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biteofcherry · 2 years

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Bucky and reader plus sex pollen and stuck in a cabin in the woods?

Petals

Bucky Barnes x female reader

warnings: sex pollen; slight dub-con due to sex pollen (but otherwise consented); unprotected sex; fingering;

~ * ~

“There’s not a single pill in this goddamn cabin!” You yell, slamming the cabinet door shut.

The heat unfurling in your belly, spreading its burning tentacles through your whole body, clenching around each limb and squirming in your insides, makes you impatient and angry.

Fear of what the unknown adds oil to this fire.

You went through every nook in this house and found nothing useful to help your state. For a place that belonged to a scientist it sure is poorly equipped in medicine.

It was supposed to be so simple. A boring reckon mission. Just to check the cabin and secure any samples of the ongoing experiments the former Hydra doctor ran in this place. They weren’t even that groundbreaking, it seemed at first glance.

He focused on plants and their genetics. No human experiments so far, no especially suspicious or dangerous ingredients. Just various plants, basic chemical reagents, stacks of Petri dishes.

As a member of doctor Banner’s scientific unit you were tasked with gathering all the potentially dangerous or simply unusual items. Bucky was your security. A one person army to save your civil ass if you got in trouble.

You made sure to take the highest precautions. With masks and gloves on, you carefully placed each item in a container which you later locked in special cases.

You tried not to show any reaction to seeing Bucky in a mask. The blue of eyes striking a more vibrant color in contrast to it. They seemed more piercing, too.

You saw Winter Soldier only on footage, with his black muzzle covering half of his face. Bucky was always Bucky to you, since the day you were introduced. But you couldn’t help the jolt of adrenaline as his attentive gaze observed your every move.

Once done with the inside of the cabin, you took the masks and gloves off and checked the garden behind the cabin. It was filled with completely normal herbs and vegetables, nothing out of the ordinary.

You admired the few flowers that grew along the fence, swaying gently on the breeze.

“I haven’t seen those in a while,” Bucky said then as he stepped right next to you, his eyes focused on the tall stem and deep red flowers cascading from it.

“They’re not very popular,” you nodded. “Some people have them in their rustic gardens, but it’s not a flower shop's desired item. Which is a shame.”

You traced one of the crimson flowers with your fingertip, gasping in surprise when the petals shivered and fell off at the mere touch.

One petal after the other, like ruby domino pieces that swung on the wind before dropping to the ground.

A puff of pink pollen gushed from bared stigmas, dispersing in the air.

It got into your airways quickly, itching the back of your throat then transforming into a very sweet aftertaste that dried out your mouth and made you thirsty.

Not more than ten minutes later, sweat broke out on your skin. A weird type of itching prickled your skin, making it oh so sensitive that a single brush of Bucky’s shoulder against you, as the two of you barged into the cabin, caused your whole body to tremble.

When it became clear he was experiencing some effects of the pollen too, you were instantly worried.

You were just a human, but if a super soldier reacted to a substance it meant serious trouble. Even if he was less affected compared to you.

Bucky stayed composed, only revealed his temperature starts rising and his muscles tensed.

When you ordered an immediate cleanse, Bucky simply walked out of the cabin to dive into the lake in front of it. You locked yourself in the shower, scrubbing your body over and over again. You had to switch the water to cold when your body started heating up.

Cold shower didn’t help much, sweat dampened your skin a few minutes after you stepped out of the bathroom.

Your first aid kit consists of dire needs medicine, there are epinephrine shots but no simple antihistamine pills. And your current state doesn’t call for pumping yourself with adrenaline.

Your body is producing enough of it.

“No pill would help anyway.”

Bucky’s low grunt startles you. In your frenzy you didn’t notice him coming back, but now that you turned to him you can’t help but notice everything about him.

He’s still wet from his swim. Drops of water shimmer on his skin, his brown hair seemingly ink black, heavy with water. He’s got only his pants on, not even fully zipped.

He’s standing by the kitchen counter, leaning over it, head bowed, arms strained as he grips the edge. Wood dents beneath his metal fingers.

“What do you mean?” You wipe the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. Skin on skin contact, though it’s only yours, makes you shiver.

“That heat-” your breath hitches when Bucky looks up at you, his eyes so intense.

Your thin tank top and flimsy bottoms that cling to your damp skin feel nonexistent with how he takes in your body.

He straightens and slowly walks over to you. Your heart rate seems to increase with each step that he takes. He backs you up against the cabinets. Towers over you, his massive form filling your vision and limiting the world for you to his body alone.

“That itching-” he trails his fingers down your arm, eliciting goosebumps along their way.

He slips his flesh arm around your waist and hooks his metal fingers under the strap of your tank top.

“There’s only one way to fill this hunger.” Bucky yanks on the strap, ripping your top off of you easily.

He captures your surprised yelp on his mouth; lips and tongue battling your resistance.

Bucky’s touch sets your body ablaze. The kiss both satiates a growing need, as well worsens it.

But he’s right - the itching beneath your skin melts into a pleasant hum, restoring energy in your body and making it shake with an urge to take more. Blood rushes through your veins, throbbing in your erect nipples and swelling clit.

“N-no.” You pant when Bucky’s kisses move from your mouth to trail along your jaw and down your neck.

Your hands fly to his shoulders, fingers digging into his flesh, but you don’t exactly put any strength into pushing him away. Your protest, too, is more against the meaning behind Bucky’s words not against the pleasure he strums your body with.

“No, it can’t be.” Your eyes close, body jerking in a jolt of sensation as metal fingers squeeze your breast. Smooth, cool metal grazes your stiffened peak.

“It was just-” a whimper escapes your lips when Bucky pinches your nipple, his other hand pulling down your bottoms. “Just petals. Just flower petals.”

Bucky kicks your legs wider apart as he slips his fingers between your folds.

“It made your petals weep for me,” he groans, stroking you and smearing your wetness around.

His intimate caress stirs up the flames of need, deepening the craving. It becomes painful, how each cell in your body seems to scream in need. Heat grows, trickling sweat down your back.

“Make me come!” You beg, fisting Bucky’s hair. “Just please, make me come!”

“It won’t help much.” He warns as he eases a finger inside you. “The pollen made your body receptive. It craves its counterpart.”

Your brain feels scrambled, unable to fully understand what Bucky means. Or maybe you don’t want to understand it, just want to feel more of him, take more of him. A second finger slips along the first, stretching your walls, and you moan.

“You need seed to fill you.” Bucky growls, pushing his fingers knuckles deep and pressing the heel of his palm against your clit.

You gush all over his hand, your pussy soaking at the mere mention of being full of him.

“You like that idea, Petal?” Bucky’s new nickname for you and the way he groans his question right next to your ear, make you shiver. “Want me to fill your sweet pussy?”

“Please, please,” you start mumbling, lips pressed to Bucky’s bare shoulder, lavishing it with your tongue.

His fingers feel good inside you, but it’s not enough. Like a burning after a really spicy pepper that no water can cool, the only saving is to dip your tongue in milk so the casein can break down capsaicin. How fitting that you need milky semen to wash out the burning in your womb.

“I need you to come for me first.” Bucky starts thrusting his fingers in and out of you, his pace gradually increasing. “Have to loosen your tight cunt, or I’ll hurt you.”

“It hurts more without you.” You whine, hips rocking back against his hand.

“So needy,” he mocks you.

Bucky curls his fingers inside you, flicking them in a come-hither move as he presses his palm against your sensitive nub. He commands all of your tension to draw into that spongy spot he’s tormenting, clenching your walls and stealing your breath.

Until the coil snaps and you come with a wail.

You sink your teeth into Bucky’s shoulder when he keeps rubbing you raw, prolonging the tremors. When he pulls out it’s with an embarrassing squelch. He pushes his pants down just enough for his cock to spring free.

Your legs are shaky, knees almost give out, but it stops being a problem the moment Bucky hoists you up. You cling to him, hands pressed against his back. Bucky hooks your legs over his elbows and slams you against the cabinets.

His dick rests against your pussy; red, leaking head of him bumping into your oversensitive clit.

You often heard your friends at work giggle as they made dirty speculations if super soldiers were also super endowed, but you never considered you’ll have a chance to find out how close to the truth they were.

Bucky might be even bigger than they imagined.

“Guide me inside you, Petal.” He grunts, licking the shell of your ear.

He rocks against you, his cock sliding up and down between your swollen folds. You slide your quivering fingers down across his chest and over his abdomen. You can feel his muscles flexing under your touch, your effect on him as strong as he has on you.

A needy sound escapes your mouth when his cock throbs as you trace up the length of him. When you close your hand over him, the tips of your fingers don’t even meet because he’s so thick.

You guide him to your entrance, gasping and throwing your head back as his tip stretches your opening.

Bucky stays still for a moment, his head tilting until he catches your gaze. Steel blue of his irises flashes something lethal and then he’s slamming into you in one stroke.

You scream, your fingernails needling the skin on Bucky’s back.

A prickle of pain seems to spur him on, his sounds low and gruttual as you slash his back in desperate attempt to ride out the mixture of pleasure and ache his rough fucking causes.

He presses against you harder, plowing into you with fast, deep strokes. He’s chasing to sate the hunger gnawing at his own bones, his care for you yielding to his own need. And in a twisted way it turns you on more.

Your back starts to hurt, the cabinets creaking louder and louder with your each move. When something behind you creaks and splinters, you let out a yip.

“Fuck!” Bucky curses, stopping for a moment.

A second later the world twirls in front of your eyes.

Bucky drops you both to the floor, taking the impact on his back first then swiftly rolling on top of you.

Your arms fall next to your head, cushioned on the wild fan of your hair. Cold tiles beneath you make you hiss at the contact, but don’t ease the heat that still licks your body with flames.

Bucky pulls your legs up against his chest, your ankles resting on his shoulders. When he thrusts back inside you his cock pushes deeper, nudging your cervix.

He falls forward, bending you in half as he reaches for your hands and intertwines your fingers.

His hips slam against your ass, snaps of slapping skin echoing through the kitchen. Your slick trickles out of you, sticky cobwebs stretching between your buttocks and Bucky’s balls each time he withdraws.

You’re almost nose to nose, Bucky’s gaze catching every flinch on your face, every twitch of pleasure.

“Beg for my cum,” he rasps out, feeling your cunt pulsing around him.

And you do. With eyes closed, head tilted back, you splutter pleadings and prayers as if Bucky was your god and you begged for a drop of water while stranded in the desert.

Each broken sentence urges Bucky on. Every cry and sound of his name falling from your lips makes him fuck into you harder, faster.

You truly cry, tears streaming from the corners of your eyes and down your temples, when he rips another orgasm out of you. Your whole body writhes beneath him, Bucky’s weight pinning you down so you don’t slip away as he pounds into you relentlessly.

Your pussy tightens around him like a vice, yet he keeps pushing and pushing, rawing your walls.

When Bucky finishes with a loud roar, his cum spilling inside you in hot, thick spurts, your senses seem to overload. Everything turns blank, your head filled with the buzzing noise of your blood rushing through you and Bucky’s groans of pleasure as his dick twitches inside you, filling you more and more.

You don’t know how long you’re out of it. When your consciousness reconnects with reality and your eyes flutter open, Bucky’s peppering soft kisses over your chest and face.

He’s still holding your hands. And he’s still inside you. Half-hard.

“Can you get off?” Your voice is hoarse and weak.

Bucky’s weight on top of you feels amazing. And that’s why you want him off, so it doesn’t become apparent you react to him even out of the pollen-induced haze.

“It’s not that easy, Petal.” Bucky looks down at you, then lowers his face so he can nibble on your bottom lip.

“You think it’s all over now?” He asks with a chuckle. “That one round is enough?”

You’re not sure if it’s the lingering effects of pollen, or just Bucky’s proximity and words, but your body tingles anew. Warmth blooms in your belly, like an opening flower stretching its petals to touch every part of you.

“Sorry, doll, but it’s not. It’ll take hours before it starts wearing off.” Bucky releases your hands and pulls himself up on his arms until he’s kneeling back.

He wraps his fingers around your ankles, gives each a kiss before sliding your legs down. He spreads you wide, throwing your thighs over his hips.

“It can be hours of suffering,” he says as he kneels up, hands firmly holding your hips raise them along.

“Or-” he rolls his hips into you, his cock twitching and hardening inside you.

Bucky spits down on your swollen clit and you cover your face with your hands to mask the flash of depraved pleasure it caused. But your body betrays you anyway, your pussy fluttering around his length.

“So, what will it be?” He asks, holding your hips up with ease.

“Fuck me!” You blurt out when a jolt of needy current sizzles down your spine.

“As you wish, Petal.” Bucky withdraws slightly then slams your hips back onto him, moving your body like a rag doll.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #sex pollen #petals

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fandom-friday · 3 months

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Thank you so much to everyone that submitted recommendations this week! This was one HECK of a week, and it couldn't have happened without all of the submissions I received! A comprehensive list of this week’s submissions can be found under the cut! Recommendations are organized by show/media, and any main pairings will be listed after the title.

✨ = 18+ content

Fics:

The Clone Wars: Vermillion (Clone OC Specter x f!Reader) by @dickarchivist New Members (Fives x OC Rasha Skohl, Echo x OC Ari Nierre) by @fives-lover ✨ The Den (Kix x OC Nihlus Brek) by @for-the-sake-of-color ✨ Dancing Lights (Wolf!Wolffe x f!Reader) by @the-bad-batch-baroness ✨ I Yearn, And So I Fear (Wolffe x OC Kazi Ennari) by @enigmaticexplorer ✨ Man on the Moon (Fox x Riyo Chuchi) by @emeraldvsociety ✨ In Command (Rex x OC Senna Aven) by @wild-karrde ✨ Eight Shades of Blue (and the Touch of Orange) (501st Legion x f!Reader, Cody x f!Reader) by the_rain_on_kamino (AO3) Crèche to Command by Boredom (AO3) The Commander Swap by @brainrotrants Dominoes by meridianpony (AO3) Fox Hates Red by @stormyblue90 Dead Dog by @corvod

The Bad Batch: ✨ Stars Beyond Number (Echo x Riyo Chuchi, Gregor x OC Cerra Kilian) by @dystopicjumpsuit Tooka Dad (Crosshair x OC Rayla) by @drafthorsemath Sunflowers & Blasters (Crosshair x OC Isabella Ramót) by @523rdrebel Low Battery (Crosshair x gn!Reader) by @523rdrebel ✨ Cleaning Up (Tech x f!Reader) by @reader6898 Secret Kingdoms (Knight!Hunter x f!Reader) by @jedipoodoo/@lizartgurl A Cosy Bed: A Stardust Conspiracy Fanfic by @just-here-with-my-thoughts

Call of Duty: ✨ If I Had a Heart (Ghost x Soap) by @cod-fishing

Legends of Chima: The Forgotten Legends of Chima by @olivescales3

Marvel/MCU: Black and Tan (Bucky x Sarah Wilson) by @btwxsixesandsevens

Crossovers: The Misadventures of Cosplay Man (Danny Phantom x DC Comics Crossover) by Shynnohwen (AO3)

Art:

The Clone Wars: How Dominoes Fall by @frostycatblr-fandom-files Temeura Morrison Study by @keldabekush Cody with Long Hair Art by @rochenn Commander Cody Art by @captora Blade to Blade by @rackcty Anakin and Ahsoka Art by @finpews

The Bad Batch: The Bad Batch Dark Souls AU: Character Introduction by @amorfista The Bad Batch Dark Souls AU: Introduction by @amorfista Hunter and Omega Art by @eggdrawsthings Tech Art by @talesfrommedinastation

Critical Role: Caleb Widogast Art by @middimidoris

Avatar: The Last Airbender: Zuko Artwork by @chiptrillino-art

Yonderland: Cake Bake Lady Edith Art by @bahoreal

#ff weekly summary

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gaysindistress · 8 months

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As Good a Reason - four

pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x reader

summary: when Brock Rumlow picks a fight he can’t win with the White Wolf, he drags his Snake back. Six years after she ran away, Y/N Rumlow is faced with a choice to make; do as she’s told and kill the White Wolf or overtake her father instead because spite’s as good a reason to take his power?

warnings: cursing, violence, weapons

word count: 3k

A/N: Bucky gets darker the next few parts so I’m warning y’all now and no one gets surprised. I’ll add a ⚠️Dark!Mob!Bucky⚠️warning in the parings as well as the warnings.

three | series masterlist

Tag list: @cakesandtom @elizacusi-blog @unaxv @hidden-treasures21 @vonalyn

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on Google/Pinterest. The women in the banners are not how Y/N is supposed to look. They are merely for aesthetic purposes and Y/N is written vaguely enough for anyone to see themselves in her.

John is sewing up Victoria’s hand as she grimaces and swallows the entire bottle of Vodka in one gulp. Niklaus, on the other hand, is frantically pacing the room, wearing ruts into the floor. John tries to get him to stop or slow down even but he refuses.

“We’re fucked, absolutely fucked,” he mummers under his breath.

Victoria practically growls as John pulls at the stitches to tie them off before snapping at her brother, “Of course we are. We let that bastard take Y/N.”

John looks to Niklaus nervously and then back to Victoria.

“Oh my god, what did you two idiots do?” “Nothing, we did nothing,” Niklaus snaps back at her.

“No, you did something. Tell me or I’ll throw you both through the window.”

John spills almost instantly, “Klaus made a deal with him last year.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” she shrieks.

Niklaus rushes over to her and quickly puts his hand over her mouth to silence her, “Shut up for the love of god. I’ll tell you if you promise to not say anything. Brock is literally down the hall.”

She nods and he starts in with the tale of how he might have royally fucked up.

About a year and half ago, Brock caught him and another man together and beat Niklaus to a pulp. He had been laid up in the hospital for weeks and needed routine visits afterward from the injuries he sustained. In addition to being beaten within an inch of his life, Brock had threatened to kill them if he ever caught them again. That had been the final nail in the coffin for Niklaus; after years of enduring the torture that his father put him and his siblings through, he made the decision to get rid of him once and for all.

The most natural choice was the White Wolf.

He was feared across the East Coast and was gaining power rapidly. He threatened Brock’s authority in New York and it made him nervous, sketchy, and scared. Niklaus arranged a meeting with Steve, his community liaison, and set the plan in motion however it all crumbled when Brock caught wind of a rat amongst his ranks. He had Niklaus and John execute too many innocent men and he even made a move on the White Wolf’s men. He’d murdered Tony Stark, one of the White Wolf’s close friends and advisors, setting forth a domino effect of violence. He retailed as one would and with Y/N being dragged back in, it complicated things. Niklaus tried to uncomplicate it and remove her from the equation with the planned ambush at the party but he never expected that she would willingly take the deal. Hoping that she was still the stubborn teen she had been, he’d hoped that the White Wolf would have to take her against her will and keep her locked away until it was all over with.

“You are the biggest idiot I have ever met,” Victoria says with an equal amount of shock and annoyance, “Why didn’t tell me before? I could’ve helped you plan something better.”

“I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt if it all went south. I figured I could take the brunt of it while John got you to safety.”

Victoria scoffs, “So a suicide mission?”

“No.”

“Yes! You know him better than anyone. He will tear you apart limb by limb, sew you back up and do it again until he gets bored. And even then he’ll find a new way to entertain himself.”

John makes a disgruntled noise at all of her moving and says, “But if Brock’s dead, it’s all worth it.”

“No it isn’t John! You’ve been friends since birth practically and you’re seriously suggesting that him being dead is for the best? Klaus,” she pleads with her brother, “we have to find another way. Call him and find another way. Please, I can’t lose you.”

“There’s no other way. Either the White Wolf kills Brock before he can get to me or I try my hand at it and our father kills me.”

Her eyebrows furrow in pain and sadness as John finishes her hand. The moment he’s done she leaps up and wraps her arms around her brother.

Niklaus grips her back tightly ad if he’s afraid she’ll disappear into thin air and buries his face in her hair.

“You better hope Y/N figured out a better plan.”

He nods against her head.

“I love you, Klaus.”

“I love you too.”

Brock loves to incite fear in everyone around him whether that be with his voice or a violence. He craves to make all those in the same room as him fear for their lives if they so much as breathed wrong and that is especially true with his children. He lives to see the terror that lives in their eyes when they see him or how their bodies go rigid when he walks past them. He wants to see them shutter when he walks too close to them. He wants them to hold their breath until he leaves. He wants them and everyone else to walk on eggshells when he is around. He wants them to fear him in every sense of the word.

Victoria’s small sniffles piss him off to no degree and he backhands her hard enough that she falls to the ground. Niklaus, ever the loyal son, only flinches at the sound of the impact and does nothing to help his sister. He knows that if he even so much as moved a muscle, he would be next.

“Can someone please explain to me how the fuck you let that bastard take Y/N?” he growls at them as he rubs the bridge of his nose.

Victoria climbs to her feet and with hit tears pooling in her eyes, she matches his anger, sneering back at him, “He knew we were going to be there. We didn’t stand a chance.”

“You had Y/N. You had every advantage I could’ve given you but somehow you two still fucked it up and killed her in the process.”

Niklaus risks his head and speaks, “She’s not dead. He took her hostage.”

Brock marches up to his son and grips his face in one bone crushing hand as he says, “That’s even worse. He can use her to get to me.”

“Y/N won’t give you up no matter how much she hates you. She wouldn’t risk Victoria and I getting hurt,” Niklaus scoffs and jerks his head away.

In a flash, Brock whips out a pistol and pushes against his forehead, “You’re useless, you know that? I’ve done nothing but provide for you and give you everything you could ever want. Still you fuck up and prove to me that you’re only ever going to be a thorn in my side. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t put a bullet in you and Victoria.”

Victoria makes a startled gasp and lunges at her brother in efforts to push the gun away but John grabs her and holds one of his own to her temple. She whispers insults under her breath and curses him for being “a fucking traitor and a bastard.” Niklaus looks at her for guidance because he’s a loss for words. There’s nothing he could say that wouldn’t get someone hurt. She shakes her head as much as she can, urging him to not say anything. The one piece of information he can give their father to save them would end with Y/N’s head on a platter but it’s all he has to offer.

“Nik please,” she whispers with even more tears in her eyes.

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Nik you always have a choice. Don’t do this please. Él la matará.”

He will kill her.

“Don’t speak that shit in my house,” Brock growls at her, “Try again and this time peak English.”

She pleads with her brother again in Spanish, earning another growl but with the gun against both of their heads, he has to do something. Giving away himself would ruin any chance at catching Brock off guard in the future so he goes the only thing he can.

Niklaus tears his eyes away and locks eyes with his father as he utters Y/N’s death sentence, “She made a deal with him; in exchange for our lives, she helps him kill you.”

“Is that so?” Brock asks, cocking his head in amusement before turning to look at Victoria, “I think I might have to send a message to that brat if that’s the case.” One shot.

And a body drops.

Steve chooses to grab Y/N by her hair this time, keeping his hand wrapped in her braid so that he has complete control of her. The White Wolf gives him a disapproving look but doesn’t say anything as they walk into a looming and dark house. Matching the exterior, the house is black and sleek with no hint of personality anywhere to be found. It looks very much like a house that a mob boss would buy to launder his money and she assumes that this is the case.

“Stop gawking,” Steve tells her with a harsh tug of her hair and she hisses at the pain. The White Wolf looks back and motions for Steve to bring her forward.

Taking her arm in his like a pretend gentleman, he explains that until Brock is dead, she will be staying with him. She’s not to leave and if she does, she needs to have explicit permission from him and a security detail will go with her. Steve smirks when her eyes flicker over to him, indicating that he will be the spearhead of that detail. The White Wolf saying her name brings her attention back to him and continues to explain that the house is hers, she has free reign as long as she stays within its walls. He stops them at a door at the end of a hallway, “This is my office…”

She interrupts him, “And it’s off limits. I know the drill.”

He smiles, looking her up and down while he wets his lips, “Smart girl.”

A part of her shutters in disgust but another….

“How much time do you need?”

“What?” she questions, searching his face for any hint of explanation.

“It’s been six years since you left home so I’m assuming you need some time to figure out a plan. How much time do you need?”

“You make it seem like I left on good terms,” she mumbles, shrinking under his intense gaze.

He chuckles, “Sorry, RAN AWAY.”

She sighs and looks around her, “He’s living in one of his old properties so I already know how to get in and out. It really depends on how quickly you can get me what I need.”

“And that is?”

“How do you want it done?” He takes a moment to think about it as he pushes open his office door and leads her inside. Steve closes the door, locking just the two of them inside. The White Wolf pours both of them a glass of whiskey and hands one to her before taking a seat on a massive leather couch. However with him and his overwhelming presence on it, it looks child sized. He motions for her to sit in a chair across from him and she hestiants but he insists.

“That’s up to you, little snake. You want him to suffer, right?” he asks as he takes a sip, wincing at the blissful feeling of the burn.

“Don’t turn this on me,” she pauses, realizing that she only knows him by his alias, “I don’t know your name.”

“My name?” “That’s what I just said.”

He narrows his eyes at her before giving her the answer she seeks, “James.”

“Don’t turn this on me, JAMES. It’s not about what I want, this is about your little fight with him,” she snarks at him, “The only reason why I’m involved is because of opportunity. You saw a chance to get back at him for whatever reason and preyed on me because of my past with him.”

James reclines in his seat, allowing himself to enjoy her anger and admire her in the process.

“Did he tell you what this is all about?”

“No but I don’t exactly care either. All men have an ego the size of the sun and turn to violence when it gets bruised.”

He chokes on his drink at her appraisal but agrees nonetheless, “Fair enough. So what do you need?”

“I’ll need a Beretta M9A4 with a silencer, an M4, and a set of knives.”

“Strange list, anything else?”

“A getaway car and a driver.”

“I’ll have Sam do it.”

“Hm,” she stops him after taking a sip of her drink, “No, I don’t trust him.”

“I really don’t think trust should be something you’re worrying about right now.”

Y/N slips her heels off and draws her legs onto the chair with her, getting as comfortable as she can to level a bored look at him. James takes in her form as she’s curled into herself and he wets his lips with his tongue.

“Who do you want then?”

“Steve.”

A beat passes.

“Or you.”

He questions her with a smirk as he slides through down into the leather couch. He’s lounging at this point, completely ignoring the fact they’re discussing murder.

“Me?”

“I don’t trust any of your men and most certainly not you but you wouldn’t do anything to put me in harm’s way if you’re involved.”

His phone rings and he picks it up, eyes never leaving hers, “Hello?”

She can’t make out what the other person is saying but she can tell they’re frantic. James lets out an annoyed sigh and closes his eyes as his head hits the back of the couch, mumbling along as the person on the other side rambles on and on. His attention being off of her gives her the opportunity to really look at him.

Eyes taking over him, Y/N takes in the way his midnight blue suit compliments his eyes and how his white shirt underneath is unbuttoned in an absurdly attractive manner. Just under his suit jacket is a hint of leather, a holster she assumes given what little she knows of him.

“He’s not going to do anything and even if he did, I have people close by.”

The sheer dismissive tone brings her back to his face where she locks eyes with him. He must have lifted his head when she wasn’t looking and was most certainly watching her checking him out. She finishes the rest of her drink and sets the empty glass on the coffee table between them.

“Încetează. Seriously calm down and use your brain, Klaus. He’s not going to do anything stupid. If he did, he would ruin any chance of survival he has. ”

She gives him a questioning look and he winks at her instead of explaining.

When he hangs up, she immediately jumps into her line of questions to which he explains that her brother has been working with him for some time now.

“Klaus? As in my brother Niklaus? He’s helping you?”

“He came to me last year and asked if I would help him with… some business.”

“Why did you make a deal with me if you already had one with my brother?”

“It never hurts to have multiple options.”

She groans in frustration and rubs at her temples. Of course she would’ve been suckered into some farce of a deal by a shady businessman. The temptation to throw something at him becomes too strong and she hurls one of her heels at him. It misses and clatters to the ground behind him to which he chuckles at and gets to his feet. His shoes scuffle the floor as he pours himself another glass. Rather than sitting back in his original place, James rounds the coffee table and sits in front of her on it.

“Brock would see it coming if I had Klaus do it regardless of how good your brother thinks he is. You, on the other hand,” he starts, pointing at her, “are the perfect option. He still has hope that you’ll find it in your heart to love daddy again so you still have a chance to gain his trust hence why I brought you here. Taking you away from him builds the tension, makes him sweat, makes him vulnerable and reckless. It puts him in the perfect position for me to release you back to him and boom my Rumlow problem is gone.”

“You still haven’t told me what he did.”

James leans forward so he’s invading her space, “It didn’t seem important a minute ago.”

Y/N matches him and leans forward too, “Well it is now. What did he do?”

“He killed a very good friend of mine.”

“You have friends?” She laughs at him and before she can stop him, he grips her braid again and pulls her off the chair and onto the ground before him.

He yanks her towards him and whispers in her ear, “Learn when to stop, little snake. It’s unbecoming of you.”

She glares him with all the hatred she feels for men like him but it flatters when his eyes flicker from hers to her lips parted due to the pain in her scalp.

"You look good on your knees for me," he lets spill out before releasing her.

She knows that he meant for it to come out but nonetheless she throws herself back as far as she can to get away from him. James, the flirty and seemingly harmless man is gone and in his place the White Wolf reemerges. He smirks at her desperate attempt to put space between them and winks at her again, this time making her body revolt at the gesture. Standing, he leaves the room without another word to her.

Whatever safety and trust she hoped to gain tonight is gone the moment he closes that door.

She’s alone.

Completely and utterly alone.

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #mob au #bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes imagine #mob!bucky #mob!bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes and reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #marvel imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes reader insert #marvel #mob bucky barnes #mob bucky x reader #as good a reason bucky barnes

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mediocre-daydreams · 2 years

Note

steve rogers x residential flirt!reader with “i have to get something off my chest” “is it your shirt? please say it’s your shirt” + flustered steve please!! 💕💕

i've never written for steve before and i haven't read many steve fics, so this one was a bit of a challenge! hopefully it fits his character <3

is it hot in here?

pairing: steve rogers x avenger! reader

summary: steve rogers thinks you're trying to get under his skin when in reality, you're trying to flirt. (like, really unsubtly.) it's not until he has you pinned to the mat that he realizes it.

warnings: swearing, a couple innuendos, bad flirting from reader and flustered! steve, basically just fluff and sexual tension with a little bit of insecurity from reader and steve about how the other feels (because they're both dumb little shits)

w/c: 2.3k

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

mama rogers raised steve to be a gentleman. what she didn’t do, though, was raise steve with the knowledge of how to handle beautiful women throwing themselves at him.

once he got through the first few levels and onto the avengers’ living area, he was mostly safe from preening tech workers and lower-level agents. the male shield trainees thought they were slick when they checked out america’s ass, but steve wasn’t blind.

well, maybe he was a little blind.

amongst his plethora of admirers was you, fellow avenger and the bane of steve’s existence. he liked the man he’d been before he met you: collected, confident, and if he did say so himself, suave. with you around, though, he’d been reduced to 40s pre-serum steve; no, even worse. he was a jittery, overthinking, bumbling—

“hey handsome,” you simpered, walking two fingers down his forearm as you passed by. he shuddered at the smell of your shampoo.

“h-hi,” he stumbled, cheeks fiery.

“careful there, cap. your face looks almost as red as your shield.” you patted him on the arm reassuringly. (it did not do much to calm him down.) “anyways, are we still on for that training sesh?”

steve glanced down to his wrist and checked the digital watch stark had given him. “we’ve still got 15 minutes,” he stated dumbly.

“perfect. we can do some stretching. wanna help me out?” you batted your eyelashes dramatically, hoping that steve would catch the hint. the poor man was either completely oblivious or absolutely stupid. you’d asked for bucky and natasha’s opinions. bucky voted oblivious and natasha voted stupid.

“well, i- i’m not very good at aerobics, but i could ask natasha to come down if you’d-”

“no, that’s okay. thank you though.” your smile faltered, and if it weren’t for the way steve was staring at you intensely, as he usually did. your voice pitched back to normal in seconds.

“well, see you down there, big boy.” you spun on your heel and steve could swear that you walked away from him much faster than your usual gait, as if you wanted to get away from him. he sighed, rubbing his forehead in frustration.

you played so many games with him, and he couldn’t decipher you. he prided himself on being the capitan of the team, somebody who brought people together and led effectively because of his understanding of everybody’s strengths and weaknesses. that had been his entire identity before he met you. all of a sudden, you seemed to flit between the gaps of each avenger’s neatly organized identity, knocking down their corners until their walls came down like dominoes. and you were trying to do the same to him.

he walked slowly to the gym, still pondering your place among the team. it wasn’t that you’d knocked down his teammates’ walls for the worse, but you’d made them more unpredictable, spontaneous, adventurous—steve didn’t know what to do with any of that. he was a military man; straight lines and sharp movements.

the first thing he saw when walking into the gym was you conveniently in the downward dog position. you peeked between your legs and saw steve who was trying his best to look unphased. you counted that as a minor victory. so you did have some impact on him after all.

“steve!” you bounded over. “so, i was thinking we could spar first, since natasha and bucky were planning on using the ring later. then we could cool down with cardio?”

he smiled—yes, a real smile—in agreement. he wanted to do weight training. but you’d looked at him so sweetly and you hadn’t made fun of him that time, so for once, steve felt like he could breathe around you. oh boy, did you make him sweat.

he soon realized you were good at making him sweat in more ways that one. no, not that way! steve was absolutely and thoroughly a gentleman.

steve’d thought to go easy on you and he was deadly mistaken. within minutes, you had him pinned to the ground as you hovered triumphantly over his face, laughing as he gaped at you in surprise. you’d poked his cheek and leaned down to whisper in his ear, “is that really the best you can do?”

that was it for steve. damn darn the flutter in his chest at the idea of pinning you against his chest, or on the floor, or against a wall, or-

gentlemanly thoughts, steve.

he’d barely broken a sweat but relished the reversal of the roles—he was back in charge and this time, you were the flushed, panting mess. “you really want it, sweetheart?” he taunted, adjusting the wrap over his fists.

you grinned. “show me what you’ve got. i like it rough.”

steve froze. you took the opportunity to sprung forward, catching him off guard. you feigned a punch, and as he leaned forward to block it, you jumped to his side and he stumbled forward from the momentum of his missed punch.

this was the game you two played. steve was six feet something of pure muscle and super soldier serum. you had none of those enhancements, and you were less than twice his size. while steve resorted to brute force and classic sparring methods, you had to be a little more creative. you weaved and breezed through his attacks, placing hits whenever you could, and never let yourself fall into a pattern.

patterns were how you lost. you were admittedly much smaller than the other avengers, and the only way you were able to keep up was never letting anybody read you, inside or outside the ring. with steve… it was a little harder.

you’d put distance between you and him as you heaved to catch your breath, still determined to take him down for a second time. steve’d finally shown signs of physical exertion, and you were proud as you admired noticed his shirt beginning to dampen and the shine of his forehead.

“tired yet?” steve smirked, finally finding the upper ground. sure, he turned to putty at your words. but you were too busy trying to catch up to hurl your usual taunts and jabs.

“i could do this all day.” you threw his words back at him with a big grin, raising your fists to eye level and bouncing on the heels of your foot just like steve would always do as a kid. he chuckled to himself before launching his body at you, prepared to tackle you to the ground—you were smaller, off guard, and tired. it’d be an easy win.

he landed hard on his chest. there was no body under him; he hadn’t pinned anyone. where were you?

steve felt you sneak a firm kick to his side as he scrambled to his feet. you’d lept out of the way once again. that was it, though. steve finally had a read on you. you were unpredictable. that was your pattern. you didn’t fight traditionally, in the way that steve had been taught. you were lighter on your feet, a faster thinker, and a more cautious attacker.

he saw you launch yourself from the ropes, your fist barreling towards his chin, and instead of blocking your attack as he normally would, he simply dodged. your fist never made impact, and to stop yourself from faceplanting, you grabbed steve’s wifebeater with one fist to try and steady yourself. steve didn’t have time to push you off before you dragged him down with you. his body slammed into yours.

“you’re crushing me!” a muffled voice came from underneath him. “get off me!” steve felt you wiggle in an unsuccessful attempt to free yourself. he lifted the majority of his weight off you, but grabbed your wrists before you could escape and pinned them down at your sides.

you wanted to kiss smack the smug expression off his pretty face.

“told you i wouldn’t go easy on you.” steve poked you in the cheek to return the favor from your last match. you groaned.

“you’re still- you’re very close right now,” you laughed breathlessly. your eyes darted around. “a-and you’re still on top of me.”

steve’s eyes widened before a cocky laugh escaped him. you could feel the movement in his chest and he shook his head, eyes still trained on yours. “it’s just- you’re flustered, aren’t you?”

you glared at him. “no, i’m not!” thrashing once more, you demanded that he release you from his prison. “i will kick you in the-”

steve released you immediately.

you sat up and shook the tension from your muscles. steve seemed to have retreated into his old, shy self. you were a little disappointed. this had been the only time steve seemed to have reciprocated your interest, and it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. maybe he’d only used it as a ruse to distract you during your match.

you begun unwrapping your hands with unusual wordlessness. steve looked you up and down before sighing loudly, sitting himself down right across from you.

“i have to get something off my chest,” he confessed, refusing to make eye contact.

you drew from the dwindling reserve of flirty comebacks that you still had. “oh yeah? is it your shirt? because i’d be more than happy to take that off for you,” you laughed. you cringed. both you and steve could tell it was entirely fake.

steve wasn’t quite sure what had prompted such a drastic change in attitude. you were usually raucous and bold; you had been just an hour ago. now, you looked dejected and insecure.

while steve normally would’ve fainted on the spot at your comment, the captain side of him took over. he delicately slid his large hand under your chin with more grace than you had expected possible from a hulking soldier. he raised your head until you were forced to meet his eye.

“are you okay?” there was genuine concern on his face.

after all these months of unreciprocated flirting, unsubtle hints, and practically screamed professions of your love, the only time he’d ever let you in was the time when you finally had nothing to say.

you let out a heavy breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding and took an equally deep inhale, trying desperately to soothe your pounding heart. you prayed steve couldn’t hear it.

“yeah, i just,” you squeaked, “sorry! i’m just a little… overexerted. from sparring.” there wasn’t even any suggestiveness in your wording. now steve was really beginning to worry.

“earlier, uh, i said i needed to get something off my chest. not my shirt!” he blurted in clarification. “i just wanted to say that i- well, i-” steve hesitated before pulling his hands away from your face and using them to cover his own.

“i like you, steve,” you let slip. you clapped a hand over your mouth in mortification. “oh shit, i- no, fuck, i know you don’t like swearing- holy… uh, holy moly.” you slammed the heel of your palm against your head. “i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to ruin things. i probably should’ve backed off, i know.” you laughed, angry at yourself.

“i should’ve respected your feelings, steve, and i’m so sorry. i just kept pushing it because god, i really like you, and it was selfish of me to make you feel so uncomfortable, and i don’t want to ruin the dynamic of the team just because i was too immature to-”

steve cut you off with a forceful kiss, slamming his lips into yours. the two of you froze, neither of your lips moving, until steve pulled away in horror.

“i’m so, so sorry,” he panicked. “i didn’t even ask, i just-”

you pulled him in again; this time, you were softer, less rushed. you were sweaty and steve was overheating and you probably smelled terrible, but you would’ve been content sitting on the sparring ring’s mat for hours despite all the questionable bodily fluids it had probably seen for hours, if it meant steve wouldn’t stop kissing you.

it was with reluctance that you pulled away. unfortunately, you did not have the lung capacity of a super soldier. “so, did you know this whole time?” you examined his face in disbelief.

“did i know what?”

“that i had been flirting with you. for the past few months. did you, y’know, pick up on all of it? or did you guess? or did somebody tell you? or did you not know at all?”

steve’s cheeks darkened one more shade, as they almost always did when talking to you. “i don’t know if i can say all of it… i’m not quite caught up on that aspect of modern lingo.”

you snorted, using the back of your hand to wipe the sweat from your forehead in a very unladylike manner. “so, how did you end up taking me down? because-”

through the door burst bucky and natasha in the middle of a heated argument. they stopped when they saw the two of you chatting nonchalantly on the floor, still in very close proximity to each other and still very sweaty. natasha raised an eyebrow at you. you shook your head furiously.

“how’s it shakin’, bacon?” bucky broke the silence. you squinted at him.

“where did you learn that?”

“irrelevant. so, did you guys like, kiss already? ‘cause i can come back if you’re planning on using this room for other physical activities.” bucky deflected.

“it was very… chaste,” steve coughed.

natasha looked at you pointedly and stabbed a finger to her chest, then pointed to you. me. you. tonight. spill.

she and bucky turned to each other with wicked grins. before you could get out a word, they were back out the glass doors and waving through them. you and steve were puzzled. when the lock clicked and natasha and bucky high fived each other, sauntering away, you had your question answered for you.

you couldn’t say you were complaining.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

marvel masterlist | main masterlist

taglist: (comment to be added!)

@im-a-slut-for-fluff @bambamwolf87 @yourallihave

#steve rogers #steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x avenger! reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers x reader fluff

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forasecondtherewedwon · 1 month

Text

seven degrees east - chapter two

Fandom: Masters of the Air Pairings: Gale x Bucky; Nash x Helen; more tbd Rating: T (may change) Chapter: 2 / ? Word Count: 4285

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The next morning hit some of them like a hammer. It hit others like falling dominoes of hammer-laden hardware store aisles.

They’d stayed out late, naturally. Though a bartender had eyed them up as the troublemakers they were, they’d gotten the fighting out of their system with just the one, so, in a move they were only moderately regretting in the light of day, they’d been able to sit undisturbed and drink until Crosby—their canary in the coalmine—claimed he was on the verge of ralphing. That was the point at which they always knew to cease. Well, that they knew they would need to cease in another round or two. Three at most.

In the style of a detective in his office past the midnight hour—shoes on the desk, blinds cracked to permit stripes of light from the streetlamp outside—Crosby was a sad, self-loathing drunk. The night before, true to form, he’d laid out his regrets and likely future failures for his friends to pick at like vultures. No one had, largely because no one had been paying him any attention. He was a sadsack who could be counted upon to tap out early. As usual, he’d woken up feeling much more optimistic about life. And then he’d barfed himself hoarse. And then he’d felt pretty good again.

For a night at the bar, Bubbles had two possible character archetypes from which to choose: a weathered, Steinbeckian striving towards greatness; or a Faulkneresque delusion in the face of inevitable doom. Crosby’s own maudlin reflections could sometimes push his friend towards the latter option, but the previous evening’s adventures had kept Bubbles upbeat. He’d done his upchucking before bed, and had thus awoken feeling reasonably refreshed and capable of making his roommate (still Crosby) coffee in the pot that was in such constant use that it almost never got cleaned.

Tortured Nash, whose greatest misfortune was usually that there was absolutely nothing wrong with him, had for once had ample cause to get as drunk as he had the night before. By the time he’d extricated himself from the recounting of the scuffle outside, Helen had vanished. They’d pitied him, his friends. The fact that they’d still made him buy the next round did not negate the genuine sympathy they’d felt hearing that Nash hadn’t gotten Helen’s number. Their schools were a whole half-hour drive apart. It was hopeless. Theirs was a romance fated to go unconsummated, but for a single, shining evening. They were textbook star-crossed lovers. Face pressed to the passenger-side window of Rosie’s car on the drive back to campus, Nash had thought seriously about switching his primary field to Shakespeare.

People who didn’t know Curt well were always surprised to learn he knew when to stop—when to stop drinking, that was. He’d only had the two pours from the pitcher of beer, but he’d also slipped away a couple of times and come back giggling. His friends knew that at least one of these sorties had involved toking on a squashed joint from his wallet (the scent was undeniable), but the other had lasted longer, and the plum-coloured hickey visible on the underside of Curt’s jaw when he showed up to class was pretty damning. The mark left them guessing with whom Curt had chosen to adhere to two Beat culture tenets: drug use and sexual experimentation.

In contrast with Curt’s alcohol-specific restraint, John rarely knew when to stop. Or maybe he did and ignored it. As Gale had noted at the time, the practice of overindulging was very Hemingway of him, as was John’s perennial drunken threat to take up fishing. It was the best he could do, since the UK’s lack of large predators put Hemingway’s other quarry of choice—grizzly bear, lion, etcetera—out of reach. As usual, John’s friends had applied themselves to the redirection of his inebriated enthusiasm for “the hunt,” but failed to catch the long-legged bastard when, back on campus, he’d sprinted for the iconic tower the school used in all its brochures and attempted to scale its stony carapace. (Quietly, unassumingly, and invisibly to John and Gale both, the hunt had resumed after Gale’d wrestled him off the wall, when they’d walked back to the dorms together, falling into slow, perfect step.)

Gale was subdued, and not only because he was trying to keep things in their shared dorm to a volume respectful of John’s embattled, hungover state. It was Monday, and Mondays were when Marge called. Marge was Gale’s girlfriend. Sort of. Before he’d moved overseas to complete his education, they’d had a conversation about it. They’d discussed her coming with him, they’d discussed marriage, but ultimately it’d felt like too big a step too soon, and so they’d agreed to put the relationship on hold. There were calls to check in—coming more frequently from her and with a greater feeling of guilt from him—but Gale had the sense that these had begun to feel increasingly perfunctory to them both. He just didn’t want to be the one to acknowledge that the flourishing thing they’d once had was now rootbound, likely limiting any further growth for either of them. He’d thumbed through his broken-in copy of The Portrait of a Lady the night before, looking for answers on how to reconcile his old world with his new, but Henry James didn’t make anything simple.

Rosie woke feeling fine. He inspected his mustache with pride, then carefully shaved the surrounding stubble and headed to class humming the theme song from The Nanny.

In the seminar room, Professor Harding watched each of them enter, his gaze devoid of sympathy for those in rough shape. Crosby whimpered quietly at the slant of morning light through the tall windows; had Harding raised all the goddamn blinds on purpose? Wordlessly, Bubbles nudged the thermos of coffee back into his friend’s hand.

When Gale and John walked in last, Harding got in John’s way to stop him.

“Happy Monday, Doc,” John offered with a wide grin.

“You weren’t planning on wearing those sunglasses in my classroom, were you, Mr. Egan?”

“Aw, these?” He plucked them from his head, revealing bloodshot eyes. “Nah, I just didn’t want to forget to give them to you.”

Gale stood stiffly at his side, willing John to shut up and follow him to their usual seats at the long wooden table. He watched in silence as, instead of demonstrating self-preservation (why break tradition?), John very deliberately folded the legs of his aviators, then reached out and slipped them into Harding’s shirt pocket.

“Just temporary,” John said, “so don’t get attached.”

Gale watched his best friend and their professor stare each other down—Harding unreadable, John with a cold intensity in his eyes.

“Noted,” Harding said at last. “Take a seat.”

“Can do.”

The group released a collective breath, shoulders dropping, Rosie flicking his eyebrows up at Bubbles to indicate a narrow escape, Bubbles returning the signal with a subtle wiping of faux sweat from his brow. Phew. Another close call with Bucky, their maybe too fearless co-leader.

“Projector today, sir?” Crosby asked weakly, as Harding settled into the seat at the head of the table, skimming his notes.

Crosby dreaded accidentally glancing into the overhead projector’s uncaring beam. The hot, blinding light would probably instantaneously melt whatever remained of his brain into a chunky, horrible soup—the coffee was helping with his hangover, but he really needed to not think the word chunky.

“No, Crosby. No.” Harding sniffed in the way some people had of making a sniff sound dignified rather than a harbinger of hay fever. He looked up at them. “I think we should… talk.”

The words triggered in Gale a sinking feeling that he couldn’t, and then didn’t want to, explain.

Though Harding looked uncomfortable at his own proposed plan of action, he pushed through.

“What I have on my agenda for today’s class—and what all of you have on the syllabus I gave you at the start of this course, if any of you have managed not to lose it—is some lecture from me, summary and close-reading of the ‘House-Warming’ chapter by…” He consulted his notes again. “…Rosenthal. Prepared, Rosenthal?”

His eyes found Rosie, who nodded sharply and had fed-up expressions directed at him by some of his friends for having the nerve to be bright-eyed and prepared when others of them felt like their faces had been replaced with rubber Michael Myers Halloween masks.

“Good,” Harding said (about as effusive as he ever ventured with his praise). “Well, we’re scrapping that. And the lecture. Next class though, Rosenthal. You’re still on deck.”

“Sounds good,” Rosie said.

“Sounds good?” Nash echoed at a whisper. Rosie frowned at him.

Curt’s hand shot up.

“Biddick.” Harding nodded for him to speak.

“So, what’re we gonna talk about?”

“It’s time we tried something new. How are you liking Walden?”

The boys glanced at each other. The entire course, the entire summer, was about Walden, but they hadn’t been asked before. Some professors did that—checked in to see how they felt about a text rather than just what they thought about some theme or detail. Not Harding. John squinted at his professor suspiciously for a minute, wondering if Harding himself might’ve hit the bar the night before. Whether he might have been wasted at that very moment, only astounding at hiding it. There was so much to learn at university with the right instructor.

Bubbles bravely went first.

“Well,” he said, “he’s thorough.”

“You’re suggesting the work is good simply because it was written by a man we consider an important writer?” Harding asked, attempting to extract more.

“Thorough, not Thoreau. Damn accent,” Bubbles muttered at the end.

“My apologies,” Harding offered awkwardly. “So, you appreciate his thoroughness. His commitment to the project, perhaps?”

“He did what he thought needed doing. From what he wrote down, seems like he worked hard at it.”

“Alright. Other responses?”

John didn’t lift his arm from the table, but he lifted his palm, and then a finger from that palm. Harding nodded at him.

“Whitman writes, ‘Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself,’” John recited with an indolent competence.

“‘I am large, I contain multitudes,’” Gale finished under his breath. John reached below the table and squeezed his knee.

“You think Thoreau contradicts himself?” Harding interpreted.

John took his time sliding his hand from Gale’s knee. It trailed a little higher before he lifted it to join his other hand above the table, so he could gesture with both at once: a shrug with his palms upturned.

“One minute he loves to be alone, the next he’s talking about all his buddies who keep showing up. I mean, come on,” John said flatly. “What kinda hermit in the woods did this guy really think he was?”

“A pretty damn good one,” Rosie cut in.

“That’s why he wrote the book braggin’ about it,” Gale tacked on.

“Thoreau’s tone can get self-congratulatory,” Harding allowed. “Is this unwarranted?”

“Yes,” John said emphatically, right as Crosby said, “No.”

“‘No’?” John repeated.

“It was hard! It was hard for him! It would be hard for us, if we were honest with ourselves!” The caffeine was hitting Crosby.

“No,” John said, his own ‘no’ this time.

“No it wouldn’t be hard for us or no you won’t be honest with yourself?”

“No.” John smiled slowly and Crosby shook his head with jittery impatience.

“I got a thought,” Curt volunteered.

“Go ahead,” Harding said.

Curt breathed deeply, sighed, and announced, “Thoreau needs to get laid.”

Rosie permuted his abrupt laughter into an unconvincing cough.

“Please tell me you plan on strengthening your point,” Harding requested in a suffering tone.

“Uh, yeah, I do, sir,” Curt promised quickly. He shuffled forward on his seat. “It’s all his tension, right? He’s, like, super anal about his spending and his fuckin’ bean field. And then he wants to be alone, but he wants his friends to come over and hang and play Air Combat on his fuckin’ PlayStation all the time.”

Rosie sighed loudly.

“Alright, now,” Harding said, stepping in. “That wasn’t the most orthodox argument, but before anyone rebuts Biddick’s point, let me just say that he has one.”

“Was Thoreau in love?” Nash wondered. Having not done the reading, he’d been trying to keep a low profile in case they swung back around to “House-Warming” after all, but this topic was completely irresistible to him.

“Well… it’s not an unpopular argument that the object of Thoreau’s affection does appear in Walden.”

“I don’t even remember him mentioning a woman except… Emerson’s wife?”

“No, Nash, it’s—”

“Thoreau’s mom?” Curt demanded. His face suggested he was both disgusted and delighted by this bombshell.

“The woodchopper,” Gale guessed.

“The woodchopper,” Harding confirmed. “Very astute, Cleven. Yes, that Thoreau had”—he cleared his throat—“sexual feelings for the woodchopper is a not unpopular theory among scholars.”

“The woodchopper’s a man,” Nash said.

“So, you have been doing some of the readings,” Harding observed wryly. That shut Nash up.

“The woodchopper?” Curt said. “The French guy? Well, I guess…”

He began retreading his own points from earlier—the tension, the struggle between a need to be alone and a need to be with others who were important to him. To this, Curt added a recounting of Thoreau’s (somewhat insulting) admiration for the woodchopper, for the way he lived, for the purity of him, aligned as he was with the natural world Thoreau himself had set out to better appreciate.

Throughout Curt’s monologue, John’s gaze shifted repeatedly to the side of Gale’s face. He saw Gale’s jaw clench. The tension. John wondered if anybody knew how the woodchopper had felt, whether anybody’d bothered to write that down. From one minute to the next, Thoreau became interesting to John for the first time. It would’ve been impossible with the woodchopper, but had Thoreau ever married a woman, or had it mostly been him and the trees, him and his fuckin’ bean field, as Curt had said? John wondered if you ever got used to that solitude, or you only pretended to seem strong and silent. Thoreau was reminding him of Hemingway, and how he separated his male protagonists from the women they loved to permit this manly, weary continuance. It seemed exhausting to John, who was hungover, whose furrowed brow was not evidence of his concentration on the matter of Thoreau and the woodchopper but of his fraught endeavour to recall what he and Gale had said to one another the night before on the walk to their dorm.

Gale, next to John, had been fairly confident in his theory of Thoreau and the woodchopper, or else he wouldn’t have spoken up. It had felt vulnerable, as it always did to offer an interpretation to Harding. He respected the man. He didn’t want to be wrong. And it wasn’t as though, for as long as men had been writing books, they hadn’t been imbuing them with homoeroticism, but bringing it up while seated beside John was different from picking up on subtext while reading, making a calm bullet point in his composition book. He’d only named the woodchopper because it’d seemed too clear not to, and because it might help the others to understand—to understand the book. Gale had named the woodchopper because that was an easy attraction to identify. He could stab his finger down on the page and say, Now, that, gentlemen, is what pining looks like. He found it so much simpler, sometimes, to study people in books. With an actual person, there was a chance of interpreting them incorrectly, and then what would happen? Gale didn’t like all the unknowns. He propped his elbow on the table and rested his cheek on his fist.

“Short essays are due this Friday,” Harding reminded them at the end of class. “If you haven’t met with me about your topic because you’re so confident that you prefer to surprise me… God help you.”

With that, they dispersed.

—

There had been an airfield, Bubbles knew. It had been gone since before the university had bought the land and decided to raise upon it buildings that lied about their age in the opposite direction Bubbles’ mother was always trying to. The airfield was the reason for the large lawn devoid of trees. Younger trees had been planted elsewhere on the property, but this stretch of grass had been left. Except for the one solid oak Crosby was currently leaning his back against. He had found the only tree in sight.

“Croz,” Bubbles greeted, tossing his bag down, then himself, inhaling deeply. The afternoon was growing late, and the ground was warm, the scent of the grass he disturbed as he stretched out on the lawn a pleasant mingling of sweet and bitter.

Crosby looked up over the top of The Lady in the Lake and smiled.

“Hey, buddy.”

“Essay done?”

“A version of it.”

They both knew how Crosby operated: the minute an assignment was given, he went to work on it, burning the midnight oil and refusing to rest until it was complete. This left him plenty of time to second-guess himself and start over from scratch, sometimes multiple times. Crosby claimed he worked best under pressure, and was generally happiest with the last iteration he created. This could only be achieved under conditions of severe eye strain and over-caffeination. His mind was a fine instrument; his body was treated with all the consideration shown to Victorian chimneysweeps before the introduction of child labour laws.

Bubbles fished inside his bag for a pack of gum, folding a stick into his mouth. Eyes back on his page, Crosby stuck out a hand; Bubbles rolled his eyes and gave him a stick too. He jerked his chin at the book.

“What’s this one about?”

“Guns, booze, missing dame.”

“Chandler sure knows his wheelhouse, I’ll give him that,” Bubbles said.

“And the Second World War. He wrote it right after Pearl Harbor.”

Bubbles nodded to acknowledge he’d heard, and they let the quiet linger. Crosby flipped a page. Bubbles gazed across the lawn, wondering if he was only imagining that he could see where the runways had once been. It was all grass now. Warm, scented grass, mushed soft where he lay.

Snapping his gum, Bubbles extracted a few more supplies from his bag: notebook, pen, lucky writing snow globe. Unlike Crosby, he didn’t have a tried-and-true process, but he did have the calm he felt when he shook the little globe and watched the plastic flakes float down. At this hour, the glitter that was also suspended in the liquid sparkled like diamonds. Bubbles stared at the components that came together to imitate snow and let his mind drift with a similar abandon. He thought of real snow and Absalom, Absalom! and how to tell a story and whether, once told, that story was a kind of truth regardless of its factuality. He thought he might write his essay about Walden’s genre, and began jotting down ideas.

Because of the lack of students on campus during the summer—not to mention the lack of trees—John was able to see his friends from a distance: Crosby a shape against the bark and Bubbles sprawled out nearby. John came strolling across the lawn. Judging his friends to be distracted, he changed course at the last minute and approached them from behind the tree. He snuck close, then jumped out next to Crosby.

“The butler did it!” he shouted.

Crosby’s hands flew up, his mystery novel launched from their grasp. Laughing, John swept an arm low and snagged poor Chandler from midair.

“It’s not really that kinda mystery, Bucky,” Crosby said, eyes narrowed with distrust even as John sank down to join them.

“That’s a shame. You ever think of writing your own?”

Crosby looked alarmed.

“Write my own detective novel?”

“Yeah,” John said nonchalantly. He shrugged. “Why not? You’re a natural-born plotter.”

Crosby’s eyes shifted to Bubbles’ face and they exchanged a look; neither was able to tell whether this was a compliment, exactly.

“Thanks?” Crosby said.

John nodded, the motion loose and magnanimous.

“You’re welcome, Croz. So, what’re you two suckers up to? Procrastinating that essay?”

“Working on it,” Bubbles said.

“Working on procrastinating?”

“Working working.”

“Oh,” John said, sounding disappointed. He looked again to Crosby. “What about you?”

“Taking my mind off it before I write another version.” Crosby shut his novel around his index finger and flapped the cover against his knee.

“Eesh. You are a glutton for punishment.”

“Seems like.”

“In the meantime, procrastination is a fine art,” John declared. He retrieved from his own pocket the sunglasses he’d earlier slipped into Professor Harding’s. He laid on his back and put them on with a deep sigh. “And I’m fucking Picasso.”

“I wish the both of you every happiness,” Bubbles mumbled, half distracted as he drew lines across his paper to connect his ideas.

“Perv,” John accused lightly, to cover the flush that rushed across his cheeks.

It wasn’t the joke that made him blush. He wasn’t actually sure what it was, not exactly, just that he wasn’t fucking anyone at the moment. Not regularly. Normally, he was satisfied with this state of affairs to the point of boastfulness; unlike Crosby and Gale, who both had some calibre of long-distance thing going on with chicks back in the States, John was typically free to hook up whenever the chance presented itself. He hadn’t wanted to lately, but he could—they knew he could. It was just…

He wished he could remember his conversation with Gale.

John hadn’t brought anything to work on when he’d come wandering back from the dorms. No books to read, no paper to write on. What he had done was slide his Discman into the fathomless pocket of his jeans and hook the headphones around the back of his neck. He dragged them up over his ears now and pressed play, launching back into (What’s the Story) Morning Glory? partway through “Some Might Say.” He closed his eyes to better focus on the heat of the sun on his face.

He didn’t realize he was almost asleep—lulled by the rolling sonic waves of “Champagne Supernova”—until Gale gave the sole of his shoe a gentle kick, rousing him. Blearily, John sat up, tugging his headphones off.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Gale said back.

John removed his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes, making the world go fuzzy. He noticed that Crosby was gone, and Bubbles was packing up. They probably wouldn’t have left him there. Probably. Then again, he was sometimes grouchy if someone woke him up. Not Gale though. He was never grouchy with Gale.

He lifted a hand in farewell as Bubbles departed, then turned his attention on his best friend.

“What’s up?”

“Nothin’ much.” Gale wandered over to the tree, reaching out and trailing his fingertips across the bark. “Me and Marge broke up.”

John knew it would be childish to point out they hadn’t really been together, so he said nothing for several long seconds. What the hell did he know about relationships? He’d never been part of anything as serious as what Gale and Marge had. Had had. He’d actually expected Gale to propose after defending his dissertation. John had expected a big wedding. He’d expected to be asked to be best man. Gale and Marge weren’t together now, but John had always assumed things would go back to how they had been when Gale (and John—perennially single, perennially unserious, tagging along) had left England. That was how things went: sometimes, you got to be someone else, somewhere else, for a while, but then things mostly went the way they were supposed to go.

When John had been sixteen, with the Rolling Stones on the verge of breaking up, he’d thought he might’ve been the second coming of Mick Jagger. Then somebody’d finally told him he couldn’t sing for shit, and he’d gone back to reading books. It had probably saved him from a lot of harsh criticism (which he could’ve handled the way he’d handled the Brits at the bar) and a cocaine addiction (which, yeah, wouldn’t have been great). John knew it might have been fatalistic, but he did think things tended to work themselves out, for better or worse.

Only… Gale and Marge were no longer together.

“You ok?” John asked.

“Yeah.”

But Gale didn’t look ok, not completely, though it was hard to be certain when he kept looking at his hand on the tree and not at John.

“We weren’t really together anymore anyway,” Gale said, which made John feel bad that he’d been thinking the same thing.

“Don’t say that,” he said softly.

Gale waved him off. John wasn’t sure how to help. Was he supposed to encourage Gale to try to get Marge back? Was he supposed to root for that? Or did he call Marge a bitch and assure Gale that he was better off a free agent, like John himself? Nothing but highs. Another day in the life.

“Quit looking at me like that,” Gale ordered without turning his head.

“Like what?” John asked instead of lying and saying he wasn’t.

But Gale didn’t have an answer.

Eventually, John forced himself up off the lawn and walked Gale to the dining hall to grab dinner. They stepped into their own long shadows over and over again as the sun warmed their backs, like it existed just for that, like it orbited the earth and not the other way around.

#seven degrees east #my writing #Masters of the Air #MotA #Harry Crosby #Joseph 'Bubbles' Payne #Herbert Nash #Curtis Biddick #John 'Bucky' Egan #Gale 'Buck' Cleven #Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal #Bucky x Buck #Neil 'Chick' Harding

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tharros-auris-black-asimi · 2 years

Text

Satisfied (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Alpha Bucky Barnes x CEO Reader

Summary: You've been in love with James Barnes for... forever, it seems like. For the past two years of his marriage to your sister, you've been repressing your romantic feelings towards him because he's married. You'd never hurt your sister like that.

But after she passes away suddenly, James leaves. Leaving you alone and giving you a position of wealth that you never wanted.

Four years later, you're trying your best to keep things together until James barges back into your life. To his surprise though, you want to get married. You want to settle down, regardless if you love your future partner or not.

And James... well... he doesn't quite know how to feel about it.

Not really.

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, love at first sight, unrequited love, character death, grief/mourning, Bucky kinda sorta being a bit of an asshole (he's got a good reason why I promise), heavy angst

Additional Notes: Hello everyone! Apologies that I've been away for a while. My muse sorta just flip-flopped for the past few weeks, and then my laptop cracked. So, I had to buy a new one. Now that I'm all settled in, hopefully, fingers crossed that my updates are a bit more frequent!

As always, if you'd like to read this chapter on my AO3, you can do it here.

Word Count: 3,741

Six years, three months, and two days.

Six years, three months, and two days ago⎯ your life had resembled some sort of normalcy.

Six years, three months, and two days ago, your life was something like Charlotte Lucas from Pride and Prejudice.

Your parents had been bugging you then, telling you at the age of twenty-four, that you needed to start thinking about settling down. All of your friends were doing it. Darcy Lewis, your fellow Omega friend from uni already settled down with Loki Laufeyson and was expecting a pup with him. And her friend Jane Foster who was also an Omega was married to Brunnhilde and they were expecting a pup too.

Eventually, your circle of friends fell in line and started settling down too. One by one, as if they were dominos falling over one another.

Your friends were finding their future partners and then; there was you.

You didn't date.

You didn't settle down.

You didn't do any of the sort.

You couldn't date.

You couldn't settle down.

You couldn't, didn't do any of those things because the Alpha you wanted to date, to settle down with was already taken.

By your sister.

You loved your sister. Dolores, or as everyone called her, Dot, was the best sister you could ever ask for. She was the oldest out of the two of you. She had gotten married to James when she had been twenty-four, and James was twenty-six.

They were the perfect couple. They always smiled at each other and looked so disgustingly in love that some people in your elite circle called it nauseatingly cute.

If your life couldn't have gotten any worse, you had met James at their engagement party. You both struck up a conversation. He made you laugh. He made you smile. You both talked about the company that Dot would inherit after getting married, and a deep discussion about finances and trade was launched. Everything fell into place, and when you gazed into those baby blues, you knew.

You just knew.

You were in love with him. Like a love-at-first-sight sorta thing. He set your heart aflame.

No one had ever made you feel like this before. No Alpha or Beta, not even other Omegas ever made you feel like this.

Then, the realization of why he was here revealed itself.

This was your sister’s engagement party.

So you could easily imagine how your heart just shattered into a million pieces when Dot came from behind, smiling as James put an arm around her and kissed her.

What made it worse was that your parents chose that exact moment to come over, excitedly telling you that "This is James! He's your sister's fianceé!"

To make matters worse, your parents hadn't even told you that it was James that Dot was marrying. Just a "come to the engagement party to show support!" and nothing else.

If you could have, you would've given a nod, maybe even a smile, and politely tell them that you needed to FaceTime one of your other friends, and flee the scene.

And that was precisely what you did. You smiled at them, told your parents that you needed to FaceTime your group chat to tell your friends the good news, and left the room. You ran straight to the bathroom, locked yourself inside, and FaceTimed your friends, crying your eyes out.

When Dot and James eventually married, it was an extravagant affair. Many people you recognized in the upper middle class were there. Even kids you had gone to private school with had shown up. Heck, even your entire family showed up too.

You had been Dot and James’s Maid of Honor.

“I wouldn’t want anyone else,” she had told you honestly.

If the roles had been reversed and you had been the one getting married, you probably would’ve said the same.

So, you swallowed your pride and watched as Dot walked down the aisle escorted by your father and married James. You gave your Maid of Honor speech, and successfully hid the pain in your voice and eyes.

For the next two years, you were the third wheel to Dot and James. Dot and James, and you. You, and Dot and James. The happily married young couple and their sister/sister-in-law.

Everything had been manageable. Livable. Day by day, the pain became more and more acceptable.

Just for a second there, you were slowly coming to terms that yes; you were in love with your brother-in-law. But you loved your sister more. You wanted her to be happy. So you threw your feelings toward James out of the window like Prince Charming from Cinderella Three running after Cinderella and chasing the girl of his dreams.

Except in this scenario, you weren’t Cinderella and he wasn’t Prince Charming.

Nope.

You were Anastasia.

You weren’t all mad about that though. You liked her character development in the third movie. She became a truly fleshed-out character in Cinderella Three.

And like Anastasia from Cinderella Three, the worst day of your life happened.

You would never forget the day for as long as you lived.

Dot and James were discussing what they wanted to do on their second anniversary, and Dot had politely asked for your input. You had told her that since this wasn’t your marriage and you weren’t married to him, your opinion didn’t mean much.

It hadn’t been a lie. Because you were telling her the truth. You weren’t married to James; she was. So why should your opinion be weighed in? It was kinda redundant.

Dot however had persisted. Wanting your opinion. Even though you politely dismissed the idea entirely. And then, as if you couldn’t become even more uncomfortable, Dot brought up the idea that she should set you up on a blind date with one of James’s friends. That led you to point out that considering she was discussing it with you, it didn’t count as a blind date. Besides, you knew the majority of James’s friends already so it didn’t count.

But, she continued to probe and push. Like a kid poking at a bear with a stick.

She only stopped when James rectified the situation. At that moment, you were grateful for him and his interference.

Wishing your sister and James a happy anniversary, you spoke your goodbyes, hugged them both, and went back to your apartment.

Little did you know, that was the last time you’d ever speak to her. Because at eight in the morning, you had been awoken by your phone ringing. Text messages spamming your phone.

When you saw the text message to come to the penthouse, you scrambled out of bed, not even bothering to wash your face or brush your teeth; because you were in such a rush. When you finally arrived, it was absolute chaos. Your parents were there and they were crying. Some of your family members already showed up, and they were in tears.

The worst thoughts came to mind.

Had James or Dot got hurt?

Was one of them in the hospital?

Those thoughts became worse and worse as you made your way to the primary bedroom suite.

What you saw made you completely stop in your tracks.

Dot was there, in bed.

Except… she wasn’t moving. She laid there still. Unmoving. Her skin was paler than usual, and her lips had a twinge of blue. Jaundice was on her face.

Your mother was screaming and crying, but somehow, you tuned it out. It became white noise as you zeroed on your sister.

There you stood in the threshold of the door to the primary bedroom, looking on in horror as the thought solidified in your mind. Cementing it there.

Dot was dead.

She was gone.

“She… she was so healthy… I-I just saw her yesterday…”

From where he was sitting in the armchair near the corner, James stood up to his full height. You were so engrossed, the tears beginning their way down your face that you hadn’t even noticed him walk over to you.

“... do something.”

Your brain caught those words. Slowly, with your tear-streaked cheeks, your eyes saw those blue eyes.

Those blue eyes were full of grief. Full of pain. Your heart shattered into even more pieces; even more than when you were told that James was marrying Dot.

At that very moment, your romantic feelings toward James were gone. None of it was there. You didn’t focus on it.

“You know her more than anyone,” his voice sounded broken. “You… you… tell her to wake up. Wake her up, flower. Do it. Please.”

Deep in your heart, you knew you couldn’t wake her up.

Deep in your heart, you knew the soul-wrenching truth.

There would be no waking her up. She wouldn’t be waking up anymore. You wouldn’t be able to hug her. You wouldn’t be able to tell her that you loved and appreciated her. You wouldn’t be able to see her and James’s future pups and be the single cool wine aunt. You wouldn’t be able to show her the pups you would have with your future Alpha, because you wanted to have pups of your own.

And now, you would never be able to do those things with your sister. Never again. She had been ripped apart from you in the worst way possible.

A jerk of your shoulders pulled you back to the present. James had grabbed a hold of your shoulders, jerking you around like you were nothing.

“Do something!”

He shook you. He had you by the shoulders, his grip on you tight. He, like you, was crying too. He had been crying all morning.

He looked so angry. So grief-stricken. But when he shook you again, this time; his voice was louder. Firmer. People outside in the hallway and down the stairs heard him loud and clear.

“Why can’t you just fucking do something?!” He roared at you, lashing out.

It hit you.

It hit you like a ton of bricks.

For the first time, you snapped. You never had snapped at him. Never got angry at him. You could never get angry at him.

But in that moment, everything erupted. Everything broke and shattered like china plates falling on the floor.

You shoved him.

You shoved him quite hard.

Considering he was an Alpha, it was surprising. Alphas were stronger than Omegas.

Your sweet scent of peaches and deep cinnamon flared. It became more intense and was overlapping with his oceany, musky scent.

It made his eyes burn even further. It made him choke.

“Fuck you!” You roared back in kind.

James was caught off-guard. A look of surprise broke his grieving face.

“Dot might’ve been your wife, but she was my sister first!” You shrieked at him, continuing to push him further and further away from you.

Push. Push. Push.

Shove. Shove. Shove.

“Don’t you think I don’t want to wake her up? That if I did, she’d magically wake up and everything would be fine?” You were looking livid.

“Don’t you think I want that too?” You had shouted at him, your teeth chattering because you were just so angry at that moment.

“That’s enough.”

Your mother embraced you tight. “Come on,” she was whispering in your ear, “... we’ll go downstairs. Break the news. Together.”

The funeral had been emotional. You still only remembered bits and pieces of it to this day. Your mother remarked that you had been crying the entire time, and you had collapsed on your knees in the church when you spoke your final goodbye.

Only six months after Dot’s death, James had vanished in the middle of the night.

He had left a note. As if that made things better.

In the note, he stated that he was giving you full control of the company and that he would be traveling for a while. Finding himself, he had written.

The first few months after you had stepped up to the plate and accepted the CEO position, you had texted him.

Once. Twice. Three times in the span of a month.

Radio silence was what greeted you. Then, to make matters worse, you woke up on a random day and saw that he blocked you. On everything.

It had been a miracle that you hadn’t thrown your phone across the room.

Instead, what you did was change your number.

After you blocked James on everything, of course. If that was how he wanted to treat you, fine. You could be a bitch too.

Four years passed.

And as you stood on the balcony of the penthouse suite that was your official apartment overlooking the Big Apple, the sounds of New York buzzed down below you.

Because New York never slept.

It truly was the best city in the world. At least in your opinion.

Clad in nothing but a crimson-colored nightgown, the slight breeze nipped at you. It was nice.

For a moment for the first time in a while, you could feel like you could actually take a moment to breathe.

Your Omega certainly agreed with you. She was silent, looming and lingering in the cage of your mind.

In the last four years, she bidded her time. Her Alpha had run away from her, tail in between his legs to cope with his grief. She knew what coping with grief felt like. She only had been doing it for the past four years, after all.

But the way he had done things infuriated her! Pissed her off! Made her want to chase him down and chew his head off with the way he treated her!

However, she instead chose the good path and fill in the shoes that her Alpha left her to fill. Even though she didn’t want to. But she knew she had to.

She had no choice.

You had no choice.

Although, you weren’t gonna lie; the position was nice once you got used to it. After four years of running the company as a CEO, you fell into a routine. You didn’t dread going to the office. You actually liked going to the office and seeing everyone.

Maybe it was your way of coping with Dot’s death. Maybe it was your way to keep your shield around your heart when James had shattered it. Maybe it was your way of rebuilding your life again.

Speaking of your heart…

Turning around, you walked back inside the penthouse, closing and making sure to lock the balcony door behind you. Checking it twice, you took out your phone and tapped at the screen, making sure that every room was safe. The front doors and the garage doors were closed and locked.

Everything was safe.

But you knew that not even the Big Apple was safe enough.

Dot’s death had been enough proof for that. To this day, you still didn’t know how she passed. The coroner told the family that she must’ve had a heart problem.

Still, you were wary.

With a sigh and a shake of your head, you continued on your trek to your room. It was pretty hefty. Nine rooms, three bedrooms. Three full baths and one partial. The partial one was nice for your housekeeper’s dog. Yelena Belova, a fellow Omega owned an America Akita. Fanny was small and very cute. But in need of grooming though. Yelena told you Fanny’s messy fur was a part of her personality, but you were more focused on if Fanny could see or not.

Such things made you a little reserved when Fanny was brought over. Yelena cleaned your home once a week, and always brought Fanny. It was a treat. You were even thinking about adopting a pet so Fanny wouldn’t be so lonely.

That thought was enough to quell your nerves. Soothe you. It was enough to make you not think of anything when you finally reached the primary bedroom upstairs.

Your bedroom.

Flopping right onto your bed, you sighed. You didn’t even bother to crawl under the sheets, because you were so tired.

Almost immediately, you shut your eyes closed.

Maybe you’d be able to finally get some sleep.

Later that morning…

“Ma’am?”

You were still typing on your laptop, intent on finishing this email so you could get to the meeting you had in a few minutes with a potential investor.

“Ma’am?”

Your head peeked up from the screen, so you could finally see the person who wanted your attention.

“Oh, Peter!”

Peter Parker, your assistant looked at you nervously. He was holding his iPad in his hands. He looked so nervous and skittish. As always, when he was around you. The twenty-three-year-old young Alpha was so kind and considerate with you, doing everything you asked of him with proficiency.

“Hi, sorry.” You apologized. “I’m just trying to finish up this email before I head to my next meeting. Is there anything you needed to ask? You know you can ask me anything.”

Nervously, Peter offered you a small smile. The brunet-haired young man was a good kid. You still remembered how adventurous you were when you were his age. Now, you were the sole CEO of the company your parents had once owned. They were mostly retired now, but they still attended parties.

“Oh. Did you need to ask about the party?” You inquired.

“Yes ma’am,” Peter confirmed. He handed his iPad over to you, and you looked down at the screen.

“Let’s see… catering, decorations, invite… uh-huh, uh-huh, yup… looks about right…” were the only words that you spoke as you scrolled down the list, confirming things or saying that particular things hadn’t quite been done yet. You were quick and precise, so when you eventually looked up, you were finished.

“Okay. The catering and decorations are good. The invite list looks to be right too. Everything looks good.” You concluded.

“Okay. Thanks, ma’am.” Relief showed on Peter’s face.

“You don’t have to be so formal,” you chuckled. Giving you yet another nervous smile, Peter’s head bobbed up and down quickly. It reminded you of a bobblehead, which just amused you.

“If there’s anything else I need to know, you can shoot me a text,” you reminded him as you got up from the chair. It was a rolling chair. Cause you liked those. They were always so fun to sit in and roll yourself around as a young pup. Even now, you looked absolutely delighted.

“Right.”

You walked out of your office, followed by Peter. Both of you walked down the long hallway, passing by employees alike.

“Say, ma’am…” You looked at him as you continued to walk toward the elevators.

“Yeah?”

“Do you…” he swallowed a little, “... do you ever miss him?”

Him.

James.

“I⎯” you were quick to catch yourself before you said something you’d probably regret. “Well… sometimes. I’ve been trying to… cope with it. When he left, it kinda broke me further, y’know? He and I, we’ve always been close. Other than my sister, we’ve always been good friends.”

And I’ve always been in love with him too, so there’s that.

It was ironic.

Four years had gone by and even though you tried your best to keep yourself going, to just keep chugging along and live to see the next day⎯ James would always creep back up in your mind. Like an itch that popped up every once and a while.

“It was shitty though, don’t you think?” Peter’s voice broke you out of your thoughts.

“Hmm?” You were giving him your full attention again. The two of you stopped in front of the two elevators, and he pressed the second button to go down to the conference room.

“That he just left. He left a note. He didn’t even bother saying goodbye to you.” Peter said, making you remember.

You couldn’t help yourself.

You mulled over it again. Somehow, someway, you heard his voice in your head again, like he was narrating an audiobook when you remembered his letter.

“My dearest family…”

Even after all these years, you didn’t like remembering his note. Sure, it had been his own handwriting. You knew what his handwriting looked like.

But even now, you still felt like his letter had been just that.

A letter.

Words on paper were nothing compared to the real thing. Why did he just pack up some of his stuff and just get up and leave without warning you? Telling you that he was going to go traveling for a while?

You understood needing space. You had told your family, your friends, and even James that you needed time to cope. You couldn’t be the daughter, the friend, the sister-in-law that everyone needed. You just couldn’t be that person at that time.

You weren’t even quite sure if anyone else understood that you just weren’t that person anymore. You weren’t even quite sure if anyone could even see how different you were now.

Maybe it was the fact that you had put all so many walls, so many barriers between yourself and everyone else in the world to make sure that you weren’t hurt again.

Your sister had been taken away from you.

Your parents had distanced themselves from you.

Your brother-in-law, the only love of your life that you’d ever known up until that point had left you.

You realized that really; the only person you could rely on was yourself. No one would be there to hold out a hand when you would be close to falling.

It was just you now.

“No. No. I… you aren’t really wrong. For a couple of months after that… I didn’t really talk to anyone. But I think… I think that he was coping too. In his own way. Everything just reminded him of Dot. Even me.” You admitted. It was something you thought about almost every day after James had left. Fled to god knows where. India maybe? Europe? Wherever the hell he went.

“Sometimes people just need to be alone, Peter. And that’s okay. It might not look right or sound right, but it’s life.”

The elevator doors finally dinged. They pushed open, and both of you walked inside. Peter pressed the button to close the elevator doors.

And neither of you said anything else after that.

Taglist: @bxnnywriting @greeneyedblondie44 @hawsx3 @sunflowerfive @winters1917 @sonicisnotsober

#ceo!bucky barnes x ceo!asian!reader #bucky barnes x asian!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction

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sarifinasnightmare · 10 months

Text

Beach Nap

Rating: For Everyone

Pairing: Sarah X Bucky

Author's Note: I got another one done! Huzzah!

Summary: Bucky is so tired from a mission but promised Sarah a beach day.

July 8-14: Beach Day

They hadn’t seen each other for nearly a month. It seemed like summer rolled in every villain of the week decided they needed to take over the world at that exact moment. Captain America, the new Falcon and Bucky Barnes had been on their feet for weeks trying to capture one bad guy and then the other. By the time they finally got a break they were all ready to crash.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, a beach trip had been promised to Sarah and Bucky was determined not to break it, so he arrived, (slightly smoking) and went with her on their romantic beach getaway.

Sarah wasn’t a fool though; she could tell Bucky was tired. Even supped up soldiers had their limits.

“You can sleep in if you want.” She suggested once they got to their hotel.

“No, I promised I’d spend quality time with you and that’s what I’m going to do.” Bucky promised. “Now let’s enjoy that sand and surf, yeah.”

She studied her man and decided to indulge him. Putting on her swimsuit they went outside and she urged him to sit down beside her on the lounge chairs so they could share a drink and put on some sunblock. The minute he leaned back against the chaise he was out just like she thought he would.

“Oh Bucky. You tried.” She sighed with a shake of her head. Dutifully she covered him with a towel, put on his baseball cap, and a pair of sunglasses on him so he didn’t sunburn, then ordered herself a hurricane and laid back beside him to enjoy the sounds of the surf. It wasn’t too bad just laying out there soaking up the sun while her significant other snored lightly.

“Hey little mama, this seat taken?”

Sarah peered over her shades at the tall, rather scrumptious looking black man looming over her. “No, you can take it if you need it.”

“Thank you.” He said, his eyes flickering over her. “Uh, you on your own?”

“No, I’m here with my boyfriend.” She gestured towards Bucky still sound asleep under his towel and hat.

The man gave her a bemused look. “Cozy.”

“He is…he works hard so when we got here he just…” She gestured and shrugged.

“Well my friends and I are about to play a game of dominoes. Interested?” He gestured towards the group close by.

Sarah looked over at Bucky then at the group of men and women. “Sure.”

___________---

Bucky felt the heat build and he woke up with a grunt and a full body stretch. Opening his eyes, he realized where he was and suddenly sat up. Sarah! His gaze darted around and quickly found her at a table surrounded by other people playing games. A man sat beside her, paying too much attention, and making her laugh. Instantly he got out of his chair.

Sarah saw him coming and smiled brightly. “Had a good nap, baby? Looks like you needed it.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I completely neglected you-”

“-No, it’s fine, I’ve been having a fine time with Robert and his friends here. They’ve been excellent company.”

“Whoa,” Robert murmured noticing the metal arm. “That’s impressive. Hope you didn’t mind us borrowing your lady for a bit. She’s amazing.”

“Thank you, Robert.” Sarah laughed.

Bucky smiled briefly. “Uh thanks for keeping an eye on her, but I think I can take it from here…”

Sarah eagerly got up. “Thanks for the entertainment!”

“Any time little mama!” The group waved back.

Sarah urged Bucky to the waves, desperate for some cool waters and briefly enjoyed the refreshing ocean when he spun her around and kissed her hard. Surprised but pleased she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

“Did Robert ask for your number?” He growled against her lips.

She smiled. “No, but he did ask how serious we were.”

Jealousy seized him and he pulled her tight against him, the waves hiding how possessively he clutched her ass cheeks. “Did he?”

“Sshh, I told him I was very committed to you. Don’t be so upset.” she reassured, wiggling against his hands.

“I let my guard down for a moment and there’s already someone ready to swoop down to take you from me.” He murmured against her mouth before claiming her with a deeper kiss.

Her toes curled in the sand, “You’re so cute when you’re possessive.” She teased.

“Yeah, well once we get back into the hotel room, I’m going to be damn adorable.” He promised, his blue eyes gleaming with heat.

Sarah shivered. The first beach day already looking very promising indeed.

#sarahbucky #Sarah wilson #bucky barnes #Sarah wilson x Bucky barnes #sarahbucky summer 2023 #Sarah wilson / Bucky barnes #bucky barnes x sarah wilson #bucky barnes/sarah wilson #fleur de louve #where are the rest of my people!!#get to writing!!

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lovelybishop · 1 year

Text

Character/Fandom List

(Updated February 5th, 2023)

*I DO NOT WRITE FOR CELEBRITIES.

*Strikethrough means currently not accepting requests for said character/fandom

*If you see a character that is not listed, please ask! I’m sure I write for that character, I just forgot to put it on this very long list!

*If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask!

—

DC Extended Universe

Suicide Squad (2016) / The Suicide Squad (2021)

Abner Krill/Polka-Dot Man, Christopher Smith/Peacemaker, Cleo Cazo/Ratcatcher 2, Floyd Lawton/Deadshot, Harleen Quinzel/Harley Quinn, Rick Flag, Robert Dubois/Bloodsport

Birds Of Prey

Dinah Lance/Black Canary, Harleen Quinzel/Harley Quinn, Helena Bertinelli/The Huntress, Roman Sionis/Black Mask

Fear Street Trilogy

Cindy Berman, Deena Johnson, Heather Watkins. Christine “Ziggy” Berman*,Kate Schmidt, Nick Goode*, Ruby Lane, Samantha Fraser, Simon, Tommy Slater

*Please specify which actor

The Last of Us (HBO)

Joel Miller, Tess Servopoulos

The Good Place

Chidi Anagonye, Eleanor Shellstrop, Janet, Jason Mendoza, Michael, Tahani Al-Jamil

Marvel Cinematic Universe

Movies

Ajak, Alexei/The Red Gurdian, America Chavez, Bruce Banner/The Hulk, Carol Danvers/Captain Marvel, Christine Palmer, Clint Barton/Hawkeye, Darcy Lewis, Doctor Stange Variants, Drax the Destroyer, Druig, Gamora, Gilgamesh, Hela, Hope van Dyne/The Wasp, Ikaris, James “Bucky” Barnes/The Winter Soldier, James “Rhodey” Rhodes/War Machine, Jane Foster, Jimmy Woo, Katy, Kingo, Lady Sif, Loki, Makkari, Mantis, Maria Hill, May Parker, Melina, Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow, Nebula, Nick Fury, Peggy Carter, Peter Parker Variants, Peter Parker/Spider-Man, Peter Quill/Star-Lord, Phastos, Phil Coulson, Pietro Maximoff/Quicksilver, Sam Wilson/The Falcon/Captain America, Scott Lang/Ant-Man, Sersi, Shang-Chi, Sharon Carter, Sprite, Stephen Strange/Doctor Strange, Steve Rogers/Captain America, Thena, Thor, Tony Stark/Iron Man, T’Challa/Black Panther, Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, Valkyrie, Virginia “Pepper” Potts, Vision, Wanda Maximoff Variants, Wanda Maximoff/Scarlet Witch, Wong, Xialing, Yelena Belova

Disney+ Series

*This list is for characters who have not appeared in any movie (with the exception of Captain Carter.)

Agatha Harkness, Bruno Carrelli, Jennifer Walters/She-Hulk, Joaquin Torres, Kamala Khan/Ms. Marvel, Kate Bishop/Hawkeye, Layla El-Faouly/Scarlet Scarab, Madisynn King, Mallory Book, Marc Spector, Mary MacPherran/Titania, Matt Murdock/Daredevil, Maya Lopez, Mobius, Monica Rambeau, Nikki Ramos, Peggy Carter/Captain Carter, Ralph Bogner/”Pietro” Maximoff, Star-Lord T’Challa, Steve Grant, Strange Supreme, Sylvie, Taweret

Agents Of Sheild Series

Melinda May, Grant Ward, Daisy “Skye” Johnson/Quake, Leo Fitz, Jemma Simmons, Lance Hunter, Bobbi Morse, Alphonso “Mack” Mackenzie, Lincoln Campbell, Elena “Yo-Yo” Rodriguez, Deke Shaw

Netflix Series

*I plan on watching all Marvel Netflix Series. Though Because Matt Murdok was in No Way Home and She-Hulk, I still will write for him.

Spider-Verses

The Amazing Spider-Man

Gwen Stacy, Peter Parker/Spider-Man

Into the Spider-Verse

Gwen Stacy/Spider-Woman, Miles Morales/Spider-Man, Olivia Octavius/Doctor Octopus, Peter B. Parker/Spider-Man

X-Men

Alex Summers/Havok, Bobby Drake/Iceman, Charles Xavier/Professor X*,Ellie Phimister/Negasonic Teenage Warhead, Erik Legnsherr/Magneto*,Hank McCoy/Beast*,James “Logan” Howlett/Wolverine, Jean Grey/Dark Phoenix*,Kurt Wagner/Nightcrawler*,Marie D’Ancanto/Rogue, Nathan Sumers/Cable, Neena Thurman/Domino, Ororo Monroe/Storm*,Peter Maximoff/Quicksilver, Psylocke*,Raven Darkholme/Mystique*,Scott Summers/Cyclops*,Wade Wilson/Deadpool, Warren Worthington III/Angel*

*Please specify which actor.

Free Guy

Guy, Millie Ruck, Walter “Keys” McKey

The Office

Jim Halpert, Pam Beesly

Wednesday

Ajax Petropolus, Biance Barclay, Enid Sinclair, Gomez Addams*,Larissa Weems, Marilyn Thornhill/Laurel Gates. Morticia Addams*,Tyler Galpin, Wednesday Addams, Xavier Thorpe, Yoko Tanaka

*Please specify which actor.

Star Wars

Ahsoka Tano, Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader, Ben Solo/Kylo Ren, Bix Caleen, Bo-Katan Kryze, Boba Fett, Captain Phasma, Cassian Andor, Cobb Wanth, Din Djarin/The Mandalorian, Fennec Shand, Finn, General Hux, Han Solo, Jyn Erso, Lando Calrissian, Luke Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padme Amidala, Poe Dameron, Princess/General Leia Organa, Qi’ra, Reva Sevander/Third Sister, Rey, Rose Tico, Zorii Bliss

Stranger Things

Dustin Henderson, Eddie Munson, Eleven Hopper, Jim Hopper, Jonathan Byers, Joyce Byers, Lucas Sinclair, Max Mayfield, Michael Wheeler, Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley, Steve Harrington, Will Byers

*I do not write for Billy Hargrove

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turvi · 2 years

Text

Come Get Your Funky Lovestory

Pairings: Eddie Brock x Reader, slight Bucky x Reader, Sam Wilson x Reader (platonic), Peter Parker x Reader (platonic)

Warning: Mention of death.

@preciousbabypeter

Whew, what a week! It was a rollercoaster. After everything went down, I kept close eyes on Peter. Even though he is an Avenger and everyone claims that he will be fine, I know he won’t be, because at one point I lost everything too. I was married when I first met Steve and Bucky in the 40s. Who knew my one wrong decision would lead me here.

After I lost my husband in the war, I took up the Hydra program for two years as means to earn money. I had a son Abel who now I had to look after and being a cook didn't give me enough income. But it was a domino effect after that. They had programmed the winter soldier to safe keep the Adaptoids. To make my escape, to find my son I had to fight the man for whom my feelings were growing, who was there to hold me when my world crumbled down, who kissed me that night at the carnival to keep my brain calm, and who gave me his jacket when it got chilly.

Steve was a big help (even though my hydra brain was initially trying to kill him) and after finding out my son was dead, after all the wars I just want a break. Not just for me but for Peter too. I can’t help but feel like a big sister to him. I tried to settle myself by getting a job in the Hell kitchen since that was what I did in the 40s. Yes, while the Avengers were trying to figure out how to defeat Thanos, I was perfecting Steak au Poivre.

While I thought I could rekindle my romance with Bucky it turned out fatal. I know he is trying but when you have spent 40 years with Winter Soldier it gets tough to explain your brain, he is not the same and it did break my heart to see him flirt with Sarah and here I thought if I will be able to fight away the thought that Bucky is not longer a threat to my life, we have a chance. But he didn’t even mention the kiss so I returned his jacket (to Sam I am not ready to have the conversation with Bucky why I still have his jacket).

I got an apartment that is surprise few blocks from where Peter is staying despite Sam and Bucky trying to change my mind and get me to stick with them and continue staying with Sam. I love them but even if I wanted to after my promotion to assistant chef, I had to move to New York full time and couldn’t slack like I used to because if I lose this job, I will lose my only source of income.

Peter was delighted to see me and I visit him time to time to check up on him, Bucky and Sam still think it is a bad idea to stay alone so far. I was told by my landlord that my neighbor has also moved in a week ago. Good we have something in common.

As I park my car near the building my phone buzzes. Bucky.

“Hey Buck”

“Hey Doll how is shifting going on?”

“It is hardly shifting Bucky I have one box with me I have to buy furniture so my neighbors don’t take me as a squatter.” I chuckled

“You met them?”

“No but I will meet them after I make them my special Chicken Cordon Bleu” I said taking my box out of the car. I think I should have asked Bucky for help because the box is quite big and kind of obstructing my view

“I feel like I am missing out, I could still come and help you doll”

I halted my movement at his words. This is what infuriates me about him. One moment he makes me feel like I am the most important person in his life and the next moment pretends I don’t exist.

“Oh shit” I scrunched my eyebrows when realisation hit me

“What happened Doll?” urgency in his voice

“I can’t make Chicken Cordon Bleu; I don’t know what their eating preferences are. I have to make something that can be eaten whatever their preference will be”

I said as I climbed the stairs leading to my apartment

“Also, I have been meaning to ask you what was Fury talking to you about? It looked quite serious”

“Well according to Fury, a parasite named Venom has been spotted in New York and has wreaked havoc in San Francisco and while I am taking my break I should also look out to any suspicious behaviour and bring him in”

“Are you sure you don’t need my help?”

“No definitely not, from what I have seen I’ll let Fury and his gang handle it I’ll just observe from far and not interact with the species and provide information to Fury. I think its quite easy nothing can go wrong –

I spoke too soon. Even before I could finish my sentence, I collided with someone causing me to lose my balance on my box but before it could slip the stranger took hold it his finger accidently brushing mine.

“I am so sorry I was distracted” I quickly apologised to the man in front of me. He is cute. His hair dishevelled, blue frowning eyes that quickly softened, tattoos on his arms, black leather jacket. He looks like bad news but he is cute.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t looking either” he said nervously chuckling

“I think I should help with that” He said pointing towards my box

“Oh no its just one box I can’t bother you with one box”

“It’s the most I can do given I just broke your bones” We both chuckle at his quip. Yeah, he is a burly man and has the ability to break my bones if I didn’t have superpowers.

“Doll?” Shit, I forgot about Bucky

“Uh, I will call after I get settled” I quickly cut my phone, he will understand.

He quickly took my box and started walking upstairs with me when he stopped again.

“What?”

“I-uh I forgot to ask your flat number”

“Its 313” I giggled. Since when did I giggle like this?

“313? I am in 314.”

“Oh, you are my new neighbour”

“Yeah, I just moved from San Francisco”

“Oh, can I ask why?”

“Its not really a big deal I had my own news show, The Eddie Brock show but thought I needed a change so The Daily Bugle is my change”

We reached my flat as I fished for my keys, I asked him with a dopey smile

“Let me guess you are Eddie Brock”

He chuckled “Good girl, so smart” he quipped as shivers ran down my spine with his words. Gosh what is happening to me.

I opened the door and led him in. The apartment was quite cold and spacious.

“No furniture?”

“Ugh well I just got promoted and lived somewhere not good so this apartment is the change in my life hence fresh furniture” I actually never got to live anywhere. After I was unfrozen by Zemo, I have been in one war after another.

“What do you do?”

“I am working in Hell’s Kitchen just got promoted to Assistant Chef”

“Wow we should celebrate the great changes in our lives…. If you want to of course”

You know what fuck it

“Yeah definitely”

“Cool I’ll meet you on the rooftop the view is beautiful”

“Right now?”

“What better time than now?”

“Ok, I’ll freshen up and meet you upstairs” I can feel the heat on my cheeks for smiling for so long

“Ok, see you soon” he said with a big smile taking his leave

Wow that was unpredictable. I closed my distance with the door to lock it when Eddie peeped his head inside. Our faces were so close I could feel his breath on my cheeks

“Uh- I didn’t catch your name”

“Y/N Y/LN”

Part 2

#eddie brock x reader #venom x reader #marvel #bucky x reader #bucky angst #eddie brock x y/n #eddie brock x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker

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