#slumberparty bingo

[42donotpanic]

Life's not fair and everything sucks

Summary: Kai has a shitty day, but Luckily they have a good friend with even better connections.

Pairing: Clint Barton & Kai Krüger (ONBC)

Word Count: 1649

Raiting: Teen and Up Audiences

Tags: Nonbinary Character, Trans Clint Barton, Deaf Clint Barton, Disabled Character, Menstruation, Comfort, Fluff, Couch Cuddles, Co-workers

Written for:

@tropetember : Day 16 - Friendship Centric

@comfy-vember : Day 7 - Sleeping on Shoulder

@fandom-free-bingo :

AU: Coworkers - Wild Edition

* Rainy day - Maritime May

* Loved Like a Sibling - Pride Edition!

* "You've Got a Friend in Me", Platonic Love - August Chaos

* Cuddling For Warmth - Medical Edition

@slumberpartybingo : Never have I ever... Spent a cold afternoon under blankets, watching movies - Christmas Flash 2023

@fandombingo :

"There is no shop anywhere where one can buy friendship." - The Little Prince Edition

"I'm willing to take that chance." - Wonderland Edition

[kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay]

Best Friends on paper 📮

Summary: You've been matched up with a pen pal through a website, but what is merely an outlet for you and a confidant to tell your secrets to, is something completely different for him.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader (hinted at short!Reader too)

(No use of descriptive words for Reader's appearance. If you do stumble across one, please let me know and I'll immediately find a more inclusive alternative)

Warnings: 18+, non-con (touching, fingering), kidnapping of sorts, deranged Steve Rogers, manipulation, forced relationship, obsession and obsessive baheviour

Word count: 2k

Author's note: My second entry for @the-slumberparty's BINGO challenge! The squares I filled this time are "Pen pals", "Campfire", "Beach day" and "Brainwashing"

We love us some deranged, obsessed Steve Rogers and when I read the Pen Pal square, I knew we needed Mister Old-fashioned to make an appearance! Have fun reading this one ;D

...

“You said you loved me. You did. Stop struggling,” Steve grunts into you ear, his hand firmly planted over your mouth as he drags your flailing form further away from your group of friends.

Your kicking and muffled protests don't deter him, his hulking frame dwarfing yours easily, allowing him to effortlessly man-handle you as he pleases.

“Shhh, sweetheart. It's just me, just Steve. I'm your friend, remember?” the man husks, his hot breath dampening the back of your neck.

Your shake your head as best as you can, your mind spinning with the disorientating events crashing down on your.

“You're not my friend,” you try to say, but it only comes out as stifled mumbling from behind the gigantic paw covering up half your face to keep you quiet.

This isn't Steve, it can't be. Steve is nice, sweet. He'd been matched to you on a random pen pal website you signed up on out of boredom, the two of you hitting it off quickly and building a nice bond through the letters you sent each other regularly.

It's a little old-timey, but you enjoyed writing Steve letters. He even included a picture of himself in one of them and you did the same in return.

But this brute behind you, that is not the man from the picture.

Steve is short, a little skinny, and his hair has a pretty shade of blond and his smile is infectious.

The man stealing you away from the roaring fire burning by the shore, your friends still scattered around it in small groups, is not short or skinny.

He is dragging your jerking body through the sand, your feet uselessly slipping on the little grains of sand while you watch the camp fire grow smaller, the flickering flames no longer illuminating the ground around you, its warmth too far to comfort you.

Before you know what is happening, you're hauled up a slippery dune, now finally out of sight for all your friends or any by-passers as you're shoved down the other side.

There, in between dunes and bushes, sits a picnic blanket, small lanterns standing on two corners of it that light up the space.

“It's me, Steve. I did all this for you. You always said you wanted to have a picnic by the beach and spend the night outside looking at the stars. I remember it. You said it in one of your first letters you sent to me,” the man babbles, his tone so urgent he sounds almost possessed.

His words are what concerns you though, not how he says them. Because it's the truth. You'd told your pen pal Steve about wanting to spend a night at the beach to watch the stars, had laid out the whole romantic fantasy you dreamed of on lonely nights.

You reach the blanket and the hand on your face loosens. You're spun around to face your kidnapper and when you instinctively lift your head to stare up at the man's face, your heart sinks.

“Hi, sweetheart. I knew you'd recognise me,” Steve says with a wide smile, his white teeth glinting in the low light of the lanterns around you.

You're petrified. This man does look like Steve. But he's bigger, stronger. And this big, scary man knows all your deepest secrets and desires.

You've told Steve everything, because what could be the harm in it? He's always been states away, just a picture you keep in your desk drawer and ink-soaked pieces of paper. You never thought there would be any harm in confiding in him.

Well, you were wrong.

“You- You..” stammer and stare up at him. “You look different.”

Steve grins and shrugs as if he didn't look like he could easily break you in half as opposed to the skinny boy he's sent you a picture of.

“You too. Better, so much better in person. God, you're beautiful. Come here,” he says and without warning moves his hands from your arms where he was holding you still to your face and swoops in for a forceful kiss.

You let out a startled sound and jerk your hands up to push at him, but he doesn't budge, hips lips firmly pressed to yours, tongue poking at them as he tries to gain entrance.

Your muffled protests make him stop eventually, his face pulled into a frown as he pulls his head away to peer down at you.

“What is wrong? You said you loved me, sweetheart. I came all the way to surprise you, I prepared this night. It needs to be perfect, so play along! It's your fantasy after all,” he says, an edge to his voice as he scowls down at you.

“I- I... Steve, I don't love you, I don't even know you, I-”

“Stop! You know me, we've been writing letters for months. I know what you like and what you dream of for your future. I know your favourite food and colour. I said I love you and you said it back! You wrote it in our letters, you did!” Steve shouts, his face reddening with agitation.

You take a step back, now positively terrified of the deranged man before you. How could he be the same person who's been writing you fro almost a year now?

“Sit down, come on, sit. We're going to enjoy this night, I made it perfect for you,” he says, quieter now, but still obviously displeased by your resistance.

Not daring to disobey and upset this crazy man, you let Steve push you down on the blanket. He sits down next to you and then forces you to recline into a laying position. He lies down as well and then grabs your hand, his fingers forcing your clenched ones apart to hold them.

You lie there, heart beating wildly and wide eyes staring at the night sky, the stars twinkling back at you as they watch the situation unfold.

“Isn't this nice? Good thing the sky is clear. I've been waiting for the weather to clear up and tonight is just perfect for our first night together. The first of many,” Steve swoons beside you, his deep voice floating around you.

Your hand hangs limply in his as you try to get a grip on your situation.

All you wanted was to spend a day at the beach with your friends. You had brought food and snacks for the whole day and enough wood to keep your camp fire going through the night.

But that is forgotten now, your friends too far away to help or hear you and this psycho beside you instead of someone else, someone you knew.

“You're so beautiful, baby. I looked at your picture every day, wondering how soft your skin would be under my fingertips, what you would smell like, taste like...” Steve rumbles beside you, his head turned to look at you, warm breath ghosting over your cheek.

You swallow, stiff as a board and terrified of the meaning of his words.

“Will you let me find out, sweetheart? You will, won't you? I know you want to,” he says, his hand letting go of yours as he shifts up onto his elbow to stare down at you.

When you don't answer, too scared to say no and not wanting to say yes, he lets out a huff.

“Playing hard to get? Let me convince you...”

You don't have time to react, Steve's frame moving with a speed that should be impossible for someone so big, slotting between your legs with a shove of his hips.

He widens his thighs as he kneels between yours, pushing them further apart when you jerk away and try to close them.

“No! Steve, stop. No, no, no-” You start to chant, hands slapping at every bit of him that you can reach as some sort of survival instinct kicks in.

“Stop pretending you don't want this! I know everything about you, you told me. I know you want this, I know, I know, I know,” he barks, repeating himself over and over as if he's trying to convince you.

Grabbing your flailing hands in one of his, he gets to work on ripping off your swim clothes, the thin fabric stretching and ripping underneath his violent hand until it's gone and your body is bared to his eyes.

“Pleeease, no,” you sob out, legs kicking on either side of his, hands fighting in his grip to cover yourself, but he doesn't budge.

“Shhhh, you'll like it, sweetheart. I'm good at this, I promise,” he shushes you, his words of affirmation doing nothing to quell the horror and shame of being naked and at the mercy of this lunatic.

You squeak when he reaches down and easily finds your clit, spit-wet finger getting to work and drawing tight circles around the little nub while you squirm and whine beneath him.

But there's no getting away and you have no choice but to endure his patient rubbing and circling, forced to witness your body's surrender that comes in the form of thick slick collecting at your entrance.

Shame boils hot in your gut and when Steve lets go of your hands in favour of kneading your breasts, you hide behind your sweaty palms. You can't look at him, you won't.

“There we go, your body knows what you need, baby. Look at that pretty little pussy getting nice and wet for me,” Steve mumbles appraisingly, finger abandoning your clit in favour of exploring further down.

He pushes one thick finger inside your pussy, the digit easily slipping in. It's quickly followed by another and he twists his hand to rest the heel of it on your clit.

“So tight, hmm. Made for me,” Steve mumbles to himself, eyes fixated on where he's sinking his digits into you.

He starts fingering you, fingers pushing in and out of you, his hand grinding into your clit harder and harder the faster he goes.

You can't hide the noises he pulls from you, wet squelching and helpless moans alike ringing out around you.

The familiar hot tension in your gut rises and your hands slap down on the blanket beside you, fingers fisting the fabric when Steve angles his fingers just so, rubbing that spot inside you that sends tingles of pleasure shooting down your legs and up your back.

“Come on, come for me. I know you need it, your little pussy is clenching down on my big fingers. Feels good, doesn't it?” he eggs you on, hand speeding up and finally tipping you over that edge.

“There we go, yes! Good girl,” Steve exclaims triumphantly as he works you through your orgasm, watching your trembling limbs with a deranged kind of satisfaction.

He pulls his fingers out of you with a wet sound and lifts them to his mouth. You watch through half-lidded eyes how he opens his mouth and sucks your slick from his fingers with a pleasured moan, his own eyes falling shut.

“Knew you'd taste good, baby. So good. I need more, baby. I'm sorry, I can't help it, I just need more,” he rambles, hastily shifting between your limp legs until his face is level with your sensitive pussy, slick still leaking from the twitching opening.

“Just a taste...” he grunts before sticking out his tongue and dragging it across the length of your cunt with an obscene moan.

You jerk away when he touches your clit, but his hands swiftly wrap around your thighs, keeping your core anchored to his face.

Whines and breathless gasps escape you as you writhe in his hold, your head growing foggy with the pleasure forced on you.

When your second orgasm rushes through you in a shuddering wave and Steve keeps going on, you limply resign yourself to a long night of forced pleasure. With him, there's no getting away.

Never.

After all, he knows everything about you.

...

There we go, he's got her in his clutches now-

Here's my updated Bingo card!

[the-slumberparty]

For those of you who have requested a BINGO card so far, we are working on getting those out by this Friday. If you do not have your card by that time, please let us know. Thank you!

[annaofthenorthernlights]

The golden three

for

30+ fanfic discord server monthly 100 word drabble challenge "we´re goanna be late"

@slumberpartybingo Fall flash bingo card: "never ever have I been to a street fair" and

Halloween flash bingo card: "Kitsune"

~~~

“Oh my.” Belle gasps and looks Adam up and down. “What a wolf!”

“And aren´t you the loveliest Little Red Riding Hood!”

“Thanks.” Belle curtsies coquettishly. “I am so excited and can´t wait to go to the street fair.”

Adam agrees with a feverish nod.

“And me!” Gaston thumps down the corridor, and stares at Adam with a grin. “Hey, Kitsune, what´s up?”

“Shut it, Huntsman! I could not find another costume that quickly.”

Belle rolls her eyes and links arms with her wolf and huntsman.

“Come on, let´s go, or we´re gonna be late!”

Find the drabble on AO3

[buck-star]

Stuck with a God | Loki Laufeyson

// Pairing // Loki Laufeyson x Agent!Female!Reader

// Summary // Loki gets imprisoned by Shield and he loves flirting with you. As much as he annoys you, even more does the Shield technology annoy you.

// Wordcount // 2.488

// Warnings // Explicit Content // 18+, Minors DNI, smut, kind of enemies to lovers, being stuck with Loki, bit of dub-con, fingering, squirting, CMNF, finger sucking / cum eating kinda, bit of housewife kink, praises

// Authors Note // This is my first time writing for Loki, so thanks to my amazing friend @jiyascepter for encouraging me to write for him.

// Events // Slumber Party: Sundae Bar | French Vanilla (stranded, looked in) and Black Cherry (Enemies to lovers) | @the-slumberparty | Bingo of your own | N4 | Stuck together | @thebo3bingo |

// Masterlist | Loki Laufeyson //

     “Darlin’! Didn’t think I would see you today,” the black-haired man says, his smirk growing as you walk closer to the cell he is in. “Want to see me again before they bring me into another cell, my dear?”

     You roll your eyes, earning a chuckle from the man. Since they brought him into the cell earlier that day, he flirts with you whenever you’re around. Or at least it’s what you think he is doing; maybe he just tries to convince you to let him out and let him rule the world — something you won’t do unless your boss will force you to.

     “Didn’t miss you; I just have to get something, and then I will be back doing my work,” you answer him, walking further through the room.

     Loki Laufeyson, god of mischief — at least what he said — walks up and down his cell, his green eyes following every little movement.

     “Oh, darling—“

     “Stop that flirting and let me do my job. You’re annoying, and I’m done with you, Loki,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief about that man.

     His lips are still curled up, and his eyes are glistening. As much as he annoys you, he has something that makes your knees weak — mystic and magical.

     “My dear, come here. Look at me when you tell me that you’re done with me. Are you done with me, darlin’, or do you only want everyone to think that?” His voice is low, his head falling forward, and he looks up, looking even more handsome than before.

     “No, don't even think that. You’re not that interesting to me,” you groan, frustrated that you’re stuck in that conversation. Too nice to just ignore him and too annoyed to continue talking to him.

     “Not interesting to you? I’m Loki — god of mischief — from Asgard! Everyone wants me. Oh, that sweet maid in Asgard — you should have seen her, darling. She begged me, but she wasn’t interesting to me,” Loki says, chuckling softly at your expression.

     How can he dare to tell you such an intimate story about one of the maids who is working for them? But to finally let him know that you’re not interested in his idiotic ass, you make your way closer to the entrance of the cell. Loki is grinning at you and walking in his cell to the entrance as well.

     When you reach it, he places his hand against the glass, waiting for you to tell him that you’re not interested in him. His green eyes remind you of a snake, staring into yours and glistening mischievously.

     “I’m not inter— How?” You almost shout at him when he is suddenly in front of you — without glass in between you. “FUCKING SHIT! How do— GO BACK INTO THE CELL!”

     Loki laughs softly, his white teeth visible. His tongue darts out, and he slides it across his plump lips before closing his mouth and leaning a bit further down.

     “Make me, darling. I’m a god; you think that little cell stops me from breaking out? How sweet,” he says in a teasing tone.

     You place your hands immediately on his chest, feeling the muscles tensing underneath your soft touch, before you push him back into the cell. Actually, you learned to not do things like that — never touch a criminal or get too close to him — they could use it to their advantage.

     A loud sound behind you makes you flinch, and you look around. The door behind you shuts, and your eyes widen when you realize that you’re stuck in a cell with the enemy. And not just one enemy; you’re stuck with Loki.

     “Stay away!” You grumble, letting go of him to take a step backwards and look for your card, which opens literally every door in a shield compound. You reach your card, finally able to get out of the cell again — you just need to find out how he managed to open the door and walk out of the cell.

     “Darling, don't you want to give me some company? That hurts my feelings; I thought you changed your mind and wanted to stay in that cell with me,” Loki says, his eyes still following every movement of yours while you walk to the door and press your card against the small display next to it.

     His lips curl up when the door doesn’t open. You try again, pressing the card against the display again. Once again, the door stays closed, and you groan frustrated — why can’t the technology work like it should?

     “Doesn’t work, darling? Do you need my help?” Loki asks, his tone teasing, and you roll your eyes once again. At some point, you’re sure you can roll your eyes all the time, but right now you’re just annoyed about the technology and him being such a dick.

     “I don’t need your help! Can you just shut up for a moment?” You ask through gritted teeth. You turn around, wanting to face the black-haired man, but the cell is empty, and you wonder if he broke out once again.

     You hiss and almost jump when you feel a warm breath against your neck. Long arms wrap around your waist, and a broad but small chest is suddenly pressed against your back. You can feel Loki’s nose sliding over the soft skin of your neck; a low chuckle leaves his lips when he pulls you even closer.

     A shiver runs down your spine; you want to lean more into his embrace. His warmth and scent envelope you. Loki feels just so good that you want more of him and more of his touches.

     “You like that, don’t you, darling?” He asks, his breath hitting your skin and causing goosebumps all over your body. It shouldn’t feel so good; you shouldn’t stay in his embrace; he shouldn’t touch you like that — Loki is still the enemy, but the two of you look now like he isn’t just that; it looks like the two of you are so much closer.

     “L—Loki, let go of me. H—How did you escape here? Wh—“ You interrupt yourself when you feel his long fingers moving over your stomach, higher to your chest.

     “I didn’t escape, but I told you — I’m a god, darling. I never escaped here; you opened the door with your card; you pushed just an imagination of mine into the cell. And now that you’re here with me, stuck in this cell, don’t you think we should just continue where we stopped?” Loki asks, his voice quiet, and he presses his soft lips against your neck.

     You shake your head, even though you don’t feel like that. You just can’t be that close or intimate with the enemy. He grumbles behind you, pressing you even closer against his chest, and you can feel his growing bulge pressing against your ass.

     Your eyes widen, pussy throbbing, but you can’t just give in to him, can you? Loki is thrusting his hips forward, chuckling against you, when a soft moan escapes your lips.

     “You like that?” You nod lightly, his fingers gracing over the fabric of your t-shirt to your chest. Loki moves his hands over the swell of your breasts, cupping them in his large palms, and when you look down, your breath hitches.

     His hands are so big, thin, but long fingers — they cause the most filthy thoughts you ever had. You inhale deeply. A moment later, you think about pushing him away, telling him to stop that, and that there are cameras, but you know that they won’t work when the display to unlock the cell doesn’t work either.

     Loki feels you tensing in his arms; he kneads your soft breasts in his hands, causing you to throw your head back.

     “N—Loki, please,” you whine, feeling his hard cock still pressing against you. He thrusts his hips forward, making you squeal. His hands are squeezing your tits more.

     “Changing your attitude is exactly how I like it. What do you need, darling?” His tone is teasing. You nod your head, now knowing what to say. Loki laughs, suckling at your neck while his hands snake back to your waist. “Tell me, darlin’.”

     “L—Loki, please, n-need you,” you whimper. You feel so pathetic, begging the enemy to touch you, to fuck you. His hands and his lips feel like the softest thing you have ever felt, and you need him to continue touching you. You need to know how talented those fingers are.

     “Look at you, melting in the enemy's embrace, needing his fingers, don’t you?” He mocks you, laughing softly when he picks you up. He carries the two of you to the bench on the other end of the cell, sitting down before he places you in his lap.

     Loki’s hands hold you in place, his hard crotch pressing against your ass, and you wiggle lightly, earning a low groan from the man behind you. His fingers are digging into your sides, pressing you further down on him to keep you still.

     His lips trail along your neck once again, and he then smirks miraculously once again. And suddenly… you’re naked in his lap. Your clothes are nowhere around, and you can feel the leather of his suit underneath your sensitive skin.

     “L—“

     “Come on, spread those pretty legs for your favorite god, darling,” he grumbles, his fingers sliding along the inside of your thighs as he spreads your legs apart.

     Loki reveals your throbbing pussy; his left hand is holding your one leg, and he squeezes your thigh, while his other hand inches closer to where you need him the most.

     His long finger slides through your folds, and you moan softly, throwing your head back against his shoulder. Loki circles your clit, pinching it lightly between his fingers before he moves his long fingers further down to your entrance.

     “So wet, ‘s that all for me, dalin’? Pussy’s drippin’ for me,” he says, kissing his way along your neck to your ear. His fingers coated in your arousal, he slowly pushes one finger into your entrance. You moan loudly, arching your back. Loki’s finger slips deeper into your tight pussy.

    “Doing so well; look at you, sweetheart. Taking my finger like you’re made for that, aren’t you?” Loki praises you, pushing deeper into you while curling his finger. He starts pumping it in and out of you, earning soft moans and whimpers from you.

     Your hands gripping his thighs, the cold leather feeling perfectly underneath your hot skin. And having him completely dressed while you’re naked turns you on beyond belief.

     Lokis circles your clit with his thumb, adding another finger to your cunt. Your breath gets heavier, you rock into his hand, and the coil in your stomach tightens with every moment of his long fingers inside of you.

     The black-haired man hits your sweet spot every time, the pads of his fingers sliding over it, causing an intense feeling to build up in your lower stomach. A feeling you never had before, not when you fucked yourself with a toy and never with another man.

     “Doing so well, darling. Squeezing my fingers so good, can’t wait to fuck you, probably. Yeah, that’s what you like? Being fucked by a god, don’t you, darling?” Loki asks; his eyes darken lightly, but since you’re with your back toward him, you can’t see them.

     “P—Please, so close. LOKI!” You almost shout; you're just about to come all over his fingers. You don’t know how you ended up in that situation, but right now you can’t care about that. Everything you want and need is Loki, his fingers curling inside of you and bringing you closer to the edge.

     The sound of your wet pussy and his fingers pumping into you in a steady rhythm echoes through the cell. He speeds up, loving the way your walls cling around his fingers, sucking his thin, long fingers even deeper. “Come on, sweetheart, come all over my fingers like the good girl you are.”

    With that, you do as you’re told, your pussy clenching around his fingers. Loki massages your sweet spot with his digits while you come all over his fingers. Your juices squirt all over his palm and fingers, landing on the ground of the cell.

     “F—Fuck, please, keep going, please, Loki,” you beg, thrusting your hips against his hand while you ride out your orgasm.

     He can’t stop his movements just now; you need him to fuck you through your orgasm — and that’s what he does. Curling his fingers steadily inside of your pulsing cunt, he thrusts slowly into you while you breathe heavily.

     You have been moaning like a whore since he started to fuck you with his finger. But you don’t care; he feels too good to think properly.

     “Didn’t think about it, darlin’. Doing so good for me, gonna keep you and take you with me to Asgard; make you my sweet little wife and fuck you whenever and wherever I want,” he groans, his eyes rolling slightly back when he thinks about that idea. A low moan escapes his pink lips, and he smirks. “You’re already so cock drunk, you can’t even think about it properly. Just say yes, darling.”

     You nod your head, your hips still moving against this hand, while you don’t really notice what he is saying. As long as he keeps his fingers inside of you. “Yes, please.”

     “Whining and begging like a pathetic little housewife, that’s what you are. My sweet little housewife.” He kisses your neck once again, sucking a purple mark into your skin. “All mine, darling, and everyone can see it.”

     Even with your protests, Loki pulls his fingers out of you, holding them up to show you your arousal dripping down his fingers. You blush slightly, watching Loki bring his fingers closer to his face. You turn your head, looking at him while he takes them into his mouth, sucking and licking them clean.

     “Tasting perfect, darling,” he hums more to himself before he moves his hand, and you’re suddenly dressed again.

     Your eyes widen, reality hits you, and you jump off his lap. You immediately miss his warmth, a cold shiver running down your spine while you consider getting back into his lap or staying away from him. This is just a short moment, because as much as you should stay away from him, as much as you crave and need this black-haired man.

     “That’s my girl. Now let’s get out of this cell and make you my pretty little housewife,” he says, smirking at you when your back is pressed against his chest once again. And just as he tells you, he is doing exactly that, making you his wife — and luckily, you’re not the only one addicted to the other one. A god can be just as addicted and craving like a human.

// Taglist // @kandis-mom @sergeantbarnessdoll @identity2212 @km-ffluv @lunaalovesyouu @armystay89 @suz7days @etherealdisneyvillainness @pono-pura-vida @somnorvos @meowmeowyoongles

[nicestgirlonline]

Something Sweet

Pairing: Sugar Daddy! Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut ahead!!! Thigh riding, public stuff, dirty talk, sugar relationships, power dynamics, dom/sub undertones

Word Count: 4.9K

Summary : A chance run in with a handsome stranger turns out to be the opportunity of a lifetime

a/n: for @the-slumberparty September Bingo Challenge! No bingo for me this round, I got it in JUST UNDER THE WIRE! Takes me waaaaayyy to long to write lol. Thanks for reading, I’d love your feedback! Reblogs and comments are love <3

You placed the candy bar on the counter in front of the very bored cashier. You dug through your purse and pulled out your debit card and handed it over. A queue had started to form behind you as you tapped your hand in anticipation. 

“Declined.” The cashier said, holding out the card for you. Your stomach dropped. You were afraid this was going to happen. You were so sure that you had enough in your account for at least a candy bar. You had paid the overdraft fees from last month, so you should have been set. Your stomach gurgled a bit. You were so hungry. 

“Um, can you try it again?” You asked, hoping it was some sort of mistake, that the bank was just a little slow to catch up with your account. She let out a sigh and placed it in the machine again.  

You could feel the stares behind you. You looked back at the line; directly behind you was a tall man dressed in a suit, checking his watch. He looked like he must be very important. He had dark brown hair that was neatly styled and just a touch of a five o’clock shadow. It was incredibly handsome. His icy blue eyes flicked from his Rolex to you, making you quickly turn back to the cashier. 

“Declined. Again.” The cashier handed it back this time with a look insisting you take the card from her. Humiliated, your cheeks began to turn red. 

“Sorry.” You mumbled as you shoved your card back into your purse so you could clear the shop as quickly as possible. In your haste, you accidentally ran into Mr. BusinessMan. You collided with his body like a brick wall. “Sorry! I’m so sorry! Fuck I’m a mess.” You cried out as you ran past him this time. 

You ran directly out onto the street, the cool air filling your lungs. You dropped down onto the curb to spend a minute catching your breath. You could feel your heart still racing, your body going into fight or flight mode. 

Money, money, money. It all always came back to money. If you didn't have the money for a god damn candy, how were you going to make rent in less than two weeks? Tears threatened to escape your eyes and you squeezed them shut. 

Here you were, no food in your stomach and soon to be no roof over your head. You looked at your phone, a flip phone from 2013 that miraculously still worked. The last text you had gotten was from your mom “Fridge broken. Send more this month.” 

God fucking damn it. 

“Hey! I think you forgot this.” A deep voice called out behind you. You turned to see the business man from the shop! Confused, you grabbed your purse and checked to make sure you hadn’t left your keys or something. The man held the bar you had left at the counter. He held it out to you. You didn’t go to grab it, you just stared.

“Oh. Um, you didn’t have to…” You began but he squatted down next to you and placed the candy on your lap. 

“We all have bad days. Doesn’t cost me nothing to be nice. You look like you deserve something sweet.” He had a very kind smile on his face. It did cost him something though, it cost him more than what was currently in your bank account. “You ok?”

“I’m…I’m ok. I’m going to be ok. Thank you, really.” You could feel the tears spilling over and you started to wipe your face so he wouldn’t see.

“You must really like candy to be crying over it.” He lightly joked, which only made you want to cry more. You let out a little laugh that sounded more like a strangled gasp. It was so overwhelming, the simple act of charity.

“It’s just…really really nice of you.” You gasped, the tears finally flowing freely. “I don’t remember the last time anyone has ever given me something…I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey, hey, you’ve got nothing to apologize for.” He reached out and placed a hand on your shoulder to comfort you. “I’m James.”

You gave him your name, finally ceasing your tears. You took a deep breath, you couldn’t just fall apart in front of this kind stranger, he was probably running late to some sort of business meeting anyway.

“You have a way to get home?” he asked, he pulled out his phone and began to tap on it. You nodded your head. 

“Yes, yes I do. I have money left on a bus card, really thank you so much James.” He smiled at you when you said his name. He placed his phone back into his suit jacket. He took your hand and helped you up.  With your spiral into darkness slightly stalled, you took in your savior. He was so classically handsome. When you looked into his blue, blue eyes you felt like you were drowning in them. He tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear, your heart raced. 

“Get home safe, alright doll?” You nodded, clutching the candy bar to your chest. You took off down the street after giving a soft goodbye. The kindness of strangers had given you more hope than you had in a long time. 

You idly wondered about James as you ate on the bus. Your money problems were still lingering in the back of your mind but your thoughts were clear. 

You tore open the candy bar, taking a bite of the delicious treat. The chocolate melting on your tongue, the sugary sweetness coated your mouth. You got a rush from the sugar and let out a sigh. 

Maybe things were going to be ok, it was a sign that the universe was on your side. 

{}{}{}

You put on your waitress face and did your best to keep up the highest energy tonight. You were all bubbles and giggles throughout the shift. You would smile and laugh at every lame joke a customer would tell you.

Half way through your shift the place was packed. You should be grateful it was busy, you were getting good tips but hadn’t had a moment to breathe since you walked out onto the floor. You carefully balanced a tray of shots and an order of bacon-wrapped dates to drop off before you made it to the party that just sat down in your section. The hostess had put them back in the booth that was partially tucked away with velvet curtains. Big spenders for sure. You smoothed down your dress and tossed your hair over your shoulders as you made your way over. 

“Hiii how are we doing tonight Gentle--” You began your usually bubbly opener, voice high pitched and energetic but as you took in who was sitting in front of you, you stumbled. 

James. Your candy savior. The bodega hero. Him and three other men were waiting to be served. He was wearing a new suit, this one with no tie and a few buttons undone from his shirt. Damn he could really rock a suit, he filled this one out perfectly too. FUCK.  

“Ahem, excuse me gentlemen. So what can I start you off with?” You quickly recovered, grabbing your pad and pen and focusing your eyes on the paper. You prayed that with your heavy makeup and fluffed up hair that maybe he wouldn’t recognize you, or maybe just wouldn’t even remember. 

“Hey there sweetheart, hope my good looks didn’t startle you.” His charming grin grew as you bashfully waved your hand at him.

“Oh I'm used to handsome, it's just a little busy in here tonight. Are we just starting out the night? Maybe with some shots?” You offered with a grin of your own. He seemed pretty pleased with your flattery. James was silent as the other two ordered a round of shots, his gaze was fixed on you. You went to turn to put the order in but as you went James’s hand shot out and he grabbed your wrist. 

You froze and stayed.

“Hold on a minute Doll, you didn’t take my order yet.” His voice was low and easy. You lightly moved your hand out of his grasp to put pen to paper. You nodded to him hoping to get his order. “I want a whiskey. Neat. And bring the whole bottle out.”

“Whoa, we’re getting bottles tonight?”

“Sounds like you guys are going to have some fun!” You said quickly writing down the order with a flourish. This time you managed to escape to put the orders in. As you waited by the bar for the orders you felt your heart racing. It wasn’t just the adrenaline of the fast paced night. Seeing James again had put you completely off kilter. It was humiliating, the last time he saw you, you were crying in the street. He must find you so pathetic. If he even recognized you?

James and his party stayed practically til closing, ordering more and more. The bill they were racking up was so notable that Jeremy himself came out to thank them for their patronage. The other girls were all playfully jealous, it wasn’t you who could normally hook in the big spenders like that. 

“Sadly, it seems we’ve got to end it here. Little guy can’t hold his liquor.” James said motioning to the one you learned was named Sam.

“M’fine.” He slurred. The blonde man who was called Steve laughed and threw an arm around him as he swayed. The two made their way to the exit leaving you alone at the table with James. He smiled at you expectantly. You just wanted the night to be done with. 

“Whenever you’re ready!” you placed down the bill on the table. 

“Hold on Doll, I’m ready now.”  He pulled out a shiny black card from his wallet, and quickly scribbled down on the receipt. You took the card with a smile, ready to go charge it. You glanced down on the tip and your eyes nearly fell out of your head. 

He had given you a 100% tip.

“Problem?” He asked, innocently cocking his head to the side. You glanced at the bill again, rereading it as slowly as you could to try to make sure you weren’t mistaken.

“I think you might have mixed up the tip and the total-” 

“No mistake. I’m tipping for the fantastic service.” 

“I really don’t know how comfortable I am with that James. Is this because of this morning?” Your voice was pathetically small. 

“Oh so you do remember me?” He asked flatly. You looked up at him. His sudden tone made your stomach clench. 

“I mean…of course I do but that’s not very professional of me. I’m sorry-” You immediately tried to amend the situation. This was somehow your fault, you could tell. 

“You apologize a lot. You don’t have to be sorry for getting something you want.” James’s tone was no longer angry. 

“I don’t need pity.”

“It's not pity, Doll. You gave me a service and now I’m paying you what I think is fair. I know you probably aren’t used to people giving you what you’re worth. You probably don’t even know what your worth is, do you?” When his icy blue eyes met yours it was like you were really being seen for the first time. You loved it as much as you hated it. 

“I’m not…I’m not worth anything much. Here’s your card sir, have a good night.” 

You ran off, your face hot with humiliation. 

{}{}{}

You had hoped that would be the end of it. Even with the insane tip from James you were still on the outs with your money. Now that rent could be made there was the electricity, gas, and water. Then the money you would send back to your family, oh and food for yourself. You couldn’t forget that. You kept all ten shifts that you had managed to beg Jeremy for. The big night with James made him much more amenable to your requests. 

It was only for a split second but you saw him at the hostess table. With two different men at his side, there stood James for the second night in a row. You whipped your head around and scurried to the back. 

“Wanda, he’s here again. Again!” You squealed to your co-worker who was just preparing to start her shift. 

“Who, Mr. Moneybags? Well aren’t you lucky.” She said, giving you a playful glare. 

“I don’t want to deal with him again. Please take my table?” you pleaded. 

“Don’t need to ask me twice, I’ll be getting that nice tip tonight.”  She tossed her coppery hair over her shoulder and smoothed down her dress one final time before strutting out onto the floor. 

He wasn’t here for you, you told yourself. You were just being paranoid. Wanda was going to have all of them eating out of her hands by the end of the night, you told yourself as you started out towards your first table. You pushed it from your mind. 

But you couldn’t help but glance over to his table, and the glance was more than enough to see that James was not happy. Wanda and her incredible curves didn’t seem to distract him at all. You could see her laughing and chatting but James was a dark cloud.  

Fine, who cares, he was going to give Wanda a ludicrous tip because he was a generous tipper. He wasn’t pitying you, he wasn’t trying to give you charity, that's just who he is. You scamper towards the kitchen to put in your orders and hopefully hide out a while. 

Wanda came back towards the kitchen, placing her orders and grabbing the food that was ready. Her beautiful smile fading into a line when she made eye contact with you. 

“They were really really insistent that it has to be you tonight. Even just to go over and say hi. ” She said, her tone was dry. Nervous butterflies erupted in your stomach. You bit your lip. What could this possibly mean? 

{}{}{}

You were normally pretty steady in your heels, but the floor was suddenly uneven as you approached James’s table.

“Well hi there, gentlemen. I-I can take your drink orders tonight. Give Wanda a hand.” You babbled, trying not to flub over any words. 

James smirks at you victoriously. He doesn’t need to say anything, his eyes say it all. He had gotten his way.  

The party once again racked up a ridiculous tab.  Nothing was stopping him. The rest of the table had cleared out quickly, leaving just you and James. 

He opened his wallet and laid out the tip, bill by bill. He pushed the fat stack to you, not breaking eye contact once. 

It was multiple hundred dollar bills, but you were too stunned to count. The anxiety that had been building since you first caught a glimpse of James again finally came bursting out of you in a tidal wave. You tossed the cash back on to the table. 

“Please stop. I can’t…I can’t keep doing this, I don’t know what you expect from me.”  You gasped, allowing your facade to crack as you stared up at him with tears wetting your eyes. 

You weren’t scared. But you were confused. This sort of attention must have meant he wanted something from you and…you were fairly certain of what that was. 

“This is how this business works, you did something for me, and I paid for your services.”

“I -- I--” Your breath was caught in your throat as he leaned closer to you to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. 

“Poor thing, you’ve never been treated well in your whole life, have you? I know why you’re so nervous. You’re not stupid, you're really smart. I don’t expect anything from you tonight.”

He took a breath and it was like he was stealing the air right from your lungs. “But. I would like to make an offer, if you’d be interested. I just want one hour of your time.” 

“I’m not a whore.” 

He caught your chin in his hand and made you look back at him, his eyes dark and humorless.

“What an ugly word. Nobody’s calling you that doll. Have dinner with me.” His thumb traced over the apple of your cheek.  

{}{}{}

One hour of your time. You kept thinking about it over and over again. It was just one hour. This ostentatiously wealthy man was paying you to have dinner with him. It’s not a crime. But it felt so dangerous. Sneaky and dirty. Part of it was terrifying but it was also…exciting. 

This restaurant was leaps and bounds above your place of work. It was all very classy. You tugged on your skirt just a bit, hoping you weren’t going to stick out. You were brought through the restaurant, up some stairs to a private party room. It was a huge table, with only two places set,  a glow with dozens of candle’s soft light. The walls were all windows, looking over the restaurant the other a breathtaking view of the city. 

James was waiting for you when you arrived. He looked you up and down appreciatively, his eyes lingering. He stood up like a gentleman when you got to the table. He pulled the chair out for you. 

“Oh um, thank you.” You said as he pushed you into your spot once you were seated. 

“No thanks necessary, Doll.” He placed the napkin from the plate on your lap before returning to the seat across from you. The waiter who brought you up took your drink orders before leaving you alone. 

The door clicked closed and suddenly there was a tense silence between you two. What was next? Were you supposed to say something? Or should you wait for him? 

“I trust the ride over was pleasant?”

“Yeah, um, no issues at all. I’ve never been here before, any recommendations?” Why were you so awkward? Should you be seductive? Should you be professional? Was this a business transaction or a date? Every time your eyes met his he looked hungry. For you. It made you flush. 

“You can get anything your heart desires. Pick out whatever has the most zeros next to the name.” He grinned. “The seabass is pretty good too.”

You wrinkled your nose a bit. “It's not too…fishy is it?” 

“Well it is fish.”

“But is it fishy fish?” James laughed at that. 

“It's a fishy fish. The steak is good too, but it's a steaky steak. So you know.” He joked. It made you laugh a bit too. It was like a spell was cast over you, the tension was released and your nerves vanished. The conversation flowed between the two of you easily.  

Your food came, he didn’t bring up anything. He had asked for an hour of your time, because he was going to propose something to you. You had friends who had “boyfriends” who weren’t really their boyfriends. Men who would pay for the fun that night, but they got paid back in other ways. 

You never had thought of yourself as that girl. But here you were. The anticipation made you nervous but you couldn’t deny the excitement.

He ordered dessert for the two of you, champagne and strawberries with cream and chocolate. 

You glanced at your phone, there was about ten minutes left of “your time” that he had purchased. 

“I hope I’m not so boring that you’re counting down the minutes.” James commented as you put your phone back in your purse. You shake your head.

“No I just…we have some things to discuss right? And an hour is what you asked for…”

“I am willing to pay overtime, if you’re still enjoying yourself. But if we’re down to the minute here, we should talk.” He folded his hands on the table. 

“I like you, I think that we can make something together. You seem like you need some help and call me old fashioned but I just can't resist a damsel in distress. I’m a busy man, with a lot of work and a full schedule, not really much time for dating. Not a fan of the apps either. What I am looking for is an arrangement. I want a companion and can keep you very well compensated for it.”

“So you’ve had…arrangements like this before.” You asked slowly. It didn’t make much sense to you. He was so unbelievably handsome. How could he have trouble finding anyone to be with?. He filled out his clothes so well, his strong square jaw made you want to swoon. How could it be you that he wanted? 

“Yes. Does that bother you?” 

“I-I’ve never done anything like this before.” You admitted. You cleared your throat. “What sort of things are you looking for from your…companion.” Your eyes were suddenly very focused on the bowl of strawberries in front of you. You hadn’t had a boyfriend before, but you’d been with men. Your idea of a sugar daddy was always a creepy old man, desperate for a young thing to fuck. But he didn’t seem desperate at all. The way he pinned you with his gaze was making you feel desperate for him. 

James reached out and placed his hand over yours.

“I am looking for everything. I want someone who’ll keep me company at home, someone I can buy gifts for, someone I can take out on dates.” He squeezed your hand, rubbing his thumb in circles over your wrist. “I’d like someone who’s going to stay the night too.”

Your stomach flipped. You knew what he meant. 

“Ah, like, sleepovers?” You giggled nervously. “I was never allowed to have those, as a kid. I always had to watch over my siblings.” 

“I didn’t have any either. Romanian immigrant parents. They didn’t really…get it?” James smiled, it was different from the grin that had been on his lips all night. It almost seemed shy.  “So maybe we should make up for lost time, hm?”

“But what would it be like? Being your…companion?” You were testing the waters. He was being a bit too vague for your liking. The word sugar baby had never been said but that’s what this was going to be wasn’t it? He wasn’t asking you to be his girlfriend. But he wanted you. And you wanted him. 

Should you get a contract? Or was that only something that happened in trashy romance novels?

He picked the bottle of champagne, his veins bulged in his strong grip. He easily flicked the cork off, popped the champagne with a loud bang that made you jolt. He smirked at your reaction. He poured himself a glass effortlessly then stood, walking to your side of the table. He was completely relaxed, in total control the whole time. 

He towered above you as he poured the bubbling liquor into the champagne flute in front of you. You could smell the rich musk of his cologne. He picked it up to offer it to you.

“If you agree to be mine, I would take you out to nice places like this, buy you whatever you like and then we would keep having fun all night.” His eyes sparkled. Your heart began to flutter, his eyes making you feel like you were the only person on earth. And you could get anything you wanted. 

You took the flute from him. You took a sip of the dry sparkling wine. It tasted expensive. 

“Do you want me to quit my job?” You said plainly. 

“Being CEO means I don't exactly have a 9-5 schedule and neither does a cocktail waitress. I don’t want to have to deal with scheduling around each other. Part of this is about you being available to me. You can take a leave of absence?” He was still standing, but had leaned against the table facing you. The CEO drop gave you a slight pause. You knew he was rich but…you were nervous to ask just how rich. Did it matter? You wondered to yourself. He was so handsome, you didn’t need specifics. You needed him.

“I don’t think that's an option for me.” You said trying not to roll your eyes. 

“Trying not to seem too pushy Doll, but…I want you to quit your job. I’ll be your job from now on. I can cover any of the expenses you’d need a job for. Being mine means spending late nights at my apartment, weekend trips to Europe, I don’t want you to worry about anything but me. If you agree, of course.”

He held out his hand to you. “Or is my time up?” 

You grabbed his hand. Your fingers interlocked. You nodded your head. James smiled and pulled you out of your seat. You quickly stood, eyes looking up into the icy blue pools that captivated you. His lips lightly pressed against yours. It was so soft and romantic, you surrendered to him easily. Your lips moved against him, assuring him, assuring yourself, you could do this. 

“You know why I got the strawberries right?” He asked as he pulled away motioning to the nearly forgotten dessert. 

“Yes…I’ve seen Pretty Woman. They bring out the sweetness of the champagne” You replied smartly. He laughed again. You made him laugh a lot, and every time you did your heart would race.

“I got them because I’m pretty sure you have a sweet tooth. And I thought it could be fun.” He scooped a dollop of cream onto a berry and brought it up to your lips. You obediently opened your mouth, taking a bite of the fruit. The bright, sharpness of the berry was contrasted by the fluffy sweetness of the cream. It was so decadent you needed a minute before you could take another bite. 

He pressed his hands against the small of your back and guided you slowly towards him.

He eased down onto the chair, planting his feet on the floor. 

He gripped your hips and pulled you to straddle his thigh. He guided you down and you followed his lead. You slowly lowered onto him.Your crotch rubbed against his thigh, you grabbed onto his shoulders to try and steady yourself. His fingers went to your dress and hiked it up to your waist.

You let out a gasp, your eyes quickly darting to the door. He grabbed your chin and pulled your focus back to him. 

“You don’t have to worry about anything tonight. You just have to be mine.”  He murmured, his breath fanning over your face. Your face was burning with embarrassment, you’d never been so intimate in public before.

He began to tap his heel making you bounce up and down. His hands went to your ass. The delicious friction made you bite down hard on your lip as your arousal started to mount. 

“James ahh--” You tried to ask but pleasure started to rocket up your core. Your eyes rolled back as he continued to rock you on his thighs. He shushed you, burying his face in your neck. His hands finally left your hips and grasped your breasts.  You moaned at the sensation. You wrapped your arms around his neck, arching your back bringing his face to your cleavage. 

Your hips moved of their own volition now, faster as the sweet ache between your legs grew. 

They glided over and over his thick thighs, building in speed as you chased after your high. Bouncing up and down, no longer concerned with anyone who might see. 

“What do you want?” he gasped. Suddenly stopping you mid thrust, his grip on your ass held you still. 

“Huh?” you whined, wiggling your hips a bit, but he held you firm. 

“Tell me sweetheart, how do I close this deal, what do you want?” James whispered in your ear, letting his breath tickle you. 

“I--” You took a moment. Your panties were soaked through, you could feel your slickness on his pants. You felt so wanton, but this was what you wanted. “I want my rent paid.”

“Done.” 

“And I want a new phone.” He just nodded as his lips connected with your neck. You moaned as he lightly bit down on your neck alternating between pain and sweet kisses. You suddenly felt powerful, more powerful than you ever had in your life. “I also have student loans and money for savings a-and my sister’s starting high school this year and she’s going to need a laptop, so--” 

His lips had finally worked your neck enough and collided with your lips. He kissed you so fiercely, so overwhelmingly hot that you completely lost your train of thought and surrendered to it. 

“Deal.” he panted as he pulled away from your lips, his forehead resting against yours. You started to ride his thigh again, desperate for a release as the coils inside you wind together tighter and tighter.

“Fuck Doll that’s right, use me, ride my thigh, you’re mine now. Show you how good it is to be mine.” James grunted as you chased your high.

Waves of pleasure came crashing over you. You writhed on his thigh, your panties sticking to the sides of your walls as you collapsed forward. Pressing your head to his shoulder, you could feel him chuckling.

You liked being his. You felt small in his lap as he smoothed down your dress. He wiped some of the sweat off your brows. 

You take another sip of the champagne. It wasn’t sweet, but you could get used to it.

[navybrat817]

Where We Left Off

Pairing: Best Friend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: You're in love with your best friend who is determined to make the most of your vacation together. Word Count: Over 1.2k Warnings: Light angst, friends reconnecting, unrequited feelings (or so you think), slight feels (it's me), future fun, Bucky Barnes (yep, he's a warning) A/N: New AU called Reconnect because why not? Meet Dreamboat and Butterfly. For @the-slumberparty 's June's Monthly Challenge : Bikini and Beach, and Smut Hub Summer Camp Bingo @sagechanoafterdark: Choose Your Vibes: Summer. Thank you @flordeamatista for the inspiration and pre-reading! ❤️ Any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

It was a couple of summers ago when you realized you were in love with Bucky Barnes. When you looked back on your friendship, you wondered how it took you so long to realize it. Like how his smile made your heart race whenever he looked your way. Or how you found a solid ground and safe space together, each of you able to confide in the other.

He made you feel safe.

"You're my best friend."

Nothing more.

You stared out the living room window with a sigh, the beach house blanketed by the heavy sound of rain. While it had been bright and sunny just minutes ago, the sky was now dark and misty. You shivered as you wrapped your towel tighter around your wet body, enchanted by the summer storm instead of going to your room to change. It figured you'd buy a new swimsuit for the trip and only get to wear it outside for a minute.

"So much for lounging on the beach."

You smiled softly as you glanced at Bucky beside you, who ran a hand through his long, soaked hair. He hadn't bothered to keep his towel after the two of you rushed back inside, clad in just his blue trunks that matched the shade of his eyes. You scolded yourself for letting your gaze roam along his sun kissed, muscular body.

You didn't have the right to look at him that way.

"Yeah. So much for that," you said, the towel doing little to keep you warm as the air conditioner kicked on. "Maybe our punishment for getting started without everyone?"

Steve, another one of Bucky's best friends, put together a weeklong trip for the gang. So far, you and Bucky were the only two at the beach house. Everyone else wasn't going to be there until the evening. That was why you went for an immediate swim once you picked your room. The storm would likely put the group behind even more and now you were stuck inside with Bucky.

Why had you agreed to show up early?

Why did you have to be alone with him?

Why do I have to love him?

"Maybe," he said with a stretch, drawing attention to his wide chest. "Since it doesn't look like it's slowing down at all, why don't we cuddle on the couch? Catch up a bit?"

"Cuddle?" you scoffed, the sound more bitter than you intended as you turned to face him. "Why would we do that?"

A flicker of hurt passed over his eyes before he blinked it away. "Well, for one, you're cold. I can practically hear your teeth chattering," he replied. He wasn't a fan of being cold either, but he always ran warm. "And two, cuddling never bothered you before."

Your stomach flip-flopped. Bucky was right. He was the only male friend you ever snuggled with. Whenever you had a bad day, he didn't hesitate to throw a heavy arm around you and pull you against his chest. On good days, he found an excuse to keep you plastered by his side. He used to do it so often that most people assumed you were dating.

Wishful thinking.

"I'm sorry," you said, giving him the nicest smile you could manage even though it hurt to do so. "Been awhile since it was just the two of us and even longer than that since we cuddled."

The day it clicked that you saw Bucky as more than a friend was the day he introduced you to Dolores. Everyone called her Dot. The beautiful redhead looked good on his arm and you wondered why it wasn't you in her place. But you put on a brave face and smiled, even as your heart shattered. Because Bucky's happiness meant more than your feelings.

It didn't stop you from crying alone in the darkness where no one else could see.

"That's my fault," he whispered, sliding his fingers into his hair again and tugging harshly on the strands. You noticed he did that when he was upset. "And I'm sorry."

"Friendship goes both ways," you pointed out.

"You never faded out of my life when you dated anyone."

They weren't you, Bucky.

"I guess she was different," you smiled sadly.

The two of you still hung out and messaged each other while he dated Dot, but it was always as a group and the daily messages dwindled to chats here and there. You had the feeling that Dot didn't like you very much. In a way, you didn't fault her for that. Maybe she saw through you and knew you wanted Bucky.

Yet he was the one who broke up with her.

"You're allowed to be mad at me," he said as he took your hand and crossed the room to the couch. "I'd be mad at me."

"Right now, I'm just cold," you said, not wanting to dwell on the past. What good would it do?

He nodded slowly, almost like he was disappointed in your response. "Okay."

You shrieked when he pulled the towel away. It wasn't like he hadn't seen you minutes before in your bikini and you swore his gaze lingered on you long enough to consider it staring, but what was he doing? "What the hell?" you asked, but made no move to cover yourself.

Maybe I want him to see that I'm desirable.

Bucky let out a breath as he looked at you, your shivering having nothing to do with the cold. "You said you were cold, so let me warm you up," he urged, grabbing a blanket from the back of the couch before he took a seat. "Please?"

Silence fell over you as you sat down beside him. He wasted no time putting the blanket over you and wrapping his arms around your shaking frame. You breathed in his familiar scent and found yourself fighting off tears, a bittersweet swirl of longing and comfort settling in your chest.

Because he embraced you as if you meant something to him.

"I missed you," he whispered, running a hand along your back.

Your heart clenched, focusing on the rain falling outside in a melancholy rhythm. "I missed you, too."

"But we have each other again."

"I wish that were true," you whispered.

Why did I say that?

His hand stilled, but you were too afraid to look at him. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Panic bubbled in your chest. You couldn't just blurt out your feelings like this. "I just mean you went from a constant to a fleeting moment in my life," you said, which was the truth. "I don't want things to fizzle after we leave."

Bucky used to be the brightest star in your sky. Then he became the shooting star you missed making a wish upon. But you would forever watch the sky if only to get a glimpse of his bright light.

"I'll make it up to you. I have this whole week to start," he promised, rubbing his chin along the top of your head. "I don't care what Steve has planned. I'm all yours."

You squeezed your eyes shut because you knew you'd cry if you didn't. He wasn't yours. Not really.

"I'm yours, too, Bucky."

I always will be.

Surely Bucky will sweep us off our feet, right? Love and thanks! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[holylulusworld]

My annoying sexy neighbor

Title: My annoying sexy neighbor

Written for @buckybarnesbingo (Round 6)

Card: B004

Square Filled: C3: free space - Neighbor AU

Ship/Main Pairing: Neighbor!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Major Tags/Triggers/Warnings: voyeurism, daydreaming, objectification of Bucky Barnes and his metal arm, a lil fingering, light/implied smut (unprotected)

Summary: Summer is extra hot this year.

Word Count: 1,3k+

Written for week 4 of @buckybarnesevents: Free Week

Prompt filled for: 2023 @buckybarnesbingo (expired): B2: “Get off my lawn”

Prompt filled for: @sebastianstanbingo: Square 2: “I bet all our neighbors can hear you.”

Prompt filled for: Navy and Roo’s slumber party presents bingo @the-slumberparty (expired): crush

You hate him. You can’t even describe how much you hate him.

James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky to his friends. The worst neighbor ever.

It’s his fault you hate him.

Not because he’s a bad neighbor. No. He’s friendly, a little cocky maybe, but very helpful. If you’d have to describe his character, you’d say he’s a kind guy with a good sense of humor. Bucky offers to mow your lawn, help you with your trashcan, or fix your fence.

You hate him because he slowly makes your resolve crumble to never fall for a man again. Especially not the hot kind of man. You know, the kind of man wanting you to fling your panties across the room and suck him off without even knowing his name.

He makes your life so much harder. Before he moved in across the street, you came home from work and had time to relax. Sometimes you indulged in watching the rerun of old shows.

Now you must race home to not miss him working out, bringing out the trashcan, or mowing the lawn. Whatever Bucky does, he does it shirtless. You get lucky if he wears more than the shortest shorts you ever saw on a man.

If only you could say “Get off my lawn” and forget about him. But you have this stupid crush on your sexy neighbor.

Just like today. You raced home, almost running your trashcan over when parking your car because he was mowing his lawn while shaking his ass.

That bastard dared to wave at you and call you a pretty doll! How dare that man to tease you with his perfect abs on full display!

Sweat was running down his chest, and he did the worst thing possible.

Bucky killed the engine of his mower, jogged toward you, and emptied a bottle of water over his head. Water ran down his body and you had no other choice but to watch it wander down to his shorts. Fucking tight shorts… The fabric left little to nothing to your imagination. “That” was on full display, and you could tell, it was big.

“Hey, doll,” the fucker grinned as your eyes were glued to his artificial arm. A beautiful piece of technology. He once told you it was custom-made, and that he can feel everything, even though, it’s not made of skin, flesh, and bones. “How was work?”

“Boring and…hot,” you swallowed thickly. Your throat was suddenly too dry, and your panties soaked.

“Hot?” He laughed at your predicament. Bucky didn’t miss the way your eyes roamed his body. He had hoped that today was the day you finally broke. “If you are hot,” he stepped closer to run his metal index finger over your cheek, “you can come over and cool off in my pool. I just cleaned it.”

“I-I,” you would kill to swim, but being around Bucky in only your swimsuit was something you tried to avoid. He invited you over more than once to cool off.

“We can order food,” he smirked at you, already grabbing your hand. “Come on, doll. Don’t make me beg. I don’t want to swim alone. We can have a pool party.”

You considered his words. For a second you wanted to chicken out and come up with an excuse. “I promise to wear swim shorts.”

“Okay,” you finally said, defeated by your neediness. “Let me get the trashcan inside and have a shower. I’ll be there in an hour.”

“Let me handle the trashcan,” he flashed you a smile. “I’ll be waiting for you after I took care of it and put the mower away. I can mow the rest of my lawn tomorrow.”

You took your time and checked your appearance in the mirror more than once. It wasn’t in your plans to draw too much attention toward you. So, you wore a light summer dress over your swimsuit and hastily made a salad to have an excuse to visit Bucky. The ladies in the neighborhood love to gossip.

“Doll,” before you got the chance to knock Bucky opened the front door. He glanced at the salad but said nothing. “No food before swimming.”

“It’s for…uh…later,” you stammered, still unsure if it was a good idea to come to Bucky’s place. “If we get hungry after swimming.”

“I will order food, doll,” he purred and shamelessly wrapped his metal arm around your shoulders. You shuddered at the sensation of the cool metal against your heated skin. “You’ll get all you desire.”

Bucky had no clue that your heartbeat quickened, and you felt like your legs were about to give in as he guided you through his house. “Oh gosh! I forgot a towel,” you tried to talk yourself out of this bad idea.

“Doll, I got more than enough towels,” he pecked your cheek. “I got all you’ll need before, during, and after your swim.” Bucky flashed you this irresistible smirk again. “How about you get comfortable, and I put the salad in the fridge and change into my swim shorts.”

“Sure,” you almost whined when he dropped his metal arm from around your shoulders to leave your side. He threw a look over his shoulder to look at you right when you turned around yourself to glance at his wide back and ass.

“Go ahead, Y/N. Get comfortable,” he chuckled and walked a little faster to reach the kitchen and change clothing. Bucky couldn’t wait to get in the pool with you.

You looked down at your body to check on your swimsuit. Just like Bucky suggested, you got into the water to cool off. Or maybe to hide that you soaked your swimsuit.

“I see you already got comfortable,” Bucky winked at you before he jumped into the pool, splashing water in your face. You shrieked and giggled because he grabbed you by your waist to press you against the pool wall. He smirked when you shuddered in his embrace. “Let’s get you even more comfortable.”

His lips claimed yours before you could ask him if you saw right. You moved your hand between your bodies to feel him up. “Doll, you’re naughty,” he purred against your lips.

“You are the naughty one, wearing no swim shorts, Mr. Barnes,” you smirked while stroking his cock. “You invited me for a swim and come here, wearing nothing but a smirk.”

“Baby, tell me you’re not wet and we can swim or,” he kissed you again, greedily shoving his tongue inside your mouth. “Do you know how long I’ve been wanting to do this to you?”

“No,” you dropped your hand from his cock to wrap your arms around his neck. “Do you know how long I wanted to do this to you?” You slung your legs around his waistline to slowly grind against him.

“Fuck…baby…”

“Louder!” You rubbed yourself against his aching cock, making your sexy neighbor groan loudly. “Louder!!”

“Fuck! I wanna fuck you!” He wildly jerked his hips.

“I bet all our neighbors can hear you,” you teased, all the while rolling your hips. “What about you show me how much you want to fuck me?”

He hastily shoved your swimsuit aside, exposing your cunt to his greedy fingers. “You know that you’re mine from now on. None of the other lonely guys can have you.”

Bucky worked your swollen bud with skilled fingers. Of course, the bastard knew how to make you even more desperate for his cock.

“Bucky,” you whined and whimpered. “Please.”

He silenced your moans with his lips, sealing your fate while replacing his fingers with something better. Bucky slipped inside, ignoring that you groaned against his lips because of the wide stretch.

You held onto him and slung your legs tighter around his waistline for dear life.

“I bet all our neighbors can hear you,” he groaned against your lips. “How about we give them a good reason to talk about us from tomorrow on?”

Part 2

Tags in reblog.

[ficnation]

Chapter 4: Bon Appétit

Series: “Eat Your Heart Out” Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female! Reader x Will Graham Word count: 4,6k+ Warnings: canon-typical warnings, 18+, SMUT A/n: I'm really putting off the inevitable here sksksksk. Enjoy and let me know your thoughts <3 Btw this is my first time writing explicit smut (unedited)

This is also another late piece to @the-slumberparty Bingo Card event (prompt: proposal) - > Events Masterlist

Main Masterlist || Hannibal Masterlist

PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

When Will comes home that night after promising you he’ll only be gone for a few hours, he’s doing anything in his power not to look you in the eyes. He kept his word, coming back exactly three hours and twenty-six minutes later. You stare at him, intrigued. You don’t understand why he’s acting this way, but your mind screams at you that it can’t be anything good—it’s right, like always.

“I resumed my therapy with Doctor Hannibal Lecter,” he informs you after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence. He still doesn’t look at you, as he takes off his jacket and boots.

“You did what?” You blink at him in confusion—utterly dumbfounded. The meaning of his words doesn’t even register in your brain. 

“I’m going to keep on seeing Hannibal,” Will repeats in the same monotonous voice.

It hits you like a train, and your stomach churns at the thought of them sitting across from each other, talking about emotions and Will’s life. Your expression turns to one of disapproval as the man expected.

“After everything he’s done, after everything he put you through, why would you do that?”

Will doesn’t respond right away, and you can tell he’s struggling with his words. “There are things I need to learn about myself,” he says finally. “About what it’s like to be me.”

You stare at him, burning invisible holes in his head, trying to decipher what is truly happening here. The guilt that emanates from his person, the fact that he still can’t meet your gaze—it’s more than suspicious. The realization hits you even harder than the fact he wants to be anywhere near Hannibal Lecter.

“Why are you lying to me?” you ask, voice on the verge of breaking. You hate yourself for ever thinking that he trusts you completely after all those years apart. The tears gathering in your eyes are more angry than sorrowful.

For a moment, Will goes silent. The silence is thick, full of tension as the two of you remain in your positions—you watching him, and him with his back turned to you.

Then, he closes his eyes tightly, as if fighting against a headache. He finally speaks, but only after turning slowly to face you. You immediately notice the pained expression on his face, the guilt that drips from his very skin.

“I have to keep seeing him.”

You go to protest again, but the sound of your voice cracks, and no words emerge. Will doesn’t wish to ever hear this noise from you again. It feels criminal—being the one who caused it. His heart breaks in a way it never did before—it stings like someone delivered it one thousand cuts.

You both remain silent for what feels like an eternity. Will doesn’t look away from you, and your eyes are locked on him, on that misery and pain staring right at you. No one moves, no one blinks, no one probably even breathes. Everything is still, except for your heart which aches even worse than it did before. The silence gets so thick you can almost feel it—touch it. For the life of you, you don’t want to be the one to break it.

You want to speak, beg, convince him to stop these mind games, to give you an explanation you could understand. But you choose to keep your mouth shut, slumping further into the cushions of the armchair. 

Will’s eyes don’t leave you. They remain fixed on you as if willing you to speak, to tell him something that would make all of this suddenly go away. Anything.

He wants you to read his mind, and understand his pleas, but you can’t— and even if you could, you wouldn’t. You don’t do anything, don’t even move a muscle and after a few moments of waiting, Will finally breaks the silence.

“I don’t want him to do this to anyone else,” he says. His words are soft and quiet, but they carry a weight that you feel in your chest.

“Yet you didn’t start with that. You chose to lie.” 

Will sighs. He looks exhausted as if you’ve been here asking him questions for hours, even though it’s been twenty minutes at most.

“I didn’t want you to stop me. There, I said it,” he says. “It was hard. Harder than anything I’ve ever done. Can you just cut me some slack over here?”

You don’t answer right away. You don’t know what to think or what to say about this whole situation. It seems absurd, and you have to remind yourself that you might’ve paused your story with Will Graham, but for him time has passed, things have changed.

You’re not proud of the words that leave you next. God, you wish you could just catch them in the air before they have a chance to reach his ears and put them back in your mouth.

“Change your fucking tone, Will.”

You’re shocked with your own words, but Will doesn’t seem annoyed or offended, not like most people would. He’s still staring at you, but you notice the slightest hint of amusement in his expression as if this new side of you intrigued him rather than annoyed him.

“You don’t like me speaking to you like that, my dear?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. He makes no attempts to sound serious—just enough to make you laugh, but his words carry weight. He’s genuinely curious.

Will Graham just called you “my dear” and your whole face warms up at this term of endearment as you observe him fall to one knee in front of your person.

“What are you doing?” you choke out, confused, butterflies fluttering wildly in your chest.

Will takes his time to reply, his eyes scanning you and your reactions. He seems to enjoy the sight of you flustered, barely keeping up with what’s happening right in front of your face. His heart skips a beat more than twice in the span of a few seconds.

“I’m proposing.”

The words seem so absurd that you half expect him to break the tension with a quick joke, but he doesn’t. His gaze is glued to you, his words as serious as they can be. You don’t know what to say, don’t know how to react. Your mind is frozen.

“What the fuck, Will?”

Will grins at that and shakes his head as if he’d expected your reaction to be no different. He keeps his stance, one knee on the floor, as he stares at you affectionately—with so much love you’re surprised he doesn’t explode from it. The man is enjoying your confusion and the fact that he managed to pull it out of you. He’s not ashamed to admit it, either.

“That’s the kind of reaction I was hoping for,” he says quietly and in a matter of time, his hand is on your thigh, tracing invisible circles on the soft fabric of your pajama pants. “You were always going to say no for the first time.”

You blink at him, trying to coax out words from within you, but you don’t find any. That only makes you even more confused, and your expression turns to a frown. Is he really… asking you to marry him?

“I know, I’m quite the romantic.” He pauses, trying to stifle his chuckle. “Do you want me to ask you the usual way?”

“Will, are you serious?” you ask, your voice so gentle the words barely sound like they’re yours. Will only nods his head. “I don’t want you to ask at all. I want us to get married as soon as possible.”

He reaches down to grab your hands in his. “I never believed in marriage. I’m not sure if I do now either,” he admits awkwardly, playing with your fingers. “But I really want to hear people call you Mrs. Graham.”

Your heart jumps as he speaks as if you’d been waiting for him to admit those words for years. The words sink in slowly and your eyes become distant, as if you’d been taken back in time. A warm feeling spreads across your chest like you just swallowed a whole bottle of wine in one ginormous gulp.

“You know I can’t say no.” Your words are quiet and soft. He pulls you down onto his lap, his hands still around your fingers as he brings them to his chest. “Can I call you mine too?” 

“Always,” Will replies, his voice low and quiet, but full of love and emotion. “It’s been you all along.”

A soft smile rests on your face as you look down at him. Your head is right above his, but you decide to close the tiny distance between you by leaning forward and pressing your lips against his. You feel your heart race as you do so.

“Did you come up with this to distract me?” Your voice is playful, but the air around you is thick and humid. 

Will leans forward and wraps his arms snugly around your waist, hugging you tight. Your fingers play with his curls, his head back on your chest. The whole weight of him hangs onto you like all the sins in the world, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Maybe,” he replies, a smile tugging at his lips, even though he seems serious.

You can feel his body shift, and suddenly Will presses you firmly against the growing hardness inside his jeans. The whimper that pushes past your lips as you feel it through the thin layer of your pajama pants is downright desperate. You both can’t hide the fact that your breaths are becoming more irregular, muscles tensing under each other’s hands.

“I like being distracted like this,” you whisper, your nose nuzzling against his temple. 

A low growl comes from the man’s chest. You’re close enough to the source of the sound to feel the vibration against your body. He presses his face to your neck, taking in the scent of your skin like he’s oxygen-deprived.

“Should I distract you too, Will?” you ask him quietly, tugging at his tousled hair.

“You’ve done enough, dear. I’m already distracted.” His voice is soft, and his words catch in his throat. Will doesn’t seem to have a single rational thought going through his head. It’s like all he can process is his need for you, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say this was a spell cast on him. “I want you.” His hand moves to your hip, and he presses into you harder, your breath catching in your throat. “Please.”

And who are you to deny him of anything his soul could ever want or need? You don’t wait for more encouragement as your fingers start working on hastily unbuttoning his shirt. They trace the smooth lines of his chest, the scars that mark his skin, and every little detail of him—every part of his history that he once saw as a defect. It’s not. It’s who he is, who he’s always been—his past is a part of what made him the Will you know and love. 

Your fingers slowly make their way down to his belt and unclasp it too in one go. You graze over his hardness on accident, already feeling its heat through the thin layer. You let out a whimper and your whole brain starts to short-circuit. 

“Slowly.” Will’s voice is hoarse and raw, his fingers digging deeply into the skin of your hip. “I want to see you.”

The man doesn’t waste any time in waiting for your reaction as his hand moves up to your face. His touch is gentle as it pushes back your hair, his fingertips rubbing against the skin behind your ear before they start pursuing the shape of your neck—every muscle and tendon.

“Slowly,” he repeats, and you can’t help but groan.

Nevertheless, you obey, letting your hands explore every surface of his flesh again like he’s the perfect puzzle that you need to solve. His own mirror yours, sliding below the thin layer of your t-shirt, grazing over your navel, and pushing upwards.

Every move you make leaves its mark, causing his body to tremble even more. His breath becomes so uneven, you think he might fall apart at any moment. The mere sound sends shivers down your spine.

“Yes, like that,” he mumbles, and his lips are right next to your ear as he whispers these words. His hand moves again and starts to tug at your shirt.

You help him remove it in one go, left in only your plaid pajama bottoms. Will’s touch is familiar, one you could never forget—not like the dozen strangers through the past few years, you never even remembered their faces come tomorrow morning. But his touch sets you ablaze—burns and soothes at the same time, it’s unforgettable.

Will reaches up to pull your head against his so that you’re staring straight at one another. His touch is gentle, but there’s an intensity to it that you can’t mistake. His lips slowly approach yours with such an intense need that you can read it in his gaze. Even though he doesn’t say it, you feel that this kiss is more than just desire—it’s a need to be as close to you as possible, to never let you go again. His tongue delves inside your mouth, and you sigh into it.

The feeling of your skin pressed against his leaves Will desperate, his mind so overwhelmed and in a haze, he can’t even form the words to describe the sensation. His hand keeps moving as if your flesh were an addiction. The sound that leaves from his throat is something so close to a purr—he’s almost embarrassed. 

You feel his body tensing, his muscles flexing against yours, and your skin feels hot and all too sensitive. He’s taking advantage of this moment to touch you anywhere he can reach. His fingers leave no inch of your skin unexplored as he slowly begins to lower your pajama bottoms.

“God, you’re beautiful.” The sound of your voice draws Will’s eyes closed as he inhales deeply.

Will’s fingers glide down toward your legs, and he looks as if all his dreams are coming true at once. You see his eyes flicker open, and he looks at you with such intensity, such concentration, that it’s hard to breathe as you’re pulled along by an invisible force. He finally lets go of your chin so that he can drag your pajamas down further until they’re thrown across the room. 

You take his hands in yours, placing them over your breasts. And it’s only when his teeth drag across your neck, from just above your collarbone down to the crook of your shoulder, that he loses it completely. 

There’s no being slow or gentle when he pushes you away, standing up and pulling you to your feet. You take hurried steps back as he nudges you toward the bed. Soon enough, your calves hit the mattress and you fall back onto the blue duvet. You don’t even have a chance to take a breath, Will is hovering over you, elbows on each side of your head. 

“You’re gorgeous,” he mumbles, looking deep into your eyes—so deep you’re afraid he can see the broken soul behind them. 

You help him push his jeans and boxers down the length of his legs. The second they’re no longer an obstacle, Will’s fingers delve between your thighs, circling your clit teasingly with the gentlest of touches. Your lips part in a gasp, hands falling onto the covers to clench them in your fists.

“Will, please,” you plead between whimpers. He was the only one who could ever bring you to the point of begging, and you hope he knows it somewhere deep within. 

The man faces you with glassy eyes, swiping the tip of his tongue over his bottom lips. He doesn’t need you to say anything more, he just nods feverishly and lets your fingers guide him inside. The sensation of your heat gripping him tightly makes him groan, lips falling agape. You wrap your legs around his hips, crossing them behind his back, and pull him even closer. 

“Will,” you moan his name against his lips.

It spurs him on, makes him even more eager to please you. He draws back almost completely, then buries himself inside you again in one smooth motion. Your thighs tremble visibly, and it almost makes him smile. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, fingers tugging on his curls. 

Will rocks into you deep and steady, one of his hands digging into the meat of your thigh with so much force it hurts—but goddamn, you love this kind of pain. And he makes it feel even more heavenly when his thumb begins to trace circles over your clit.

It doesn’t take him long to take you over the edge—hard and fast—turning you into a mindless, hot, whimpering mess. You mumble his name over and over again as your heat pulses around his length, making him come just a few moments after you. He claims your mouth with his, making you taste your name on his lips. God, does it taste heavenly.

Night came quicker than you realized, covering the sky with bright stars and a full moon. Despite it, it’s not pitch black outside. The shimmering snow reflects the shining lights, fighting off the darkness well enough. It doesn’t make you feel any less threatened, even though it should.

You’re wrapped only in the blue duvet that covered the bed, as you lie on your side, facing Will, who’s already asleep. His bare thigh is right against yours, and the heat of his skin is almost impossible to resist. You let your eyes wander across his body, his physique—he looks like a sculpture, a masterpiece of flesh and bone.

Your body still aches from his touch, and you feel like you’re a puddle of emotions with the sole mission of holding love, affection, and desire for him. You’re about as far away from being “fine” as possible. You didn’t even get a chance to tell him you’ll be working together from now on. He doesn’t know he’s allowed back in BAU, and you wonder if you should leave him unknowing for as long as possible. It’s not your greatest idea, but the idea of him breaking beyond repair terrifies you.

You try to calm your heart as it races and skips a beat every time his body shifts—the smallest movement seems like it could wake him up. But as you lie there in the darkness, his hand reaches out and finds its rightful place on your thigh again, his fingers barely grazing your skin. The sensation makes you almost jump out of your skin, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Why are you awake?” he asks with half-closed eyes.

“Can’t sleep,” you reply softly, wanting to touch him back, but not sure if you should.

“I figured,” he murmurs. “You didn’t sleep much yesterday either.”

You sigh sadly, you didn’t think he’d noticed. His hand moves up your thigh, almost instinctively, until it touches you just below your hip. It stops there, and your eyelashes flutter at its warmth against your skin.

“You can touch me.” Will’s voice is so quiet it’s almost inaudible, and you don’t have to be told twice.

Your fingers slip under the duvet, so the fabric doesn’t block your touch, and you begin to trace the outline of his leg with the tips of your fingers. Will’s eyes finally open, and he looks almost nervous at the intimate touch—until you find the spot where he’s ticklish. He lets out an adorable whimper, so naturally, you laugh and keep going.

“No, no, please stop,” Will moans, trying to fight back his chuckles, squirming as he tries to get away from your touch. The whole time he’s half-smiling, his fingers digging into the duvet for stability. He tries to grab your hands, but it only makes you laugh harder. 

You find another ticklish spot on the side of his torso and continue to tease him. Eventually, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much as you watch Will scoot back, out of your reach. Your sour mood from before is gone in an instant.

Will moves up so that he’s sitting up against the wall, practically on the edge of the bed, and he looks almost offended by your reaction. Your gaze shifts, so you can get a fuller view of him.

“I’m not as ticklish as you think,” he says, his tone serious, though you can still hear a tremble in his voice. “If you wanted to see me squirm,” he adds, “you could’ve found a different method.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, and you immediately pull the sheets up to cover the bottom part of your face, trying to hide your flustered reaction from his eyes. 

“You’re so cute,” he says, his voice just a whisper, almost as if he was afraid that anything above a murmur could wake the dogs sleeping by the fireplace. “So adorable.”

Will’s hand rests on your head, his fingers playing with the strands of hair that cover your ears. You can feel him studying you—how your nose twitches and your eyes almost close as you wait for his next words. Something about it feels intimate as if he’s taking in every detail of your expression one by one. It’s been a while since he’s done that, you didn’t even realize how much you missed it.

“You can pull it down, you know,” he says playfully, his hand still in your hair. “This must be suffocating.”

“I know,” you say quietly, as you pull the sheets down from your face.

Will’s fingers interlace with yours, and you can feel his thumb circling your wrist. 

“And yes, it is a bit suffocating.” You pull the sheets down to your collarbones, and a chill runs through your body as the cold air touches your arms. “Maybe you can warm me up.” 

Will smiles—a small, sweet smile, with a bit of mischief thrown in.  “Maybe I can,” his tone is playful as he pulls you close, your cheek finding a home on his chest, right above his heart.

After a few long minutes of silence and listening to the steady drum of his heartbeat, you turn to face him, resting your chin above his pec.

“We’re back on the team, you know?” you mumble almost mindlessly.

Will looks down at you, his expression gentle as he caresses your hair. 

“I know.”

His gaze trails down your face and lingers on your lips for a brief moment before it shifts again. There are so many things Will wants to say, but he can’t bring himself to do it—he fears it would ruin these quiet, peaceful moments between you two.

You don’t question how he already knows that, choosing instead to voice your other thoughts—ones that’ve been on your mind almost the whole day. “What did Alana want from you?”

Will’s hand pauses against your face when you bring up her name, and for a moment he seems speechless, which is rare a thing for him.

“I…” He trails off but then speaks again as if he’s found the courage to say the words. “Alana wants me to stay away from Hannibal,” he says quietly, his fingers moving on your cheeks, your brows, your chin, as if his hand isn’t allowed to stay still for a second without touching the flesh it can. “She’s sleeping with him.”

“Why does she want you to stay away?”

“Because I tried to kill him.”

You don’t even blink at his confession, there’s no fear in your gaze—no ounce of surprise. There was a time in your life when this revelation would’ve shocked you, broken you in half, but after your father’s death, when you’re faced with it, it’s… easy to handle. Will expected this kind of indifference, he knew you well enough to know you wouldn’t judge nor be afraid.

“How?”

Will lets your question hang in the air for a long minute before he speaks. He takes a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts.

“Not by my hand—not like that,” he starts. “Hannibal has a lot of… a lot of hold over me,” he pauses again, “he made me want to do it.” It’s probably the most vulnerable, the most genuine explanation Will has given anyone. He’s speaking to you from the heart and in pure honesty. “An opportunity fell on my lap to send someone after him, so I took it.”

You nod your head in acknowledgment—it makes sense to you. “It’s a shame it didn’t work out.”

A hint of a smile appears on Will’s face. He moves his fingers to the nape of your neck and to caress the lines of your ear—it’s something he always used to do when he was thinking and you were nearby. “Alana’s very upset with me.”

Will’s other hand slides over your thigh, his fingers teasing the skin, almost as if he was trying to test it, like a cat with a piece of string. He’s still thinking when his hand starts to move upwards, closer to your hip.

“Don’t take it to heart,” you advise him, leaving a soothing peck on his jaw. It was the best you could do.

“I’m trying.” He laughs in a low rumble, his hand moving between your legs and your whole body tenses. “I’m trying,” he says again.

The touch is so soft and gentle—almost teasing, yet your body seems to be craving it. It makes him nervous, but also excited, and when he closes his eyes his head just falls back to rest against the wall, his teeth showing as he breathes in deeply.

“Would you have done this if I…” his words trail off into silence as the man doesn’t seem certain about how to finish his sentence. He looks at you, his face revealing all the questions that he doesn’t dare to ask.

You grasp his jaw between your hands, encouraging him to speak his mind, but being unconditionally patient at the same time. He tries to say something again, then changes his mind. It’s as if he’s playing a constant game with you, trying to reach into your mind without opening his mouth like most people do.

“If you…”

“If I was still the same,” he mumbles out finally.

“Will, you are still the same person. Perhaps a little more broken than before, but it’s still you.”

Will stays silent and still for a minute with his eyes closed, his hand still between your legs. The tips of his fingers keep barely touching you, almost a caress, although a bit harsher than before.  His lids flutter open, so you can see his face as it’s lit by the moonlight.

“There’s something I’d like you to promise,” he says cautiously as if every word is carefully thought out before he speaks it aloud. “Promise me that you’ll keep trusting in me... even if you don’t understand.” 

Will’s hand moves up from between your legs so that he can touch your waist and hold you in place. The fingers of his other hand stroke your face down to the side of your neck, and you can feel how your heart starts to beat faster and faster with each touch.

“I will always trust you, Will. Just never lie to me again, have a little faith in me too.”

Will lets his eyes fall down to your lips again, and he can’t help but bite his own in response. As if he was trying to hold himself together but the urge to kiss you was almost too strong, the way his gaze kept shifting. 

When his lips touch yours—it’s a long, slow kiss, deep and gentle at the same time. He holds you in place, your hips pressed against his as if he doesn’t want you to move, even a centimeter. And you don’t dream of being anywhere else but here—by his side.

“I love you, Will.”

[drabbles-mc]

You Have Friends?

Richie Jerimovich x F!Reader Richie Jerimovich & Carmy Berzatto & Neil Fak

For @the-slumberparty's Bingo Challenge! Bingo Square: friends with benefits

Warnings: 18+, language, canon-typical chaos

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: I love them. I love them all so much. I can and would kill a man for Neil Fak.

The Bear Taglist: @garbinge @withmyteeth @justreblogginfics @narcolini (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

You had your phone out, ready to call or text him to come and meet you outside. You weren’t expecting the door to be unlocked, but it pulled open with no resistance. Your eyebrows lifted, and for a moment you still contemplated just calling him anyway. But then you heard the crashing sounds, the subsequent yelling after the fact, and you knew that even if you called him repeatedly he wasn’t going to pick up the phone. Especially not when he was one of the people doing the yelling.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped inside and let the door fall shut behind you. The metallic clanging of the door hitting the frame was a sound you were certain no one else heard other than you. You took careful steps through the restaurant, or what used to be a restaurant, what was going to be a restaurant again in a couple months, apparently. There was debris everywhere, and the deeper you walked, the more the yelling made sense. Although, knowing Richie, yelling would happen even when it didn’t make sense. Italian aesthetic for the least Italian man you know.

Passing by a tarp, the one spray painted by someone who was clearly angry when they got the can of paint in their hand, you finally landed yourself where everyone was gathered. Carmy and Richie were chest-to-chest, or their approximation of that as Richie towered over him. Fak was on standby, and based off of what Richie had told you, you were certain that Fak was ready to jump in on Carmy’s behalf and not Richie’s.

There were a few other people there too. You recognized Natalie, worry and frustration all over her face as she watched Carmy and Richie yell and duke it out with each other. Your eyes widened as you took in the entire scene playing out in front of you. It clicked for you why Richie never told you to stop by.

Finally, she snapped. “Will you two shut the fuck up, please?! This isn’t solving anything!”

Richie shook his head, stepping back from Carmy only to aggressively gesture at him instead. “Nothing this dickhead is doing is solving anything! That’s the whole fuckin’—”

“I’m sorry,” Carmy interrupted Richie’s tirade, no longer looking at the man who had just been about to throw him through the crumbling sheetrock walls around them, “um who, who are you?”

Your eyes widened further not just at the fact that he was looking at you, talking to you, but at the drastic shift in his voice. He was quiet now, tone almost gentle, but clearly very confused. You cleared your throat, the nerves you’d felt standing in front of the restaurant were back in full-swing now that the yelling had stopped.

“Hi, sorry. I just—” you stopped short and held up the leather jacket in your hand as your only explanation.

Richie’s originally surprised expression had shifted to confusion. But once he saw the jacket in your hand, it changed into something else entirely. Almost soft. As soft as he would allow himself to be in the middle of the warzone.

“Shit,” his shoulders dropped and he stepped away from Carmy. “Thank you. Completely fuckin’,” he didn’t finish the sentence throwing out a vague hand gesture instead.

You chuckled quietly, still feeling awkward in the midst of it all but not quite as much now. Richie was, strangely enough, your tether in the midst of whatever storm you’d stumbled into. “I know.”

You handed it over to him, looking around at everyone who was looking at you. Maybe you should introduce yourself to the room. You knew most of them, or knew of them at least. Richie talked about them enough to make you feel like you knew them—you saw the pictures in his apartment, on his phone. Judging by the various looks of shock and confusion on everyone else’s faces, he was not as talkative about you as he was about all of them. That was about what you expected. You waited to see if Richie was gonna introduce you instead of making you do it, but he looked just about as lost as anyone else.

Clearing his throat, he nodded back the way you’d come in. “I’ll walk you out.”

You nodded, looking around at everyone. “It’s was nice to…you know…” you waved awkwardly. “Bye.”

The variety of goodbye’s that you got from everyone in the room was humorous. Or it was to you, at least. Judging by the look on Richie’s face you had the feeling that he was never going to be hearing the end of everything that just transpired over the last sixty seconds. You knew that whatever that was wasn’t their best behavior, but it was the best they could conjure up given your unexpected arrival and the fact that they had no idea who the fuck you were. It was a little impressive, honestly, especially if any of them were anything like Richie.

“I was gonna call,” you said as you and Richie made your way back through the minefield, trying to take all the same steps you had on the way in but in reverse lest you cause something else to collapse, “but then the door was open so I sorta just let myself in.”

He shook his head. “It’s fine. You’re fine.” He paused as he reached to open the door for you. “How much of that did you catch?”

You laughed. “Um, caught just about everything after you told one of them that you are ‘perfectly fucking capable’ of tearing the wall down safely.”

Richie shook his head. “Fuckin’ Fak.”

 You continued, not acknowledging his statement with anything but a smile. “Which, no offense,” you looked over at him, “I heard the crashing when I walked in. Not sure how true that is.”

“Not you too,” he shook his head as you both stood in the doorway. You were standing just out on the sidewalk, Richie just barely inside the hollowed-out restaurant.

“Just keepin’ it real,” you said, holding your hands up in surrender.

Richie was still shaking his head as he looked up at the sky for a moment, like he was visibly trying to talk himself out of saying something shitty. Finally looking back at you, he said, “Thanks for the jacket.” He shook it in his hand to emphasize his point.

“I know you guys are,” you made a general circling motion with your hand in the direction of the restaurant, “but call me when you’re done if you want.”

“Alright, yea.” He ran his hand across his brow-line. “I’ll let you know.”

You nodded. “Sounds good.” You leaned in, stealing a chaste kiss before stepping back away again. “Oh, and Richie?”

He looked at you, eyebrows raised. “Yea?”

“Take it easy on Carmy.” You laughed. “It’s fucked up to bully children.”

Richie laughed, tension dropping from his shoulders a little bit. “He makes it too easy, though. Candy from a fuckin’ baby, I swear.”

You laughed a little harder at that, shaking your head. “That’s exactly my point.” You watched him roll his eyes at you and all you could do was smile. “Talk to you later.”

“Yea, yea, I’ll see you.”

Richie stood there in the doorway and watched as you walked back down the sidewalk. You got a few strides away and realized that you hadn’t heard the clattering of the door shutting. When you turned around and saw him standing there still looking at you, you laughed and shook your head at him. He smiled, but rather than saying anything else, he just gave you the finger before pulling out a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his track pants.

When he walked back into the construction area, everyone stopped what they were doing to look at him. By that point, everyone only consisted of Fak and Carmy. Natalie must’ve handed out tasks to just about everyone else, things they could do that didn’t involve trying to work through the mess that Richie had just inadvertently created with the disintegrating wall.

“Who was that?” Carmy immediately asked when Richie stepped back in the room.

“Don’t fuckin’ worry about it.”

Fak piped up. “Is she your girlfriend? Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Shut the fuck up, Neil,” Richie snapped with a shake of his head.

“Is she, though?” Fak didn’t let up.

“No—what—what are we, fuckin’ twelve? She’s not my girlfriend.”

“She’s stopping by!” Fak countered. “With your jacket!” He gasped dramatically. “Do you sleep over?”

“I’m gonna put you through that fuckin’ wall, I swear to god.”

Carmy was half-covering his mouth with his hand watching the two of them going back and forth. He tried not to smile. “She’s not your girlfriend, then. So, so what is she?”

Richie threw his hands up, jacket flapping as he did. “Why are we even talkin’ about this right now? Don’t you have a restaurant to open?”

“Can’t open shit when you’re knocking all the walls down,” Carmy shot back with a small smirk pulling at his lips. He paused. “What’s, what’s the deal?”

Richie shook his head, knowing that he wasn’t going to get out of the conversation without giving some kind of answer. For as annoyed as he was, he also had a sliver of awareness in the back of his mind that when the shoe is on the other foot he was just as relentless, if not more.

“I met her on, fuckin’, you know,” he patted at his pants pocket where his phone was. “And she’s cool.”

“But not your girlfriend,” Carmy clarified.

“No. We’re like, friends with benefits or whatever you fuckin’ lizards call it.”

“You have friends?” Carmy asked with a laugh.

“She gives you benefits?” Fak piped up, his voice that same shocked almost-whisper he used so often.

Richie was shaking his head at both of them. He pointed at Carmy, using the hand that was still clutching his jacket. “Fuck you—yes, I have friends.” He turned to Fak and pointed at him next. “And fuck you, yes I get benefits!” He punctuated the sentence by giving him a good shove.

“Think she’s still gonna give you benefits after seeing you act like a fucking maniac in here today?” Carmy asked, eyebrows slightly raised as he tried and failed miserably at not looking amused.

“Pfft,” Richie shrugged like he was so unbothered by it, like he was far cooler than he really is, “bet I’ll get even more benefits now.”

“Gross,” Carmy responded with a laugh.

“So gross,” Fak agreed.

“You fuckin’ asked,” Richie argued, pointing back and forth between the two of them.

Before they could descend further into the madness, Natalie’s voice came ringing in front the office. “Neil! Sweetheart! Come here for a second, please.”

“Coming!” he called back, charming as ever. He looked at Richie, pointing at him accusingly. “You’re gross.”

“And you don’t fuck, Neil Fak,” Richie replied without missing a beat.

Once he walked out of the room, Richie and Carmy both instantly broke down laughing. They were both shaking their heads, at each other, at Fak, at all of it. The entire morning had been a mess, just like most of the other mornings preceding it. It was so easy to get lost in it sometimes that giving each other shit over things like that was a breath of fresh air in the strangest way. Bullying each other just for the sake of it not because it felt like the restaurant was imploding and they were each trying to cope with it the only way that they really knew how.

“Hey, cousin,” Carmy spoke up after things had quieted between them again. It looked at Richie who was looking down at the jacket in his hand.

“Yea?” Richie pulled his eyes back up.

He nodded in the direction of the door. “That all good?”

Richie shrugged, nodded. “It’s all good.”

The ends of Carmy’s mouth lifted into a tiny grin. It was genuine, still just a touch of humor to it because they were still the exact men that they were. “Alright.” He clapped Richie on the back. “C’mon, let’s clean up this fuckin’ wall you knocked down.”

“I didn’t knock—”

“You fuckin’ did!” Carmy said with a laugh.

“You know what? Whatever,” Richie shook his head. Turning on his heel, he went to put his jacket away, somewhere out of the danger zone. “Grab a fuckin’ broom, then.”

Carmy was shaking his head, already making his way to get supplies to start containing the mess. He grabbed a garbage can and a broom, chuckling to himself when he heard Fak and Richie pick up their arguing all over again just a few yards away.

[jamneuromain]

Divorce with either Steve/Andy I'm feeling angsty.

Whether happy/sad ending is up to you :)

Hi bestie <3 I'm sorry it has taken more time than I thought but my drabble turns into a one-shot before I can even realize skjksjskjskjksj

hope you'll enjoy this <3

Lie, Lie, Lie

Steve Rogers x You (Mutant!Reader)

Warning: Swearing, Angst, Divorce, (also asshole-ish Avengers?)

W/C: 5.4 K

Summary: A small leak will sink a great ship. -- Benjamin Franklin

A/N: My first entry to the bingo challenge hosted by @the-slumberparty.

It starts with a minor, insignificant detail.

Just some static in the phone, really.

A snippet of sound that common people would interpret as bad signals, considering that Steve is phoning you from thousands of miles away, while you are using the landline.

For holy Mary’s sake, who the hell still uses landlines today?

Apparently, the academic conferences you attend do.

Steve notices the small static buzzing the call you are having, after which you grumble in frustration, “Stupid signals, can’t even function properly.”

He smiles, knowing that you can’t see the expression on his face. You are cute even when you are complaining.

You sigh deeply on the other end of the phone, your voice slightly distorted from the electronic, or wireless, transmission, “I miss you, Stevie. Can’t wait to come home.”

“It’ll only be two more days,” Steve reassures you with his soothing timbre, “I’ll be waiting for you at the airport, alright? First thing you’ll see after getting off that plane.”

“Okay.” You know he can hear you pouting, but you pout anyway, “Gotta have some sleep now. I’m going to the keynote tomorrow morning.”

“Take care of yourself.” Steve holding on to his phone, wincing again as the static buzzes again, but it appears only on his end, as you seem unaffected by it, “Take care of my favorite scientist and my favorite girl for me, okay?”

“I am your favorite girl. And you know I have my powers.” You try your best to stifle a large yawn, but Steve senses your tiredness right away.

“Sleep tight, okay? I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Steve blows a kiss, hoping that it would travel across oceans and lands via the phone, and reach your forehead.

“Night, Steve.”

“Good night, sweetheart.”

You are about to hang up when the static tortures his ear again.

You hang up.

Static isn’t a problem for most people, who, unlike Steve, don’t have super hearing and super memory.

Steve could think that the static is a minor interference, however, static that appears during phone calls are hardly inconsistent. And if he has learned a thing or two during the time that landlines are still fairly popular – 40s, by the way – is that static doesn’t go on and off, nor does it blur on different pronunciations since static should naturally have a pattern.

Since Stark phones issued by the friendly billionaire is certainly off the question, he suspects that someone might be tapping into your landline.

Something is off. His intuition is telling him. So, he called Tony and asked for a favor.

After some analysis that Steve couldn’t fully understand, Tony presses his index finger to his lips tightly, humming to himself.

“Anything?” Steve watched as Tony chugged down the fifth cup of coffee ten minutes ago, and now Tony has been unusually quiet.

Tony spins his chair around, looking thoughtful. He waves his fountain pen in midair, pointing at his screen in general, “This isn’t some sort of prank Bruce asked you to play, is it?”

“Prank? Tony, this is my wife we’re talking about.” Steve is about to lose his patience. He crosses his arm, dead serious, “What is … this? Am I being paranoid or …”

He wouldn’t dare to think about you in actual danger and he’s sitting cozily in Avengers Compound. He could’ve been risking your precious rescue time. Or warn you, somehow.

Even knowing that you have your special powers.

Your mutant powers.

Still, there are hundreds of ways for you to be defenseless.

A collar could suppress all your powers. A shot of the new dose of Mutant Serum could make you lose your X-gene once and for all. And all those terrible things that could happen to you.

Tony scratches his goatee, his expression is puzzled, to say the least, “this static that you provided, looks like the interface Bruce and I were cooking up for a Friday-upgrade.”

“English, please, Tony.”

Tony magnifies the example of static extracted from the recording that is automatically stored on Stark servers, and pulls out a random MRI brain scan from Steve’s health exam last year, “See what I mean?”

Steve watches the two waves on the screen closely, almost stuttering from what he is summarizing, “They look … similar.”

“Exactly.” Tony throws the MRI scan off the screen and points to the static, “This? This isn’t sound. This is human thinking. Hell, thinking, I’m not even sure it’s human. And it has a purpose. The reason you are hearing the ‘static’ – I’ll name that thing later, is that it serves as a relay, that patches you through its – thinking, whatever, and directs your call to Y/N.”

“It isn’t Friday?” Steve blurts out the only AI he could think of.

“If it is Friday, the Nobel committee is handing me the award right this moment.” Tony snorts, but he turns serious as soon as he notices Steve’s worrying look, “but with this fragment, I can locate Y/N,” and with a few taps on the keyboard, a global map appears in front of them.

Tony mutters to himself, “Can’t track the relay itself, but I can … ”

Another few keystrokes and a red dot blip.

“… in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.” Tony isn’t even sure about what the blipping dot shows, “Now this can’t be right-” Tony looks back at Steve, whose eyebrows are tying up like knots, “Where did you say she’s having this academic conference?”

“Leipzig, Germany.” Steve answers without a second thought, “Quantum 2023.”

Tony looks awe-struck.

“I’m sending a team to get her.” Steve stands up from his seat abruptly, heading to the doorway, but Tony’s words make him stop.

“Quantum 2023 is next week, Steve. And it isn’t held in Leipzig.”

“But that’s impossible,” Steve turns on his heels, glaring at Tony, “She told me that she came into contact with some Professor, who invited her to this conference because she was doing so well with her panel back in January.”

“And what’s that panel?”

“CPS Quantum Computer-”

“CPSQ was never held this year.” Tony shakes his head, “The conference was cancelled because a main member of the CPSQ committee passed away last December. What else has she told you?”

“I can’t tell you.” You dare not read his face. Your gaze lands on the marble counter that you and Steve agreed on two years ago, instead of him. You lied. And you know you lied. And the fact that you know that you can tell him nothing, makes you even more scared and frightened, as you are well aware the last things Steve would tolerate are betrayal and infidelity.

Your shared home, once a sanctuary for you and the love of your life, now withering and shaken, cold and gloomy. It no longer is a safe haven for you.

“Did anyone blackmail you with anything?” Steve asks calmly.

He’s prepared for the worst things to come.

He spent the whole night with Tony trying to figure out the so-called “academic conferences” you were supposed to be a part of, and there were eight of them during the last three years.

Some calls were too old to trace, but Tony has figured out it with the recent three conferences, you weren’t doing Keynotes or presenting your results to academia, but in the same spot in the Pacific doing God knows what.

It was undocumented waters. Tony could only gather so much info that the islands in the vicinity were bought by a mysterious wealthy man who paid through his Kaymen Island account.

And you were visiting it almost every four months. Like clockwork.

There were a few heat signatures on the island, but with no visible vehicle, neither ferry nor helicopter in sight, Tony would have to guess that you would need someone who can transport you from where you were to the island.

“No.” You have no excuse. No reasons. No idea what you should say.

But you weren’t blackmailed. You went there voluntarily.

His gaze feels heavy on your shoulders. From the corner of your eyes, you can see he’s looking at you intensely. Trying to figure out whether you are still lying to him.

“Are you cheating?”

The other possible explanation he has thought of. Frightening, if an answer of certainty comes out of your mouth, but it would explain your lies. Steve curls his hand into a fist, the veins on his hand popping briefly onto his skin.

The hands that caressed your hair and your jaw, cradling your face when he leaned in to kiss you. All the gentle moves. Treating you as a soft and delicate being. Now a hard fist on the table.

He didn’t touch you on your way back to your home. Nor did he accept your hugs and kisses at the airport.

He was very disappointed.

“No.” You answer, with your head low.

How could he doubt your relationship? How could he doubt your love for him? Waiting for him to return after every battle, taking care of his wounds, having-

How could he think all of those were lies too?

“Then what are you hiding?”

Steve maintains his best manners not to crush the table under his fist into bits and pieces. He wants you to answer. Something. Tell him why he has been kept in the dark.

Anything.

You open your mouth, but no word comes out.

“I can’t tell you.” You whisper, your resolve of keeping the secret faltering under his piercing gaze. But you can’t tell him.

There’s turmoil in your stomach, wreaking havoc in your guts. You want to throw up when thinking about the truth, but cannot say it. Not with your teeth and tongue. Not with pen and paper. You cannot. You physically cannot.

Nothing remorseful or any expression similar appears on your face, as Steve observes your reaction closely.

“Please, Steve. I promise I’ll tell you, but now is not the time. It was – is an important … deed, to do.”

Steve stands up from his chair slowly.

Not even looking at you anymore, he sounds emotionless. Cold.

“I thought for a moment you were kidnapped. Tortured. Lured into a trap.”

“Steve-”

“I was this close,” he pinches his index finger and thumb together, “sending a full-blown rescue tactical team, to get you out.”

“Steve, please, just listen-”

“And are you talking, Y/N? Are you telling me what I need to hear?” He stands with his back to you, shaking with uncontrollable anger. “The truth, that’s all I want.”

“I can’t-”

“I can’t, either.” He interrupts you. For the entire time you can remember, from his cute and sweet attempts to ask you out on a date, from his chivalry of taking you out and asking you to be his wife, from the start of your happy marriage, he hasn’t once interrupted you when you were talking.

Tears roll down your eyes as you are tongue-tied, unable to utter a sound.

But Steve didn’t see those tears. If he did, he would have some idea that you are truly sorry for what you have done.

Steve stands with his back to you.

“I’ll save us the trouble and ask Tony to wipe our marriage from the system.”

Almost a shriek, your hands and feet are placed in the bottom of the ice pit, “You can’t-! I- You can’t!”

Your sobbing fills the room that was occupied by a dreadful silence. From your husband.

You would never imagine that a lie would go this far.

“Watch me.”

He can’t, not when you are-

Not when you are working on-

Not when you are trying to-

He can’t.

Realization dawns on you that even if you did tell him one thing that you can say to make him stay, he would consider it a lie.

Or an effort you make, trying to be bound to him.

That your trust is broken forever.

With that realization hitting you, he leaves the room.

Five years later, somewhere near Hawaii.

“This is really nice, what you got over here,” Tony comments in honesty, taking a step back to observe the rippling portal gate, “How long has it been put into use?”

Jean, the woman with flaming red hair and a scarf around her shoulders, has an impeccable smile on her face, leading the way as Natasha and Steve boarded the small vehicle up ahead, “Four. We used to transport to and from all over the world with the help of mutants who can create a portal. But as larger machines and construction materials were needed on Krakoa, the very land that you are standing on, our top scientists decided to benefit us all by inventing an instant portal device- Devices, should I say.”

As there are three large portals, each the size of a house, standing next to each other on the founding stones.

“Why are we even here?” Steve murmurs to Natasha, sounding confused, “I thought bargaining was Tony’s specialty…?”

“Smile, Rogers.” Natasha murmurs back, her eyes scanning the tropical island for any anomaly, “It’s a diplomatic event, not a business one.”

“Like a photo Op?”

“Like a peace offering.” Nat lowers her voice as she notices a mutant with bright green hair start the engine of their car, and take the position as their driver, “Krakoa now has the most efficient cancer eradication solution, and if we all behave and act like adults, the world would accept the possibility of the first mutant country. The UN is considering whether to add Krakoa as a new member country as we speak.”

“And if we blew it, WW3?”

“Worse. We will be hanged before we could say ‘assemble’.” Natasha sits straighter when Tony and Jean, the woman with red hair approaches the vehicle, and asks with a louder voice, “Would you mind telling us about the three-day trip planned on Krakoa?”

“Certainly.” With a look from Jean, the green-hair starts the car and drives away from the beach, heading towards a road that leads to the Krakoa city center. “We don’t have anything planned for this evening, so Lorna – our temporary driver - and I will show you around this place in general and escort you to your residence, where you will have dinner with our high council tonight. Tomorrow you’ll visit our university facilities and our most advanced laboratory, with our head scientist Hank. If you would like to visit any place else, feel free to tell us and we’ll try our best to satisfy your demands…”

Their residence is a small building near the city square. After a brief tour of the area, Jean tells them that normally they wouldn’t expect many visitors, so the building, though more well-equipped than most hotels, only resides the three of them, plus Jean for now.

Natasha strides across the room as Tony takes voice notes on his phone.

“… Their technology is at least two decades, if not three, more advanced than our top scientist.” With that as a summary, Tony stuffs his phone in his pocket.

And the room is filled with deafening silence.

“Do you think they cleared this place out when they are expecting us?” Steve sits on the edge of the bed, looking up at Tony and Natasha.

“They are afraid of us, as we are afraid of them.” Natasha says slowly. Not really answering Steve’s question, but hinting at the opinion that she has in mind. Her striding comes to a halt, “The looks we had on our way here? Not all friendly.”

“Too bad we don’t have a mutant as a middleman.” Tony clicks his tongue, moving around his jaw like he has a toothache.

“Tony-” Starts Natasha warningly.

They all know one mutant who helped around in the Avengers a few years ago. They know one mutant was exceptionally close to Steve. Hell, they were even there to witness the wedding of-

“I’m gonna go get some air.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, taking a long exhale, before walking out of the room.

Of Steve and you.

You were not a powerful mutant. But you would be helpful, under a circumstance like this.

But Steve divorced you a few years back.

No one knows why. No one knows any information regarding the terrible divorce that made Steve leave you, leave the States for months.

Except that you were “missing” from time to time.

Natasha sits on the other armchair in the room, looking closely at Tony, and his greying beard. She chooses her words very carefully, “Was she…” Were you cheating back then? On Steve?

Tony shakes his head, “He never told me.”

“But is it possible that…”

“I wanted to believe the other way.” Tony nibbling at his bottom lip. In the end, he looks back at Natasha, the former Russian spy, “But the incident right after she left…”

A breach that erased all of your data, along with the data of three staff within the Avengers Compound, happened a few months after you left the Compound and disappeared. Not only the records of your information, but also calls and texts, almost every trace of your presence was erased completely from both Avengers Compound and the government system as well.

The three staff later identified as mutants. They fled from the compound on the same day of the incident.

No one knew where you were. No CCTV or surveillance camera has recorded your prescence ever since.

It's a shame to admit, but no one bothered to look either.

After all, there were no demands or ransoms asked. And they were too busy saving the world to care for such trivia.

Nothing else was missing.

A few printed photos that Steve kept in his office survived. Printed photos of you and him together. That he had kept in the bottom of his drawer ever since your divorce.

A week later, Krakoa was established, announcing itself as a country and providing shelters for all mutants.

Steve suspected that the two events might be connected somehow, but Krakoa banned anyone who isn’t a mutant from entering the territory and has been moving on the map ever since, refusing any prying eyes.

Steve wanders into the patch of green a few hundred inches away from the hotel, heading towards the beach.

He was painfully reminded of you.

Of your happy times together.

And the determination you showed when you refused to tell him about your affair.

Yes, your affair. Even though you denied it. Steve believes that you were lying to him. About your location, about your everything.

About your lover.

“… come on down little monkey!” A familiar voice ghosting his ears.

A little girl screams at the top of her lungs, before giggling and sitting at the far end of a branch on a tree a few meters away, “But it’s out of power-Hi, Uncle Hank!”

The girl has blonde curly hair, bouncing as she jumps on the thin branch that could snap at any second. Steve is about to sprint to rescue when he hears you.

Your familiar voice.

“Come on, Mommy will catch you.” You clap your hand, your back facing Steve, who is hiding in the bushes. Your arms stretched wide open, urging the little girl to come down.

Urging your daughter to come down from the tree? From a branch seven feet in the air? How are you even encouraging the little girl while she could break her neck is unfathomable to Steve. This is stupid. Reckless. Irresponsible. A total -

“Come on, little monkey.” You clap your hand again, “It won’t be half as fun if I have to come up and get you.”

“Sorry, Y/N, I didn’t know that the rocket boots will die so soon,” begins a man on your side, apologizing. A thin man with glasses in his 40s. “The battery is supposed to last five hours when I put them on- Oh.”

“Yes.” Steve hears your grumpiness, “Batteries. Hank. My expertise.”

Steve knows your expertise.

Although you studied quantum physics and its application, your interest in Physics derived from your ability to absorb power and power transformation. However, you were not particularly interested in fighting bad guys, that’s why you weren’t on missions as often as he thought you would.

Batteries. You would absorb electricity from it in an instant, even when you are not intentionally doing so.

“Exhibiting her abilities so soon?” Hank gasps in disbelief, raising his head to look at your daughter jumping on that twig, “Normally it would be until their teen years.”

You chuckle, “Missing out on the latest Bio lab, aren’t you? They just published a paper about how mutant parents would cause a higher rate of mutant children, and as a result, their abilities tend to show earlier. Even so,” you kick the sand under your feet, your voice less exciting, “Hers is showing earlier than I did.”

“You showed your ability when you were five, right?”

“Two months till five. But yeah, pretty early. She made the light in our room flick on and off, starting from a month ago.” You make one last attempt at your daughter, who is having her fun with those thick rocket boots on her feet, “Be a sweetheart and come down, alright? Mommy is getting tired and we haven’t had dinner yet.” You plead softly.

“Alright, Mommy.” The little girl answers.

As Steve watches from afar, worrying sick that your daughter would fall from the tree, she spreads her arms and falls from the tree. But like a piece of paper, descending slowly into your arms.

Absorbing gravity to cancel it out. One of your typical moves too. Steve thinks bitterly. No doubt the little girl is your daughter.

Hank offers something as you three walk further from Steve and the bush he’s hiding. Steve didn’t quite catch what he said, but he hears you reply with a certain “Yes”.

Your voice trails away, “But it’ll be fine. Won’t we, little monkey?”

The little girl giggles again.

“Do you want Daddy back, Mommy?” Your daughter Maddie asks abruptly as you take out the storybook before bed.

“I-” It would be a lie, to say that you do not want Steve. But years have gone by and you’ve built your life around Maddie and Krakoa. While you were desperate, wanting him back when you found yourself pregnant with Maddie, the night when he left your house, you knew that the only reason Steve would stick around, which is knowing that you are pregnant. Despite the responsibility he would be burdened with, he would also doubt whether he’s raising some other people’s child, since he already suspects that you were cheating, and your life would be miserable with his indifference.

You remember your panicking and fearing his leave.

Thinking that he can’t leave you, not when you are pregnant, not when you are working on a home and a shelter for your future children, trying to create a safe haven for you and your family.

But he left.

“I don’t know, sweetheart.” You tuck a strand of her blonde curls behind her ears, gazing into her beautiful cerulean eyes, “I hurt your father really bad when I made the big mistake that we talked about. And he hurt me too. Not that he wanted to, but he left me alone in this world.” You kiss her short chubby hand, placing her hand on your cheek, “We won’t be happy ever again. Because I lied to him. And he will always remember it.”

“Oh.” Maddie sounds disappointed, scrunching her little face together, “But Daddy knows you are doing the right thing, right? Building Kra-Kra-Krakoa and our home?”

She tried a few times to pronounce the word “Krakoa”, making you smile.

“I don’t know, sweetheart.” You explain to her with more patience than you can ever imagine, “I have never seen your father ever since.”

“He should!” Your daughter curls herself up into a ball in your arms, nuzzling your soft pyjamas, “He should be proud of you. And what you did. You help build the island, Mommy. Daddy should know. And he will forget your lying.”

Kids. Always thinking everything in the world is so simple. A small grin creeps up your lips.

But in your heart, the bitterness swirls into a dark pit.

Everyone else understood. Other mutants who had a family, who told their partners they will be gone for a while, who lied to their partners that they were needed for a job.

Their partners did. Their partners understood the cruelty of separation and the pain that those mutants cannot utter a word about their whereabouts, or the details of the job. The worst you’ve heard of, aside from yourself as an example, was a huge fight between Lorna and her boyfriend, but in the end, she forgave him after a week, having enough trust for both of them to continue their relationship and got married two years ago.

But no. Not Steve.

Steve, who quickly jumped to the conclusion that there was no need to continue this marriage.

Steve, after leaving word of divorcing you, left. To some shit-eating place in South Africa, for two whole months.

Two months. Two months of prying eyes and prodding questions from the Avengers, which you knew they were being kind and helpful, but you couldn’t stay there. Not when it brought pain and scars to your chest every time you’d see some possession that belonged to him, and cry your eyes out, nearly losing Maddie as a result. Not when they were also suspecting that you cheated on Steve and scolding you lightly, telling you to “speak to Steve and ask for his forgiveness”.

They were his family. Not really yours.

Yours is here.

You kiss her forehead, tucking her in, “I sure hope so. Good night, sweetheart.”

Your smile fades as your mind drifts to the human delegation that is alleged to arrive today.

You asked to be kept out of the loop and out of the trails that the delegation is visiting. You even confirmed with Hank today that you would take these three days off from the lab.

You blocked all relevant information regarding those visitors.

You were raised by this mutant family, by mutants such as Jean and Hank and befriended them, and you had your heart broken in the human world. You don’t want anywhere near humans ever again.

“These are some state-of-the-art devices. I have to say, I’m very impressed.” Tony tilts his head to the side, reading the metrics recorded on the screen in the up-state Bio lab, “This is not quite my expertise though, the project you are operating here.”

Hank magnifies the part Tony is observing onto the huge screen behind them, “We are trying to incorporate human thoughts into robots, but in a wireless form. With a thought-” Hank, the man in glasses, places two stickers onto his head, and a robotic arm on the far end of the lab begins writing “Welcome”, stopping dead when it comes to “O”. Hank shrugs, not even bothered by the failure of the demonstration, “We have a talented specialist that helps with coding, but there are always some interferences with the transmission.”

Natasha clears her throat to gain their attention, “I’m also very impressed with the construction of the island as a whole. A construction this large should take … what, five years and a couple hundred workers?”

“Two and a half, to be precise.” Hank gestures for them to move forward onto the Physics lab, peeling the stickers off his temple, “About three dozen mutants involved. It would be sooner if it weren’t…” As if he suddenly was reminded of something, Hank let out a short “Ah”, and a brief pause, “if it weren’t some … unintentional held-up with one of our finest mutants.” His eyes land on sulking Steve, only for a few seconds.

Hank said it with a proud smile on his face. It didn’t take Steve forever to recognize the man from the beach last night, who gave your daughter, very irresponsibly, Steve might add, rocket boots.

Your daughter’s father is very irresponsible too. Not even showing up when your daughter is in danger. He thinks, clenching his jaw, praying for strength that he would punch that guy in the face if he ever meets him.

Natasha and Tony exchange a glance behind Hank, failing to notice Steve and his stern expressions.

“But it must have been a huge effort, even with three dozen, to keep them silent?” Natasha jokes light-heartedly, “There’s hardly any secret in the Avengers Compound without the full staff knowing it in three days.”

Hank nods politely, holding the door for them to come through, “Well, yes. But as you are well aware, a few of our best mutants are telepathic, meaning they could plant a gag order in our heads,” Hank taps his temple with his knuckle, “We couldn’t speak to anyone else about Krakoa for three years until it’s established. Our mind forbade us to speak of it because of the gag order.”

“Masochists, and they are proud of it,” Natasha whispers to Tony in a rush.

“It is troubling. Misunderstandings and arguments have aroused based on the gag order and its implementation.” Hank walks them through the long hallway from one building to another, “But we agreed it’s for the best at that moment.”

Tony makes a face that isn’t as obvious, but Steve and Natasha could tell that’s his disapproving face.

As Hank opens another door for them, the first thing they see is a little girl playing with her toy car on a tall chair. She slides the car down from a colorful track, and the track would deliver the toy car back to her hands.

“Maddison!” Hank rushes to her side, looking up and down to see whether the girl got hurt, “What are you doing here?”

“Mommy needs to pick up something.” Maddie points at you, cheering, “Look! Mommy Mommy!” She drops her toy car to the ground, and jumps off the tall chair, running to you and hugging your thigh.

Steve stops breathing. Seeing you, well and alive in front of him, with your daughter, in a rosy-pink dress that you bought while dating him a few years back.

You look … the same.

“Get behind me, Maddie.” You tug the little girl on her arm, to have her shielded fully behind your legs. An undetectable shakiness in your voice.

Maddie peeks from behind you. She doesn’t understand where this tension is coming from, but she understands one thing: “Mommy, is that Daddy?” She raises her head and asks.

You hate to lie to your daughter. But you are not going to let her be exposed to Natasha and Tony, and most importantly, Steve.

“Christ. It’s Y/N.” Tony mutters.

“Mommy, he looks exactly like the photo you showed me.” Maddie asks in confusion, pointing towards Steve, “He looks exactly like Daddy?”

“Maddison, not now.” It takes all your willpower not to push them all out of the lab at once, “Hank, would you mind?” You glance icily at Hank, urging him to solve the problem at hand.

“Yes, of course.” Hank starts to head the other way, “I’m sorry, but we’re behind schedule. If you would come with me-”

“No one is coming anywhere until we deal with this,” Tony announces, one hand already on his wristwatch, which you know contains a small plasma canon if he activates it.

“Is she…?” Steve knows the answer to his question before he asks. The hair and the eyes are similar to his, and the nose and lips resemble yours-

“Boys,” Natasha raises her voice, “Let’s be civil, shall we?”

“How old is she?” Steve feels a lump down his throat, “is she-”

“Civil?” You let out a dry laugh, the exact opposite of amused, “Tony Fucking Stark is ready to attack when he pulls out that wristwatch. And Natasha, long time no see, the same goes for your widow bites too. Yeah, I saw the glowing blue under your sleeves. You are trying to take my child away from me in a heartbeat and call yourself civil?”

“Tony, Nat.” Steve speaks.

Two words that bring the two of them away from their weapons.

You pick Maddie up from the ground, having your back to the Avengers, protecting your daughter from their grasp, “Let’s go, Maddie. I am apparently not welcomed here.”

“Y/N!” Steve calls to your back, “Y/N, please!”

Natasha is tempted to step forward and ask you to stay and talk this out, being blocked by Hank.

“I assume it is best that you stay right where you are,” Hank says politely, though his thin body has no intention of moving.

Maddie hugs your neck, laying her head on your shoulders. Her blue eyes focusing on Steve while you walk away.

Find my The Slumber Party Present Bingo Challenge here 👈

Questions? Comments? Requests? 👉Send them to my inbox 👂

[42donotpanic]

Not Under My Watch

Summary: Tony does what he can to ensure the people under his protection are safe. But sometimes a situation can change from one second to the next and all he can do is damage control.

Pairing: Tony Stark & Bucky Barnes & Clint Barton

Word Count: 1509

Rating: Mature

Tags: Sex Worker Bucky Barnes, Sex Worker Clint Barton, Violence, Abuse, Protective Tony Stark, Asexual Clint Barton, Deaf Clint Barton (it's not important to the story but it's important to me)

Written for:

@seasonaldelightsbingo :

"that was surely something..." - types of love Bingo

attacked - summertime bingo

@comfy-vember : Car Ride - Day 22

@winterironevents : Sex Worker - Adoptable

@ao3tagbingo : FREE SPACE

@fandom-free-bingo :

"I want to belive you." - Valentine's Edition

One Night Stand - Maritime May

Sex-Positive Ace - Pride Edition

"Trust Me." - Bug Edition

Neglect, New Caretaker, "What Do You Want?", Helping the Injured - Medical Edition

@slumberpartybingo - Never have I ever... had sex in a public place

@marvelrarepairbingo : Picking Fights

@sweetspicybingo : punch in the face to medicine

@anyfandomaubingo : Escort AU

@fandombingo : "I'll escort you." - Wonderland Edition

[kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay]

An internship with a twist 🗃️

Summary: You did it! You got the much sought after internship at the prestigous newspaper company led by no other than Natasha Romanov. You would try your best to be worthy of the position, though after meeting the CEO you get a feeling this isn't quite the job you signed up for...

Pairing: Natasha Romanov x fem!Reader

(No use of descriptive words for Reader's appearance. If you do stumble across one, please let me know and I'll immediately find a more inclusive alternative)

Warnings: 18+, non-con touching, kidnapping, nudity, violence (towards reader), name-calling, gross behaviour and remarks, abuse of power, stalking, pet-play

Word count: 3.4k

Author's note: Here we go, my first submission for @the-slumberparty's BINGO challenge! The squares I filled are "Biting", "Intern", "Writer's choice -> Pet Play", "Kept in a cage" and "Collar"!

This one was quite fun and when I saw them aligning in a diagonal line, I knew I had to do something with it. Hope you enjoy!

...

“Come on, don't drag you feet. We don't have all day,” the intimidating red-head in front of you calls over her shoulder while she struts down the hallway in dizzyingly high heels, her shoulder length waves bouncing with every step.

You do your best to keep up with her confident stride, sneakered feet scurrying across the expensive stone floor polished to perfection beneath your soles.

You had done your very best to get this internship, followed all the instructions that came with the application guidelines – even submitted pictures of yourself against your better judgement – and after almost two months of anxious waiting, you got the confirmation for the internship.

And today is your first day. You'd dressed in your best clothes, which still looked kind of ratty compared to everyone else's very established business clothing. But you wanted to try your best and impress your boss, who was none other than Natasha Romanov, CEO and founder of one of the most prestigious newspaper agencies.

If you do well, you could very well heighten your chances at landing a good job in this cut-throat industry. Because who would refuse you if you show up on their doorstep with recommendations from the one and only Natasha Romanov? No one in their right mind, that's the correct answer to that question.

You are very elated to be granted this opportunity, as much as you are absolutely terrified to mess it up.

You simply have to impress this woman with your skills and make a name of yourself if you want to be anything more than the author of gossipy articles about the latest fashion fiasco on the red carpet.

The woman stops in front of a door at the end of the long hallway situated on the top floor.

The place is strangely removed, though you figure it makes sense that the CEO has her own space to work in where others don't disturb her unless she allows it; the elevator on this floor only opens with her permission, so no one comes in here if she doesn't want it.

“Come on in. Chop chop, intern,” Ms Romanov says impatiently, waiting at the open door and gesturing you inside with the jerk of her head.

You're quick to follow her command, scurrying in past her and watching over your shoulder how she closes the door with a loud click. You turn your head straight, not wanting her to think you were staring, when a subtle whirring sound comes from behind you. Strange.

You can't dwell on the misplaced sound for long because the red-head is already waltzing past you like a storm, swiftly making her way around her wide oak-wood desk and sitting down in the high-backed leather chair waiting behind it.

Her silhouette stands out against the lights of the sky shining through the floor to ceiling windows that make up the wall behind her.

You stand nervously, still close to the door, and watch how she lounges in the chair, one pant-clad leg elegantly draped across the other.

Her green gaze is settled on you, taking in every nervous twitch as you fidget in place, wondering what she brought you up here for. It's your first day, you expected a little tour of your work place and then to be showed to you desk and given a list of tasks for the day.

Instead, you are alone with the CEO of the company on her private floor at the top of the building, where she is now unsettlingly staring at you without saying a single word.

Not longer able to bear the tense silence, you awkwardly clear your throat and start speaking.

“Sooo, uhm, Miss... What do I start with?”

You hope it's the right thing to say, trying to show your willingness to work.

The woman across from you just stares for a moment longer before snapping her fingers at you and pointing at the desk.

You scrunch your face up, fingers twisting in front of you as you try to interpret her rude gesture. Does she want you to come closer?

Daring to follow you instinct, you carefully shuffle closer to her desk, and when she doesn't object, keep going until you're standing right in front of her desk. Another moment of silence passes between the two of you before she breaks it with a curtly spoken command.

“You can start by undressing, sweetheart.”

You blink. Did you hear that right?

Your eyes scan her face, trying to read anything in her expression, but she's as unreadable as a blank page.

Maybe she said something about salad dressing. Yeah, your first task is to get her lunch and you merely zoned out while she was telling you her order, so you only heard a bit of it. Not a very good start.

“Pardon, could you repeat that?” you ask as politely as you can.

Ms Romanov's face stays a stony mask.

“I said, you can start by undressing. Don't keep me waiting, I'm not a very patient woman,” the red-head says, and this time you're sure you understood her. That sadly doesn't clear any of your confusion.

“I- I'm sorry, I don't think I understand-” you begin, skin prickling uncomfortably as you tug at the bottom of your ironed shirt.

“Are you deaf? My order was clear, now follow it or I'll be forced to help you and that is going to piss me off. You don't want to piss me off, trust me” Ms Romanov says coldly, sitting up in her chair and despite her sitting position, the sheer power radiating off her makes it seem like she is looming over you.

You just stand there, dumbfounded and growing more scared with every passing second while the red-head's heavy gaze rests on you in a foreboding way.

“Jesus Christ, I thought Hansen said you're a smart one,” your boss says and you can't help but feel hurt at the harsh words.

You are smart, goddamnit, otherwise you wouldn't have made it this far, but if your wits haven't left you completely, the woman across from you asked you to undress twice and you simply aren't going to do that.

You really thought this is a serious enterprise, the newspaper's popularity surely supported that assumption, and with a woman in charge, you didn't worry too much about harassment at the work place. But now you're standing in front none other but the CEO of this whole place and she was-

“Listen up, sweetheart. I'll say it one more time. Get those clothes off and do it fast, and I might not punish you on your first day,” the older woman interrupts your thoughts, directing your attention back to her impatient expression. She flicks her fingers at you, a gesture to tell you to hurry up.

You can't say where you take the confidence from, but something about the whole situation and the way she treats you like some animal sets you off, and you use it to make your thoughts known.

“No. I'm- I'm not gonna do that. Excuse me, Ms Romanov, but I think this might not be the right placement for me after all. I quit. Feel free to employ another intern in my stead,” you say. You're proud of how firm your words come out, despite the stutter in the beginning.

“The hard way it is,” the red-head says to herself, not even pretending to acknowledge what you just said. Instead, she gets up from her chair and prowls around the desk, instinctively making you take two steps back.

“Stay,” Ms Romanov barks and for some unknown reason you listen, staring at her positively terrified. “Gotta do everything yourself around here... fucking hell.”

Without further preamble, she gets close, too close, and grips the front of your button up shirt.

You can't do more than let out a startled sound of protest before she sinks her fingers into the fabric and rips the shirt open, buttons clattering everywhere as they give away beneath her brute force.

She starts shoving your blazer down your shoulders, the ripped shirt quickly being pushed down with it as you stand frozen for a moment, stunned by the woman's actions. It's only when your blazer and shirt fall to the floor that you jolt back into motion.

Your hands fly up to cover your chest and protect your bra from her clawing fingers while your feet clumsily move backward in an attempt to get away from the crazy red-head.

“S-Stop! What the fuck are you doing-” you protest loudly, raising your arms to fend off her attempts to tear away more of your clothing.

When she reaches out to roughly grab you by the back of your neck, you turn your head to the side and chomp down on her arm as hard as you can, your animal instinct taking over as adrenaline surges through your blood.

“Ouh! You fucking mutt-” the red-head curses with a hiss, but doesn't retract her arm. Quite the opposite.

She lifts her other hand and swiftly backhands you across the face with a loud crack.

The force of the slap snaps your head to the side. Your ears are ringing and your vision swims for a moment as tears gather in your eyes.

Ms Romanov doesn't grant you a second of reprieve and grabs your face to roughly turn it back towards her. Her nails dig into your cheeks when she gives your head a mean shake that disorientates you even more.

“Keep your teeth to yourself unless you want to be punished, you stupid little mutt,” she curses at you and then releases your face with a shove.

You blearily stare at her agitated face, tears clouding your vision as you just stand there in shock.

Your chest aches from the hurt of being treated so roughly and cruel and you can't stop the feeling from wandering up your throat and resulting in hot tears splashing down your throbbing face.

While you try to wrap your head around the situation and your body starts up a delayed response to the physical violence, Ms Romanov keeps yanking at your clothing until your bra is gone and your pants and panties have fallen to your feet.

“Step out of them,” the woman orders, but you're still too stunned to move, tears running down your face as you stare at the ground.

Now seemingly out of patience, the red-head gives you a shove that almost sends you toppling to the floor with your feet tangled in the remainder of your clothes. You quickly untangle your feet from the fabric out of sheer necessity to keep from busting your head open on the stone floor.

“Stand here!” the older woman orders with a snap of her fingers, index finger pointing at the ground in front of her.

Not wanting to risk more bodily harm being done to you, you follow her command, your hands doing their best to cover your naked body. Embarrassment and shame burn hot in your gut, your whole body trembling with the scalding feeling boiling in your stomach.

Ms Romanov reaches out and you instinctively jerk away, scared of another cruel hit. The woman isn't deterred by your reaction, one hand grabbing your chin to turn your head this way and that while her other one feels along your shoulder and then gropes your chest.

You let out a weak whimper and try to pull your head out of her grasp, but she holds you steady and continues grabbing at your body, weighing your breasts in her hand, tweaking your nipples and then moving down your side where she gives your hip a squeeze.

“Hmm,” she hums, briefly glancing at your teary face before focusing on the path of her hand again.

The appendage creeps lower, ghosting over your tummy and eliciting a twitch from you, but her firm hold on your face keeps you from getting far.

She touches the coarse curls atop your mound before dipping lower and cruelly pinching the soft flesh on the inside of your thigh.

“Apart,” she curtly orders, pinching you again until you shuffle your legs further apart, giving her access to your most intimate parts.

You tremble and whine when she delves between your legs, fingers parting the lips of your pussy and experimentally dipping them into your entrance before pulling back and delivering a harsh slap right to your exposed inner lips.

“Ouch!” you screech, your thighs snapping shut as your legs make to scramble back and carry you away from the cruel woman's touch.

Your attempt at escaping her rough hands is quickly thwarted by the red-head. She lets go of your face and sweeps out a leg, tripping you in your clumsy backwards motion and sending you to the floor with a loud thud that had your tail-bone weeping in agony.

“On your knees,” she barks and approaches you to motivate you with a kick to the side. You shakily move to your knees, hands pressed to the floor beside your thighs.

“Stay.”

You do, eyes glued to the floor as you hear her moving around by her desk. She doesn't take long, her pant-clad legs soon stepping into your field of vision.

She bends down and you briefly catch a glance of something deep red in her hands before she's bringing it around your throat. When her hands meet at the back of your neck and you hear a subtle clicking sound, you realise what the thing is she had in her hands.

A collar. A burgundy collar.

The woman presses two fingers between the collar and your skin, sweeping towards the front and giving it a little pull before retracting her hand, but not before giving the little accessory fastened in the front a little flick.

You reach out and grip the strip of leather, the inside lined with a softer material to keep any chafing at bay.

Dumbfounded at the fact that this woman had literally hit you, kicked you, stripped you of your clothing and now also collared you, you stare at up her with an open mouth.

“That's your place now, puppy,” she says sternly before nudging your chin with a finger. “Close your mouth, you look stupid.”

You snap your mouth shut and frown. All you wanted is some experience in the field, something to look good on your application after you finish university. How on earth did you end up naked and collared on a stranger's floor?

“I-” you start, trying to come up with some sort of argument, a demand to be let go, but a slap silences you before any protests can come out of your mouth.

“Did I tell you to speak? Puppies don't speak unless their owners tell them to. If they do, they'll be punished. And now move your lazy ass, I've had enough trouble with you,” the red-head says sternly before nudging you with her heel until you make to stand to follow her command.

“No walking! You crawl, stupid puppy,” Ms Romanov hisses, painfully planting her heel on your back to shove you back on all fours.

You let out a pained sound and fall back to your knees. You make haste to move forward when you see her foot lifting in your periphery, the hard floor painful on your knees as you crawl where she directs you.

She shoos you all the way around the desk and towards the corner of the room behind it where a velvety blanket obscures a big cube-shaped structure.

The woman passes you and approaches the structure, pulling the blanket away with a flourish and baring... a cage. A big cage. You can guess what it's for.

You back up and shake your head, wide eyes staring at the cage and then back at the red-head. She's wearing a cold smile on her painted lips as she steps forward and swiftly grabs you by the collar to drag you forward.

You try to fight against her grip, hands and knees pushing into the floor to slow down her process, but it's no use. She's stronger than you and soon you find yourself being shoved into the human-sized cage like a naughty dog.

The door is slammed shut behind you and you hear a lock sliding into place before you can even turn around.

“There we go. This could've been much easier, but you had to be a bitch,” Ms Romanov says condescendingly and you twist around in the small space to stare at her.

“Y- you can't do this. Let me out. Please, let me out! I won't tell anyone, I swear,” you start babbling without thinking as the weight of the situation starts to sink in.

You're trapped in a cage, naked, with no means to call for help or contact anyone and at the complete mercy of this woman, a stranger to you.

The red-head hits the side of the cage, the clanging sound reverberating in your ears and shutting you up in an instant.

You expect her to shout at or threaten you for speaking out of turn, but before the woman can say a word, the sound of a phone ringing echoes through the lofty office.

She throws you a warning look, lips pressed into a thin line, before turning away and making her way over to her desk where her phone was ringing.

“Yes? What do you want? … I don't think that's any of your business... Fine. I'm buzzing you in, Hansen. But listen to me, no funny business. Got it? Yes.”

You try to follow the conversation, but with only her side of it it's impossible to make sense of her words.

Before you can get too lost in trying to figure out her words, the red-head whirls around and approaches you again, successfully cutting off any thought you might have had.

“I have an associate coming in here in a few moments. Don't bother trying to call for help. If you think I'm bad, he's worse, much worse. So keep your mouth shut and sit pretty and I might not have to beat your ass until it's bleeding later,” she warns you.

You merely gulp and give a short nod before shrinking into the corner of the cage and pulling your knees to your chest.

As if on cue, there's a knock on the door that is followed by a brief “Come in” from Ms Romanov.

Not a moment later the door is shoved open and a man strides in, tall and dressed in a tacky yellow shirt combined with white dress pants. His face displays an unnerving grin, his top lip hidden underneath a hideously outdated moustache that is styled to precision, same as his hair.

“Romanov!” he calls loudly, his beady eyes sweeping the room and quickly settling on your hunched over form in the corner. “I see you've received your new pet.”

“Yes, I have. And she's given me more trouble than I care for, Hansen,” the red-head says, completely unimpressed by the man's theatrical entrance.

“Oh has she now? Didn't seem the troublemaker to me. The most docile out of all of them, really. Watched her for weeks and not once has she gotten sassy with anyone,” the man – Hansen – muses loudly, rubbing his chin exaggeratedly in thought.

'Watched her for weeks'?

An uneasy shiver crawls down your back at the man's words. What does he mean he's watched you for weeks? And you're the most docile out of all of them? All of who?

“Mh, she bit me like a wild mutt,” Ms Romanov says evenly. Then she gives a shrug. “Nothing a little slap couldn't correct, but it still shouldn't have happened.”

“Oh well, you can't expect them to be perfect. Besides, you love to whip them into shape and I think with a package like that you can tolerate a bit of disobedience,” the man says while he leers your way.

“Gotta admit I was tempted to take her for myself a couple of times. Great ass, nice tits and the face doesn't hurt to look at either,” he declares while leaning on the polished desk.

“I would've cut your throat, but I can't say I don't see the appeal. Now get out, you freaky bastard. Let me enjoy my new pet. Your second half of the payment will be deposited this hour,” Ms Romanov says curtly, not wasting another moment with the man as she turns back to you with a cold stare.

“We have so much to do, puppy. So many things to learn. I will enjoy teaching you.”

...

Boy, I made myself horny with this one 🥴

Not proofread btw, you can keep any mistakes you find :D

[navybrat817]

Get excited, lovelies! 💜

The Slumber Party present Bingo!

Hello, and welcome to the Slumber Party’s first Bingo Event. Unlike our previous events, this will not be monthly, but will last two whole months to allow for creators to work with their cards and ideas. 

The due date to request a card is August 31st. The final due date for submissions will be September 30 (in time for a special October challenge, booga booga!)

Rules:

This challenge is open to all fandoms and characters but we ask that you do not include elements such as underage or bestiality.

Please don’t forget to add warnings to your works appropriately.

For written pieces, there are no word count limits, but we do ask that you add a “read more” beyond 500 words.

We hope that creators can create an inclusive work, but ask where that you tag where applicable character attributes coded into their submissions. ie, f!reader, white, poc!, etc.

We will accept submissions associated with pre-existing works, however, we ask that you link this pre-existing work in the submission for clarity.

How to Get a Card and What to do with it:

To request a card, please fill out this form. One bingo card per user.

You may use a single square, a line, four corners, a box, or full card to complete your entry/ies. (For references, winning bingo patterns can be found here and you may use any of them to complete the submission)

Maximum 3 submissions per type - visual or written

Feel free to send an ask if you feel we've missed anything. You may also request to join our Discord server if you are new.

Have fun and good luck!💗

[buckets-and-trees]

Peering In My Hollow Core

Characters/Pairings: Nomad!Steve x Morally Grey!Female Reader Word Count: 2.4k Summary: Even the best laid plans can go up in flames. You're both wrong, and yet also more right for each other than you know.

Content Warnings: explicit smut, DUBIOUS CONSENT due to sex pollen, masturbation, rough fucking/vaginal sex, unprotected sex/ejaculation

Logistical Notes: I claimed prompt 13 for @lunarbuck's Star-Crossed Lovers Soulmate AU challenge and also knocking off I1 "masturbation" for @the-slumberparty's August/September Bingo challenge. And because you know I can't resist... it's also using one of the prompts (first bolded line) for @witchywithwhiskey's Horror Movie Hoe-a-thon! And it's answering an ask I got from one very mischievous @stargazingfangirl18 that's been on my mind for the last two weeks.

Additional Notes: @biteofcherry and @vonalyn let me suss out how this evolved, so thank you for enduring my brainstorming! Eva also gave a line of dialogue inspiration that I found too delicious not to snatch up, and so that's bolded for acknowledgement as well (near the end). Title from Scars by Basement Jaxx.

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

“What’s your grand plan here, Doc?” The golden-haired, bearded hulk of a man, America’s golden boy now a rogue in the shadows is pacing before you. “Are you even a doctor?”

His tone is biting, angry, and you don’t hold it against him.

He did fall right into your trap.

“You’re a smart boy, you can guess.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I think it will bruise your ego more if I spell it out for you.”

“You should have thought of my rage before you put yourself in this situation, Doc,” he all but growls, still prowling back and forth across the living room floor. “What’s your exit strategy here?”

“You’re getting more volatile and heated, that’s good. That’s what I need.”

“Do you think this is a fucking game? You’re on dangerous ground.”

Your lips curl up slightly, but you try not to smirk. “I dangled myself in front of you. Good Captain America couldn’t resist trying to liberate the poor scientist who got wrongfully entangled with the remnants of HYDRA. You never even stopped to consider that I was dangling myself out in the wind to get you here like this, and you’ve read enough about HYDRA, you know what I gave you.”

“But why?” he barks.

“No one can beat you for strength. You’re driven, resourceful, able to evade an attack. Your weakness is caring,” you pause because he stops his pacing, he looks ready to spring, but doesn’t yet. His eyes haven’t left you for even a moment since he realized it’s you he needed to worry about, not save. “I need your DNA, blood samples, bodily fluid, and I can’t trap you with anything, but I banked on the one physical vulnerability even a super soldier isn’t immune from: a compound they initially developed as something called a sex pollen. In fact, I think you know they tested it on a super soldier, don’t you?”

He slams his fist on the table between you two, and it splits from his actions.

You shouldn’t have provoked him with that. It wouldn’t yield the results you were trying to manipulate him into.

“Easy, Nomad,” you raise your hands cautiously to ease the tension just slightly. “That’s what they call you now – Nomad is the moniker now that you can’t be Captain America out there to the world anymore.” He flexes his fists, another angry reflex, but one you know speaks to a slight de-escalation, self-regulation. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t agree with everything HYDRA has done.”

He lets out a bitter laugh.

“I don’t,” you insist.

“If you’re not in with them, you’ve made a deal with a devil you’ve vastly underestimated.”

“They’re a means to an end.”

“How can you be so foolish to think that?”

“No one will fund my research at the rate and without regulatory oversight the way they do. They’re desperate to have more of you but under their thumb, especially since you’re at the root of them losing their prize assassin.”

“You’re not stupid, so why are you giving them what they want?”

You lift your chin defiantly.

Steve’s eyes narrow. “Oh god. You can’t tell me… Really? You think you’re gonna keep your research and development from them in the end?”

“Look at what I’ve done so far,” you gesture. “You’ve evaded every attempt they’ve made to get you, you’re evading all the countries who are supposed to enforce the accords and hand you over, and yet I have you trapped here.”

“Why do you care about a super soldier serum?” he asks.

You shrug. “I’m interested in a serum, but I don’t need super soldiers. The list of your medical ailments before you were injected, and then you’re instantly cured of everything? Do you know how many people need even a drop of what cured you?”

“And you think I’d be opposed to that?”

You scoffed, “Yeah, easily. Once the research exists, it will get applied for things it was never intended to be used for, up to and including developing super soldiers for HYDRA and people who pretend they’re better than HYDRA.”

“So, who has made you this desperate?”

“You don’t get to know that.”

He scoffs now. “You don’t get to set the terms here if you intend to get what you want.”

“Don’t I? You’re uncomfortable. You’ve been uncomfortable for a while. It’s going to get worse, but I adapted the formula for what I gave you in that drink of water. All you have to do is ejaculate, and the toxin will abate from your system.”

“How thoughtful of you,” he deadpans.

Then his demeanor changes. He sniffs, and his eyes finally stray from you.

“You said this house is reinforced in its lockdown to keep me in until you initiate and secure your extraction with the HYDRA team?”

“Yes,” you answer slowly, trying to follow his line of sight and decipher what he’s looking at.

“I think you’re going to need to adjust your plans and priorities and do it quickly.”

You open your mouth to ask why, but then your mind quickly makes the leap. “They modified my ventilation system.”

“HYDRA has refused to be eliminated for decades. They can wait for a purebred super soldier and think they can get one in your womb today.”

The heat of humiliation floods your body. How could you have been so foolish not to account for a maneuver like this. They had clearly approved of your strategy too easily.

“Soon you won’t be able to think about anything more than my cock in your cunt, so you better start thinking of how you’re going to get yourself out of this, Doc, because Nomad is not who everyone knew Captain America to be, and I’m certainly not inclined to assist you in any way now. Been doing fine evading capture as you yourself asserted, I can probably figure out my own exit strategy here and fight off the sex pollen until I make it out. But for someone without any biological enhancements… I’m not optimistic over your odds. I read everything on HYDRA. This stuff was nasty when they first developed it, but you can bet they will have reverse engineered whatever you did to the formula to make it even worse.”

As if on cue, you start to feel the physical effects of whatever nearly imperceptible airborne toxin – imperceptible to you, but apparently not to enhanced individuals. Heat flares again in your body, but this time it is a pulsating sexual need.

You close your eyes to try and keep your breath steady and even, but after another moment, you whimper and draw your hands to your stomach as the poisonous desire pulses more strongly, the tremor of need undeniable.

Your eyes burst open again, seeking out the male across the room from you.

He chuckles darkly. “Oh, no. I’m not giving you anything you want. If you’re as brilliant as you think you are, you don’t need me to get out of your unfortunate predicament.”

Your body is yearning for him, but you know he’s serious.

You also know he’s right; you need to think fast.

You’re coherent enough to get both of you out of the lockdown state of the house now – because HYDRA was clearly going to come for both of your – you had a failsafe to get out in case there was some loss of electrical power. But could you get away in this state?

And you know if you get out, you’ll never get the DNA you need from Steve Rogers – you’ll never be close enough to or even see him again. You know that in your bones.

Over the next hour, at different points during the feverish state that overtakes you, you can sometimes hear the super soldier nearby, doing things around your home, undoubtedly trying to apply his own ingenuity.

He might be successful.

It hardly matters.

Now you’re in the shower, under a stream of cold water, trying both to alleviate the unbearable heat your body has peaked to and to hide the sound of your sobs as best you can. You’ve stripped down to a nearly naked state. You ripped off your shirt and pants in your room, left them on the floor, your panties are on the tiled floor outside the shower, but you couldn’t spare your hands to remove your bra. At first you were almost experiencing a sliver of relief with one hand between your legs, paying every attention to your excessively slick folds and throbbing clit, thrusting your fingers in and out of your cunt as well, but it was a false grasp at hope.

You don’t know when you slid down the tiled wall of the wet glass tomb where you think you may die, curled in on yourself, one hand still trying pointlessly to trigger the orgasm that will flush the desperate physical pain from your body, surely it must come.

You don’t know how long he’s been standing in the doorway of the bathroom before you try to shift pathetically, your eyes open, and you see him slowly stroking his hard cock, watching you. You shut your eyes again, in agony wondering how he can possibly seem so collected. Why isn’t he pumping his fist in a frenzy? You couldn’t stroke your clit fast enough, and now you can’t bear to touch it, but the heel of your hand can’t help bumping it as you try to fuck yourself on your fingers.

Then a rush of air blasts over your body.

You open your eyes weakly to see Steve reach to shut off the water, before he bends down and without a word grabs your limp body from the floor, drapes you over his arm, where you hand limply, bent in half, and he hauls you back to your room, and throws you on the bed.

You continue to cry and stroke yourself while you hear him unzip and unfasten, your body a trembling heap, facing away from him as he’s undressing.

“I’m going to fuck you, and then you’re going to let me out before HYDRA comes for both of us. You’re fucking clever and I can’t get out of here without you.”

You whimper when you feel his weight on the bed behind you.

He forces you into a kneeling position, but he doesn’t care that you can’t even prop yourself up, head and shoulders slumped down on the mattress, ass in the air. His left hand grips your hip, and he groans as he guides the head of his cock up and down the slit of your dripping cunt before he finally slides in. It’s deliberate, sliding down to the base, his hips pushing into yours. The way he invades and stretches you is painful, and yet you need it, keening at the fullness.

You do catch that his breathing hitches.

He needs this, too.

You’ll give it to him if he’ll just put your body out of its misery.

After a moment of slowly rutting against you, only shifting his girth inside of you a bit, teasing, perhaps warning, you whine, “move, please, more.”

“More than you bargained for,” he growls, then pulls back, and then thrusts back into you, adopting a brutal pace, both hands anchored at your hips now, slamming you back and forth roughly.

He pulls a first orgasm from your body quickly, but the second comes not long after when he reaches around to pinch and roll your clit between his fingers, still using your pussy for chasing his pleasure.

A third, and you’ve gone from whimpers and keens to crying out and a fresh wave of tears. This is rough and you’re over stimulated, and he knows. He leans over your back to smirk against your neck.

“Please,” you cry. You don’t know if you’re begging for more or for less because your body is screaming in exhaustion, but the fire is still tormenting your veins.

Because you haven’t been filled.

The smirk turns to a sneer against your neck, and Steve snarls, "You wanted it. You staged it. So, you're going to take it and keep fucking taking it until I'm done with your pathetic fragile body."

He’s pressing into places you’ve never felt before, and you cry out more, face pressed into the sheets. He pushes back up and pulls his cock out of you. His fingers work the clasp of your bra, and he pulls it off while he flips you over so you’re on your back. You can’t even open your eyes, but you feel him looming above you, kneeling between your splayed out thighs.

But then you feel something shift. He mutters a curse and is suddenly still.

You open your eyes and look up at him, but he’s looking at your chest. His hand moves up to trace his fingers over a scar near your collarbone. You look and see the same scar evident on his chest.

You reach up and your fingers quest along his bicep, and they do find a scar there, very faint but long, matching one you’ve had nearly your entire life.

Your eyes lock on each other now, and the acknowledgement there between you is terrifying.

There are more scars, but you don’t need to continue to confirm what you know.

You’re soulmates.

You’ve betrayed him before you even knew.

You’re still beholden to the drive of the sex pollen, boneless and exhausted, but this revelation drives with adrenaline through the haze, too hard to deny. It gives you enough to say, “We can’t deal with this now if we want to get out of here with a chance to escape HYDRA, fuck me and end this.”

He does, but he can’t look at you. He buries his head in the crook of your neck, and spears you with his cock. The fucking is rough, and you take it. It’s punishing penance and painful pleasure. You cling to him as he thrusts you over the cliff of ecstasy again, coming with you finally, and his spend pumps hotly into you. The physical relief from the torture is blessedly immediate. His hand ghosts over your lower abdomen where he’s just planted his seed. With his eyes closed, he touches his forehead to yours, then pushes roughly away and rolls off of you.

“Get up, get dressed, pack light,” he says, stone cold. “Between us we might get out of this dangerous trap. That’s all we need for now.”

↠ 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!

[buck-star]

Heart sweater | B.B

Your daughter got a present for his daddy and Bucky isn’t afraid to show everyone what his little girl got for him.

Pairing: Mob!Dad!Husband!Bucky Barnes x Mom!Wife!Reader

Wordcount: 2.033 Words

Warnings: none, just lots of fluff

Authors Note: I couldn’t help myself. This sweater is just so adorable and imagine Bucky’s little girl getting it for him. So yes, soft spot, feeling soft right now. Hope you enjoy!

Events: Winds of autumn challenge | Candy corn 🍬 a sweet surprise, Balance ⚖️ as the equinox approaches, the day and night balance out. Write about finding peace | @the-slumberparty

Seasonal Delights Bingo: fall vibes | Row One-One | soft kisses | @seasonaldelightsbingo | Fairytale Bingo | Row One-Three | Goddess of marriage | @fairytalebingo

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

“Daddyyyy! We gots you a present!" A childish voice echoes through the hallway of the building. Your and your little — big — families home. Others may say that you, Bucky, and your daughter are family, but there are so many more; they aren’t from the same blood but with the same big hearts.

Bucky’s men, who not only needed to earn his trust but also needed to earn their place in the family, are more than just his men. They are Bucky’s friends, your friends, and your daughter's uncles. None of them would let anything happen to you or the little girl — not just because Bucky told them to take care, but because you’re a family.

Your little daughter runs further through the hallway until she finally reaches her dad's office door. The second floor of the building is just an office — for Bucky and his men. And since he had an important meeting, he suggested that you could go out with her to get some new toys and clothes.

Of course, your little baby girl didn’t go to the toy store first. She loves it, but you’re shopping? She has to get a present for her daddy. She kind of gives herself a treat after finding the perfect present for Bucky — and then she uses all the money she can to get a lot of toys and stuff for herself.

You watch the toddler with amused eyes whenever you’re shopping without Bucky. Mostly Steve comes with you, keeping the two of you safe and just giving you a helping hand so you don’t have to carry all of these bags yourself.

“Sweetheart,” you chuckle while she already jumps to reach the handle and almost falls into her dad's office. You laugh softly, shaking your head — she is just as stubborn as her daddy when it comes to letting someone help or listen once they get excited.

Bucky’s head shoots up the moment the door swings open. He smiles at his little girl, then his eyes wander further toward you. The ocean blue orbs glistening when his lips curl up into a soft smile — one he reserves only for you and your little girl.

“Take care, my sweet little plum. Don’t want ya to get hurt, do we?” He asks, his voice soft but still a bit firm, so the little girl will listen to him. Her eyes — which are just as blue as Bucky’s — roam over her daddy’s body, from his legs up to his face, before she smirks with the widest grin ever.

“We gots you something’, daddy!” She says, excitedly. Bucky crouches down, resting his arms on his knees while he waits for his little girl to continue talking. “Mommy! Daddy waits fo’ you!”

You chuckle, looking for the bag in your hand she wants to have before placing all the others down and handing her the one she put her daddy’s present into. Bucky’s eyes move toward you; without any words, he makes sure you’re okay and that you can be without a kiss for a few more minutes while he focuses on his baby girl.

Once he’s sure you’re fine — after you settle down on the couch in his office and sigh softly — he mouths, ‘I love you, my pretty girl’ to you. And oh damn, you know why you fell in love with that man. He may be a big, feared mafia boss, but around you he is the sweetest, most loving, caring, and perfect husband — and father for your daughter — you could have wished for.

Bucky may be mad because of work sometimes; he may be annoyed, but he never lets it out on you. He would rather punch himself than make you feel like he doesn’t appreciate you or that you’re a burden for him. For your husband, you’re the most precious woman, and he will do everything to keep you safe and loved. He does the same for your little girl.

Luckily, Bucky discovered immediately that whenever he's mad, he just needs you, and everything is perfect. Preferably when he can keep you on his lap. His arms are tightly wrapped around your waist and pull you as close as possible while he presses his face into your chest. You will run your fingers through his hair, and he knows he’s safe — no reason for anger or annoyance, just love and affection, so he calms down without needing anything but you.

“So what do you have for me, my little plum?” Bucky asks, looking with amusement and curiosity at the little girl in front of him. She giggles, her tiny hands grasping his cheeks, and she runs her small fingers over his stubbles.

“Sc’atchy,” she mumbles and squeezes his cheeks together. Bucky lets out a low chuckle, letting her play with his scratchy stubbles. He knows how much his sweet little girl likes his stubbles; she is just like her mommy loving his metal arm and his stubbles — even though you have other intentions when it comes to his metal arm or his stubbles. But those are secrets that stay in the bedroom.

“Sweetheart, you wanted to show Daddy what you got for him,” you remind her when you notice that she got lost in her little game to play with her daddies cheek. But she was so excited to get him his present, plus you know that Bucky’s curious as well.

She removes her small hands and grasps the paper bag again, opening it before hiding her face almost inside of it. You would never leave her with a bag without anyone else around her, but as long as you and Bucky are there, you don’t feel scared if she puts her head slightly into it to tease her daddy a bit.

“Yeah, my little plum. What do you got Daddy, huh?” He asks, bringing his big hands to her small sides to poke his fingers into her soft flesh. The little girl laughs, throwing her head back while she wiggles in his grip.

She pulls her tiny hands out of the bag and holds a big, white sweater with hearts on it in front of her. Her smile grows and her eyes sparkle as she shows it to Bucky. And the big, most feared mafia boss has the sweetest expression on his face.

His eyes shine, and it looks like the sun is brightening them. His smile reaches almost his ears as he stares at the fabric in his daughter's hands. Bucky’s eyes wander to you for a second, then back to his little girl.

“Thank you, my little plum,” he coos, taking the sweater out of her hands to admire it a moment longer. Your daughter watches Bucky intensely — the same intense stare Bucky has if he wants to find out how you think about something. “You want me to take it on right now?”

She nods, letting herself fall backward into her butt while she holds his gaze. He nods, smirking softly. Bucky leans forward, his big hand placed at the back of her head, and he brings her closer to press his plump lips against her forehead.

“Then I will do that,” he says, getting up from the stop he was kneeling. His eyes land on you, and before he leaves the room to change into the new sweater, he makes his way over to you.

He towers over you, both of his hands finding their way to your thighs, and he leans closer. His lips almost brush yours when he grins at you. “She chose the sweater all by herself, but you allowed her to buy it, didn’t you?”

You shiver under his intense stare and his rough voice. “S-she’s just really convincing. I know you said you don’t want presents, but I guess— I guess she got that from you,” you giggle and Lena closer to chase his lips for a soft kiss. Bucky chuckles, kissing you once again before he pushes himself up and makes his way out of the room to change into the sweater you and your daughter got him.

Your daughter gets one of her new toys out of the bag and shows it to you. It’s not like you don’t know what she bought, but she loves to show you and explain everything about it anyway.

“Mommy, wants book or wants dolly?” She asks, lifting her small arms and holding both up to let you decide which of these she should show and explain to you.

“Do you want me to tell you more about the book you got?” You ask. She nods and puts the doll down, walking with the book in her hands toward you. The little girl places the book on the couch next to you, her small fingers digging into your thighs, and she tries to push herself up onto the couch. “Do you want me to help you, sweetheart?”

“Nuuu, ‘m big girl!” She nods, underlining her words. You chuckle; let her climb up without help. Your hand is still behind her back just in case she falls backwards, but she doesn’t.

Once she is on top and next to you, she wiggles a bit and takes the book, placing it in your lap. She just wants to explain why she got the book, who’s on the cover, and what she knows about her favorite series — the book is about it — when Bucky walks back into the room.

Her eyes widen, and she giggles as she sees her big daddy in this pretty sweater she got him. You smile softly at him, reaching your hands out for him to come closer. “You’re pretty, Bucky,” you say and run your fingers over the back of his flash hand, then over the fabric of the sweater.

“Didn’t know I would look that good in that sweater,” he jokes. Stroking one of his hands over the fabric. And he really does look adorable with his middle long hair, his broad chest, and his big arms — the feared mafia boss — wearing a sweater with a lot of hearts on it because his sweet little plum got it just for him. “So, my little plum, what do you think?”

Bucky gets down on his knees in front of the couch, looking at the little girl. Her ocean blue eyes roam over him a little longer before she giggles. “Looks pwetty, daddy! Now we can go back to work!”

He laughs, shaking his head. “I thought I could take out my girls for dinner.” Bucky tilts his head. His fleshy hand holds yours tightly while he watches the little girl, considering if she wants to work or prefers to have dinner with the two of you.

“Do we gets my favorite food?” She asks, taking her book and making grabby hands, waiting for Bucky to pick her up. He nods, wrapping his arms around her to lift her onto his waist before he holds a hand out for you to grasp and let him pull you up.

Bucky doesn’t care that people could look weird at him for wearing a sweater with hearts on it. His sweet girl got it for him, and he knows that no one will disrespect him — not even when he looks like a sweet puppy with an adorable sweater.

“You know, babydoll,” Bucky says, looking at you as he wraps his free hand around your waist to pull you into his side. His nose brushes over your cheek until his lips press against your temple. “Thank you for letting out sweet plum to buy me such a pretty sweater. Now I’m wearing your necklace, our wedding band, and my little girl's sweater. I love you, my babydoll, pretty momma.”

Bucky’s voice is low, and he smirks against your skin as you shiver. You knew he would love the sweater — he loves everything you or your daughter get him. “I love you too, Buck,” you mumble before you make your way to the restaurant — letting Bucky show his sweater around to let everyone see how proud he is to have his family, how much he loves you and his little plum, and how much he appreciates you and your love.

Taglist -> @kandis-mom @sergeantbarnessdoll @identity2212 @km-ffluv @lunaalovesyouu @armystay89 @suz7days @etherealdisneyvillainness @pono-pura-vida @somnorvos @meowmeowyoongles @randomawesomeperson102 @rogersbarber @sebastianstanisahotmf @loki-laufeyson68 @winterschildren8 @bxtchboy69 @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @im-alestan @felicitylemon @cjand10 @bookishtheaterlover7 @lives-in-midgard @casa-boiardi @futurequeen2018-blog @flstrawberry @nervouseden @jiyascepter @princesscore-angel @mrs-katelyn-barnes @sasha-writing @blackhawkfanatic @fanfictionreaderfan @multiversefanfics @angelbabyyy99 @looking1016 @aphrodite-xoxo @fanfictionreaderfan @iris-xoxo-juhu @holylulusworld @bucks-babe @whatever-lmaoo @thevillainswhore