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violentdelightsandviolentends · 10 months

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Honey Girl. Chapter Two.

Chapter One. Chapter Three. Chapter Four. Chapter Five. Chapter Six. Chapter Seven. Chapter Eight. Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

Pairing - Dad's Best Friend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au

Chapter Synopsis - You and Bucky try to navigate what it means to be soulmates - and how difficult it is to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings - smut. cursing.

Word Count - 4k

Author's Note - part two!! thank you SO much for all of the love on part one - it has made me immensely happy. you're all the sweetest and i'm so grateful. i'm going on vacation in a few days, so i'm taking a hiatus for a few weeks as i won't have cell service. so, consider this my parting gift to you <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3 please, send me your thoughts, predictions, desires!! I will get excited with you!!

Masterlist. Inbox.

Sunlight streams through the billowing white curtains, rousing you slowly. The gentle breeze cools the room, salt sticking to the air. Warmth is seeping into the glass of the windows, encouraging you to kick your sheets to the foot of your bed, limbs stretching and rolling.

You wake, and for a moment, you feel perfectly at peace. You feel light, tranquil, relaxed. You flex your neck from side to side, yawning as you do it. You notice that the sun is already up, beaming into your bedroom. It's going to be a very warm day, you think. I better pack sunblock.

You glance to where your bag is thrown haphazardly on the floor, contents spilling everywhere. It's unlike you, to not put something away properly. You take pride in being a tidy person. You must have been exhausted when you got home last night.

That's when it hits you.

Bucky.

The events of yesterday coming crashing down around you like a tidal wave. Hearts racing, hands interlacing, lips melding. Bodies tangling, breaths matching, knees buckling. Two souls, tied together forever.

Your Tethering.

To Bucky. Your Dad's best friend Bucky.

His absence is suddenly all you can think about. He's not here, and you feel like half of your heart is missing. You ache. There's a discomfort that you know can only be cured by the presence of your soulmate.

You're deep in thought when your phone rings, startling you. It's Bucky.

"Mornin' sugar," he drawls. The low tone of his voice is like molten honey, gorgeous and golden.

"Good morning, Buck."

You hear him exhale at the sound of your voice.

"I know we said we'd meet at ten, but can we make it earlier?" he asks. Then, quieter, "Feel like I can't breathe without you."

He murmurs the last part, as if it's a secret. Something sacred.

"Of course, Buck. I can be ready by nine?"

"Thanks, sweet girl. I'll pick you up?"

"Perfect. See you then."

"See you then."

It's almost painful to hang up the phone. It's like there's a gravitational force in The Universe, willing you against it. You ignore it defiantly and press the red button, swinging your legs over the side of the bed.

There's something in your gut telling you that this might just be the first day of the rest of your life. You certainly can't go back to the way things were. You're not sure if you want to.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

Bucky arrives at 8:45.

You're in the bathroom with the door closed, so you don't hear him pull up. You feel it. Like a magnetism, alerting you to his whereabouts. You breathe a little easier immediately, knowing he's outside.

You grab your bag and the picnic and pull on your shoes, eager to see him. You feel like a teenager again, giddy with anticipation. Apart from, this isn't your average first date. No, this is your last first date ever. This is a first date with the man you're bound to spend the rest of your life with. No pressure, you tell yourself. One step at a time.

Your heart kicks up in double time, thundering against your ribcage. You inhale deeply, cracking your knuckles. You can do this. It's just Bucky.

You bound down your stairs, practically running to his truck. Bucky's leaning against the passenger door, the wind ruffling his hair, sunlight reflecting off his steely blue eyes. He's wearing shorts and a white button up, which is blowing gently in the breeze. His sleeves are pushed up his forearms, exposing his gorgeous tanned skin. He has several shirt buttons undone, accentuating his broad chest, sunglasses tucked into the breast pocket. He looks so handsome. So classically elegant. Like he belongs in an old movie - a perfect leading man.

He eyes you carefully, gauging your reaction. You can tell he doesn't want to overstep, worried about pushing you too far too fast. You walk over and run your fingers across his exposed chest gently, tracing a path up his neck until you're caressing his cheek. His stubble tickles your fingertips, causing a smile to curl at the corners of your mouth. You finally meet his gaze, and all your stress is forgotten. You feel peaceful again.

"Hi," you whisper.

"Hi, pretty girl," he murmurs back, hands finding your waist. "You alright?"

"I'm okay. Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," he grins. "So, how do you feel about a day of sailing? You, me, and the ocean, baby."

"I think that sounds perfect."

He opens the car door for you, helping you up and into the passenger seat. He climbs in, clicking on his seat belt and starting the engine. Before he pulls away, he turns and looks at you, holding your stare for a moment. Bucky reaches for you, lacing your fingers together, resting your intertwined hands on your thigh. He begins to drive away, taking you towards the ocean. Towards your future.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You know nothing about sailing.

Luckily, you don't need to. Bucky's quite content to keep you sitting pretty on the top deck while he does all of the work, pulling and tying and knotting. The crisp white sails billow in the wind, the ocean waves providing a steady, constant soundtrack. Birds fly overhead, sunshine beaming down, the wood underneath you warm and smooth. It's paradise.

You're soaking up the sun rays when you hear a click. You sit up to see Bucky holding his film camera, pointed right at you.

"Creep," you tease.

"Just want to have something to look back on. Our first day as soulmates. It's an occasion, you know," he grins.

He moves across the boat to sit next to you, thigh pressed up against yours. He's so close you can taste the spearmint on his breath. You tangle a hand in his hair, caressing the back of his head.

"I brought you a few new things to try," you tell him. "Some recipes I'm testing. I want your honest opinion. No sugar coating. Promise?"

"I promise," he winks, holding up a scouts honour. "I wouldn't lie to you, honey."

You reach over and grab your picnic basket, unwrapping various beeswax packages and laying them out in front of you.

"Okay - we have white chocolate and pistachio muffins, raspberry and lemon macarons, earl grey and lavender cookies and carrot and cinnamon cake."

You glance over at Bucky, expecting him to be deciding what to try first. Instead, you find him watching you carefully, gentle smile etched across his face.

"What?" you laugh.

"Nothing," he beams. "I just... I love it when you start talking about food. You're passionate. You light up."

"Don't make it weird," you joke, slightly taken aback by his honesty. He did promise not to sugar coat.

He reaches for a macaron, eager to try one after you mentioned them yesterday. He pops one in his mouth, and lets out a groan that can only be described as pornographic.

"Fuck," he moans. "This might be the best thing I've ever eaten."

"You promised you wouldn't lie," you laugh.

"I'm not," he chuckles, placing his hand over his heart. "I swear to you. These things should be used as medicine. They'd cure anything."

"Shut up," you tease bashfully, bumping your shoulder into his.

He tries the other sweets one by one, complimenting you immensely. He's so specific in the way he commends your baking. He comments on certain flavours, and textures, and the way everything melts on his tongue. He really takes the time to think about what he says. It's so intimate.

"You're gonna do this for a living, right?" he asks, turning to face you.

"I hope so," you confess. "It's all I want to do. Going to culinary school was a huge risk, but I did it. It was difficult, but they were also the best four years of my life. I just learned so much. I want to put it all into practice."

"I think you should. It'd be such a waste if you didn't. You're so talented, sugar."

"Thanks, Buck," you grin. "I just don't know where to start."

He thinks for a moment.

"If you could do anything, anything in the world - what would you do?"

He's looking at you so intensely, you almost want to shy away. His steel blue eyes are boring into you, reading your mind, figuring out your soul.

"I'd... I'd open a bakery of my own. I want a lot that overlooks the ocean. With big windows."

Bucky smiles gently, adoration written across his face.

"I'd be your most loyal customer," he vows. "Oh, I have a better idea - I'll be your quality control. I'll taste test everything before you sell it. You know, just in case."

"Just in case," you laugh. "Right."

"It's a tough job, but someone's got to do it," he winks.

The sound of your laughter is like dopamine to Bucky. It fires off neurons in his brain, receptors buzzing and alight. He almost feels drunk off the sound, floating above ground.

You relax into him, laying down and resting your head in his lap. He's warm, and soft, and so comfortable. You could lie here forever.

He runs his fingers through your hair gently, playing with the strands. The repetitive rocking of the boat lulls you into an easy sleep, the sunlight wrapping around you, taking the place of a blanket. Bucky watches you drift off, unable to wipe the smile off his face.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

A particularly strong gust of wind wakes you, rousing you from sleep. Your fingers are interlinked with Bucky's, head still resting on his strong thighs.

"How long was I out?" you ask, looking up at him.

"Like, twenty minutes? You looked peaceful, thought I'd let you rest."

"Sorry, Buck," you chuckle.

"Hey, don't apologise. I'll take it as a compliment. You know, they say you only sleep around the people you feel safe with."

"They say a lot of fuckin' things," you laugh, repeating his words from yesterday.

"I do, though," you say after a moment. "Feel safe with you. It's not just the soulmate thing. I always have."

Bucky leans down to press his forehead to yours, closing his eyes. He pulls away and kisses the spot where you were just connected.

"We should talk about us," you murmur, sitting up to face him.

"Uh oh. Are you breaking up with me?" Bucky jokes, nudging your knee with his.

"Yeah, right," you scoff. "As if you'd be so lucky. You're stuck with me, I'm afraid."

"I'll survive," he winks. "But we should. Talk about us."

You look at each other for a moment, carefully. You notice that the ocean is reflecting in Bucky's eyes, waves gleaming and blue.

"I don't know where to start," you whisper.

"Maybe start at the beginning," he suggests, reaching out to rest his palm on your thigh, fingertips rubbing comforting circles into your skin.

"I... I think - I think we should do exactly that. Start at the beginning."

He nods at you reassuringly, urging you to continue.

"I want to start slow. Really slow. I know we already know each other, but this... this is different. We don't know each other like this."

"Like soulmates," he agrees. "It's a whole other level. A league of its own."

"Exactly. I know we're Tethered, but, I think we should treat this like a normal relationship. We should date, and just... take this step by step."

"One step at a time," he confirms. "Prepare yourself, honey. I'm about to date the hell outta you."

"Someone save me," you laugh, throwing your head back. "All those poor girls that have come before me - they had to put up with this?"

He laughs with you, the sound rumbling in his chest.

"Trust me, sugar, you're different."

Bucky leans forward and slots his lips to yours, hands going to your waist to pull you closer.

Kissing your soulmate is unlike any other feeling. It's complete serenity. Two bodies, designed by The Universe to fit together perfectly.

Your fingers thread through Bucky's hair as you move to sit in his lap, straddling him. You grind your hips forward, illiciting a groan from the both of you.

Bucky slips his tongue into your mouth, tasting the sugar there. He can't get enough. You're so sweet and soft underneath his hands, underneath his tongue. He wants more.

He tips you backwards, so you're lying flat on the deck. Bucky moves to kneel in between your legs, prying them open gently. He kisses his way from your ankle to your knee, occasionally nipping at your flesh. He likes the idea of there being a mark on you that he left. He feels more protective of you than he ever has of anyone. The feeling vibrates through his bones, fires up his nerve endings. He needs to feel every inch of your skin as soon as possible, or he's convinced he'll burst into flames.

He smooths his hands up your thighs, fingers catching in the waistband of your shorts. He shimmies them down your legs, and inhales sharply at the sight before him. You're laid out on the deck of his boat like a goddess, the white shirt adorning your body matching the white lace underwear underneath. The sun rays are beating down, illuminating you, making you glow from the inside out. Bucky can't breathe, looking at you. He feels like all of the oxygen has been stolen from his lungs, replaced with pure desire.

You're breathless, panting, chest heaving. You're shaking with anticipation, willing him to do something. Anything.

"Bucky," you whine. "Please."

He's never heard a prettier sound. It's like angel song, the way you say his name.

"Patience, sweets. I thought we were taking it slow."

"Asshole," you laugh, poking him in the chest with your toe. "You're a hypocrite."

"Am I?" he smirks, running his fingertips across the inside of your thighs.

"Yes. You can't kiss me like that and then tell me to have patience."

"My apologies, ma'am."

He leans over and kisses you again, biting your bottom lip as he pulls away. Bucky slips your underwear down your legs and tucks them into the pocket of his shorts, ignoring your scoff as you watch him do it.

"Come here, pretty baby," he murmurs, tugging at your hips to pull you closer to him.

He nudges your core with his nose, inhaling deeply. It's filthy, the action, but it makes you ache with want. He licks into the crease of your thigh next, tasting the salt on your skin. Your hand flies to his hair, tugging the chocolate strands. You whine again, and Bucky commits the sound to memory.

He surprises you by sucking your clit gently, causing your hips to buck up towards his mouth. He splays one hand across your stomach, holding you down. He uses his other hand to insert a finger into you, groaning at your warmth. He crooks it up, and you keen.

"I know, baby, I know," he coos, adding a second finger.

You're not sure if it's because of the glaring sunlight or because of Bucky, but there's a thin sheen of sweat coating your skin, dripping down your temple. You're burning from the inside out, white hot heat running through your veins.

He thrusts both fingers in and out of you steadily, curling them on the up stroke. You throw your head back, hips wriggling and writhing.

"Where you going, pretty girl?" he drawls. "Come here - that's it."

He pulls you back to him, fingers never stopping. He looks up at you, and notices that you've thrown a hand over your face, shielding yourself.

"Don't go shy on me now," he practically purrs, smiling when you move your arm away. "Most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Fuck," you moan, suddenly glad you're in the middle of the ocean. The sounds you're letting out are filthy.

"I know, pretty baby. I know."

His fingers push you closer and closer to the edge, speeding up slightly. You're whining, keening, hips bucking up into him. You can't stay still. You feel like you're on fire, red hot electricity running through you. It's never been like this with anyone before. It never will be again.

"You're close, honey, I can feel it. You're almost there," he drawls. "Atta girl. Come on, baby. You got it. Good girl."

His low, honeyed words throw you into your climax, back arching off the sun warmed wood. Bucky talks you through it, encouraging and praising you in hushed murmurs. You see stars, bright white patterns flashing behind your eyelids. The world goes quiet for a moment, and all you feel is peace.

Bucky brings you back to reality by rubbing soothing circles into the bare skin of your thigh, still muttering softly. He lets you catch your breath before leaning over and kissing you gently.

"You okay, sugar?"

You smile at him in a daze, still floating on air.

"I'm good, Buck. Very good, actually."

He laughs at your response, moving your hair away from your face. You sit up to look at him, admiring him carefully.

"You're so pretty," you whisper. "I mean, I've always known it. But now, it's so... blinding. You're the most beautiful person in the world."

He's not sure how to process your words. He's never felt so loved, so safe, so appreciated before. It's overwhelming. He doesn't know what to say - so instead, he kisses you hard.

"You're the sweetest girl in the world, you know that right?" he whispers against your lips.

He moves to sit behind you, so your back is resting against his chest. You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. He smells like warmth, and salt, and home.

"I don't think we should tell my parents," you say lowly, afraid to ruin the moment. "Not yet, anyway."

"I agree," he reassures. "I think we should figure this out first. Figure us out."

You lean up and peck his lips gently, pulling away to trace your fingertips over the contours of his face.

"It's gonna take a while to figure this out, isn't it?"

"That's the thing, sweet girl. We have all the time in the world."

You relax back into his arms, letting his steady heartbeat lull you into complete tranquility.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You spend all day on the boat with Bucky, soaking up the sun. Your shirts are billowing in the wind, hair blowing in every direction. The ocean rocks you both in routine motion, gentle and calming.

He teaches you the basics of sailing, sitting knee to knee with you while you repeatedly tie knots into pieces of rope. He stands behind you comfortingly as you pull and tug at the rigging, supporting you only when you ask for help.

The two of you sit tangled together on the deck, enjoying your picnic. You take a moment to rub sunblock into Bucky's shoulders, ignoring the heat that rises in your chest when he groans in delight. He's irresistible. This is more than just lust. This is a magnetism, an almost animalistic connection. It's quite literally written in the stars.

The both of you are clearly reluctant to go home. You sit in Bucky's truck outside your apartment for hours, talking about nothing and everything. You don't invite him upstairs. You know that if you do, you'll jump his bones instantly. You've both agreed to take this slow. You have to start being strict with yourselves, or you'll just keep ending up in bed.

Eventually, your stomach rumbles, making Bucky chuckle.

"You should go. Eat something."

"I know. I just... I like being with you."

He leans over the centre console to press a kiss to your lips, revelling in the way you taste like the ocean breeze.

"There's no one else in the world I'd rather be with," he murmurs against your mouth.

You pull away and take a deep breath, preparing to leave Bucky for tonight.

"Thank you, for today. It's been perfect."

"Perfect day for a perfect girl," he winks, making you both laugh.

"One step at a time."

"All the time in the world," he echoes.

"Goodnight, Buck," you whisper, moving in closer to press your forehead to his.

"Goodnight, honey girl," he whispers back, pecking your lips quickly.

He jumps out of the drivers side to help you down from the truck, holding your hand carefully. You smile at the déjà vu. He does too.

You look back at him once more before closing your front door. He's already looking at you, his eyes never once leaving your frame, smile never leaving his face.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You're curled up on the couch when your phone rings, startling you from your peace. You look at the caller ID in confusion.

"Stella? Hey - you okay?"

"Hey, you. Long time no see, huh?"

"It's been a while," you laugh. "I didn't expect a call from you."

"I'm sorry we haven't talked in so long. I've been super busy - I'm opening my own café! It has a bookshop inside it too - oh it's gorgeous, you wouldn't even believe it."

"That sounds amazing, Stella. I'm so happy for you, wow."

"I'm actually calling because I have something to ask you."

"Ask away, Stell."

"I have a sort of... proposition for you. An offer, if you will."

"You're really building the anticipation here," you chuckle.

"Sorry, sorry! So, I'm gonna need a Head Baker. I can't do it, because I'll be manager, and I'm the owner which is a tough job in itself. Opening a café is fucking difficult, you know!" she laughs, before continuing. "You'd have complete creative control - you'd design your own bakes, everything would be completely down to you. There's quite literally only one person in this world that I'd want to do this job, and it's you."

You almost can't believe what she's telling you. It sounds perfect. It sounds like a dream.

"Stella - are you sure? This is a huge deal. You want me?"

"I only want you. I can't picture working alongside anyone else. We made such a good team in culinary school, and we always said we'd find each other in the future."

"I... I don't even know what to say."

"Say yes!" she encourages, giggling down the phone.

"Yes!" you echo, giddy with joy. "God, Stella, yes!"

You're smiling from ear to ear, unable to wipe the grin off your face. Your dream job has been presented to you on a silver platter. You'd be stupid not to take it.

"I mean - when do I start? What should I wear? Do you want a set menu, or can I change it up all the time? Vegan options? Gluten free?"

"I can send you all of the boring stuff in an email - contracts, salary information, all that shit. You can quite literally do whatever the fuck you want, girl. I trust you completely. I trust your culinary skills even more."

"Oh my god, I'm so excited. Thank you, Stella. Seriously. This is just amazing."

"I can't wait to have you here with me again!"

You process for a moment, trying to make sense of what she just said.

"Wait... what? Where?"

"In California. The café is here, in California!"

You can't hear her next words due to the ringing in your ears. Your chest tightens, your hands ball into fists, your breathing becomes ragged.

There's a million thoughts racing through your mind, and you can't quite get a firm grasp on any of them.

Bucky would never leave this place. This is his home. I can't ask him to abandon his life here - I wouldn't want to. We've been soulmates for two days. What about his job? His friends? Would I leave everything behind and move across the country for him? I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I can't have my cake and eat it too. He'd give everything up for me in a heartbeat - I can't let him. It's not fair.

You're suddenly intensely aware - you have to make a choice.

Bucky or your dreams.

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1800jjbarnes · 10 months

Text

𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬

【Synopsis】 : You were the youngest of three princesses, and your parents were being paid off from another kingdom in order to marry the cruel, cold king. But the upside, he doesn't seem so cruel...ish

『Word count』 : 1.7k

-> Genre: Suggestive, Fluff, Angst. Royal Au.

Paring: King!Bucky x Queen!Reader

[Warnings] : Steve touching Readers Thigh to rile up Bucky. Mentions about past, fingering, making out, pet names. Use of the name slut. Dom Possessive Bucky with a side of Bratty Reader.

Masterlist | Navigation

It was only the biggest event in the history of the kingdom. The lonely prince that became king from a tragic event, James Buchanan Barnes, finally is wedded. His uncle finally persuaded him to get married. Married for money, that is. James still remembers when his mother would tell him stories about finding his true love as she did with his father. The love was unbreakable and unconditional. But time caught up, love became a myth, and James was alone. That was until he saw you. You were like an angel amongst men, as cheesy as that might sound. You were perfect, and then you were with him. But not the way he wanted you. He wanted to court you first, swoon you, pick you up off your feet. Have real love, but an arranged marriage doesn’t really scream true love.

So here he sat, on one of the garden chairs, watching as his brothers. Well, his knights that serve under his court. A bond fire blazing, wine, and food arrayed over the large marble table. James ordered for no one to bother him or his knights while they were out, leaving him in peace and quiet for a moment. You, his wife, sat on your chair, alone, away from everyone, watching the knights dance and sing. He watched you from afar, his heart was beating so fast, he wanted to get to know you, to really love you. But you definitely weren’t happy about the marriage, then again, you weren’t happy with your life in general.

Your kingdom was small but had power. Your parents were strict, rude, and cruel. They didn’t care about anything but the kingdom. You were the youngest of three, so you were never going to be queen in your kingdom. But that made you happy. You wanted to run away, live in the woods, be free, and being the youngest made that possible. That was until your parents sold you, so your kingdom could grow. You hated James because he agreed. You hated James because even despite all the weeks you’ve spent as his wife, you were falling in love with him. His smile, his charm, the way he would do anything to please you even if he doesn’t directly say it or do anything.

But you still hated him, and for that, so you sit alone, watching all the boys have their fun. Steve was the first to move away from the group, taking a seat down next to you. You could smell the moonshine on his breath. His smile was gloriously plastered on his face. You smiled back as he picked up a conversation. You were vaguely listening though, as you catch your eyes on Bucky. He was staring directly at you and the flirtatious male that sits beside you. You turn your attention completely on Steve, touching his shoulder, giggling at his stories, giving James a show.

His hand landed on your thigh. It was merely innocent, but to James, it was like Steve just declared war. You continued this array of flirts and quiet whispers, making sure to glance over at Bucky every now and again. He was furious, holding his drink tight in his grip. His knuckles turn white, and his strength gets the better of him, shattering the glass in his grip. Silence fell seeing the glass everywhere.

“Y/n…” His voice was low, filled with anger. You’ve never heard him like this before, and it turned you on. But you stayed strong, not moving an inch from your spot. The others, however, moved away from you quickly, standing behind the king. Even if they were brothers and Bucky treated them like equals, they knew not to get in his way when he was mad.

“Y/n….Now!” He stormed past you towards the garden entrance back into the castle. You gulped, maybe you went over the edge. But you were here now. So you got up from your spot and quickly left the knights without a goodbye. Since spending your time exploring the estate, you already knew where James would be. Coming face to the dark spruce door, you knock before entering. You see the fireplace was lit. The room was warm from the flame. He sat on the deep blue velvet couch, sipping a neat glass of scotch.

“Your grace…” You whisper, stepping closer.

“I’ve told you before, call me James. I’m your husband, not some god for you to worship…” He spat out the last bit of his sentence, feeling tired of people grovelling at his feet.

“But you are my King, James.” Your words hit him straight in the gut, making him have a low growl. You sat down on the end of the couch, leaning against the arm of it. You place your legs up, feeling the velvet on the souls of your feet. He watches you like you were his prey, placing his glass down, he chuckles lightly.

“I’d watch what you say, doll face. You’re on thin ice after the stunt you pulled tonight.” His eyes were red, filled with rage, or was it desire?

“Ah My lord got his panties in a twist because he’s not getting his way.” You giggled, slipping off your shall that sat on your shoulders, no longer needing it to keep warm. He clicks his tongue before grabbing your ankle, yanking you towards him. You yelp as he situates you on his lap, gripping tight on your ass under your loose nightdress.

“You don’t want to piss me off, my Queen. I don’t think you’ll like me when I’m mad.” He grunts, his lips, mere inches from yours. You feel his breath pool on your skin, shivering at his touch. Butterflies burst in your tummy, forcing a whimper to spill from your mouth.

“Oh, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you? I can feel your body burning. My, My, you’re just a slut. A brat needing to be put in her place.” He grunted, feeling your hips slide long his clothed crotch. He bites your ear, licking your hot skin down your jaw to your neck. A gasp leaves you as he roughly bites on your flesh, leaving a hot, red mark. You grip his shoulders as his arms snake around your waist, trapping you on him. Your hips move faster, and the need to feel pleasure tugging with great force.

“J-James…” You mewled, gripping the fabric.

“I thought it was Lord? Or King? Where did my Bratty doll go?” He chuckled, pleased with how obedient you’ve become from only just a small amount of pleasure.

“Bucky…” You replied, whimpering. He gripped your ass, spreading your cheeks before letting them go to give it a hard slap.

“Oooh Bucky? That’s a new one.” He laughed, sounding like he mocked you. His hand lifted up your dress completely, exposing your bottom half. Your skin prickled at the air, hitting it while his hands massaged the flesh. His mouth attached to your neck again, falling down to the top of your exposed breast, leaving marks to contrast your skin.

One of his hands glide up your thigh until it sat in between your bodies. His long fingers, press down on your clit through your panties, making you whimper. He chuckled as he rubs circles, feeling a wet patch growing on the pink lace.

Before he continued, you sat up, placing your hands on his chest. Looking into his eyes, he looked up at you. You looked so vulnerable, so innocent, so….sad… He suddenly felt guilt, placing his hand that sat on your ass to the side of your face, rubbing his thumb over your lips. You lent into his touch, feeling safe with him. Your past was filled with lies, hatred, and yet the minute you were forced to be married to someone you didn’t even know. It was the happiest day of your life.

“I-…I do love you, James.” You spoke up, making him wide-eyed. “The moment I saw you I knew you were kind, loving…I might not have wanted to marry you at first, but I don’t regret it…” This was the first time you had a conversation about your marriage with him. Normally, you both brushed off the conversation, not wanting to make each other uncomfortable. He let out a sigh, dropping his hand from your cheek, leaning his head back on the couch before sitting up to look at you again.

“I feared you’d hate me for what we went through…..” His voice became soft, no longer the grunt, gravel that it was prior, “You are the most caring person I’ve ever met, I didn’t nor do I ever want to hurt you.”

“You could never hurt me.” You placed your hands on either side of his face, looking at him with a slight panic. He could see the stars in your eyes up close when he could only look afar. This made him smile, feeling a sense of relief. You lent your forehead on his, closing your eyes. He rubbed his nose against yours, feeling comfort in the silence.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, whispering so quietly you almost didn’t hear him. You replied with a soft yes, feeling a tear fall along your cheek. His lips slotted with yours, the hot pink flesh fitting perfectly together. This is the first time you’ve kissed one another, not even sharing a kiss on your wedding day. He sighs into your lips, feeling all the tension, all this hatred for his life, all the sadness, washing away from just a kiss. His world seemed so much brighter, the love that his mother would talk about finally finding its way back. You were the one to break the kiss, grabbing air as you pulled away. A smile left on his face as looked at you with adoring eyes.

“Just so you know…” His voice was soft, but hidden with lust, leaning forward to your ear he whispered, “You’re still getting punished for what you did tonight.”

And like that, he lifted you up, carrying you to his bed, keeping to his promise.

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baby-jaguar · 5 months

Text

Part 1: Meeting John Price

Western AU; Mail Order Spouse Trope

WC: 3,131 CW: None

AN: My beloved! John Price! Would love to hear your thoughts and comments, as well as any questions. I hope ye enjoy <3

Please see the following for the explanation and precursors to the scene!

Introduction, Biography

--------

Truthfully, you’re glad you didn't have many friends in town, as it meant no one to share unnecessary secrets with, nor did it spread any word of what you were up to in your free time.

However, that isn’t to say that you trusted at least some people in the small town you lived in, such as your boss.

A scapegoat for you to write your correspondence letters was that you simply had to stay late on the farm, working extra long hours because of something that was messed up, or because you knew your parents wouldn’t argue with the fact that you were getting more money.

Feeling that you were a decent enough candidate for John to consider since you are working as a farm hand already, you decided to write your first correspondence the next day. Once sent, you received a letter back from him four days later and by god, did he sound like such a gentleman.

You were able to soon confide in him on how you wanted to leave town, start fresh, but stick with what you know since you did work on the well-known “Loyal Laswell Farm,” and help out around their farmhouse with common jobs such as sewing, cooking, and even making a dirty barn looked organized- a man’s dream spouse.

With only two weeks passing and less than a handful of letters to be traded, you already had money and an open invitation to John’s ranch. Through your correspondence, John stated that he had already known of Kate Laswell, her having been a long ago buyer from him and even she had sought out advice on taking care of her lambs long ago.

John connected the dots and realized that you were the trusty youngling that she hired early on; He already trusted your morale if Laswell had kept you after all this time. (And if Laswell did gloat about you once in a while, that was a secret between her and John.) After finding out about the mutual connection, you confided in her.

Kate, already knowing of your family’s vices, was pleasantly surprised by your major turn of life events and how quickly your fate had been granted to you in the form of Price. She made sure your head was screwed on straight enough that if it didn’t work out, you could mail her and she would help you figure it out from there…

Kate’s wife chimed in and said you and Price would be a great fit.

The two women gave their aid to you in the form of gifting you your favorite horse to ride off on during your long journey. You only brought a handful of items from your parent's house, slowly, and used the remaining amounts of wardrobe you kept at the farm to pack up. With two bags packed and some food, feed, a gun being courtesy of Laswell’s wife, and a celebratory pack of cigars for John (Kate’s wedding gift), you were on your way.

It only took you a week by horseback, luckily traveling near the Oregon Trail that had already had sorted paths cleared and lived-in, you only needed to stop when you and your horse did. You were able to send John updated letters, but were not able to receive them due to constantly being on the move. This left you daydreaming about him.

John wrote that he is originally from Deadwood, South Dakota. He comes from a long line of lawmen and followed in their footsteps in his early adult life. However, as John became sheriff and notorious for his hardened but fair demeanor, he began to see the justice system slip through the cracks right in front of him. Murderers would walk away and many left unjustly prosecuted in other cases. It angered and dwelled on him so much that he retired early on. John soon found his solace in the quiet mountain town of Pitkin, Colorado. John describes himself as a proud man who is protective and respectful, an old soul who loves his whiskey - and is looking for his strawberry wine. He is a weathered man who can fix any problems of yours, all at the cost of a shoulder to lean on and someone to spend the rest of his days with.

Coming into Pitkin, it brings forth a small town nestled within luscious green mountains and a strip of shops down the main road that highlights most of the town's activity. Riding through, you were an obvious sight to be had; a new face set out on a horse with minimal bags packed on the back. You didn’t seem like a traveler, no, you seemed like someone who was on a mission to find something- someone.

Smiling and giving small nods towards those who stare, your cheeks have a faint blush from the attention as you ride down the strip and toward the end of the town. Soon, the signs have a label of a bull, a common connotation of a ranch, causing you to garner up a bit more hope and hold your head high as you click your horse into a canter.

The sound of your horse's hooves thundering on the ground cannot beat the thrum of your heart; riding over the hill, you’re greeted with a breathtaking view of the Alpine mountains that dip into a valley with an absurd amount of leveled planes that make you believe the land was spread flat by an inviting entity. Your eyes come into focus on small black dots that move before you make out to be the shape of cattle grazing across the green and flowing grass.

There sits a house atop the hill that is before the dip of the valley, where a fence surrounds a large barn that is directly adjacent to the house. You bring your horse to a slow walk as you take in the view of the wooden house; it's a cabin-styled home but large in the additions that have been formed around the sides, making it one of the bigger houses in town. The barn rivals its size by double, and the open stalls along the side let you glimpse into the hay-filled homes of horses that linger near the fences. You have to do a double take when you see movement in the barn that is all too human-like, then pulling the reigns of your horse once a few feet away from the entrance to stop and watch.

A man stands, low grunts leaving him as he stretches his back before grabbing a hay bayle and beginning to break it up. He wears a worn-out pair of jeans and a cowboy hat as his low whistling breaks the silence between the surrounding horses neighing at your new appearance. In an instant, you know immediately this is John.

To your surprise, your horse greets the others in a sharp jeer of noise, causing him to turn around in surprise his eyes dart up at you.

For a second, you’re humored at the look he gives, not expecting something so sweet as you to ride into his ranch and most likely expecting someone within the town to come to bother him.

But in an instant, he knows exactly who you are.

After his shock wears off, he sets down the hay and reaches up to take his cowboy hat off and place it on his chest as he walks toward you. Letting out a low whistle, his eyes roam over you with an enamored stare. “God was just showin’ off when he made you, sweetheart.” Comes the low timbre of his voice, sending a small fire of desire shimmying through your vertebrae.

A soft smile graces your face in return, halting your horse for the time being as he comes up to you. “Good morning sir, would I be right to assume that you are John Price, the owner of this ranch?” You ask after a moment of your eyes trailing over him, taking in his face and ice-blue eyes while he approaches to help you down from your horse.

“That I am, Sweetheart. And I suppose you’re the one that I’ve been lookin’ so forward to meetin’, that right?” He asks in return, a small smirk taking his lips while he helps you lower down from the saddle. You smile at the extended hand, taking it as you swing your opposite leg out of the stirrup while feeling the touch of his other hand coming to caress your hip in a gentle fashion.

"I hope you've been as comfortable as one can be on a week-long ride," John comments softly, keeping his hand on you once you're firmly planted on the ground as his eyes scan you from head to toe. "How you feelin’?" He asks sweetly, now finding your eyes with genuine affection in his tone.

In response to his lingering touch on your hip, and feeling it travel to your waist with a brief squeeze before he lets it fall, you give him a small squeeze of the hand you're holding to. “Not too shabby; was able to get a room a few of the nights along the way. I’m thankful for the good weather I had while getting here.” You respond as you shift your saddle-sore hips for a moment and reorient your limbs to standing.

"You're not so shabby yourself, sweet thing'." He compliments softly as he releases you, then grabs your horse’s bridle and releases the bit before attaching his own lead to it, and a small feeling of surprise crosses your mind at how easily he handles new horses. Then, gesturing for you to follow him. "Come on. Let me show you around." John leads with comfortable confidence, letting your horse sniff him while leading him to an open stall with some water and feed.

“Thank you for letting me bring my stallion here, Laswell gifted him to me when I was sayin’ goodbye. Said you may remember him from when he was a foal?” You prompt with a tilt of curiosity at the edge of your words while you join them in the stall to unload your bags and take the saddle off.

Looking back towards him, his eyes are looking over the horse for any identifiers, hints that would make him remember. “Not quite sure I remember this one, sweetheart. He got a name?” John asks in response once finished doing a sweepdown of his mane and a quick swipe of his hair coat.

“Laswell said he’s always been named Captain.” You answer curtly, now looking to see his reaction, if any.

It takes a moment for you to narrow in on the way the left side of his mustache twitches slightly before he breaks out into an all-out smile. “Well, I’ll be damned…” John trails out as he moves back towards Captain's head.

His blue eyes shine in the light of the barn windows, meeting yours for a moment while a boyish charm takes over his face. “This slick bastard got you all the way over to me?” John speaks with a gruffness that intertwines with amusement; the way his hands move to rub over the horse's forehead and nose showcases a glimpse of a gentle side reserved for his animals.

As you scrunch your eyebrows up in confusion, John catches your expression and gives a hearty chuckle in response. “I helped birth this one the day that Kate came up here to buy some lambs. Her wife was cryin’, thinking that him and his momma were gonna die.” He answers before moving to give Captain a pat on his chest, a huff of his breath coming out in response.

“He had both him’s front legs back during contractions. Had to help the mare by pushing his fat head on in to get him to readjust. Kate and her wife saw the whole thing.” He finishes with a hum and a distant look in his eyes only for a second, now coming back to your side and picking up a bag of yours.

“This all you got? Woulda expected a bit more from a woman movin' out west, especially to the cold mountains.” He states with a cocked eyebrow, eyeing as you bend down to hoist the remaining bag over your shoulder. You both give Captain a farewell tap before exiting the stall and heading towards Johns's house.

You wait on replying for a moment as you take a longer look at the structure, noting the wooden panels that exude a warm and weathered patina, a testament to the house's endurance against the harsh elements of the wild. The front features a symmetrical facade, with a steeply pitched gable roof that displays a combination of wooden shingles and iron accents. Windows are evenly placed on the front-facing sides of the house, and shutters open to allow glimpses into the inside.

“Didn’t have a lot to bring if I’m being honest. Just packed up what I liked and wanted, then left.” You answer with a confident nod, leaving it at that. “I did plan on finding some new or old fabrics to start making winter coats for myself.” You add on quickly, thinking over how quickly the chill must set in within the mountain valley.

You follow John onto the front porch of the house, “Ah, you do some of that fancy work or just plain work?” He inquires while gesturing for you to step inside the entrance. You’re greeted by a spacious entryway, designed to be practical and modest. The floors, made of polished wide planks, creak softly under the added weight of yourself next to John, a new soul to provide protection to in the house.

To the front of the entryway, is his living room, its centerpiece being a grand stone fireplace, providing warmth and comfort during the chilly evenings. Leather upholstered furniture invites warmth to the house, and you can see a good amount of hides used as a rug and even a throw blanket over the couch, while ornate coffee cans and some intricately shaped vases linger around the surfaces.

The sound of your mouth opening and closing resonates in the silence of you two standing there before John shuts the door softly behind you and ultimately snaps you out of your daze. “Um, just some plain work. Never had the time or materials to work on some fancy clothes, would rather make things I know I’m gonna use.” You answer while moving to face adjacent to where he stands in front of the door.

His eyes track your own as your attention comes back to rest on him, a small smirk tugging on the edge of his mouth. With a quick laugh, he moves to place his left hand along your back, his cold fingers sliding to the place between your shoulders. “Welcome home, Sweetheart.” He smiles while speaking softly, leaning over to place a light kiss atop your head.

When he moves back from your space, which you want to ultimately follow as you feel his warmth radiate next to you and already adore the way his voice dips impossibly lower when speaking so gently, his hand slides down to the small of your back and gives a small tap to lead you forward. “Come on, let's get you settled in.” He beckons you while walking to a door that is adjacent to the entrance.

Walking in, John’s bedroom exudes a haven, signifying his rest and relaxation at the end of the day. The warm, earthy tones of the wood and furniture create an internal warmth, in contrast to the view of the surrounding mountains of green and glimpse over the cattle that wander the land, the windows laden with lace curtains.

The bed was the average size for the master bedroom; The double bed sat its headboard against the wall to the right of the entrance, facing the windows. A large red quilt adorns the bed while the bed itself is a robust wooden frame with upright pieces of carved and sanded wood posted taller at each corner of the bed.

In the corner is another stone fireplace, where an armchair sits to serve as a place for John to unwind, read a book, or reflect on the day. A well-worn wooden dresser stands against one wall, its surface adorned with a few cherished mementos - a faded photograph of him on a horse, a weathered pocket watch that has seen countless sunsets, and a small collection of polished rocks, each one possibly a reminder of a special moment.

"It's not much." He pauses before speaking again, his tone becoming more personal. "And I'd love to have you share my bed when you're comfortable. However, if you need time to adjust, I can set myself up in the living room. I don't wish to pressure you if you're not comfortable yet."

The sweet and respectful offer doesn’t fly over you, and a small smile rises over your lips. “Thank you, John. That’s awfully considerate of everything you’re doing for me. I don’t want to burden you with sleeping on your own couch, I wouldn't mind.” You answer while slowly walking to the dresser, placing your bag down by the foot of it.

“It may take a few days to adjust and get to know you, but-” you take a second to turn around and look at his form with a small shy smile, “I don’t think I’ll keep you waiting long.” You finish as a soft blush rises to the apples of your cheeks. Your hands come to interlace together in the front of your lap as his heavy footsteps make their way towards you with a bright smile that borders a smirk.

He stops in front of you, holding eye contact as he places your other bag down. “Ain’t no way in hell I’d be letting you sleep on the couch, sweetheart. But, I do look forward to hearing your answer. When you’re ready for it.” He speaks in a gruff voice, eyebrows raised to make sure you're taking his answer to heart and understanding, his warm hands moving to enclose both of yours within his grasp.

Bringing your hands up to his lips, you watch with rapt attention at his mouth puckering and in turn, making his facial hair move in the action, then leaving a warm and gentle kiss on the back of each hand.

His eyes don’t stray from yours while doing so, his blue eyes bring an inviting wave of ice- the kind you actively seek when you’re feeling too hot or need to wake up. “Now, how about I show you the rest of the ranch, babydoll?” He asks with a soft grin, pulling you just a fraction closer by the grip of your hands.

#i want him #call of duty modern warfare #john price #captain john price #john price x reader #tf141 #captain jonathan price #jonathan price #captain price x reader #captain price mw2 #captain price #captain price x y/n #cod mw2 #call of duty #WAUMOST #task force 141 #john price x y/n #john price mw2 #john price x you

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wordsbymae · 1 month

Text

Late One Stormy Night Pt. 2

This is a continuation, including a large time jump, of my original farmer storyline, the canon events if you will. I would have loved to do this for flower seller and mousy au, however I feel it fits much better for the original farmer. I may do one for the other aus as well. Also this is just a short little snippet into where this reader ends up, I have spoken in depth about their life together, but this is years down the track, where pumpkin has finally given in.

Triggers: Pregnancy! FemReader, Stockholm syndrome ofc, reader has pretty much been brainwashed into being a perfect house wife, if you didn't know the context or if I didn't remind you within the text, it would seem like a nice love story. feminism please do not judge me

A kick against your belly halted your movements. A small smile etches across your face. You drop the washing you had just grab back into the basket that lay on the lush green ground beneath you. A gentle spring breeze floated past, bringing the scent of pine and grain past. The babe in your belly has only just started to move within you. You had yet to fully comprehend that life, a new being, was growing within you. Another kick, against both your belly and hand this time, brought a giggle to your face. The sound of tyres on dirt brought your attention to your husband pulling up in front of the house. Your giggle faded. You didn't like remembering the time before you were allowed in the house, the time you spent huddle within a stable in the barn. When you fought against his every action and offer of affection. Now, after finally putting your pride aside, you were happy. It took years, but you finally content by his side. It was so long ago know that you couldn't even really remember how you came across him. All your remember is rain, and that is all you could begin to remember before the memories fell apart like ash.

You begin to make your way to your husband, pushing aside the laundry drying along the washing line. The sun beamed down with kindness, bringing a subtle warmth across your skin.

You stopped a few metres away from him, watching as he jumped out of his pick up truck, a wide smile on his face at the sight of you.

"Well good afternoon to you pumpkin, how you feeling? That boy of mine not giving you trouble?" he greeted, turning to the tray of the truck, grabbing from it a large wooden log. He huffs as the weight of the log pushes against his shoulder.

"I'm feeling fine" you laugh, it was a game of yours to count how many times in one day he asked how you were feeling. This was his 10th ask of the day.

"We don't if its a boy yet. Could be a girl" you offer with a smirk. He was convinced it was a boy.

"Nope" he states as he walks towards the work shed, you follow behind him, begging for attention. Ever since the barn, you've been so desperate for affection.

"In the last five generations of my family, there hasn't been one girl born" he drops the log down in the dirt next to his wood working station. You pout, wondering how that is even possible and also wondering why he had a massive log to begin with.

"what's the log for?" you ask.

He turns back to you with a lazy smile, wiping sweat from his brow and he takes his hat off.

"A crib" he beams. Delight dancing in his eyes.

"Oh, that makes sense" you mutter. Your eyes begin to slowly blink in exhaustion. Carrying a baby isn't easy.

" Come on pumpkin, lets get you to bed" he drawls, grasping your hand with a gentle touch. So very different from how he used to touch you when you first arrived.

You nod lazily, still surprised with how quickly sleep comes to you these days.

"That boy of ours sure likes to cause trouble huh? He's gonna just be like his daddy, although I'm hoping he's gonna look like you sweetheart." he muses, a hand coming down to trace your belly as you walk.

The farmer smiles once more. Everything he ever wanted he has. A beautiful wife, the perfect family and more hopefuly to come after this one. He chides himself for the years spent alone, angry at the world and himself. That whole time he could have had this, a place within a family. But he wouldn't change anything, not the timing or the place. You came to him at the perfect time, you were everything he ever could have wanted and more.

He thanks himself for having the courage to take what he saw as his.

#very short #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere drabble #yandere prompts #farmer yandere #oc farmer #farmer #yandere x female reader #fem!reader #tw pregnancy #stockholm syndrome

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onceuponastory · 9 months

Note

Oh, doesn't he just look perfect? And funnily enough, I had an idea for a Bucky AU floating around in my head, and this gif gave me the perfect push to write it. So thank you for the gif, love!

An Intriguing Stranger

Plot: Despite how poorly Y/N's night at the Gallery of Contemporary Art is going, it soon starts to look up when she meets a handsome stranger. However, he has a secret of his own. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader Warnings: Some swearing and a mention of alcohol. Also Bucky and reader mocking some art. If I miss any triggers, please let me know!

"Care for a drink, ma'am?" A waiter asks, and Y/N grabs a glass off his tray with a smile, following it up with an hors d'oeuvre a moment later. She glances down at the tiny morsel of food in her hand.

"Fucking rich people portions." She hisses. Although, considering where she currently is, the small portions are not too surprising.

Right now, Y/N is standing in the entrance foyer of the Brooklyn Gallery of Contemporary Art. For the longest time, she's wanted to challenge herself, to learn more about the world around her. And what better way to seem cultured than to go to an event hosted at said art gallery?

The only problem is that the second she stepped through the door, Y/N immediately realised that she doesn't like most of the art on display. Unfortunately, though, the ticket cost her a lot of money, and it'll look weird if she leaves so soon after arriving. But mainly, Y/N doesn't want to go because she spent so much time getting ready that she doesn't want her efforts to be wasted. Even if she's not enjoying herself, she'll be damned if she doesn't let everyone see how good she looks.

And besides... not all the art is awful.

Grabbing another filled glass off of the waiter's tray, Y/N stops in front of another painting. The colours are bright, too bright for her liking. She wrinkles her nose disapprovingly.

"Like what you see?" a voice sounds, and Y/N looks up to see a man standing beside her. He runs a hand through his shoulder length brunette hair, smiling at her.

Damn, he's cute. A lot better looking than the art, anyway.

And oh crap, he's staring.

"Well. I don't, really." She admits. The man raises a brow, smirking.

"Oh, really? How so?"

"It's just so bright, and in your face. It looks like the artist just dumped a load of paint on the canvas with no thought of how it would look, or to make something with it. It looks like blobs." A part of her is confused by why she's suddenly unloading her negative opinion on this complete, albeit handsome, stranger, but somehow she already feels comfortable enough around him to do so.

Thankfully, though, the stranger doesn't seem to mind. "I agree. It's chaotic, but I'm not sure if it's in a good way." He nods, tilting his head and nibbling on his finger, as if deep in thought. "It's as if the artist was drunk, and had no care for the complexities of art. He just wanted to make some kind of statement, a 'fuck you', to the expectations of the modern art world."

Damn, this guy really knows his stuff.

Y/N nods, leaning closer to see who the offending artist is. A small plaque reads:

Untitled. James Buchanan Barnes. 2021

"He didn't even title it! Do you think that's part of his 'fuck you' statement?" The man's laughter rings through the air, and soon Y/N's joins it.

"Oh, I know it was." The man clears his throat, grinning once more. "If I may say ma'am, you look wonderful tonight." Heat settles on Y/N's cheeks, and she feels her stomach fluttering. Despite knowing how good she looks tonight, the handsome stranger actually mentioning it is making her go all weak at the knees.

"Thank you." She smiles. But before either of them can say anything else,

"There you are!" another person calls, and Y/N notices an immaculately dressed woman striding over to them. A badge pinned to her chest says 'Gallery Director.' Immediately, fear and guilt fill her veins, and Y/N wonders if she's about to be thrown out of the gallery for her cheek towards the paintings, her chance to seem cultured over before it even began. However, the woman breezes past her, the scent of her undoubtedly expensive perfume intoxicating, and instead, she focuses on the man standing beside her. She takes his hand, shaking it tightly. "My dear friend, it's so wonderful to see you! I'm so glad you could make it."

"It's a pleasure to be here, Natasha." He grins.

"There's a champagne reception for all the guests of honour upstairs. I'd love to see you there." Y/N raises a brow. Her new friend seems to have a lot more influence than she originally thought. Perhaps he's a friend of the gallery? Or a news reporter ready to cover the event?

"I'd like that." As the woman departs, Y/N smirks.

"You didn't tell me you were famous around here." Now, though, it's the man's turn to smirk.

"Allow me to introduce myself." He takes her hand, shaking it. "James Buchanan Barnes. Pleasure to meet you."

James Buchanan Barnes. Huh, that's funny, that's the same name as...

And then, the rudest awakening Y/N's ever experienced hits her, raining down like a tonne of bricks.

Oh shit.

~~~~

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel cinematic universe #marvel oneshot #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes oneshot #holacia3

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 6 months

Note

“That one time Barnaby broke somebody’s jaw for going a little too far w/ insulting Wally & almost got expelled <3”

Full story please? <3

WITH PLEASURE!

for those who are slightly confused, this is for 'my' modern human au! well. modern-ish!

okay so when they were in freshman year / 9th grade, Barnaby and Wally are soldily Bonded. they are a set, do not separate. they receive a lot of shit for this, because some kids are assholes and that's especially true for 14yr olds. and it's 2006. so Wally and Barnaby get teased/bullied a lot for their closeness. at this point they're kind of used to it. they met early in 7th grade and have been inseparable ever since. most of it slides off of them

but what is Barnaby was having an especially stressful week? one of those weeks were everything is going wrong, nothing is working out. so Barn is at the end of his rope, and then one of the main kids who likes to bother them insults Wally specifically, and badly. like it's some next level So Bad Its Almost Impressive shit. at present Barnaby is walking to his next class with Wally and Poppy. so Barnaby just kind of stops in place, mentally chooses violence, turns, walks up to the kid, and punches him as hard as he can. it knocked the bully out instantly and broke his jaw.

and keep in mind that at this point in time, Barnaby isn't the big strong guy he is later on. he hasn't had his main growth spurt yet. and he still packed enough of a punch to do Damage - which makes him even more intimidating when he Does hit his growth spurt and towers over practically everyone

the pros of this event: Frank and Julie were watching, and Frank respected Barnaby's response so much that he allowed Julie to bring him to hang out with the growing friend group at lunch / asshole kids were less inclined to insult Wally and Barnaby (or his friends) to their faces

cons: Eddie was also watching and was too scared of Barnaby for the rest of their school career to try and talk to him or his friends / Barnaby nearly got expelled but did get suspended, and that's a permanent mark on his record

so the kid goes down, everyone freaks out. Barnaby is still too angry to feel anything other than pissed off vindication. naturally higher Authorities (teachers) come to get the unconscious student to the (i almost said vet) nurse's office, and to bring Barnaby to the principle's office. they call Ms. Beagle and have her come pick him up. Wally has stuck like glue to Barnaby pretty much the whole time, except for when Barnaby was in the office to get chewed out / interrogated. when Ms. Beagle is done w/ her conversation with the principle, she takes Barnaby and Wally home.

there, Barnaby is still worked up, and as "punishment" Ms. Beagle has him do some menial tasks alongside his usual after school chores. Wally tags along, of course, and asks why the hell Barnaby did that. in a nicer Wally way of asking. this is what breaks the camels back. Barnaby just sits down and starts crying, to which Wally is like "oh no. oh fuck. what do i do." cue a solid minute of him just standing and staring in panic before awkwardly sitting next to Barnaby in solidarity.

when they go inside, Ms. Beagle already has Barnaby's favorite dinner whipped up and ready. She gives him a talk where she's essentially says "blah blah blah violence isn't the answer. however, good job for standing up to that kid. he's an asshole and deserved a good wallop." (listen im a firm believer in ms beagle having been a Wild Youth that would have thrown bricks at cops). Moods are lightened, they have a good dinner. The next day or so they need to go have a meeting with the Injured Kid's parents. that's when they find out Barnaby fully broke the kids jaw (he feels a little bad for that) and that the parents are pushing for his expulsion and also juvie. Ms. Beagle manages to whittle down the sentence to a long suspension and then detention for the rest of the year, as well as her paying the kid's hospital bill.

tl;dr Barnaby punches a kid for insulting Wally, gets a new friend out of it, nearly gets expelled, and gains a mostly unfounded Reputation that dissuades most from outright messing with him or his pals

#julie: theyre fun people! come hang out with us!#frank: i dont want any friends other than you #frank: *witnesses The Incident* hm... ill allow it #this is all Important to me #because barnaby isnt violent? hes a laid back guy. & a wordsmith - he doesnt need his fists in order to deal damage #but then for the rest of his highschool career hes The Scary Guy #especially when he hits that growth spurt #i mean! at least it means his friends are messed with less!#but it also means he tries harder to be disarming and Funny. charming! with excellent self control #he had great self control to start with but yk. anxiety over People Talking #it also means hes less inclined to be rebellious of any kind since he doesnt want to push his luck #rambles from the bog #wh modern human au #in the future when eddie is part of the circle he brings up This Incident #theyre all able to laugh about it since its been like... over a decade at that point #but yeah <3 #and barnaby has not punched anyone since!#frank however....#if there was a fight in their middle/high... he usually was at the center of it. or at least near the center #not that anyone can prove anything! he was very good at not getting caught

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nickfowlerrr · 9 months

Text

here is the masterlist for the seven writing event.

all submissions will be linked below.

a huge thank you to everyone who has gotten or plans to get involved with this little event. i’m having a great time working on my own posts and even more, am looking forward to continuing reading and going through all of yours. so thank you, thank you, thank you! 🩵

if you’ve posted your work already and don’t see your submission(s) here, please message me.

to the lovely readers: if you enjoy any of the work listed below, please take the time to leave a comment on them and reblog the posts. it really helps with engagement and can be very motivating, and just so meaningful, to the authors and creators. we all appreciate you so much for diving into our little fantasy worlds with us and interacting with what we share in this community. thank you. 🖤

deadline for submitting: november 14, 2023

last updated: november 17, 2023

Fics

Envy

If I Can’t Have Everything, Then Let Me Just Have You - (andy barber x reader) - @writing-for-marvel

Don’t Blame Me - (bucky barnes x reader) - @buckets-and-trees

Greed

for the hope of it all - (lee bodecker x curvy!reader) - @nickfowlerrr

a bird in a cage - (dark!august walker x reader) - @witchywithwhiskey

Kindness

Weight of My Love - (wanda maximoff x reader) - @moonfaeriebunny

Lust

everything I want… - (bucky barnes x plus size!reader) - @thornsnvultures

All Good Girls Go To Heaven - (mafia!bucky barnes x OC) - @sebstan2020

idle hands are the devil’s playthings - (demon!steve kemp x reader) - @filthycagedsoul

Patience

Please Say, Please - (bucky barnes x reader) - @angelltheninth

Pride

Let All Light Go - (dark!alpha steve rogers x omega!reader and alpha!bucky barnes x omega!reader) - @buckets-and-trees

pride - (lee bodecker x wife!reader) - @thornsnvultures

Pride Goeth Before The Fall - (royal!au nick fowler x reader) - @tumblin-theworldaway

Wrath

Starring Role - (dark!natasha romanoff x reader) - @moonfaeriebunny

Welcome Home, Daddy - (winter soldier/bucky x pregnant!reader) - @winterarmyy

When You Fall on Me Like Night - (alpha!bucky x omega!reader and dark alpha!steve rogers x omega!reader) - @buckets-and-trees

Moodboards

Envy

bucky barnes moodboard - @nickfowlerrr

Greed

lee bodecker and max burnett - /nickfowlerrr

Pride

lloyd hansen moodboard - /nickfowlerrr

Wrath

andy barber and nick fowler - /nickfowlerrr

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nash-dara · 4 months

Text

LONG LIVE

Grumpy x Sunshine

Modern College AU

Characters:

Bucky Barnes (Reader's nickname for him: Wolfie)

Reader (No YN just using Bucky's given nickname: Petal, Others: Bear)

Warning: swear words (LANGUAGE), consensual touching, oozing sexual tension, fluff, Bucky Barnes, comfort, Idiots in Love. Please remind me if I forgot something. Thank you!

Author's Note: Reader is female, hair is shoulder length and eyes are brown, height is 5'2, no other description other than that.

AN2: English is not my first language, this fic is not beta, beware.

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I didn't know that a simple ceremony would be this complicated. It's been weeks of this repeating marching and sitting and we are still practicing the same flow of the events—Well mostly, it's the fault of the host because they keep changing their script for the ceremony and pronouncing certain names or whatnot.

First of all, it's summer already and the weather is furiously bothering me and this place is a hot mess. Bunch of sweaty people, too much noise, and on top of that we just have this gigantic ceiling fan that barely gives air and it gives me a major flashback to the final destination, making me think that this sharp fan circling above our heads will suddenly fall and slash our heads.

"Bear"

"Bear!" I felt my whole head palpitate caused by the scream directed to me while a tug somewhere in my left sleeve. I turned and saw Wanda grinning, her face so close could see her pupils dilated.

"What the hell—" holding my hand to my chest and the other to stabilize myself from the clutch of hers. "I keep calling you but your head is out in the space again"

"Well you sure do got my attention now," shaking my head then smiled at her. "What's up, buttercup?" I took her hands and moved her beside me when I saw an instructor doing rounds to the student seating in our area to check if someone was doing any misbehavior.

She keeps on moving beside me, so I ask her again...and again.

"Wands, what is it?"

"Oh right, yeah about what I came here for—do you still remember the student we sent to our neighboring country for the linguistic program"

I turned to her and gave her a bored look, "Are you high, Wanda?—Not sure, maybe we know those people we spent like 10 years of our lives and just gone for like 2 months, what do you think?" sarcasm laced in my voice. I still feel hurt that they won't be able to join us for our graduation because even though they just spent like 2 months there, the university that took them made a mandatory inclusion that their official graduation will be with their school and not here in this hellhole. Well, lucky for them they not only avoid experiencing this extreme heat however shitty for me because I really miss them—especially wolfie.

"Don't get cranky, bear. I know you're still salty for it but what I'm about to say will take all your bad juju away" my eyebrows raise as she keeps smiling at me weirdly. "Uhuh, is it? Do tell?" I told her while moving back my attention to the stage in front of us.

"Well, I think some dog really missed their home and flew back here" my neck hurt a bit as I looked into her quickly. "What the fuck?! For real?!"

"Yeah, your wolfie is here, but please pretend that you don't know- it's supposed to be a surprise for you" she took my hands and caressed it.

"—but I can't help but say it to cheer you up with all the drama you experience being the only one who does your thesis yet your groupmates can graduate with flying colors because they mooch off you like a damn leech and still get full credits included in 2 major courses and have full grades."

Her voice is now getting loud and full of huff, I move a little closer to her and give her a nudge to keep her voice low because she doesn't need to say it anymore the whole batch in our program already knows what the situation as I can be seen few months ago, solely defending the thesis and on the verge of breakdown when the instructors called my groupmates to talk to them in front of the students that day asking for the reason why I'm the only one who did all the work when they assigned it as groupwork.

"I still can't believe our instructors didn't allow you to drop them because it's not they are lazy they just don't have brain cells to use."

"I know, I know—it's really fucked up but it's done, at least I'm still able to keep myself included in the High Honor Awardee"

"At least?! you, girl, deserve to be seated here with us in Highest Honor Awardee", Tasha, as we call her, she's the girl called Nat from another class who I got close to a few months before wolfie left, she almost shouted after swearing one after another. I put my pointy finger in front of me signaling her to keep her voice down as I hear a brief grunt coming from one of the instructors monitoring walking past me.

"It's not that I do not deserve to be there but I know I had moments that I wasn't able to perform well because of my fault too, maybe I got distracted, and with all the other stress and I shouldn't have put all the blame to them, okay?" I gave them a small smile to appease them for a bit.

A loud echo coming from several taps on a microphone done by the host of the ceremony took all of our attention. The rehearsal begins again—and again. I keep singing the songs we are required to do, it's been 17 minutes but I feel I've just done it for an hour already, my throat is getting dry and scratchy added to the heat that even the fan beside our seats cannot even subdue with thousands of students cramp into this average size covered court. I groan and aggressively wave my hand towards me creating a little blow of air.

Repeated pulls in my hair startled me and I quickly turned around to look for the impertinent creature who tried to mess with me. My hands prepared to hit their annoying ass when I heard a familiar voice, "Getting hot in their, petal?"

His blue eyes, I often wonder why those blue eyes gave me this different comfort I've never had with someone. I tried my best to scour my brain and think how I managed to befriend him but all I can remember is during one of our group activities when we needed to shoot a video, I was the assigned writer and he was in the creatives, with all the tauntings, bickering, and jabs directed to each other something just blossom there—I think?

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"Your mind has been wandering for like a millennium, are you imagining some crude scenes again from your smutty books?", I can feel his breathing closely into my face. I felt my cheeks heat and sneer at him.

"I'm not!"

"You did really enjoy those books I gave you, with all the vivid covers that match the insides of it, even the priest will blush and call for all the saints when they read the content of it

"Well, I didn't know you have a great taste when it comes to those books, especially with all the tension in it. I didn't think of you as someone who enjoys stories pulling the hair of someone they like and then kisses them after", my stomach grumbled before he could even bicker back. I felt my head being patted gently, unsure of what I just felt.

"Hey, Wanda just fix my hair" my lips immediately contorted into a pout. I look sideways to focus my attention on him more when an abrupt loud noise cuts in.

NEXT BATCH YOU CAN NOW ENTER THE COVERED COURT, THE REST WHO ARE HERE RIGHT NOW CAN TAKE A SHORT BREAK

Before I can even register what has been announced I am already being escorted into the exit and side of the covered court.

"Do you have food with you? I'm getting hungry and the line is already long when we get there. Lemme chat with Wanda or Nat, maybe they already found a seat in the cafeteria, or maybe they have gone outside and already bought something" I took m phone out of my pocket and started to construct my message using my notes before sending it to them.

"I still wonder why you do that, you know"

"What do you mean?"

"That, you often write messages into your notes first before sending them", his face is now close to the phone I'm holding as he leans towards me.

"Well, I do— I feel like it's more comfortable to write here first so before sending I can check first if there's something wrong and if there is I wouldn't have accidentally sent it even if my phone suddenly froze up or I just accidentally touch sent because there's no sent button here in notes. Like I can edit it first and construct a proper message and rethink it before sending." my eyes already left my phone while I was explaining it to him and now gazing at the hallway.

"Did you have fun while I was gone?", my attention drifted back to him and I saw him looking directly at my eyes with his blues for the second time.

"Fun you say, I just felt like I got beat up by a thousand men simultaneously with all the stress and pain I felt—", I look into his eyes before continuing "—although Nat introduced me to her friend back from her hometown, he's quite a charmer", we started to take a walk towards the small hut situated outside the library, taking a rest and the breeze coming from the tree soothes the extreme heat, while we were seating I thought of breaking the silence that surrounds us however Bucky beats me first, "Tell me more what happen while I was gone?"

I saw him getting food out of his sling bag with my favorite drink, my attention quickly drew back to the food presented to me before I could even hold my hand out, he waved it first in front of my face before drawing it back. Gaining my attention, he repeated himself, "What is it huh?"

I took a sigh and gave him a quipped smile, "Seriously? I mean Steve might have already told you everything, you've been in contact since you went to another country for an exchange student program, anything you wanna know he might have told you already"

"I mean I'm just curious what can happen as you see it through your eyes, you know Steve, he likes to censor a lot of things, our man can't even swear without blushing," he said while finally handing out the food he has been holding. Silence surrounds us again as I indulge myself with a deluxe treat. "Heyy, don't just eat the food I brought you, I missed your knucklehead you know and you are just acting like I just grown two heads and we don't know each other"

I took a bite before looking at him again, he nudged my arm while I continued to swing my feet as I ate, "Do you miss me, petal? Because I do"

He finally said the words I've been wanting to hear to come out from his mouth, "You really miss me? dude, don't know if you're kidding me right now" I glared at him, maybe he might still realize what have he done before I spilled all of it to him.

"I do, I really miss you, petal. Do you miss your wolfie?" I felt a gentle squeeze in my thighs.

"Let me think—" I put the food on the table in front of me and faced sideways to him, I put my fingers to my temple and acted like I was thinking.

I gave him a sweet smile before answering "I think—No" I said and picked up my food again to start to eat, before I could feel the savory taste of the cheeseburger he bought for me, I felt a cold hand touch my arm stopping me. My movements stalled and I quickly closed my mouth as I scrunched my nose for his insolence to stop me from eating a delicacy. Like who in their right mind would stop a woman and her food. He just went to another country and charmed multiple beautiful women and now he has this audacity, would I allow it—HECK NO.

"Hey! Don't roll your eyes on me" he took my food out of my hand and set it down himself. Now he's just asking for a beating.

"Why do you even want to hear my answer" before he could even answer I muttered in a scratchy voice abruptly "Heck, why are you even asking me that now, you didn't reply to my messages when I was trying to talk to you8 while you were there. You are busy parading yourself out of the country and you talk to our friends except me, so excuse me—you are getting on my nerves. One more interruption while I am eating, I will not think twice to swing my arm to your fucking face, understood?"

"Yes, ma'am" his voice laced with a smirk as I continued to glare at him. A few moments later after I finished eating and now just passing the time by looking at the other students walking back to the covered court. Bucky is now facing my back and his hands are now caressing my hair I can even feel how he twists each strand, braiding it, I think.

He knows how to make me weak, he brought me food and now he is braiding my hair just like before he left me, I will not be able to keep my facade if he continues acting like this. I know to myself that I need to be strong because parting with him is inevitable.

"I just noticed something, my petal" he broke the silence as he continued to play with my hair, and I hummed asking him to continue. "—where did you hear that I'm parading myself out of the country? like do you— I mean are you jealous?"

I can feel the chills that just run down my spine, "What do you mean jealous?! Of your knucklehead? Freaking NO" I quickly faced him and for the second time today I can see from his eyes flashes of thoughts running while still unable to comprehend what he was trying to say. Before he could even answer, I heard Wanda's loud voice telling us to go back inside and Sam's yelling to wait for him.

"Let's continue this conversation later, okay petal?" when he didn't hear my answer he gave my hand a few tugs, "Yeah—okay" I whispered before Wanda whisked me away from him.

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AN: This would be double posted to my AO3 account, @nash_dara, should I continue and make a part 2 or we can just let our imagination end this? Thank you for reading, love lots!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes #marvel #bucky barnes x y/n #mcu #nash dara #nash dara library #Spotify

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ltbarnes · 1 year

Text

Anachronism - Part I

Or the placing of persons, events, objects, or customs in times to which they do not belong

Summary: Sprained ankles, snowstorms, blood-thirsty wolves and feral super soldiers. What was supposed to be a peaceful walk in the woods surrounding the cabin you're staying in with your best friend Steve quickly turns devastating, forcing your path to cross with the mysterious and burly man who can't seem to grasp social cues and the concept of privacy. His past is a puzzle that can't seem to be solved and your feelings for the sweet and giant man quickly develop from friendly gratitude to something neither of you can't quite grasp.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader, Steve Rogers x fem!reader

Word count: 7.6k

Warnings: Bigfoot!Bucky? Yeti!Bucky? 6'6" Bucky (he's massive. so beefy), manhandling, technically kidnapping but it's all good, hypothermia (almost),

(Specific warnings in each chapter)

A/N: be kind and ignore the ridiculous amount of times i have written "furs" in this chapter. also my very first series! please read and give feedback and your thoughts i will love you forever if you do!!! this is obviously an AU but also includes a lot of things that are canon, but i've tweaked some things to fit my story. it's a mini-series that will be released every Friday which i'm also still writing so any suggestions regarding the story are welcomed and appreciated

Masterlist

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

"Are you scared Bigfoot is gonna come kidnap me?" you say, a faux serious expression on your face. "Notice my great hips for childbearing? Smell my excellent pheromones from his mountain top?"

"You're hilarious, aren't you?" Steve answers, rolling his eyes fondly because you are hilarious. Self-proclaimed.

"It's not my fault I'm a fantastic mate. Bigfoot won't be able to resist his feral urges to claim me once he sees my healthy glow and extra layer of fat that will keep me warm through the winter."

The argument has been ongoing the entire morning—should you go out on an exploration walk with the threat of a snowstorm looming while Steve finishes his work or should you instead stay inside and keep him company? Steve is heavily in favor of the latter option, it seems.

You've been here for an entire 24 hours without leaving the cabin a single time. Usually that wouldn't bother you, but when your travel companion keeps insisting on finishing sketches and answering emails and doing everything but hanging out with you, exploring your surroundings seems a lot more exciting.

Yes, you were aware of the fact that working was a part of the deal when borrowing his boss's mountainside cabin. But you didn't know exactly how strict a certain Tony Stark could be when it came to deadlines. Technically Tony is only your boss and not really his, but the version of Stark you meet does not hand out deadlines. You came with because you wanted to spend time with your best friend, not stare at him in front of a computer and sketches of how to improve stuff at the compound-thingy.

"Steve, honestly. I won't even be gone for long," you say, leaning over the back of the couch while watching him draw lines over the large paper with his pencil. "I need to get some fresh air. You know, for my health and all that. Exercise."

"Since when do you care about exercise?" Steve asks you, reaching for a red pen on the other side of the table.

"You know what? I'm going out no matter what you say. I'm adventurous. Independent."

You walk over to the hallway, sliding your arms into your large puffer jacket while Steve watches you with raised eyebrows. He had an inclination that you would be getting your way in the end, but engaged in the benign argument in hopes of convincing you to stay with him. The truth is that you're not an adventurous person with any valuable survival skills, and both of you know that. You get lost in grocery stores—the endless snowy woods will do you no good.

"Okay," he tells you, laying down his pen for the first time in an hour. He didn't stop working for the entire time of your conversation, until now.

"Huh?"

"I can't stop you. But don't go too far, Y/n," Steve pleads, looking at you with those blue doe-eyes that piss you off. "I mean it. As soon as the first snowflake falls you go inside again."

A sigh. A roll of your eyes that he absolutely notices. "Yeah, yeah. We know I'll probably come inside in fifteen minutes anyway."

With your hat, mittens and a thick scarf wrapped around your neck you decide to take the leap and open the doors. The wind whines as you wave Steve goodbye. He tells you to be safe once more and you tell him to mind his own business if he wishes to have dinner served tonight.

Honestly, the man has no faith in you. Yes, you might have no sense of 'street smarts', but what good will those things do you in the mountains? You are perfectly capable of taking a walk. If anything would happen resembling trouble, you absolutely have dormant biological survival instincts waiting to be activated somewhere. Wether those lean more towards freezing than fight or flight is no one's business.

Nature is beautiful and gorgeous and miraculous, you have always thought that, and your beliefs are confirmed on your thirty-minute walk. Several inches long icicles hang from mile-long trees, glistening with shimmering snow and at least two squirrels hunting each other down the tree trunk.

If you're not careful you might convince yourself you are in a Hallmark movie, if judging only by the seven days left before Christmas Eve and the appropriate environment. But you are also painfully cold and longing for the crackling fireplace in the Stark cabin more than you wish to continue explore.

The urge to pout over following Steve's rules is ridiculously strong while heading back during the first snowfall of your trip. You don't know why you've acted like a spoiled brat around him these past few weeks when you really just want to kiss the life out of him. Stupid fucking Steve Rogers. Unnecessarily attractive—he really is. He doesn't need to be this handsome and gorgeous with that perfect personality of his.

You've known him for five years now. It's hilarious and heartbreaking at the same time, that you have spent so much time infatuated with a man without ever speaking your admiration out loud. Steve was just a friend for many years, the steady confidant and chivalrous caretaker. And then the meaning of chivalrous became devastating and the ability to listen without intervening turned horrifying when all those traits summed up into the absolute, certain definition of the man you have a hopeless crush on.

And what's sad is that you're still here. Feelings still unconfessed and unrequited. You can't let him go even though it fucking kills you to see him live his life without being yours.

When you were a teenager you feared you were incapable of love after your first date left you feeling absolutely nothing for the perfectly nice and sweet guy. Now you're so deeply sunken into the man that is Steve Rogers, but you can't confess in fear of destroying the only real friendship you have. Fear is a funny thing, and it manages to ravage your sense of self-worth in any which way it appears.

If you ever gathered the courage to tell him, he would be real nice about it. Assure you that nothing is ruined, and he won't look at you differently. Steve would actually try to appear as unbothered as possible going forward into the friendship if only to make you as comfortable as possible. But you know it would eat him up inside—his best friend is bordering on being in love with him and he can't reciprocate it. Steve's selfless and caring like that.

You can barely feel your fingers anymore despite the thick gloves on your hands. The temperature was a crisp kind of cold when you first started walking, now it's wet and icy and biting. Seeing more than three feet in front of you is getting slightly hard through the punishing snowfall, but you have faith. You walked in a straight line the entire time so you wouldn't lose yourself in the woods.

When you get home again you will make two cups of hot chocolate and curl up on the couch. Watch a movie with Hugh Grant if only to annoy Steve. Despite how you've complained about his time being occupied the past day you really do like it here. Quiet and peaceful and warm despite the freezing temperature outside. You could live here if only work wasn't an obligation and you had money enough to buy a house.

"Fuck," you seethe as you trip over a branch, landing face down in the snow.

The ground is soft and almost powdery and you still manage to twist your ankle during the landing. Of course you do.

"Ow, ow, ow," you whine while trying to stand up again, once more falling down onto the ground with a soft thud.

Your face is covered in snow in mere seconds. The urge to cry is overwhelming as you sputter to rid yourself of the white snowflakes burying you. Skipping breakfast doesn't seem like a great idea anymore now that your blood sugar is low enough for you to cry over things like this. It's stupid—the pain will most likely go away in a few minutes and the cabin can't be that far away.

But right now the snow is too heavy for you to drag yourself through on a bad foot. The temporary solution you find underneath a thick tree whose branches are so compact almost no snow makes it onto the ground underneath it. Cold, but dry. It will do for ten minutes.

Checking your phone connection almost feels stupid. Cell towers are usually not a frequent part of the infrastructure in the midst of mountains and woods. You send a text to Steve anyway, hoping that it'll come through once you get closer to the cabin, risking the well-being of your poor fingers during the short time you're required to take off your mittens.

I'm still alive

Also sprained my ankle

Don't laugh at me when I get back

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Cold. So, so cold. Oh my god.

Too many spots on your body are freezing to the point where you can't move. A panicked breath forces your eyes open just halfway, revealing a white landscape of blur.

There's sounds other than the wind and your ragged breathing, you're sure of it, but you can't distinguish what they belong to. Your eyelids fall closed once again, despite willing them to stay open so you can see what the fuck is going on for more than a second.

You hear growling. Yeah, that's what it is. Animals growling. Animals growling.

The sudden epiphany is what forces your eyes open for real this time, awakening your nearly hypothermic body with a start as you take in the gray, furry hounds on all fours surrounding your resting place.

Wolves bare their teeth at you as you sit frozen in your spot, literally and figuratively, eyes wide with fear and heart beating a lot faster than the minute before. Tears are already making their way down your cheeks, because what are you supposed to do? The underlying survival instincts you thought were laying dormant are seemingly not doing anything for you right now.

You press yourself closer against the tree, watching as two of the wolves stalk closer, assessing their prey like bloodthirsty beasts. Dying of being mauled by wolves were not on your bucket list, if you're honest. Right now you're rapidly going over every prayer to every god, begging for your life. And the only thing you manage to do is have a panic attack in your place, struggling to match your inhales to your exhales. Death by asphyxiation must be better than being torn apart, right?

The largest wolf, tall and built with dried blood in his fur, leans back, readies himself for attack. You close your eyes with a sob, chest heaving so frantically you can't get any air into your lungs.

A roar sounds right in front of you, and you know in your bones that now is your last moment of life before your flesh is pierced by sharp teeth. But when three seconds pass by without a feral animal ripping you to shreds, you open your eyes dizzily.

The wolves are sprinting away, howling and whining, disappearing between the trees and snow until they're out of sight.

A heaving figure stands too many feet away for you to see clearly what chased the predators away. You're disoriented, sight becoming blurry again.

But right before you succumb to the sleep, you see the outline of a large man nearing you. He crouches down, grabs a hold of you, and you can't even protest.

Everything is upside down. You don't have the energy to stay awake anymore.

Steve is going to fucking kill you.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Orange and yellow flickers dance over wooden walls, painting shadows of make-believe figures in an unknown space. It's overbearingly warm—beads of sweat rest underneath your hairline and pools on the back of your neck. A world of difference from the biting cold you lived through what seemed to be just a moment ago.

Several furs cover your body, working alongside the fire undoubtedly burning somewhere in the room to warm your already overheated body. It feels claustrophobic and also deeply concerning because who in the hell has furs lying around in this amount and who brought you here and where are you?

You remember the cold and the snow and the tree and the wolves—there were wolves about to attack you. Actual, real life wolves two feet away. And somebody chased them away.

Turning your head away from the wall you faced takes more effort than you would have wanted to, and you almost wish you didn't when you come face to face with a bearded, blue-eyed man staring at you less than a feet away.

An ear-splitting shriek escapes your lips without your consent, furs flying off of your body while you scramble to get away from the strange man who's breath is literally hitting your face.

But you're pushed down onto the bed before you have the chance to escape, once again covered with the furs you desperately wish to keep off.

"No. You cold," the man growls at you.

His voice is rough, like he hasn't used it in a long while. There's a thick scruff on his face, complementing the dark brown hair almost reaching down to his shoulders.

You get stuck in your movements, left staring at him feeling like you can't tear your eyes away. He's so ruggedly handsome and nearly soft in his gaze, but the way he's clenching his jaw tells you he's rougher on the outside. Strong, judging by the way he pushed you down with only a palm to your shoulder.

"Still. Don't move," he tells you, furrowing his eyebrows into a frown while keeping his hands on you. And then he tucks you in, keeping you locked in place with the furs. "Cold," he whispers to himself, barely loud enough for you to hear.

You gulp, trying to rid yourself of the dryness in your mouth and gather courage enough to speak simultaneously. Assessing wether he's dangerous or not is painstakingly hard—you have probably established to yourself by now that you have no survival skills nor instincts.

"I'm—it's too hot. Warm," you stutter, keeping your gaze on him to gauge his reaction. It seems you've adopted his simple language, lacking complete sentences and any form of addition besides the most crucial information. You suppose it's more efficient to communicate that way.

"Warm soon," he speaks once again, getting closer with each word. It seems like he's nearly sniffing you, inhaling your scent which must consist of mostly sweat right now. A low grumble sounds from his chest, a pleased hum on his lips. What the hell is going on?

You tense underneath his figure hovering over you, blinking while searching for a way to make him understand. Despite his tough exterior he seems soft in some way—kind. He wants to keep you warm because you must have been freezing when he found you. No matter how much waking up in a strange man's home is alarming and deeply frightening, you feel safe. That's disturbing.

A second effort to push away the bear fur proves to be more successful, even though the man actually growls at you. He really doesn't want you to escape the makeshift nest he's created.

"No, I'm already warm. See?" you tilt your neck, showing the bare skin glistening with your sweat. "Not cold. Hot."

His gaze zeroes in on the exposed skin, brows furrowed in confusion. In a decision not very thought through when you reach for his hand, bringing it up to your forehead so he can feel how you're practically burning up.

And he obliges, except that the hand pressing against your face is not warm human skin. Metal, hard and flexible, runs up the entirety of his arm. You can't help from flinching, scurrying away from his touch into the corner of the bed you're laying on.

But fuck, it hurts when you push away on your feet. A blinding pain strikes up from your ankle into your leg, drawing a distressed cry from your lips that has the man tense and rigid in a second. He straightens from his crouching position, moving back from your writhing figure.

"I did not—did not want to hurt," he says, looking just about as upset as you are in pain.

The genuine concern in his blue eyes throws you off guard. His face is all chiseled and gruff and a little dirty, but his eyes are softer than the fur draped over your body. He's beautiful. And big. Now from a distance you can see his large build clearly, the muscles bulging out from his worn henley. You know he'll tower over you when he stands up and the knowledge doesn't scare you anymore than it exhilarates you.

"No, no," you whimper, kicking away the fur completely before holding onto your foot, squeezing your eyes shut while trying to breathe through the pain. "It wasn't you."

Stretching your leg out, you bring your swollen ankle forward for him to see. Purple bruises run around the small of your leg, even one on your knee. You didn't really notice until now how little clothes you are wearing—neither your thermal trousers or the leggings are on your lower body anymore. All that's left is the long-sleeved henley you stole from Steve and your underwear. You guess you and the giant are matching now.

A shriek escapes as he suddenly drags you forward to the edge of the bed, both arms underneath your body until he has you where he wants you. You cling onto his shoulders for a few seconds, trying to rid yourself of the momentary shock. He moved you like it was nothing—as easily as if you were a pillow.

"Wolves, uh—wolves did this?" he asks you without lifting his focus from your leg, cradling it a little too harshly for your comfort. He lifts your foot, inspecting. It's like he doesn't really know his own strength.

You shake your head, finding it hard to search for words with his hands on your bare skin. The metal arm still really hasn't made its way out of things you've gotten over. You're not scared of it, you weren't before either, but more shocked. How does it even work? It feels kind of miraculous in a way.

"I tripped over a branch," you tell him. But he looks confused, like some part of the sentence contains words he doesn't understand. "Uh, I fell, over a—a tree on the ground?"

You try show with your hands as you are speaking until he nods. He repeats "tripped" under his breath, lips parting softly as the word sounds from his mouth.

"I need to go the bathroom," you say suddenly. "Can you show me where it is?"

It's not like you expect him to have a full-blown ensuite in this little cabin. You can see quite clearly that it's a simple place, but hopefully he has at least a mirror and running water hiding somewhere. You feel icky from all the sweat.

As carefully as you can, you bring your legs to dangle off of the bed while scooting forward. The man rises while you begin to push yourself up, expecting him to take your arm or something to help you walk.

Upside down again. Instead of aiding you in your walk he threw you over his shoulder within a second, picked you up just like that. Who is this man?

"Wha—hello?" you shout. "What are you doing?"

His answer comes in a grunt, but that's more so because of opening the door at the same time. All you can see is his back, but you feel the temperature drop significantly as he brings you outside into the snow. Judging by the rapid pace of snowflakes landing on your bare legs you assume the snowstorm is still brewing.

After a few seconds of shuffling through the snow, his fingers dig into your waist as he lifts you down. The landing is wobbly and you have to bite down on your lip to stop from crying out. Despite your efforts a broken whimper manages to slip out, making you sound like a kicked puppy.

"Good?" he asks you, holding onto you even after you have let go of him.

You nod, cringing over the icy cold snow against the sole of your feet. "Be a little more careful next time, maybe, if you're gonna keep...lifting me."

Your teeth are already chattering, arms crossed over your chest while waiting for him to step away. But he just stands there, two feet away while staring at you. He's been staring at you the entire time since you woke up but now is really not a moment requiring an audience.

"Could you look away?" you ask, gazing up at him impatiently. You're wearing a shirt in a snowstorm in which you nearly can't see the man standing right next to you while barely managing to stand upright.

"Away...why?"

A little taken aback by the confusion, you answer with his lack of understanding in mind. He's strange—knows what a bathroom is but doesn't understand the privacy part of it, the metal arm, standing so closely all the time, the inhaling your scent and communicating in incomplete sentences.

"Privacy," you tell him. He only furrows his brows just like he did inside when you talked about tripping over a branch. "I want to be alone for a few minutes. Not you here."

"But, uh, wolves. Bears and—cold," he says, taking a hold of your freezing hand. "Protect." He points at himself.

He wants to protect you.

Your lips part just slightly while trying to find something to say. He's known you for less than an hour.

"So small. Tiny." He pats you on the head, and it would be patronizing but you know he doesn't mean it that way. He looks genuinely bewildered by the difference in size between you, as if he hasn't seen anyone without his impressive build before. Most people are quite a lot smaller than him. "Small can't fight bear."

"Oh," is all you manage to get out. "That's very nice of you, but I—you can turn around? Please? I feel uncomfortable having you stare at me."

"Uncomfortable?"

"Like not feeling good. Not happy, nervous. It's not a good feeling," you explain, trying to ransack the dictionary of your mind for synonyms.

"I will be close," he tells you after a few seconds of contemplative silence.

It looks like it pains him to step aside, despite not walking very far away from you at all. He's so different from anyone you've met before, more innocent but also animalistic in some way. Primal. You kind of like it.

The snow is used as water for cleaning while your teeth chatter against each other, limbs shaking to keep yourself warm. Your feet hurt from touching the snow, and the entirety of you is getting increasingly wet as the icy flakes melt on your body.

Only a minute passes before he seems to have had enough of waiting, turning around to see that you're done.

"This time, could you not—"

Before you can finish your request of not being thrown over his shoulder again, he puts his large hands on your waist and lifts you into the air. You're less surprised this time, maybe, but definitely not used to being picked up like that. A harrumphed breath is all that can be said as you once again, with your ass in the air and his as your view, are brought inside.

An hour later you have concluded that your phone must be left underneath the tree you fell asleep against, your ankle is definitely sprained and the man has not spent much time in civilization. But he still knows certain things that makes you believe he's somewhat civilized, like he spent time with other people a very long time ago.

He's wearing clothes at least, even though they are worn out and torn in some places. He knows how to make a fire and there's a few plates on a shelf and a wooden spoon. It's relatively tidy in here, but that's mainly because he doesn't have many things.

Most of all, he's been taking care of you. He knew enough about hypothermia to rid you of your wet clothes. Now he's wrapped you up in all those furs again and planted you in front of the fire place after you were shaking like a leaf when you came inside. He hasn't let you take a step by yourself on that bad foot of yours.

And even though all of these things are so sweet and slightly peculiar, you can only think about Steve. You don't know how long you have been gone for, but those fifteen minutes you said you would be back after have since long passed by.

God, he must be freaking out. He told you to stay inside and you stubbornly went against his wishes. Look where you are now—stranded in a cabin with a malfunctioning foot and a strange man who's nice but also extremely mysterious and hasn't been a part of civilization for many, many years.

"I have a friend who's probably looking for me," you say after an hour of relative silence. He's been gutting fish for some reason, taking out bones and bad parts with a pocket knife. It's now roasting over the fire. You don't really know how he got a hold of fresh fish in the middle of December.

He looks over at you from where he's sitting a few feet away, arms draped over his knees.

"Who is friend?"

"His name is Steve," you tell him. "He's my best friend. We are borrowing someone's house a few miles away from here."

A low murmur of 'Steve' is heard from him, and it almost makes you laugh. The way he says his name—like it nearly offends him—is so humorous you're bound to tell your blond friend about it when you get back.

"He is tall, almost like you. And very strong. I think you would like each other."

That implication was apparently not welcome. His face scrunches up, jaw clenching down while shaking his head to himself.

"No. Do not like Steve," he tells you. "No Steve."

"No?" you chuckle. "Why? You haven't met him yet."

"No. Steve." He glares at you, showcasing those blue eyes of his once more with a stare so intense it has you squirming. "No man."

Your chuckle dies down under his stare, leaving your cheeks to heat while he's observing you. He certainly does have a staring problem, but you don't really want to do anything about it even though it unnerves you. In a good way, mostly.

"Okay," you say softly, letting a small smile grow on your lips to dissipate the sudden tension. "What's your name? I don't think I've asked that."

He thinks for a few seconds. The smile drops as quickly as it appeared when you see his confusion, because who has to think to remember their own name?

"They call me Asset," he speaks up nearly a minute after you posed the question.

Your lips part in quiet shock as you stare at him with your brows furrowed into a concerned frown. Whoever he's speaking about viewed him as an asset. Not a person, a human being, but merely something to serve them. It makes you nauseous. He doesn't look very bothered about it, and that makes you even more sad. Sure, you've made it this far without calling him anything but you want to know his name. You want to know him.

"Asset? I can't call you that," you whisper, shaking your head. "Well, then we'll have to come up with something."

"Your name?" He points at you.

"My name is Y/n."

He lights up slightly when he hears it, looking up at you again. You feel heat traveling to your face, glancing away for a second because eye contact for that long is still hard for you.

"Y/n?" he asks, nodding at you.

His curiosity makes you giggle like a schoolgirl while nodding. Even more so as he repeats your name several times under his breath, as if he barely notices himself what he's doing.

"Asset?" he says again while pointing at himself.

"No," you answer, gripping the furs tighter around your body. Funny how two minutes outside could instill a cold so deep you're still feeling it over an hour later.

"No?"

"No. It's dehumanizing and disrespectful. You are a person, not an object."

"Don't understand..."

You gulp, blinking while glancing into the fire burning a few feet away. He still stares at you.

"You know what? I'll just call you Winter for now. My imagination is lacking and I feel like that encapsulates your energy," you say, maybe more for yourself than him. You know he doesn't understand much.

He nods, seemingly accepting his new name pretty quickly. "Winter...like Y/n?"

"Yeah. Your name." You point at his chest. "Do you like it?"

"Yes. You, uh—you gave it. Like it," he tells you.

Content with the conversation, the two of you fall into a silence while he watches over the grilling fish in front of you. Winter. Somehow it suits him—cold and to the point, warm and soft when he wants to. Yeah, that's a good nickname.

It's your turn to stare at him now. Observing as he takes the fishes off the spear, moving them onto one of the wooden plates he has stacked on the shelf above you.

He crouches down until he's sitting opposite to you, legs bent but still taking up so much space. The plate is pushed in your direction as you unravel your arms from the blanket-cocoon.

Carefully and with slight hesitance, you begin to reach your hand out towards your plate, but it's pushed away with a grunt from Winter's mouth. Instead, he pulls a large piece of the grilled fish and lifts his finger towards you.

"Eat."

You stare at it for a second, blinking before lifting your gaze to his face.

"Oh," you breathe out while he pushes it closer until the fish touches your lips.

You let him feed you, for some reason. But it feels natural when he's the one doing it. Though you have to slow him down sometimes, stopping him from choking you with the rapid pace and quantity of food he seems to want to feed you with.

After finishing one and a half fish, you feel overtly content with your meal. You would have stopped eating after the first one but he keeps insisting on you eating more.

"Winter," you tell him, gently pushing away his hand. His eyes flicker upwards to you when his new nickname falls from your lips.

He nearly pouts at you. "More," he says, holding up his fingers. You shake your head.

"I'm full. No more food."

"But—ugh," he snarls, breathing out a frustrated puff of air. "Don't know how to say."

"It's okay."

You lay a careful hand on his arm, nodding for him to continue. He gulps, letting a few seconds pass by as he thinks hard and thoroughly. You don't want him to feel dumb just because he doesn't speak your language well.

"Want you to feel good. Not sick."

"Healthy?" you ask with a smile as soon as you get the sentiment.

"Yes, healthy. Much food for healthy."

Winter touches your stomach, pressing his fingers into your skin while you chuckle. He's sweeter than you ever would have expected him to be and it hurts to know that you have to leave him soon.

You could very well visit him during the rest of the week you're here, but after that you will be far away. Keeping contact with someone who's barely been socializing with humans for what must be years upon years could be very hard. He doesn't have a phone and probably doesn't take trips that often.

"Not happy?" Winter redirects the subject when he sees your fallen expression, gazing out of the window.

Your short-lived trance is broken by his voice. "No, sorry. I just got distracted for a second," you tell him. "I have to go back soon. To Steve."

All he does is grunt, leaving you to raise your eyebrows in amusement.

"No," he mumbles after a few seconds of shaking his head. "Snow is too much. Much—very dangerous."

You immediately look out of the window again, which is nearly covered in white snowflakes to the point where you can't see much. But you can hear the strong whines of the wind outside, and despite wanting to assure Steve that you're fine you know Winter is right. On this foot you can't go anywhere far, and it's not like you're gonna force him to carry you the entire way.

"Okay," you say softly. "I'll stay until the storm is over."

"Yes? Y/n stay with Winter?"

"Yeah. I'll stay."

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

The crackling sound of the fire has been slowly lulling you towards sleep for the past half an hour. You constantly fight to keep your eyelids open but you know you're going to lose the battle soon if the furs keep enveloping you in a big hug while trying to shield yourself from the cold.

You went out for another bathroom break a while ago. It's dark now, but the soft light from inside of the cabin lit up the grounds outside enough to see a bunny and her babies jumping through the snow.

You just about had a meltdown and Winter thought you had hurt yourself because you were crying. Having to explain to him that no, you were not sad, but just extremely overwhelmed by how cute and pretty the bunnies looked and the dramatics of the whole day was equally difficult and amusing. He seemed quite confused by that explanation, even more so than your reaction.

"Don't understand," he had told you while picking you up again to throw you over his shoulder. Standard practice by now. "Happy crying? So strange."

Now you're leaning against the couch with your legs stretched in front of you. You've been watching Winter carve a handle to the knife blade he just sharpened twenty minutes ago. Somehow you feel he has no real need for a knife when he's built like he is, when he could chase away a whole pack of wolves with merely his presence.

He's so concentrated. Nearly passionate in the way he sculpts that piece of wood, eyes never straying from his craft except for when he looks at you when he thinks you're not looking. With each minute he's nudging himself a little bit closer, thinking you won't notice.

It's cute, really. But you're too tired to read into it and the way your eyelids grow heavier with each passing second tells you that you might not be awake much longer. You don't want to sleep yet—if what you have left with Winter is only this night and tomorrow morning, you want to spend it on something else than laying passed out on his floor.

You want to know more about his story and why he's living in the middle of the woods and why he doesn't have a name and why in the goddamn hell he's so sweet and attentive and god, you might like him a little too much for only knowing him a day.

It's weird, right? You're not supposed to want to stay here with him while having the man you've been in love with for half a decade waiting for you at a cabin you borrowed from his boss, probably (hopefully) worried sick for you. Steve most likely thinks you're dead for god's sake and you're out here thinking about if some Bigfoot man would be able to bench press you. He has to, right? It seems like he could.

And spending time asking yourself rhetorical questions while you should be trying to keep your eyes open is apparently the downfall of your self-control. A poke at your side forces your eyes open with a flutter, gaze flickering down to Winter's finger pressing into your cheek.

"Sleep? Y/n, uh, lay down?" he asks you, nodding towards the bed.

You shake your hand with a yawn, wrapping the furs tighter around your shivering figure.

"No," you say softly. "I can—I'll sleep here. You can take the bed."

He doesn't have a chance to answer before you're slowly lowering yourself down to the floor, snuggling into your blankets with a tired hum and closed eyes. In all honesty, you might freeze to death if you're more than three feet away from the fireplace.

"Y/n," Winter says, nearly chastises. "Y/n."

You don't answer. Too tired to form words and actually speak them. You know he's going to offer you the bed again, but he's been so good to you this past day. He deserves some comfort.

"Small—little bunny," he says, nearly mumbles, hand brushing over your arm and your eyes shoot wide open like a comic book character.

"What?" you breathe out while rolling over until you're facing him.

"Name for you. Like Winter but for Y/n," he says, cheeks flushing red and you can't help but let out a girlish giggle.

"Nickname?" you ask him, smiling much too big for your dignity to still be intact.

"Yes. Not listen to Y/n so use other name."

"You think I look like a bunny?"

The tiredness you felt half a minute ago has suddenly dissipated into thin air while you prop your chin up on your hand, gazing up at him with amusement.

"No," he tells you. "Like words you say—"

Winter stops a few seconds to think, furrowing his brows in frustration. He gets really irritated at himself when he can't find the right words, you've found these past hours. You don't mind at all, but he gets frustrated so quickly when he can't communicate his feelings. It's equally adorable and sad.

"Like cute and uh...pretty. Like bunnies."

You don't say anything—you can't. Laying there dumbfounded and a few degrees warmer than the second before, struggling to hold the intense stare Winter has decided on.

But he keeps on looking at you with those stone-cold and intense yet innocent blue eyes of his, wanting to say something but refraining from doing so. The staring problem is really starting to become an actual problem for you when you can't reciprocate it anymore. Instead you curl into yourself, snuggling into the blankets while avoiding his gaze.

It's getting to the point where you can't decipher wether it's due to his lack of social cues or genuine interest in you. Just one day in his presence and you feel like you can truly exist. He doesn't really judge in the way other people do. It feels nice spending time with someone who doesn't have to know things about you to know you. But it's been less than twelve hours for god's sake.

After what must have been a few minutes but felt like half an hour you drowse into a half-sleep once more. You know Winter is sitting right beside you, hopefully planning to relocate to the bed soon. If he's going to sleep there on the floor your sacrifice would have been redundant but somehow you feel he's stubborn enough to do that.

You've been descending towards sweet unconsciousness for a good while when you hear him rise from his seated position. And you should've known it was coming, even after knowing him for such a short time, when his arms snake around your figure.

For once, Winter hauls you up into a bridal carry, though still lacking that sense of gentleness most people would use on a sleeping person. But you're not sleeping, and maybe he knows that too.

The bed sinks underneath your weight as he lays you down, pillow cold against your head and shivers instantly breaking out when the sheets meet your body. And you suddenly hate the idea of laying alone in this bed absolutely on your way towards freezing to death.

"Winter," you mumble, eyes barely open.

You feel him stop in his movements, hands still on your body from when he laid you down just a few seconds ago.

"Will you lay down with me? I'm cold," you nearly pout. It's childish and bordering on mirroring an opening to some bad 70's porno, but still sincere. The hellish warmth you felt when you woke up before has escaped your mind entirely.

"Sleep?" he asks.

"Yes. Only if you want to. It's okay if you don't," you tell him, breathing out deeply while fighting your tiredness for just a little longer.

You scoot over, lifting the furs draped over your figure to make space for him if he decides to lie down next to you.

And he does.

It's ungracious and a little awkward when what must be at least a 6'6" man climbs into a bed that fits half of him when it's empty. His warmth instantly streams over towards you the moment he lays down, drawing an embarrassingly loud hum of pleasantry from your lips.

A groan descending from the very depths of his stomach sounds from him only a few seconds later. It nearly makes you laugh, but mostly pleases you that he finds this comforting too.

It scares you a little that you might be seeking this closeness to make up for what isn't there between you and Steve. That this natural ease you find in Winter's company is a figment of your imagination. Maybe you're still sitting underneath that tree, on your last few seconds of life with your dying mind creating stupid fantasies?

But it sure feels real when your cornered position against the wall turns into Winter using that goddamn strength of his to maneuver you to lay on top of him. You barely react to his touch until you realize just what position the two of you are laying in.

A soft 'oh' escapes your lips as your cheek meets his chest, large hands wrapped around your back while he snuggles into the crook of your neck.

"Smell so good," he mumbles as he takes in your scent, nose pressing against your skin. "Little—hm, bunny smell good."

Your eyes open wide where you're laying, and he can't see that luckily, but he must be hearing the increased pace of your heartbeats against him. This man is going to be the death of you.

"Hm?" you hum in answer, a strained one and slightly shocked and one that comes out when you don't know what the hell to say.

Winter does that thing he did when you went outside the first time—he pats your head gently, like he's petting a cat or a small child. It's humorous to think that he might've learnt it from those scenarios a long time ago.

You prop your chin up on his chest so you can see his face. It's an awkward angle but somehow you feel he doesn't think about things like that.

He's staring down at you, palm still resting on the back of your head as it slides down to rest at the back of your neck. His eyes are so fucking blue that you are mad about it—who gave him the right? What kind of crazy ass genes did his parents have for him to be so tall and strong and beautiful?

"No tired now?" he whispers, as if it's a secret he's telling you.

You shake your head, which turns out to be a little difficult in this position, while blinking slowly. "I'm still very tired. But I just—I wanted to look at you for a second." You move your hands until they're underneath your chin, palms splayed out against his chest. "Your eyes are very blue. Almost cerulean."

Winter scrunches his nose. Adorable, of course. Ugh.

"What is that word?" he asks you, furrowing his brows and drawing a smile from your lips. "Your words—so hard. Use words I don't know all the time."

"I'm sorry," you answer through a soft chuckle. "Cerulean is a certain shade of blue. Like the sky when there's no clouds."

"Oh," he answers, brows still furrowed in thought.

You wonder if he's seen his own eyes in recent years. Somehow you feel like he doesn't spend a lot of time in front of mirrors. You can't really say the same for yourself—your insecurities make you so paranoid that looking yourself in the mirror has become an addiction. Ever since you woke up in this cabin you haven't thought about how you looked a single time.

"So cold." Winter takes a hold of your hand, lifting it up while running his thumb over your fingers. "Like snow almost."

"Yeah," you sigh. "Hopefully that'll change soon."

"Yes. I, uh—I will warm. Make your hands not so cold anymore."

All you can do is give him a closed-mouth smile while already feeling yourself grow several degrees hotter. Honestly, if he keeps talking he could warm you up from the other side of the room with his words.

"I'm gonna sleep now, Winter," you tell him quietly, holding off a yawn but also feeling that you can't keep your dignity intact much longer. "Thank you for keeping me warm."

"See tomorrow?" he asks you, still holding onto your fingers.

"Yeah," you answer through a chuckle. "See you tomorrow. Goodnight, Winter."

Part II

#marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fluff #bucky barnes smut #steve rogers smut #marvel Christmas fic #bucky barnes angst #steve rogers angst #beefy!bucky #anachronism

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sarahowritesostucky · 6 days

Text

📖"The Carter Academy for Omega Excellence" Pt 8

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: age gap, boarding school au, a/b/o, dub-con/non-con, spanking, feminization, dumbification, sexism, misogyny, prostate milking, discipline, D/s elements, hurt/comfort, mentions of past self-harm, predatory behavior, teacher/student, bathroom use control, humiliation, omorashi

Summary: Bucky Barnes is young, confused, and conflicted - a real "rebel without a cause" type. His parents ship him off to Steve's reform school to help him get straightened out into a "proper young omega."

Wait! I haven't read an earlier part of this fic! Story Masterlist

I've gotten a couple of asks about the worldbuilding behind this fic. If you'd like to read a little more context about how things are in this world, my answers to the asks can be found here and here

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Part 8

"Extended Suppressant Use in the Omega Patient: a literature review" (Mueller et al. 2019)

The bathroom incident does not give Steve high hopes of an easy first week with Barnes. Many new students wind up requiring extra attention in their early days at the school, so Steve is honestly surprised when he isn’t paged that Tuesday with a similar fiasco. He’s outright impressed when Wednesday and then most of Thursday passes by with no incidents, either. Whatever Sharon’s doing, it must be working well.

Steve can’t say he doesn’t think about the boy regardless. He can’t help but remember their encounter in the bathroom; holding him down and dominating him into submission, pressing on his belly until he finally lost control. The sounds of the boy’s sweet whimpers are burned into Steve’s memory, the earthy and lightly floral hints of his scent still so easy to draw up in his mind. It’s a good thing that this is a busy week for Steve, otherwise he’d hate to think of how much more preoccupied he’d be by thoughts of his new omega charge.

As it is, his schedule is chock full, his time eaten up with all of his normal headmaster duties (which are considerable), seeing through the end stages of the Academy’s formal division between the girls’ and boys’ sides, and a renovation that they’ve got going on in the south wing corridor. All of that, coupled with the small squabbles that Peggy manages to come up with on an almost daily basis, helps to keep Steve’s mind occupied. And on top of everything, there’s still a lot to be done for the upcoming parents’ weekend.

He spends most of that Thursday morning dealing with matters directly related to the event that is, in essence, their biggest fundraiser of the year. All day, he's coordinating with his faculty; making sure that everything’s been ordered, scheduled, and arranged just how it needs to be to give the right impression to their guests, provide the right experience.

It’s crucial that all of the right people be well taken care of over the three day weekend, in order to ensure that their endowments to the school keep flowing in. Steve liaises with his staff over the details of the family picnic, the various assemblies and presentations that will be made, the planned activities for each afternoon and dinners that’ll be hosted each evening, and—perhaps most important of all—the formal presentation ball that caps off the weekend of festivities. This year they’re having a few ice sculptures flown in from Edinburgh. Silly in Steve's view, but a classic touch of extravagance that the guests will appreciate.

European nobility, old-money aristocrats, and even some high profile celebrities have been known to show up to the school’s annual matchmaking ball, always seeking amenable, traditional omega mates for themselves. And when your guest lists regularly include names like Vanderbilt, Kennedy, and Stark, good first impressions become very expensive and very necessary. Last term, a Greek shipping heir worth billions had scooped up one of the graduating class’ students, and once news of that had gotten around, enrollment for the next semester skyrocketed.

Steve takes great pride in the academic education provided by his school, but he’s also a realist: He knows that parents place high value on the promise of even a chance for their offspring to be so suitably matched. That, along with the behavioral outcomes the school is known for achieving, is a big reason why many families elect to send their sons to Carter Academy over other, similar schools on the continent.

With so much to get done, Steve doesn’t get around to eating his lunch that day until well into the afternoon. He eats alone at his desk—a decision that has very little to do with the fact that he can monitor the school’s video surveillance system from his desktop computer. It’s not because he wants to check up on Bucky and hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the kid since Monday. Nope, not at all. Steve always uses the camera system to check in on the happenings around campus, it’s nothing new. And it’s good practice, anyway. A headmaster needs to be involved in his school for it to run smoothly.

If Bucky’s seventh period class is gym, and the gymnasium is the first area Steve decides to check, well that’s just happenstance.

He logs into the system and scrolls through the long list of camera views. He has the most heavily trafficked areas bookmarked, but there are hundreds to choose from, every inch of the Academy’s buildings and grounds monitored by the StarkTec cameras.

Carter Academy has its own dedicated security team to keep an eye on things, of course. Rumlow and his men do a very good job of making sure the close to three hundred hormonal teenage boys that the school houses stay in line. Every year there are inevitably fights, students caught in each other’s bedrooms at the wrong hours for the wrong reasons, or a few runaways who gravely underestimate the distance and terrain between Carter Academy and the nearest town. Nothing that isn’t always quickly remedied, but parents appreciate the close eye that Steve and the rest of his administration are able to keep on their children at all hours of the day.

He navigates to the camera views of the gymnasium and sports complex. The majority of students get scheduled for some sort of physical activity at the end of each school day. Exercise is important for omega bodies, and the gym period is thus positioned after all academic lessons have concluded, to allow for the running off of excess energy. It’s a time when their Handlers can take their well-deserved breaks. With only Mr. Odinson and the other Phys-ed staff looking after so many boys, gym period can get quite chaotic, and it predictably takes Steve a few moments to locate Bucky in the throng.

Eventually he sees him: loitering off to one side of the indoor soccer field, half heartedly kicking a ball back and forth with the Parker boy. He’s changed into his gym uniform, though he hardly seems to be exerting himself. Rather, he’s in deep conversation with Parker, which Steve is happy to see. Every first year student coming into Carter Academy usually struggles at first, but it’s always a good sign when they make friends quickly. Parker, who can normally be found bouncing off the complex’s obstacle courses, seems to have dialed it down a notch to hang out with Bucky, the two of them talking animatedly between themselves. Steve even catches Bucky smiling a time or two, which lifts his hopes that the kid will assimilate well into his new routine. Perhaps this won’t be as hard as he’d imagined.

“Sir?”

He flicks off the monitor when his secretary knocks at the door. “Yes?”

“Ms. Carter here to see you, Sir.”

Sharon comes in, and the two of them hold their pre-planned meeting about Barnes’ first days on campus and how Sharon has assessed his needs so far. Barnes is attitudinal, but Sharon seems to be amused by him, more than anything else. She hands over her recommendations for protocol, telling Steve that she’s not sure a male handler wouldn’t be in the boy’s best interest.

“Oh?” Steve raises an eyebrow as he’s perusing her checkmarks along the list. “Why do you say that?”

“You’ve seen what a handful he can be,” Sharon drawls. “Not that I don’t think I can handle him, but he responds more submissively to the male staff, and I think he’s primarily same-sex oriented.”

“You think?” Bucky’s transcripts from his old school had noted that he was equally as promiscuous with boys as he was with girls.

“Yes. And after Monday’s bathroom incident, I think he might do better with a man.” At the mention of ‘the bathroom incident’, Sharon fixes him with a meaningful look. “He responded well with you.”

Steve nods, flipping through the assessment packet. “Yes, well I am the headmaster. They tend to kowtow faster to me.” He tries to think of which male Handlers he has available at the moment. Typically, he doesn't over-prioritize students’ attractions when placing them with a Handler, as romantic attachment is something to be avoided at all costs, but if it’s a behavioral issue that can be corrected with something as simple as the gender of an assigned Handler, then Steve will consider it. “Thank you Sharon,” he tells her, once they’ve wrapped up the meeting. “It sounds like he’s doing alright, so I’ll keep him with you for now.”

“You’re the boss.”

“Alas, yes.” Steve sighs and so does Sharon, mocking him in a friendly sort of way. When she heaves a genuinely heavy inhale and declares that she has to 'get back to the grind', Barnes’ seventh period is almost over, Steve steps in. “Why don't I take him off your hands for the evening?” he suggests. Sharon looks pleased, but not overly surprised, her knowing smirk making Steve feel the need to defend himself, “It’s been a few days now, I should check in with him.”

“Sure.”

Steve frowns at her continued smug expression. “He’s got an appointment with the doc I need to escort him to, anyways.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Sharon is still smirking when she bids him farewell, leaving the office to take the rest of her day off.

Steve huffs and rolls his eyes. Whatever. He’s not giving Bucky any more attention than he’d give any other troubled new student. He grabs the boy’s folder and rolls out from his desk, planning to head for the gymnasium complex and intercept him there.

… If he checks his reflection in the little mirror by the door on his way out, it’s only because he always does that and it's habit at this point. It’s the professional thing to do, to make sure one looks put together before heading back out in public. Certainly it doesn’t have anything to do with how he’s heading out to deal with Barnes. That’s just happenstance.

Seeing Bucky again after several days is refreshing, and seeing him being friendly with another student brings a literal smile to Steve’s face. This is a good sign. It bodes well for how Bucky will do adapting to his new life.

Peter Parker can be hyperactive and spirited, but he’s a sweet boy at heart with a solid head on his shoulders and a brain between his ears that he actually chooses to use more often than not. He’s done well in the Academy’s program, and he’ll be an excellent person for Bucky to attach himself to during his time here. Steve stands by the gymnasium door with a delighted smirk on his face, because he really couldn’t have chosen better himself.

The boys still have a few minutes left to their gym period when Steve gets there, so he leaves them to their uninspired soccer ball kicking and goes to touch base with Odinson in the athletic director’s office. Thor is all smiles and has nothing negative to say about any of the boys, as per usual, and Steve thanks him and tells him to make a note that perhaps Barnes could be encouraged to put a little more effort in and try out the parkour courses or the rock walls with Parker, moving forward.

He intercepts Bucky just as he’s coming out of the locker rooms. His hair is curling at the edges after having showered (amusing—the boy was barely exerting himself) and changed back into his regular uniform. The relaxed expression falls right off of his face when he sees Steve standing there. “Oh,” he says, coming up short. “You.”

Steve smiles indulgently. “Yes, I’m afraid. Me.”

“Hey Bucky I’ll see you at dinner maybe?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says distractedly, eyes still on Steve. “Sounds good.”

Parker heads off with his handler—Natasha, Steve notes, one of the very best and most dominant females he keeps on staff. "Making friends?" Steve asks.

Bucky ignores the question. “Why’re you here?” he asks mulishly, as Steve begins escorting him in the direction of the medical office. “Where’s Sharon?”

“Sharon’s taking a well-deserved break,” Steve drawls. "She and I had a progress meeting about you in my office, just now.”

Bucky gets tightlipped then and doesn’t say anything, but Steve can see the wheels and cogs turning in his head as he wonders what was said about him. “She had mostly good or neutral things to report,” Steve offers, figuring the boy could use some reassurance. “But of course, I already knew from our interaction on Monday that you're having some difficulties adapting to school protocol.”

Bucky scowls at the floor as they walk. “Just because I don’t like pissing in front of people every day,” he grumbles. “At least we get some privacy to shit around here. Go figure.”

Steve laughs, then decides to strike the fear of God into the boy by remarking, “Oh, that’s a privilege that can be stripped away, too, if needed,” as they approach the end of the hall where the medical offices are. Bucky’s eyes shoot up to him, wide as saucers, and Steve snickers. “Yeah, I know. A true case of a ‘this is going to hurt me more than it’s going to hurt you’ punishment, that’s for certain.”

Bucky all but ‘meeps!’ and Steve snickers and puts a hand on his back to guide him into the office. “Appointment for James Barnes,” he tells the receptionist, who immediately starts checking the computer screen.

Bucky turns on Steve, leery, as he gets a look at their surroundings. “What’s going on? Why are we here?”

Steve ignores him until he’s gotten the go ahead from the receptionist and is guiding Bucky back towards one of the exam areas. “Just a check up. Standard practice for incoming students.” He pushes Bucky into the curtained off area and draws the curtain around to Bucky’s squawks of protest.

“What?! I don’t need to see anybody. I’m totally healthy.”

“That’s the goal. But we need to get you checked out, make sure there’s nothing that needs addressed.” Bucky opens his mouth to complain again, but Steve beats him to the chase, bending to pick him up by the waist and depositing his protesting butt onto the exam table. “Sit.”

“Hey!” Bucky’s scowling, but Steve doesn’t miss the light flush in his face at having been manhandled and reminded of his size and comparative weakness in the face of an alpha like Steve. He doesn’t try to get off the table at least, only shifting in annoyance and making the paper cover crinkle under his butt. “Could’a done it myself,” he grumbles.

Steve shakes his head fondly. “We need to get you examined. Behave, or I’ll have no problem with disciplining you while you’re under my care." Bucky goes tight-lipped at that. Steve nods in satisfaction. "Good."

“When’s Sharon coming back?”

“I told you: she’s been given a well-deserved night off. You’re with me until bedtime, young lady.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Steve sighs and shakes his head. What might’ve been considered affectionate a generation ago, now elicits only indignation and pushback. It’s sad. “Just behave for the doctor, will you?”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, but when the nurse arrives and introduces herself, he’s generally obedient as she runs through his medical history with him. He speaks more quietly when answering the questions about his sexual health, but Steve doesn't get the sense that he's lying—only that he doesn't want Steve to overhear. (Steve still hears everything, including the boy's very reluctant answer of having had "thirty something" past sexual partners).

Far from evoking displeasure, it mostly just makes Steve sad for the boy. Omegas may have very high sex drives, but they don't fare well in promiscuous situations. Bucky's lack of a reliable partner is probably one of the major contributors to his present mental health issues.

Steve remains quiet and allows Bucky his illusion of privacy on the other side of the curtained off area. The nurse listens to Bucky's heart and lungs, charts his blood pressure and other vitals, and takes a blood draw. It isn’t until she hands him a privacy sheet and tells him to undress below the waist that he kicks up a fuss. “What?"

“The doctor will be right in to do the pelvic exam.”

“What? No. Why?!”

Used to tantrums, the nurse completely disregards him and looks to Steve. “Headmaster?”

“I’ve got him.” The nurse nods and leaves, and Bucky starts to move to try and get off the exam table. Steve rolls his eyes and goes over and pushes him back into place. “Not so fast, son. Now if you can’t behave we’ll have to do this the hard way.”

“What’s the hard way?”

“Strapped face down on a bench,” he tells him, no-nonsense (though really, that's the easier way for omegas. He just knows Bucky will fight it more). “And that'll earn you a guaranteed spanking in my office, after.”

Bucky growls an angry little omega growl at him, “Why do I have to do this? What’s the friggin’ point?!”

With his hands clamped on Bucky’s shoulders, Steve bends down and gets in his face. “Because you were popping suppressants for two years, Honey. That stuff can cause all sorts of problems.”

“No it can’t!”

Steve ignores him and gives him a warning look to keep him in place. He reaches down and pulls one of the exam table’s metal stirrups out, which makes the kid even more visibly upset.

When Steve reaches under the skirt of his uniform to get his underwear down, Bucky growls and tries to kick him, nearly kneeing him right in the nose. Oh. That does it. Steve gives up on playing nice, standing up and grabbing him, using one hand to scruff him while he wraps the other around his waist. “Okay, bud. That was your one chance. If you’re gonna be difficult, we’ll do it your way. Let’s go.”

“Nngh! Lemme go!”

“Calm down, Honey. Stop fighting, it’s not going to work.”

The kid whimpers and goes limp for a few seconds from the endorphins of the scruff, but still wiggles in Steve’s arms once he’s manhandled him into the next exam room over—where there’s an exam bench quite similar in function to a traditional spanking bench. Bucky balks when he sees it. “No! Wait!” It takes laughably little effort to get the boy face down on the bench. Steve gets him strapped to it, and by the time he’s removing his underwear and securing his ankles, all the fight has left Bucky and he’s begging instead. “Please, Mr. Rogers. I’m really sorry.”

Steve grabs the room’s extra chair and pulls it over to sit by his head. “I know Buck. This won’t take long. Just try to relax.”

“Please lemme up. I’m sorry. I’ll go back. I’ll do it the other way, I will!”

“Can’t do that, Sweetheart. We need to check that everything’s alright and you’ve proven to me that you can’t be trusted to hold still.” He might’ve considered the request to go back and ‘do it the other way’, if he didn’t already know full well that the prone position is much more soothing for omegas to be in. “This’ll be better,” he promises. “It’ll help you stay relaxed. It feels nice to be strapped in like this, yeah?”

“But I don’t want tooo,” Bucky whines, not refuting Steve’s statement, and with less fight in him as he realizes that he’s been stripped of all control. “It’s embarrassing.”

Steve smiles sadly and pets his face. “It’s for your own good, Sweetheart. Something every omega has to do. The doctor’s just going to come in and use a tool to examine you and make sure everything’s alright. It’ll hardly take a minute.”

Bucky sniffles and turns his face into Steve’s hand, nuzzling his inner wrist and subconsciously seeking out the alpha’s scent for comfort. “Will it hurt?” he whispers.

Steve’s heart constricts—both at the question and the scenting behavior. “No, Honey. Of course not. Haven’t you ever had a reproductive health exam?” It’s supposed to be a standard part of healthcare after an omega’s first heat, but with only two beta parents in the home, Steve doesn’t know why he’s surprised. “It won’t hurt,” he reassures him. “Just relax down against the bench and be good from now on, and we won’t do a punishment spanking after, okay?”

“Really?” Bucky is clearly motivated by this promise, as he stops sniveling as much and nods when the doctor comes in. “Okay,” he says quietly, and Steve smiles and praises him,

“Good girl.”

The school’s doctor is a calm and friendly beta male, and though he doesn’t make any attempt to ascertain Bucky’s consent or opinion on what they’re doing there today, he does speak calmly to Bucky and talk him through each and every step of what happens, before it happens. Steve stays sitting right in front of Bucky the whole time, holding his hand and keeping his own wrist up by Bucky’s face so that the boy can continue to use his scent to self-soothe.

Bucky goes red in the face as soon as the doctor flips his uniform up and starts palpating and examining his genitals. Even though Bucky's almost certainly trying his absolute best not to get aroused, the faint scent of slick still hits the air after only a moment or two, and he cringes and whines in embarrassment. "Hngh ..."

“It’s okay,” Steve murmurs, trying to placate him with the words and a gentle rumble in his chest. “It’s completely normal to have a reaction. The doc's used to it. No big deal.” Frankly, for an omega to be touched between their legs and not become aroused would be cause for concern. They’re so sensitive down there that it’s to be virtually expected. But Steve can tell that this is little comfort to Bucky, who goes even redder in the face when the doctor hums in agreement and makes an additional comment about Bucky's arousal responses being healthy.

“I’m going to prep the speculum now,” he tells Bucky. “It’ll be cool and hard, but it won’t hurt you.”

Bucky whines in mortification, his eyes clenching shut. Steve shushes him and pets his hair, which he seems to like because he pushes into it and untenses somewhat. Steve knows the precise second that the speculum goes in though, because Bucky's eyes pop right back open and he makes a small, shocked sound of, “Oh!"

Steve cups his face and tries to keep his attention. “Hey, you’re doing so good,” he praises, swiping his thumb at the corner of the omega’s eye, right where an overwhelmed tear has broken out. “Doesn’t hurt, right?”

Bucky trembles and shakes his head. “N-no.” He whimpers when the doctor does something from behind, and then his eyes go a little unfocused. “Oh …” The next time he whines, it’s verging a little closer to a moan of pleasure than one of sheer worry. “Ohnn… nngh, just … mmm, s’weird.”

Steve tuts sympathetically, slightly aroused himself at seeing Bucky react this way. He clears his throat and tries to remain professional. “I know, Sweetheart, I know it’s a lot. Just hang in there for me.” He meets the doctor’s eyes from over Bucky’s back, shooting him an anxious look.

The doctor nods. “Everything seems fine, Headmaster Rogers. He’s just a little swollen.”

“Swollen?” Steve straightens, concerned. “Is it bad? He was on oral suppressants for about two years.”

The doctor smirks and shakes his head. “No, not that kind of swollen, Sir.”

“Oh.” Steve’s shoulders untense. "I see." He's maybe read a few too many medical journal articles since Bucky told him on Monday that he'd been on suppressants. "Good. That's ... good."

The doctor hums and looks back down, examining Bucky for another long moment before humming in approval and removing the speculum. Bucky’s back slumps and he makes another tiny noise—this time one of relief. “Is it over?”

The doctor pats his hip with an approving nod. “He’s a healthy boy. Nothing to indicate any lasting effects from the medication.” Over Bucky’s back, he meets Steve’s eyes again. “The risk for complications doesn’t go up very high until after the five year mark. We’ll wait on his bloodwork, but I expect it’ll all come back normal.”

“Oh, good.” Steve can’t help but be relieved. He’s definitely read too many articles, seen too many students come through the school's infirmary with much more serious side effects. “So no chance of infertility?”

“Very low,” the doctor reassures, even as Bucky makes a hurt little sound of concern over hearing that possibility. The doctor rolls his stool out from behind Bucky, pulling off his exam gloves and tossing them in the waste bin. “Nope. He looks perfectly normal, Headmaster, both inside and out. From the state of things I’d say he’s about midway through his cycle. So you can expect a heat within the next two weeks.”

Steve nods. “Yes, he reported as much. He's used an app for tracking on his phone.”

“Oh. Would you email that data?” The doctor is already standing and heading for the curtain that divides their little area from the rest of the room. “It’ll be good to have in his records.”

“Sure thing. Thanks, doc.”

“Of course.” At the edge of the exam area, he looks back at Steve. “Ahm … he’s fairly aroused right now.”

Steve smirks. “I know.”

“Right.” The doctor glances back at Bucky, then to Steve. “I can send one of the nurses in, if you have anywhere to be.”

Steve shakes his head and dismisses the man. “That’s alright. He’s mine for the evening. I’ll handle it.”

Reassured, the doctor nods and ducks out around the curtain. He’s barely gone for a second before Bucky’s shifting in place on the table. “Um, Mr. Rogers?”

Steve looks back down. Bucky is blinking at him, flustered and uncertain. Steve pats his shoulder. “You did really well, Bucky.” He stands up and goes behind him, over to the room’s glove dispenser. He pulls out one of the large sized nitrile gloves and pulls it on. “How’re you feeling?”

“Uhm. Okay.” Bucky can’t see him from his position, so he wiggles impatiently. “Can you help me to, erm, get off of here?”

“Hmm.” Steve walks over and sits on the doctor’s abandoned rolling stool. He rolls to Bucky’s side, popping into his field of vision and giving him a knowing look. “You sure you don’t want help with this first?” At ‘this’, he lets his gloved hand touch Bucky’s flank, edging closer to his exposed backside. He watches as the boy's eyes widen and his cheeks colors anew. “It’s okay to ask for help,” he reassures. “You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” Bucky lies.

Steve arches an eyebrow. “You sure? Masturbation isn’t allowed. Did you remember that rule? You need to ask the staff if you need release.”

Bucky huffs angrily. “Why not? Why do we have to ask you guys? Why can’t we just—”

Steve taps his ass lightly, more to get his attention than anything else. “Submission, Honey. We’ve been over this already. That’s what everything here comes back to: learning to depend on somebody who can take care of you and give you what you need. You have strong sexual urges, and that’s okay. It’s completely natural. But you need to learn to turn to your alpha to get your needs met., otherwise they never fully will be.”

Bucky pouts. “You’re not my alpha.”

“That collar around your neck says different. And so does the paperwork your parents signed.” Bucky's face twists into a frustrated moue, stubborn little thing. Steve sighs. “Hey, I know you didn't choose this. I’m your official alpha right now, but one day you’ll find someone you actually want to be with, someone you want to marry and have a family with. All these rules you're learning are just to help you adopt healthy habits. So you can model correct relationship patterns.”

"I already do."

Steve snorts. "Honey, casually sleeping with 'thirty-something' people by your age is not a healthy relationship pattern."

"You just want us all to be lily white virgins."

Steve rolls his eyes as he rolls the stool farther back towards Bucky’s backside. "Certainly not. But hookup culture only serves irresponsible alphas and betas. It doesn't do anything to help you guys with your needs for bonding hormones."

"Another scientific study?" Bucky sneers.

"You got it." Steve looks down, a quick glance showing him what he already knew he’d find: a wet and swollen, little pink rim, clenching hard on nothing. He tuts sympathetically. "Oof. That looks painful."

“Hey, don’t … don’t look,” Bucky complains.

“Oh, hush.” Steve pats his butt—he really does have the sweetest little ass. “You’re very beautiful, Bucky. Every part of you is.”

That, right there, is Steve stepping over the line. Oh, he’s got no qualms about personally appreciating the form of an attractive young omega student, it’s only natural for him to find Bucky beautiful. What’s less appropriate is him commenting on it. Because, to be blunt, not every student in Steve’s care is traditionally attractive. Steve’s still responsible for helping them all equally, and thus it’s always been his policy to avoid complimenting students on their looks when possible. It avoids hurt feelings, subverts any competition between the students who are more naturally prone to jealousy over their shared Alpha headmaster.

But the words are out of his mouth before he can think better of it, and Bucky reacts obviously in the way that he flushes and squirms, instinctively pleased at being approved of in such a way. Steve decides that, since it’s just the two of them alone, he might as well let his guard down a little bit. Bucky’s shown a propensity for skewed thinking, after all, and he needs to be helped to form a positive self image. “You’ve got a lovely body, Buck. Even here.” At ‘here’, he lets his thumb dip a little further into his crack, not touching his hole, but pulling his cheek out enough to get a really good look at the sweet little clench of his rim. Steve hums appreciatively. “Just like the doc said: very healthy.”

Bucky whines and squirms. “Let me up.”

“I can do that. But you’re very wet, Honey.” Steve reaches down between Bucky's legs to glance fingers over his stiff little prick. “And hard.”

“Nnn.”

“You’re not going to have a very pleasant evening if I leave you like this. Are you sure you don’t want some relief?”

Bucky’s body stays tensed, his asshole blurting out more slick from Steve’s hand touching him even just that little bit. He seems to consider it as a real option for a moment, waffling over his decision, but eventually gets out a terse little, “No,” forcing himself to ignore what his body needs. “I don’t.”

“Really?”

“I don’t want you to do it,” he grits.

Steve sighs, not too surprised by that. Bucky’s still resentful of the one person who has complete authority over him. Steve'll probably be the last person he yields to. That’s the way it often goes with the bullheaded kids: they come around to their teachers first, Handlers second, and submit to Steve as their alpha last of all. It’s to be expected, but Steve can’t say he isn’t more disappointed than usual, in this case.

Because he isn't lying to the kid just to improve his self esteem: Bucky really is uncommonly beautiful. A handsome, small but strong boy who is exactly Steve’s preferred type when it comes to omegas. And his scent is … Well, all omegas smell lovely, but Bucky's scent is unusually fascinating.

Ever since that first day in Steve's office, when he'd submitted with such an easily provoked release, Steve’s wanted to get a better sense of him. This would have been the perfect chance to do that. Steve would’ve relished the chance to coax an orgasm out of him today, but if Bucky needs more time to truly relax into it, then he's willing to wait. Not like there won’t be plenty of opportunities in the future, once the boy's sexual urges have built up enough to have him eagerly submitting.

Steve closes his eyes and takes one last, indulgent inhale of that spiced, floral scent that’s only made stronger by the arousal. Viburnum, he realizes. That’s what it reminds him of. It clings to the edges of the earthy undertones of Bucky's scent, enhancing it to something truly alluring. Regretfully, Steve pats his hip and rolls away on the stool. “Okay,” he says, trying not to let the disappointment come through in his voice. “That’s alright, Sweetheart. I’ll have the nurse sent in to help you.”

“What? No.” Bucky twists his head in the restraints once again to look back at Steve where he’s removing the medical glove and standing up. His eyes widen when he sees the blue glove going into the waste bin, not having realized that Steve had donned it, having literally been prepared to finger him to orgasm. His mouth works helplessly for a moment, open and shut in a loss for words. “I don’t want anybody to do it.”

Steve walks back around in front of him and crouches down to his level, fixing him with a doubtful look. “Well that’s your choice, Honey. But you still won’t be allowed to touch yourself, you do realize that? If you change your mind after lights out tonight, then you’ll have to wait all the way until tomorrow morning to get a staff member to give you any relief.”

Bucky pretends to be unaffected, but Steve can see the brief flash of panic in the boy’s eyes at the prospect of going that much longer without an orgasm. “Fine,” he says, putting on a brave face. “I don’t care.”

Steve isn’t a fool. He knows that Bucky is almost certainly planning to break the rules and touch himself at the first available opportunity. Still, some lessons can’t be taught until mistakes are made and bad behavior corrected, so Steve nods and stands up to start unbuckling the bench’s restraints. “Okay, your choice, bud."

Bucky climbs off the bench once he’s able to, and Steve hands him his underwear to put on. His little prick is completely erect as he hurriedly pushes the uniform’s skirt back down, and he winces in discomfort as he pulls up the two layers of his underwear and gets them into place on his oversensitive body. “Ugh,” he huffs quietly. “Stupid.”

Steve chuckles, though he honestly feels more pity for the kid than anything. Bucky’s regret over having turned down an orgasm is so obvious it’s near palpable, his scent still rich with arousal. And just like Steve knows without a doubt that the back of the boy's underwear is already getting a wet spot, he also knows that he'll be checking the dormitory’s security feed later that night. With the level of certainty he has over Bucky’s plans to break the rules and touch himself, Steve figures he might as well start planning out what corrective measures they’ll inevitably be instituting as punishment.

“Come on,” he says, putting an arm around the kid’s shoulders and guiding him out of the room. “It’s dinner time. You must be getting hungry.”

Bucky says that he isn’t, but his stomach betrays him by growling loudly not two seconds after.

Story Masterlist

Masterlist

If you liked what you read and feel so inclined, please consider dropping a tip in the Kofi🍵 cup. Fic commissions reach out via Tumblr messenger or Kofi.

Event: @sebastianstanbingo Card: sarahowritesostucky Square O4: Floral Scents

@scottishrosefury, @not-that-syndrigast, @lolitsbuckybarnes, @kathy-2005, @stuckysgal, @thenewmissescullen, @sapphirebarnes

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shayyprasad · 2 months

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SHAY'S 100 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION!

you're invited! to celebrate 100 followers (small milestone, but it's still something), i'll write fics and blurbs that have hot men in them for you! scroll down to find this party's agenda...

this will take place from febuary 21st, 2024 to march 31, 2024!

THESE ARE ALL X READERS!

the guestlist! pick a character down below!

-tom holland + co (nathan drake, peter parker, arvin russel)

-zendaya + co (michelle jones)

-miscellaneous characters: bucky barnes, loki, steve rogers, stucky, tony stark, miles morales, doctor strange, peter quill, eddie brock

the menu! pick a something to go along with your character! make sure to pick a genre when you send in an ask (fluff, angst, flangst, could be a lil spicy but no nsfw!)

-character from a guestlist and a dialougue prompt from this list or this list... make sure to specify who's doing it!

-character from guestlist and an action prompt from this list or this list... make sure to specify who's doing it!

-character from the guestlist paired with an au... action/dialougue prompt is optional (venom!reader, blackcat!reader, cop!peter, actress/singer!reader, etc).

rules and regulations! just a few things to mention...

-no nsfw/smut!

-specify a genre (fluff, angst, flangst) please!

-when you send in a request, even more so for the au, please give a little summary!

-i mostly write for marvel characters, (aside from arvin russell and nathan drake) so if you send in one of those, you'll be more likely to get a better, longer fic. this includes michelle jones, peter parker, zendaya, tom holland, arvin russell, and bucky barnes, but you don't have to.

note from the author!

little late on the 100 follower... we're closer to 150 now! thank you to all the people that have liked, followed, and reblogged! also, i only write for fem!reader and gn!reader. when requesting, please pick one. keep in mind, my default is fem!reader. i try to stay inclusive for everyone, but if you want short!reader, tall!reader, or anything of the sort, please tell me!

ask to be added to the taglist, and check out my full masterlist here...

works from this event!

taglist @whatsupstark @ell0ra-br3kk3r @idli-dosa @susvale @kdbsr-h @littlemsbumblebee

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rookthorne · 5 months

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that's right, my Chaos Kittens!

the discord server that I hummed and considered about many moons ago, is finally here and ready for you.

below the cut is a little about the server, and how you can join me.

𝐂𝐀𝐀 𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓

To begin, this server serves as an extension to my library, @rookthornesramblings, and its main purpose is to do so.

There will be roles and tags for each collection, and there is an option to opt in for every one of them or only a few — it is your choice and you have freedom to change your mind, or even select none of them!

PLEASE NOTE: this server is for people over the age of 21. This is due to the nature of things that may be shared in certain channels — it is non-negotiable.

Within the server I have set up a couple of different categories for socialisation:

a place to introduce yourself and know more about myself and your fellow kittens, while also selecting the roles of what you wish to have within your experience.

a section for you to promote your own and other's works, events, and creations, while also serving as a sprinting host and a place to brainstorm with others (and myself).

Within the library section of the server, there are more categories:

channels dedicated to different characters that I write for that are not connected with AUs — so this is where my drabbles and one shots will be found.

an entire lot of channels and categories dedicated to both my Bucky Barnes and Stucky collections — they are listed alphabetically and have 3 channels each, one for chatter, 2 for brainstorming/inspiration.

With all of that said and done, there's only one last thing to add: the link that will take you straight to the discord!

𝐂𝐀𝐀 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐃

by clicking the above link, you acknowledge that you are 21 or older.

I can't wait to see you guys there! 💗

#rookthorne's works #signal boost #CAA

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josefavomjaaga · 6 months

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I *need* to see Soult in the cat enclosure in the animal shelter AU. That sounds amazing. I want to see a cat brush up against him and do the “please pat me” flop and he has no idea what’s happening, or him trying to talk to cats like he would a subordinate.

You do of course realize that I had no intention of actually ever writing that, don't you?

Anyway, I tried. The usual disclaimer: Me German, me bad English. If not make sense, me sorry.

»What's the matter, Bonaparte?« Josephine knew her husband well enough to recognize the worries behind his annoyed demeanor. »Problems at work?«

»Nope«, he answered a little too quickly. »No problems. Everything under control.« His steps echoed on the floor as he was walking up and down in the living room, trying to keep whatever bothered him to himself. He failed, as Josephine knew he would. »It's the guys. They're out of control. Murat and Lannes spreading chaos. Davout and Bernadotte constantly at each others' throats. Masséna and Augereau on their crooked ways as always. As to Soult and Ney, rumour has it that they were ready to duke it out in the open, in the company parking lot, in front of our customers! Even old Lefebvre has been in a fight with Mortier... I really do not know what to do with them anymore.«

Josephine had expected something of that kind. She wondered briefly if any other boss on this planet had to deal with a similar bunch of unruly employees. »Maybe it's because you don't give them enough leeway«, she suggested. »They do work hard.«

»Sometimes. Most of the time, they do anything but. They’re a bunch of lunatics with the craziest ideas, ready to get themselves into trouble as soon as I turn my back on them.«

»But other than that«, she insisted, »they do work hard, right? Lately, you have kept them on a very short leash. Maybe they need to do something fun together, to ease the tension? Something that is not about sales numbers and accounting and opening new markets … oh, I know! Sainte-Esperance!«

»I don't think religion will do it for them, Josephine. They are not the spiritual type, as a rule.«

»No, dummy. Sainte-Esperance is an animal shelter. Or rather, a large farm turned into a shelter and a sactuary, where old animals can live out the rest of their lives in peace if nobody wants them. Eugène and Hortense used to go there during their school holidays. The staffers are always looking for helping hands. To feed the animals, to walk the dogs, to clean the barns...«

»Stable work, eh?« Napoleon was surprised. For once, Josephine's idea seemed interesting. »Truly, an afternoon of shoveling manure into wheelbarrows might serve them right. Come to think of it, we could turn this into a charity event. Bonaparte Inc. helping poor animals, doing pro bono work... that's great PR. I need to talk to Berthier about it.«

Of course the task to organize it all in the end had safely tumbled into Berthier's lap. But for once, he was lucky. As it turned out, the animal sanctuary received this kind of requests with a certain frequency and had developped standard procedures. Including standard application forms that they would mail out immediately, as James, the guy on the phone, happily assured him.

Berthier had foreseen doom pending over the whole enterprise, but now suddenly felt a lot better. Nothing could be truly bad, he told himself, if there was proper paperwork and documentation for it. As a matter of fact, James did sound pretty chill about the idea of dealing with a group of moody, inexperienced and potentially rebellious helpers.

»No need to worry. We likely have seen worse. You know, we often work with police and local judges, providing resocialisation opportunities for juvenile criminals. So we have staff on hand who know how to deal with most kind of delinquents. How old are yours, by the way?«

»In their 30s and 40s, mostly.«

»Repeat offenders then, presumably?«

»Incorrigible.« Berthier sighed.

The man chuckled again. »Just wait. Sainte-Esperance is not named like that for nothing.«

The animal shelter turned out to be a vast estate, a real labyrinth of old farm buildings and new stables, interspersed with fields, gardens and pastures. Cows and donkeys were grazing peacefully in the open, some employees could be seen walking a large group of dogs, and those figures on the meadow somewhere in the distance - were those … ostriches?

»This is a zoo!« Lannes announced happily. »We should all have brought our kids!«

The mere sight of the estate had already significantly brightened the mood when the bus with Berthier’s grumpy volunteers came to a halt in front of the main gate. The most chipper among the group (Murat and Lannes, who else?) could not even be held back long enough for Berthier's assistant Lejeune to take the obligatory promotional photo. Before anybody had a chance to rally the group, they had already eagerly run off. Berthier called after them but saw himself, as usual, expertly ignored. When he tried to follow, he soon got lost between the buildings. Through a large fence he briefly caught a glimpse of Lannes giving some mongrel a bellyrub, then saw him and Murat round a corner, Murat waving a large backpack through the air.

»Hi, we’re here for the dogs. I've brought, like, a ton of dog treats.«

Before Berthier could react or at least look for a gate in the fence, an employee of the shelter took care of the pair and led Murat and Lannes away. They disappeared behind a door, and Berthier recorded this as the first defeat of the day.

»Don't sweat it, boss«, said Lejeune when Berthier returned alone. »We'll take a photo of the rest of the group. Noone will notice those two are missing. Besides, I'll be back in a few hours, so we can have another shot of the whole group before they get back on the bus. It's gonna be a 'before - after' thing.«

That was probably the best they could do. Still, the day had not started out well. After all, this event was to serve a purpose, it was supposed to resolve conflicts and boost team spirit. To that end, Berthier had wanted to group together those of his subordinates who had not gotten along well lately. However, Lannes and Murat had just successfully escaped his plan. But they would be the last, he told himself, while Lejeune took some group photos.

»Everybody halt«, Berthier shouted as soon as Lejeune pocketed the camera, because several more of his remaining subordinates seemed ready to disperse. »I will now distribute your tasks, according to this list. We’ve talked it all over with the staff of the shelter. You all have pre-assigned jobs. Let's see ... Lannes and Bessières were supposed to go to the cat enclosure. Well, so much about that. Bessie, we'll find something else for you. Soult, you and Ney will take over for Lannes and Murat.«

Ney shrugged, but Soult scowled. »This seems highly unreasonable«, he said. »I place great value on docility and obedience. Cats are diametrically opposed to those principles. I am decidedly a dog person.«

»Who cares? You'll only clean out cages and litterboxes, so stop whining.« To Berthier's relief, Ney grabbed Soult by the arm and dragged him along in the direction Berthier pointed. Discussions with Soult, this unbearable know-it-all, tended to be long and fruitless.

»Alright...« Augereau and Masséna were next. They did not have any particular feuds with each other, as far as Berthier was aware. But both of them had protested vehemently against this project, or rather this »waste of a weekend« that kept them from conducting »important business«. Business that, Berthier suspected, was better not to be talked off publicly. In any case, it would be easiest to group them together, to better keep an eye on them. He would even throw them a bone.

»As to you, you will go to the section with exotic animals.«

»Exotic?« Augerau seemed sceptical. »How exotic could anything be in here?«

»Quite a bit. There’s some former circus animals, also some from dissolved zoos, and several illegally held pets that were seized by police.«

Masséna’s eyes lit up. »Is there ivory … I mean, elephants?«

»No«, Berthier said firmly. »But you can start with feeding the ostriches. Bessières, please join them.«

»Bessières? Cool.« Masséna grinned. »If there’s any carnivores to take care of, we’ll at least not run out of food.«

»Maybe I should join them, too«, said Lefebvre. »Want to tag along, Mortier?«

The group strolled away, and Berthier hoped that he had misheard when he thought Augereau and Masséna were discussing the price of ostrich feathers and eggs.

When he finally had distributed the last task (to that impertinent whiner Thiébault who would take care of the bunnies), Berthier decided to spend an hour or so in the cafeteria.

An excellent cafeteria that James already had gushed about on the phone, a cafeteria offering a macchiato to die for and a cake buffet stacked with eclairs, macarons, madeleines, chouquettes ... to go with it.

A cafeteria the overworked staff manager had carefully neglected to mention to anyone. Berthier placed his cup and plate on a small sidetable, leaned back into one of the comfy seats, turned off his phone, and closed his eyes.

He allowed himself two full hours of heavenly peace before his sense of duty took over again. After all, he had left his subordinates in the care of the unsuspecting employees working for this animal shelter! He better check on them immediately.

Berthier started where he imagined the greatest danger: in the cat enclosure. Ney and Soult had been nothing short of vicious to each other during the last months. Leaving them alone could be fatal.

To Berthier’s surprise, he found Ney sitting on a chair in the sun outside the building, a large grey cat on his lap.

»I’m done«, he said. »They allowed me to bring this one outside as she’s so well-behaved and affectionate. She’s quite the charmer, truth be told. I have half a mind to keep her. Just not sure what Aglaé will say about it.« He scratched the cat under her chin. »How about I name you Ida, hm?«

»No problems with Soult?«

»Not as far as I’m concerned. They have two large enclosures for the cats, so we made a convention. I took over one, he the other. Cleaning, feeding, and if possible petting and a quick check, just to see if they look healthy, don’t have any scratches. Easy.« He chuckled. »For me, that is.«

Berthier had a bad feeling when he entered the building. As expected, he found Soult in one of the enclosures, croached in front of a large cat tree. The enclosure held plenty of toys, cat beds and places for the animals to hide in. Berthier also noted that the space Soult had taken care of sparkled with cleanliness and that all litterboxes and feeding dishes were lined up with geometrical precision.

»But it seems you are quite done here?«, he asked.

»Obviously, I am not«, Soult bellowed back. He seemed in an even worse mood than usual. »There are several small kittens in there. I am supposed to check on them but they refuse to comply. All my orders to come out for a proper inspection are ignored.«

Something stirred behind Berthier. Ney had followed him in, the grey cat sitting on his arm.

»Just leave them be, man. The staffer said to check on them if possible. These little ones are shy, you scare them.«

»I have been told to check on their health, and check on their health I will. And if it’s the last thing I do.«

Ney sighed, shrugged and looked at Berthier. »I tried.« He went back outside, and Berthier followed suite.

Checking in on Augereau and Masséna also had high priority. When Berthier reached the entrance that led to a section »For staffers only«, according to a sign on the wall, the door abruptly swung open, revealing the back of some employee carrying one end of a large chest. The chest seemed to contain some living being, as there was lots of rattling, growling and hissing. The chest’s other end was supported by Masséna, and Berthier’s eyes widened.

»What’s going on here?«

»Just getting your purchase on a truck, sir«, said the staffer. Masséna went a little pale at the sight of Berthier, then sent him an innocent smile.

»What purchase?«

»Well, your little gator. These two gentlemen have just arranged everything with our management. I’m so glad you approached us. It’s quite rare to find people with a special permit to keep these kind of animals...«

Berthier tried to say something, but was at a loss for words. Augereau, talking in hushed tones into his phone, showed up behind Masséna, bumped into him and almost caused him to drop his burden. Then he saw Berthier.

»Oh shit«, he said. »I almost had it sold.«

»Turn around«, said Berthier. »Get that poor animal back where it belongs. There will be no purchase. What have these gentlemen told you anyway?«

»Why, that your CEO had sort of a private zoo…« Scowling and puffing, they carried the chest back into the building.

»You know how Napoleon always says that Josephine has so many pets it’s like a zoo at Malmaison«, mumbled Augereau.

»But surely there must be papers if one wants to keep an alligator«, said Berthier.

»So?« Masséna shrugged, as far as that was possible while manoeuvering a chest containing an alligator backwards into the house. »All my papers are top notch. Guaranteed to pass every first check, even by the police.«

The alligator seemed rather disappointed that the deal had failed to materialise, it growled and hissed as it was released back into its little pond. And Berthier realized somebody was missing.

»Where’s Bessières?«

»Don’t worry«, said Masséna. »The alligator wasn’t hungry.«

Augereau laughed. »He, Mortier and Lefebvre went outside, to see the ostriches.«

The ostriches lived in a wide, open enclosure, but the gate was locked, and the animals apparently had already been cared for. Another staffer showed Berthier where to find his missing subordinates: in a pasture next to some stables, amidst a bunch of farm animals.

»These are mostly seniors«, explained Mortier and laughed as one of the cows licked his hand. »Some have a really sad story. Mindy here ran from the butcher.«

»She’s a tough girl«, said Lefebvre. »A survivor, aren’t you, lady?« He was followed by a couple of goats pushing each other out of the way for the bread crusts Lefebvre dropped for them. Similarly, Bessières was sourrounded by sheep and donkeys; he waved at Berthier and clearly seemed to be enjoying himself.

»So, I guess you two have gotten over whatever trouble you had with each other?«, asked Berthier. Both Lefebvre and Mortier looked at him.

»What trouble?«

»Do you mean that little misunderstanding at the elevator door?«

»But that was nothing.«

»I was a bit in a hurry, admittedly. Shouldn’t have pushed you, Morty.«

»Already forgotten.«

Well, at least here there was some tangible effect. Maybe not all had been in vain.

There was little chance for a similarly relaxed atmosphere in the aviaries where Davout and Bernadotte were helping with all sorts of feathered residents. Though the two of them seemed mostly busy insulting each other, as usual.

»Ah, Berty! Good you're here.« Bernadotte was sweeping up bird droppings near a feeding place. »Go find Davout for me. I suspect I accidentally locked him up with the owls in the first building. My bad. But in my defence, it's truly hard to tell him away from a tawny owl.«

Davout, only a couple of feet away, surrounded by a group of silver pheasants and chicks eagerly picking food off the floor, did not miss a beat.

»Really, Berthier, this has been an awfully insightful afternoon. I never imagined how clever parrots can be. The big one back there«, his thumb pointed at Bernadotte, »the one with the huge beak, really has quite a vocabulary for the dumb beast that he is.«

Bernadotte briefly turned his disproportionate nose in Davout’s direction. »Speaking of parrots«, he said, »I believe somebody still has to clean their aviary.«

»Yes, that somebody being you.«

»Me? I told your lazy arse to do it like an hour ago.«

»And I told you to do it yourself. What's the matter, can't find the place where your work is, as usual?«

»Alright, gentlemen, that’s quite enough!« It was in moments like these when Berthier wondered whom of this pair he could stand the least. As usual, he did not come to any conclusion. »Apparently, you both have received the order to clean the parrots’ aviary, so you will both do it.« He took a deep breath. »And in order to make sure it’s done properly, I will supervise it in person.«

He regretted his tone immediately. Both Bernadotte and Davout turned around to fix him with the stare of a predator who has just noticed fresh prey.

»Now look at that.«

»Look who’s getting all puffed-up and authoritative.«

For a brief moment they seemed ready to join forces against Berthier’s order, then they realized with whom they would have to make common cause and decided both that obeying to Berthier was the less disgusting option.

Berthier spent twenty exhausting minutes in the next aviary watching his two subordinates clean, grateful that the parrots’ constant squawking kept him from hearing most of the equally constant bickering. Some of the parrots obviously had been kept by humans before, as Berthier occasionally believed to hear words among the squawking, things like »Good morning«, »prrretty boy« or the occasional »stupid fool«. Though maybe the last had been uttered by one of the two cleaners.

At some point, Bernadotte turned around and looked at a grey parrot sitting on a tree nearby. »What did you just say?« The parrot repeated whatever it had just uttered. Berthier could not make out any words in it, but Bernadotte started to laugh.

»You understood that?« Even Davout looked impressed.

»I think he said: Hur mår du, dummskalle?« Bernadotte chuckled. »Which in Swedish means: How are you doing, stupid? - I guess we can tell that his former owner was Scandinavian.«

»And that this clever parrot recognizes a fool when he sees one«, Davout added. »How come you speak Swedish?«

»I don’t. Yet. I’ve been studying it for two weeks now.«

»You have? Why?«

Bernadotte glanced at Berthier, then he shrugged. »I guess it won’t hurt to tell as I’ve already informed Napoleon. I have received a job offer. From a Swedish company.«

»What?« Davout seemed almost hurt. »Why would anybody want to hire a dimwit whom even a parrot immediately recognizes?«

»Maybe not everybody ignores my talents the way you do.«

»And you actually want to go?«

»I’ve not quite decided yet.«

»But you’re thinking about it.«

»Yes.«

»Enough to try and learn the language…« Davout grumbled. »Well, it’s not like anybody would miss you here.«

»Mutual, I assure you.«

They worked in silence for a bit, before Davout started again. »But if you just pack up and leave… that’s so inconsiderate from you. I mean, whom am I supposed to call a dickhead every morning then? Whom to prank? Who can I send all those insulting e-mails to? Just so you know, I even signed up on howtobesttrollyourworstcolleague.com, all because of you. And now you will just leave?«

Bernadottes stared, then turned round to face Davout, leaning on his broom. »Wait. Those impertinent, occasionally obscene e-mails you’ve sent me over the last years – they were from a website?«

»Sure. Did you think I could come up with something like that on my own? Aimée would not let me anywhere near the children if I could. And I never would have checked that site out except for you. - Though«, he added thoughtfully, »that’s not entirely correct. I originally signed up because I wanted to find something to insult Murat. Didn’t work though.«

»Why not? - Oh, let me guess. Murat wrote back?«

»You bet. And he had help from Lannes. I stopped immediately. Lannes comes up with stuff that would even make the guys from that website blush.« He hesitated a little. »So… if you really go to Sweden, would you mind if I keep sending you those mails? It’s kinda part of my morning routine, you know. You could answer in Swedish for all I care. Your mails immediately go to spam anyway.«

»So do yours in my mailbox. Do as you please.«

»Cool!« Davout beamed. »I’ll text you if there’s a mail you actually need to check.«

A little confused, Berthier left the aviary to see if Lejeune had already returned. Instead of Lejeune, he encountered Lannes and Murat, each of them holding the leashes of several yapping dogs.

»Berty!« Murat almost dropped the dog leads in an attempt to wave at Berthier. He beamed at him as if to outshine the afternoon sun. »This has been your best idea ever! Tell Napoleon we have to do this again soon. - Just look at all these adorable furballs!«

»We’re taking them for a walk«, Lannes informed Berthier matter-of-factly before being dragged away by his excited charge.

»Don’t be too long«, Berthier called after them. »We’ll have to leave soon. I can see the bus already coming.« He found himself ignored. Well, what else was new?

The bus moved into the parking lot, followed by Lejeune’s shiny red convertible.

»Where is everybody?« asked Lejeune, getting his camera out of the trunk. »We’re already ten minutes late.«

Excellent question, thought Berthier. When after another ten minutes his subordinates still would not show up, he resigned himself to the inevitable: another long walk across the grounds in order to pick his men up one by one. By the time he finally had found Masséna in the terrarium, Bessières and Mortier happily chatting in the cafeteria, Ney asleep in the sun with one cat in his lap and another at his feet, Lefebvre and Augereau trying to teach swearwords to the grey parrot Bernadotte had admired before, and the latter sitting astride a fence next to the cow shed, telling Davout about his possible move to Sweden, the rest of the Bonaparte team had also decided to show up. Even Lannes and Murat had gotten back from their walk.

»We only have to get the dogs back. We’ll be here in a moment.«

The moment turned into another twenty minutes. Then they returned – and each with a dog.

»My wife is gonna kill me«, said Lannes ruefully. He croached in front of a medium height mongrel of indefinable colour but very fine features and a decidedly clever look. »The last thing she said when I left was: Don’t you dare bring home a dog.« The dog started to lick his face, Lannes laughed. »But who cares. The kids will love you.«

»And Caroline will love this beauty.« Murat had brought an almost fully white borzoi. He petted her head lovingly. »Isn’t she marvellous?«

»She’s bound to succumb under the weight of her beauty before we’re on the bus«, sneered Lannes. »Actually, she reminds me a bit of Bessières. Dumb as a box of rocks...«

»Okay, folks«, called Lejeune. »Everybody line up for some more photos!«

Presumably, the photos Lejeune took now would turn out a lot better than those he had taken on arrival. When the employees of Bonaparte Inc. entered the bus again, they were happily chatting away about whatever they had done or seen during the last few hours. Berthier barely dared to think it: this idea actually might turn out to be a success.

Until he realized that something was wrong.

»Stop!«, he called out to the bus driver. »We’re one man short.«

»Can’t be«, Murat shouted from the backseat. »All seats are full.«

»Yeah, and the gator wasn’t hungry«, added Masséna.

»All seats are occupied because your Bessiedog has taken one, you git«, commented Lannes.

»Soult is not here«, announced Ney.

Berthier looked at him. »He would not still be in the cat enclosure, would he? It’s been hours!«

Ney shrugged.

He accompanied Berthier to look after his missing companion. Maybe he felt a bit bad for having left him alone.

On entering the cat section, they found Soult indeed still in the enclosure. He was sitting on the ground, his back leaning against a cat tree, his legs spread wide. One black-and white kitten, maybe a couple of months old, was sleeping in his lap, another, red-furred, he was holding on his arm, a black one was busy climbing from a platform of the cat tree onto Soult’s shoulder and back, occasionally tugging at the human’s hair, and two more seemed to play hide and seek between Soult’s feet. They also had opened his shoelaces.

»Soult!« Berthier was exasperated. »Have you not heard? We’re leaving.«

»I can’t«, Soult said. In a tone as if he didn’t know if he wanted to sound defiant or apologetic. »The little one in my lap has only just fallen asleep.«

»So? Push the kittens off and get up.«

Soult seemed to ponder the idea, then shook his head. »I can’t.«

Ney smirked. »You wanted to see if they’re healthy. They look healthy to me. Mission accomplished. Time to leave.«

»But I can’t do that to them. They’ve only just started to trust me.«

Berthier had enough. »Okay, then stay here for all I care. We’re out of here.«

He turned and left. Ney hesitated before following.

»Want me to phone your wife so she can pick you up later?«

»That’d be very kind of you.« Soult petted the red kitten in his arm. »I think I’ll be done in an hour or so.«

#shitposting #marshalate fun #napoleonic modern AU writing #thanks for the Ask!#if somebody else wants to take the idea and run with it please do so!

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