had that before, and now we were out as being in a relationship, I got to experience something so many people just took for granted.

I finished my lecture to a round of applause and after answering some questions, the room started to empty. I collected my things and came down to where Tony and Bruce were waiting for me. They each kissed me and Tony ran his hands down my arms. “That was so great. I’m dating a genius here,” Tony said.

“Tony, you’ve already heard my lecture. Every version of it. Multiple times,” I said, as I took his hand.

“I know,” he said. “But it’s like I learn something new every time.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Liar.”

“Alright, come on. Let’s go back to the hotel and change and I’ll take you both out to celebrate a successful presentation,” Tony said.

“I hope you do the same for Bruce tomorrow. He is the keynote speaker,” I said.

“Oh definitely,” he agreed. “I have reservations for the best restaurant in the city.”

Bruce blushed softly and shook his head. “You say things like that and I don’t know if you’re joking or not.”

Tony clapped him on the shoulder and wrapped his arm around him. “I wouldn’t joke about that! Atelier Crenn. It has three Michelin Stars. You have to book a year in advance. Well - if you’re not me.”

“Tony,” Bruce said. “We don’t have to do anything fancy.”

“I know that,” he said. “But we’re going to. You’re worth fawning over too, Brucie Bear.”

That just made Bruce blush more.

The three of us made our way back to the hotel and I started to strip off the grey pantsuit that I'd worn for the lecture.

“What was it you wanted to do while we were here?” Tony asked as he hung up his jacket.

“I wanted to go to Alcatraz. I wanted to see the sea lions at pier 39 and ride on that big double-decker carousel. I want to drive past the painted ladies. Oh - I want to go to the Winchester Mansion,” I said, listing the main things on the list. We didn’t have a lot of time, but it was better to say what I wanted and run out of time than to risk not even attempt to do them.

Tony groaned and rolled his eyes dramatically. “Such a tourist…”

“Oh!” I said as I wriggled out of my pants. “If we had time I’d like to drive down to Santa Cruz. That’s where they filmed The Lost Boys.”

“We might need to pass on that one, Santa Cruz, Alcatraz, and the Winchester Mansion are full days and we only have a couple to spare,” Bruce said. He was already down to his boxers and seemed to be deciding what to do next. “Besides, I’ve seen The Lost Boys and you’ll be wanting to go to the amusement park, and no offense, but I don’t think Hulk will let me ride a rollercoaster.”

“I’ll ride the rollercoaster with Hulk then,” I said and tossed my bra aside.

He looked me up and down as he walked over, wrapping his arms around my waist. “Hulk thinks he’d rather stay here with you like this.”

“Just the Hulk?” I asked.

“No,” he said, as he leaned in toward me. “Not just the Hulk.”

He brought his lips to mine and I wrapped my arms around her neck and ran my hands up into his curls.

“Maybe we can drive out past the painted ladies tonight and go see the sea lions. I’m pretty sure we can find somewhere to eat there,” Tony said as Bruce and I kissed.

I broke the kiss and Bruce’s lips trailed down to my neck. I tilted my head back and curled my fingers into his hair. “We can go to the Hard Rock Cafe,” I joked.

“No we can’t,” Tony countered. “but I'm sure there will be somewhere we can eat that isn't tacky.”

I started giggling and Bruce guided me back onto the bed. He looked over at Tony as I crawled into the middle of the king-sized mattress. “Are you just going to stand there making dinner plans or do you want to join us?”

Tony froze in place and stared at us for a moment. “Oh yes. Right. Private Science Conference.”

He hop-stepped over to us as he shook off his pants and underwear in one go, and dove onto the mattress beside us. “So what are we doing here?”

“Come on, Tony,” I teased. “Do we need to have the birds and the bees talk again?”

He laughed and guided my chin back so that I was looking at him. “Smart ass,” he teased and kissed me. I kissed back slowly and deeply, and Bruce kissed down my neck to my breasts, pulling one of my nipples into his mouth. I moaned into the kiss and tugged on Bruce’s hair.

When Bruce pulled back, Tony broke the kiss with me and leaned over to kiss Bruce. For a moment I was just the filling in their sandwich. I watched them as I began to stroke their already hardening cocks. When they were hard in my hands, I wiggled down to the end of the bed and began to suck on both their cocks, moving from one to the other and back again. They rutted their hips and moaned, and with each thrust, they got closer to each other. I moved so they could press up against each other with their cocks touching, and I wrapped my hand around them both.

Both men broke the kiss and looked at me. “Whatcha doing, honey?” Tony asked.

“Just - go back to kissing. I like that,” I said.

“Me too,” Bruce agreed.

Tony started laughing and began kissing Bruce again. He looked so cute kissing the other man while his eyes were closed but crinkled at the corners. I watched them for a little as I pumped my fist up and down the length of their shafts. When Tony lost himself fully to the moment, I dropped my head down, opened my mouth wide, and began to suck the heads of both their cocks.

I had done this before, with bigger men than Tony and Bruce, but it still wasn’t easy. It put a strain on my jaw and was difficult to get the angle right. I couldn’t take them far, only just a little further than just their heads, but they both reacted exactly how I wanted them to. Each man moaned, and Tony’s hips jerked forward. Bruce trembled and his hand went to my hair, his fingers flexing as his legs shook. I bobbed my head up and down as best I could, moaning and drooling down their shafts. Precome began to leak from the tips and mixed with my saliva so it fell from my lips. I moaned around them and dug my fingers into their thighs.

“El… El, honey,” Bruce moaned, breaking the kiss with Tony. “I can’t… please.”

I pulled back and crawled back up, so I was straddling his hips and looking down at him. He was taking slow, uneven breaths, and his pupils were blown out, with a slightly wild panicked look. I pushed my fingers into his hair and massaged his scalp.

“Is he right there?” I asked.

He nodded. “Just - that was a lot.”

“I trust you both, B,” I said. “I know he won’t take over because I know he loves me and doesn’t want to hurt me. But what can I do for you?”

“I just want to …” he rolled his hips and his cock rubbed against my soaking cunt. He moaned and bucked up under me.

I took hold of his shaft and raised myself up, hovering over it. “This?” I asked

He pushed up, the head of his cock penetrating me and he grabbed my hips and pulled me down on it. I gasped and squeezed around him.

Tony moved behind us. “What if I fuck you, while Elly rides you?” Tony asked.

Bruce shook his head and groaned. The sound came out in stereo, both him and Hulk at the same time. “That’s too much. Still getting used to more than one of you at a time.”

“That's okay, Bear,” Tony said. “What about we both fuck her at the same time. You'd love that, wouldn't you, Elly?”

“Mm-hmm,” I hummed, sitting back against Tony and swirling my hips. Tony ran his arms around my rib cage and cupped my breasts, and for a moment, Bruce didn't say anything. He just lay there staring up at me through lust-blown eyes. A ring of iridescent green had started to glow around the small line of brown visible in his irises. Hulk was well and truly part of this too, and we needed to carefully balance things. I trusted Hulk to not want to hurt me, but if Bruce got too excited, he could slip by accident.

Bruce squeezed his eyes closed and took three deep breaths. When he opened them again he looked calmer. He nodded. “Yeah. Both of us.”

I rolled my hips on his lap, and took his hands, putting them on my breasts with Tony’s. He gazed up at me as I moved in a slow figure of eight and Tony kissed my neck. His chest was slowly rising and falling but he looked a lot calmer than he had a moment ago.

Tony pulled away and went to the side table and fished out the lube we’d hidden there. When he returned, I pushed myself down flush with Bruce and nuzzled into his neck. Bruce wrapped his arms around me and slowly smoothed his palms up and down my back. Tony squeezed lube onto my ass and generously slicked his cock. He pressed the head against my asshole and pushed in slowly.

I moaned and pressed my face into Bruce’s neck. I breathed deep, willing myself to relax through the burn in my ass and the overly full feeling. This wasn’t new to me, but it still took a moment to adjust.

I started to move between them, shifting up and down on their cocks. They took the lead, each thrusting up into me. As the burn and the pain of them both fucking me faded back and pleasure started to take over, I pushed myself up so that I could look down at Bruce.

“Feel good, B?” I breathed.

“Mm-hmm,” he hummed. “So good. It always does, El. God, I can feel Tony.”

Tony groaned behind me and braced a hand on my shoulder. “I love feeling you through her, Bear,” he groaned. “Fuck… Love being inside you, El.”

I leaned back against Tony and tilted my head. His hand went to my jaw and we kissed.

As we did, Bruce pushed himself up and began to suckle on my breasts. Moving from one to the other and back again. My nipples hardened and an ache spread through them, blending with the warm current that was flowing up from my core. My moans easily drowned out the soft grunts and choked sounds Tony and Bruce were making. I felt like an overwound spring, ready to snap. I broke the kiss with Tony and began to kiss Bruce. Tony’s hand moved into my hair, and he pulled on it. The sharp tug on my scalp was enough to send me spiraling over. I cried out and clenched up around them both, my whole body trembling with it.

Bruce groaned and arched his back. He squeezed his eyes tight, and he shuddered under me. When he opened his eyes again, they flashed green, and with a roar, he shoved up into me and came.

Tony kept thrusting. I kept rocking my hips, squeezing around Bruce’s pulsing cock. “Fuck, Tony, please,” I begged. “I want to feel you. I want your come inside me. Please.”

Tony grunted and jerked forward as his orgasm hit and came inside me. “Fuck, El,” he moaned. “Such a dirty mouth.”

“It’s not that dirty,” I argued. “I bet you’ve heard worse.”

He laughed as he pulled out of me. “You’re probably right.” He sat at the edge of the bed, breathing heavily as I lay down on Bruce. Bruce hummed and trailed his fingers up and down my back as I slowly came down from my orgasm high.

After a little bit, Tony gave my ass a playful swat. “Alright, come on, you two. We need a shower after that. We have places to be.”

I laughed and climbed off Bruce, and we followed Tony into the bathroom so we could wash up to go out.

~ END ~

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scandinavianfairytale · 3 years ago

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New life

Pairing: Drug dealer Steve Rogers x Coder Reader

Warnings: Drug usage, drug overdose, agoraphobia, fluff 😊

To the world you were no one, just one of the billions of regular people. Every morning you got up, got ready for your day and started your work day in front of the computer screen. You chatted with your coworkers over virtual coffee, attended meetings and workshops, wrote code and had the tendency to work overtime. But while everyone else went out to meet people after work, you stayed in the house. Your doctor diagnosed you with agoraphobia, but you stuck with severe anxiety when you were asked too personal questions at job interviews. The diagnosis came after a too high dosage of drugs. The memory of that night is still hazy, only an image at a time floats by when you try to recall it.

The house full of people.

Loud music.

Drugs. So much drugs.

Alcohol.

The white powder.

Laying on the couch.

And him.

Steve.

You weren't aware that your recreational drug use would turn into an addiction. You had more control and self-constraint than others and something like this shouldn't have happened to you.

Steve Rogers, among other things, had the highest quality and quantity of drugs in the city. His clientele was high class and getting in was hard - not only did you need to have a high paycheck, you also needed to know the right people, the ones that were higher up on the food chain of the exclusive drug club. Your former boss was one such person. She liked you, professionally and privately. It was much easier for you to get to know the boss, there aren't that many female coders in general and at your previous job you were the only ones. It was easy to have a soft spot for you.

Steve was nice when you first met him, how could he not be when you were going to cough up 100 grand just to get access to the drugs. But you supposed it was justifiable given all the perks that came with - access to his drug parties, free sampling of new drugs, a fucking webpage with the list and specifics of drugs available and a whole analytical report on the purity of the drug you were about to consume.

He was more human than other drug dealers you met. For starters, he was a gentleman, which came as a shock to you. His personality was similar to that of a golden retriever, warm, goofy and protective. And he was so easy to talk to. He always attended the parties he threw and mingled with the guests.

But like Joker liked to say - all it takes is one bad day.

Several people, including you and Natasha, were fired because of a surprise drug test. Everyone was shocked but in reality such a high performance team as you were...drugs explained a lot. But you knew what kind of a black mark that puts on your job prospects. Without a high paying job that meant no more fancy apartment, lavish lifestyle and no more good drugs.

One last time. One last party and then you'll get clean. That's what you told yourself.

You came to consciousness for a minute, long enough to see Steve's worried face above you, yelling something at someone.

"Sweetheart, can you hear me?" His voice sounded hollow and distant, but his eyes were focused on you. You smiled as the feeling of weightlessness enveloped you. He looked so good.

"Yes." You drawled. "I'm so happy now." You cuddled into him. Steve sighed, running his fingers through your hair as you lightly snored on his thigh.

"No problem, Jake, happy to help. Let me know if you'll need additional help or explanation." You smiled in your headphones set.

"Of course, hear you tomorrow. Bye." With a happy sigh you ended the call and stretched in your comfy chair. You have been sitting on your feet for the last hour and your bones cracked pleasantly. Steve entered your office with a knock.

"Done for today?"

"Hi, Handsome. Not yet, I wanna finish this piece of code so I don't close in the middle of it and spend the whole tomorrow morning catching up on it." You replied turning your head to Steve. He stopped in front of you and kissed the top of your head.

"Okay, but then you're mine, right?"

"Only if you're mine." You beemed at him. He made a point of taking his phone and shutting it off.

"I'll start dinner and then you can come help me once you're done."

"What are you making?"

"Gnocchi with fresh pesto sauce and prosciutto."

"I think I might finish that much quicker." Humming, you leaned forward pecking his lips softly. Steve left your office, whistling happily and headed back to the kitchen.

Thank you for reading 🙏😊

The GIF belongs to the amazing creator (which is not me 😁) 😊

#chris evans #steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #drug dealer steve rogers #steve rogers fluff #mcu au #short story #fanfic #new life #marvel

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captainxpryde · 2 years ago

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Closed starter: @illyanarxsputina

Kate was in a particularly sour mood. Natasha had given her the go ahead to meet behind the scenes of the Killiseum, but she never expected to use it at all. Let alone so soon. During her important meeting with a client, her attention was hyper fixated on the battle taking place beneath their private booth. Not due to wondering the outcome, only curious how long her best friend would toy with the three fighters pitted against her. She was almost certain after the two made eye contact that the fight became much closer. After that her gaze turned into a glare.

Lockheed practically danced on her shoulders as the pair waited on their favorite battle contestant to exit. Though with folded arms and a scowl on her face, outsiders would not think Kate thought favorably of the other. The fact that the small dragon took flight meant he had caught sight of the familiar blonde hair before she did. Approaching her battle worn friend Kate stifled the joy she felt at seeing Lockheed excitedly circling her. “You know, I’ve fought demons with you. I have a hard time thinking that those three would be a challenge for you,” her head turned as her tone skewed slightly accusatory. She would be lying if she said Illyana didn’t have a way of getting under her skin easier than anyone else.

#pryde;thread

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sovietespionage · 2 years ago

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a starter for @dontcxckitup

Brazen. Impudent. Cheeky. All good adjectives for a woman one wrong step away from getting caught by Interpol. She’d been living out of a duffel bag for a week now, ever since the facility exploded.

News outlets were stating it was terrorist action against a private stocks and bonds company. Insurgents attempting to destabilize the economy in a country that had changed hands so many times even the citizens were a little confused to which flag they were supposed to salute. The Cold War had been over for decades, but it had never really ended -- it simply changed clothes. Instead of battered Soviet olive green, it wore sleek Armani black.

Natasha was sitting in a coffee shop, surrounded by college students and businessmen grabbing their morning venti with soy milk. She’d purchased a black coffee simply to get access to the cafe’s network, seemingly absorbed in whatever was on her laptop screen. She looked like every other overworked student, busily selecting files to attach to an email.

It had to be something enticing enough to snare interest, but not reveal the whole hand she was playing. The intelligence community spoke of M in hushed whispers, intimidated by the tools at their disposal. Natasha had tangled with a few 00s in her time, she was rightly impressed by anyone who could corral those spirited agents into toeing the line.

Files attached, she merely left the number of the burner phone tucked into her pocket in the body of the email, then fired it off. Intraoffice communication was likely a daily chore for the person who wore the crown in MI6, but the redhead was hoping she gave them a little excitement on a Wednesday morning.

She closed out of the email program and disconnected from MI6′s communication suite, pulling up YouTube to watch news broadcasts from around the world as she sipped her lukewarm coffee.

#hope this is ok!#dontcxckitup

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disturbedbydesign · 3 years ago

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The Widow and the Wolf - Chapter 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x dark!exWidow!reader

Summary: After Natasha Romanoff took down the Red Room, the former Widows scattered to the wind. Raised to be a killing machine and released into the world with nothing and no one, you decided to use your newfound autonomy to take down the bad guys of your choosing. But now Natasha is riddled with guilt for leaving you on your own. She wants to recruit you, rehabilitate you, make you part of a team again. But the rest of the squad has reservations, and no one is more against you than Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: Graphic violence; Mentions of domestic violence, rape, pedophilia, human trafficking, child sex trafficking; eventual Dubcon (not Bucky); eventual smut; slow(ish) burn enemies-to-lovers. [More warnings will be added as necessary but these are the Big Bads.] 18+ only, no minors.

A/N: This is canon-adjacent in that I just decided to pick and choose who I wanted to write for and what parts of canon I wanted to use. Best not to think too hard about where it falls on the timeline because the canon is a mess and we all kind of hate it anyway.

If you prefer to read on AO3, you can do so here.

Chapter One

You’ve been tracking him for days, not that it was hard. His patrol schedule is always the same, as is his after-hours routine: drinks at the Irish pub on Reade Street with the other boys in blue. It’s a cop bar but you waltz right in, looking lost even though you know the name, rank, and various misdeeds of every guy in the place. He looks at you, because of course he does—his wife assured you that he has a wandering eye, among his other sins.

You take a seat at the bar. “Double vodka rocks, please.”

The bartender pours you your drink and you take a deep pull, savoring the burn of it. Then you wait, but it doesn’t take long—it never does. Sergeant Thompson sidles up to the barstool next to you.

“Hey darlin,” he says, his breath reeking of cheap beer. “You lost?”

You turn to him with an innocent smile. “Evening, officer.”

“It’s Sergeant,” he says, tapping his badge, “but I won’t hold that against you. So, what’s a pretty young thing doing in a dive bar with a bunch of old men?”

“I was supposed to meet a friend for dinner but she bailed on me. Figured I’d grab a drink before I head home.”

“And where is home?” he asks, not that it’s any of his business, but cops think they deserve answers to any questions they feel like asking.

“Williamsburg,” you lie.

“You’re pretty far from home, then,” he replies, even though you both know that you aren’t. He takes a sip of his beer and the foam leaves a trace like a mustache before he licks it clean. “It’s late. Why don’t you let me drive you? Wouldn’t want you on the subway this time of night.”

“It’s only 8:30,” you say. “I think I’ll be just fine.”

He leans in conspiratorially. “Well, I really shouldn’t be telling you this—open investigation and all that—but we’ve been on the lookout for a guy in the area, serial rapist, real nasty piece of work.”

That’s one thing the two of you have in common at least.

“I’d feel a lot better if you’d let me take you home, darlin.”

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” you admit. “Can’t get much safer than the NYPD, right?”

He laughs and so do you, knowing that nothing is farther from the truth—especially when it comes to this guy.

Sergeant Thompson speeds across the Williamsburg Bridge with his flashers on, headed toward the address you gave him. Of course, that’s not actually your address—you don’t have a home anymore—it’s just one of many rundown warehouses in the neighborhood, variously used for impromptu raves and as drug dens and, in your case, a private place in which you can take care of business without fear of being interrupted.

“This is me,” you say, waiting for him to let you out of the back of the cruiser where he insisted you ride—caged in like a helpless animal, or so he thinks.

“This place?” he asks. “Looks like it’s about to collapse.”

“You’d be surprised what they can do to these places on the inside—gentrification and what have you. My rent is astronomical.”

“Still,” he says, “I’d like to walk you up. Looks a bit unsavory.”

“If you insist, Sergeant.”

The second you get up the stairs to the top floor, you inject him with the etorphine, straight into the jugular, and down he goes. It never gets old—how easy it is, when they think that they are the predator and you are the prey. You drag him into the loft where you’re already set up for a long night’s work.

When he comes to, he’s fixed to the chair with (among other things) his own handcuffs, mouth taped shut and a rag shoved in for good measure. You don’t want to hear him talk; it’s time for him to listen. His day of reckoning has come. He starts to squirm but between the cuffs and the duct tape and the sedative still coursing through his veins, he’s not going anywhere. Even if he did get free, you could take him down easy. It’s what you were trained for. It’s what you were born for.

“Welcome back, Sergeant,” you say, and he screams something unintelligible through the rag which, if you had to guess, would be some combination of “cunt” or “bitch” or any of the other choice words he likes to use on his women.

The tarps are laid meticulously around the room, placed strategically to catch any and all evidence of what you’re about to do. When he notices them, he goes still, because he knows. Part of him knows.

“So,” you say, pulling out the Thompson file, “this is quite the impressive resume you’ve got here, Sarge. Lots of civilian brutality complaints, including a few choice allegations from female prisoners. Oh, and then there’s the domestic violence and marital rape. You’re a real charmer, huh?”

There’s more muffled screaming but you ignore it—the last gasps of a dying man.

“Here’s the thing, Sarge. I know you think that you’re above the law, because you are the law, but you aren’t. Your wife is real tired of your shit, and me? Well, let’s just say that my motto is protect and serve.” You lean in close enough to smell the salty sweat on his brow. “And unlike you, I actually mean it.”

You pull your favorite knife from your thigh holster and slit him from ear to ear. “See you in hell, Sergeant.”

You sit on the edge of the table, swinging your legs and watching him bleed out. It doesn’t take long. The actual disposal is the real work. You set about chopping him into manageable pieces and you find yourself missing the days when you didn’t have to cover your tracks alone, when there was a clean-up team to take care of it for you.

But you’re freelance now. You’re not a Widow anymore. She made sure of that.

Sometimes—like right now, when you’re dripping sweat and every muscle in your body is screaming its exertion as you saw through bone after bone—you hate Natasha Romanoff. You know why she did what she did; you understand that, objectively, it was the right thing to do. But did she ever stop to consider the repercussions of her actions? She got out early and found a new family and became one of the Good Guys. But you? You entered the Red Room with nothing and you left with nothing.

They always said you were born to be a killer. It’s all you’ve ever known. So what exactly did she expect you to do? You may be free of the mind control, but you never had the chance to develop a mind of your own. Killing is all you know. At least now you get to pick your own targets.

Once you’ve got Sergeant Thompson all squared away, you pack him up in the trunk of his cruiser and drive upstate, listening to the 80s station you like. It occurs to you that most people have heard these songs a thousand times—so many times that they know the lyrics instinctively, can sing them without even having to think about it. It’s all new to you, though. You can’t decide whether it makes you sad to think about all you’ve missed or whether you’re lucky that you get to experience for the first time what everyone else is already tired of.

When you get to the farm, you dump Thompson in the holes you’ve already backhoed, then you hop on the Cat and fill them all in. You shoot a text to Mrs. Thompson from your burner—just a thumbs-up emoji—and she replies with a smiley face. It was only so long before he would have killed her; she knows it as well as you do. The only people that will grieve the dearly departed Sergeant Thompson are a bunch of assholes who are one false move from ending up in your web.

You didn’t charge Mrs. Thompson your usual rate—just what she could afford without drawing the attention and ire of the Mister. Sometimes, depending on the circumstances, you even work pro bono. After all, you only kill people for money who you would happily kill for free. You consider it a service, something for the greater good of society. You’ll take money, sure—you need it to live and to continue your work—but not from people who can’t easily spare it.

You have standards. You have a code. That’s the difference between the you that served as a mindless weapon wielded by others and the you that decides for yourself how to use the gifts you’ve been given. No women. No children. No collateral damage. Only Very Bad Men who’ve done Very Bad Things. You don’t see the harm in it, not really, and as you settle into bed you come back to the thought you often have before a fitful night of sleep: who’s the real avenger, Natasha?

*****

Natasha wipes her brow and throws the rag down on the mat, grabbing a bottle of water and chugging half of it before she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Bucky has barely broken a sweat from their morning sparring session, and he doesn’t even try to fake it. He’s in an especially grumpy mood.

“This is a bad idea, Natasha.”

“To some people, maybe,” she says, “but I want to bring her in anyway. I don’t understand how you of all people are against me on this, Bucky.”

“Uh, for starters, she’s a serial killer.”

“That’s a bit of a harsh assessment, considering the circumstances. And do I really need to remind you that the same could be said about the two of us? That a lot of people still say that about us?”

Bucky sighs, because he knows she’s right, but this is different—you are different. “It’s not the same,” he grumbles, but he’s not entirely sure it isn’t, and that’s what’s really bothering him.

“Look,” Nat says, taking a step toward Bucky, “I need to try, ok? I know what she’s going through because I went through it, except she’s completely alone out there with nothing and no one. You and I… we had people behind us, helping us.”

“And what if she says no?” Bucky asks. “Are you just gonna let her go on doing what she’s doing? She’s killed… how many is it now?”

Natasha mutters something under her breath and Bucky looks at her expectantly. “What was that, Tasha?”

“25 people in the last 6 months,” she states, her mouth set in a hard line.

“Exactly,” he says.

“I would like to point out that they were all very bad people. So...”

“Tasha,” he says, and he puts his hand up to silence her. “I can’t help you on this. I’m sorry. I want to, but I can’t.”

Natasha huffs out a laugh. “You know what, Barnes? You’re real high and mighty for a guy who–”

Natasha stops herself when she sees the ice-cold look in Bucky’s eyes. “Go on. For a guy who what?”

“Nothing,” she says. “I’m sorry. I’ll go on my own.”

“Well, good luck to you. Hope you don’t get your throat slit.”

Bucky stomps off and Natasha is left wondering if she’s about to make a huge mistake. She knows you’re volatile, that a part of you must resent her, but she needs to make it right. At the very least, she needs to try.

Natasha grabs her tablet and scrolls through the latest intel on your whereabouts. She’s just missed you in New York, but she thinks she’s got a jump on your next target: some coke dealer down in Miami with a predilection for underage girls. Just a brief glance at this guy’s file is enough to make Natasha’s blood run cold. She knows why you do what you do. If she’s honest, it doesn’t bother her one bit that you’re doing it. It’s the thought of you out there on your own, filled with hate and anger and thirsty for bloody vengeance, that frightens her. Because maybe one day—left to your own devices, lost in the chaos of your troubled mind—getting the Bad Guys won’t be enough for you. Maybe you’ll decide that some of the Good Guys aren’t so good after all. Maybe you’ll even be right.

She contemplates being honest with Steve and telling him where she’s headed but decides against it. Steve isn’t on board with her plan. Natasha doesn’t fault him for it—he doesn’t understand, he couldn’t. Bucky, though... that’s a disappointment, and it surprises her. If anyone knows what it feels like to spend your life as someone else’s weapon, it’s Bucky Barnes.

Natasha waits until nightfall to “borrow” the Quinjet, and she finds Bucky waiting for her when she gets to the hangar.

“I’m coming with you,” he says, “but only as back-up. She’s dangerous, Natasha.”

“Maybe so,” Natasha replies, “but only because she’s afraid.”

*****

You knew that she’d be coming for you sooner or later. Might as well get it over with. Your little stilt cabin on the outskirts of the Everglades isn’t quite set up for company but at least it’s tucked away and difficult to access. You’re surprised she brought him, though—that was a mistake. You and she could have a nice long conversation, but you have nothing to say to the Soldat.

You climb up the tree to your lookout platform and hoist your sniper rifle onto your shoulder, following their slow but steady progress through the knee-deep swamp water, trying to line up a decent shot as they weave in between the bald cypress trees. When you see your chance, you take it, and you put one about an inch from where the Soldat’s metal arm meets the flesh of his shoulder. It ricochets off, as intended, and he jumps forward to shield Natasha. You hear her laugh through your earpiece.

“Relax, Barnes. It was a warning shot. If she wanted to hit you, she would have.”

“She did hit me,” he snaps.

You smile as you descend from the tree to meet them.

“Well well well,” you say. “If it isn’t the Murder Twins. To what do I owe this unwanted visit?”

“You know why I’m here,” Natasha says.

“Yes,” you reply, “but why is he here?”

The man she calls Barnes looks at you with disdain and you give it right back to him. You can tell that shot in the arm really pissed him off and it pleases you to no end.

“He’s just watching my back,” she says. “That’s what happens when you’re on a team.”

“Right, The Avengers. How adorable.”

“Listen,” Natasha begins, but you stop her.

“Let me save you the trouble of whatever little speech you have prepared. I’m not coming with you. I’m not going to Widow rehab and joining your ragtag group of misfits. And I’m not going to stop doing my work just because you come here and bat your eyes and smile pretty at me.”

“Your work?” spits the Soldat. “Is that what you’re calling it?”

“Bucky, don’t-”

“Let him talk, Romanoff,” you say. “He obviously has some… opinions. Now that he’s got the mask off, he can finally speak for himself.” You take a step towards him, your rifle in hand but not pointed at him. “So speak, Soldat.”

He looks flustered and not a little bit angry. You can tell he doesn’t like to be called by that name. “Killing people isn’t work,” he says.

You huff out a laugh. “And what is it that the two of you do, exactly? Run a coffee shop?”

“We are not the same,” he says, and you smile because you know that he doesn’t actually believe that—how could he after everything he’s done?

“I think we are exactly the same, Soldat, with one huge exception: you’re still letting other people tell you what to do, and I’m done with all that.”

“This is pointless,” he says.

“Now that is something you and I actually agree on.” You turn to Natasha. “You should go while you still can. I have work to do.”

But Natasha just won’t let it go. “I should never have left you alone,” she says. “This is my fault. Let me fix it.”

“I don’t need to be fixed,” you snap, and you raise your rifle and point it directly at her head. “Leave, Natasha. And take your little pet with you.”

The Soldat grabs her arm gently. “Let’s go, Tasha. She’s hopeless.”

You feel a pang of something then—some indescribable form of melancholy. You try to keep it off your face but you can tell from the look in his eyes that he sees it. A minute tremble of your lip, the quick double blink—it gives you away, and now you’re really pissed off.

“Leave. Now,” you yell, and it pierces through the sweltering darkness. “I’ll make you sorry if you don’t.”

You watch Natasha and the bionic man make their way out of the swamp. You don’t turn your back on them, not that you think they’ll try to take you by force. That would be unwise and Natasha knows it. Once you’re satisfied that they’re gone, you return to the cabin. The bloodied man in the linen suit lays strapped to the bed where you left him, squirming and shouting around the gag in his mouth.

You have to stop yourself from making this a messy affair, but the anger you feel—at her, at him, at everything—is making it difficult to temper your darker urges. You’re not one for torture, even though this man absolutely deserves it for the horrible things he’s done. You almost give in, but you remind yourself that this is a job—it is work, despite what the Soldat may think—and you have to remain professional.

You grab the man’s file off the desk and pull a chair up next to the bed. “So, Mr. Garcia, where were we?”

CHAPTER TWO >>>

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #dark!fic #dark!reader #the widow and the wolf

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