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#bucky barnes drab
therapyandprozac · 1 year
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Bucky Helps You Get Revenge!
Hi guys!! This is just a drabble only 180 words🙈 mostly a self indulgent fic but I hope you enjoy it!!
WARNINGS: Guns, canon violence, murder of an abuser
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You saw ‘him’ on a mission, the one person you wanted to never see again was in front of you, and he didn't recognize you. You hoped it was because of the mask and not because he forgot what he did to you.
“Buck.” You say calmly into your com. Bucky turns around to see you're shaking with your gun drawn, in front of a begging man on his knees. He stands next to you, gun pointed at the man's head out of caution.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, not knowing who is at the end of his barrel.
“It’s him…Him.” You whisper. Bucky doesnt say anything just chuckles under his breath.
“I feel the responsible thing to say is getting revenge won’t fix your problem.” He pauses and you nod. “Or we make him unrecognizeable.”
“I prefer that option.” Half cocked smiles covering both of your faces as he begs and pleads for his life. You laugh before taking the first shot, square on his forehead. He falls backward, you and Bucky unload the rest of each of your clips into his corpse.
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buckysforeverprincess · 7 months
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I want to get back into writing more. Anyone got any Bucky/Steve/Stucky drab ideas you’d like me to write out? Flood my asks, please!!
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syntheticavenger · 9 months
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Breakable
You know how there is a piece in Fragile where Bucky meets an Omega who works at the foundation for Omegas?
This one is for you, @flordeamatista. Tumblr doesn't like my music links but this was written to 'Don't You Know' by Jaymes Young.
Dark Alpha! Bucky Barnes x Omega! Female Reader
Word Count: 2,150
Warnings: 18+ ONLY, Alpha/Omega dynamics, coercion, a little bit of world building, mentions of pregnancy.
Summary | They always say never meet your heroes. Bucky makes you feel differently.
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Tonight is a special occasion.
Peeking your head through a sliver of space between the doors, the once drab space in the Stark Observatory has now been transformed into something special. Red, white and blue, patriotic but not over the top, fits the theme for the night.
After all, it isn’t every day Captain Steve Rogers celebrates a birthday.
Even more momentous is the rumor that his wife will be attending. Not so much a rumor, as you look at the caterers running around, muttering about a special entrée that you realize they are talking about her in particular. Carmen nudges you in the back, your hiss of surprise making her laugh. Always one for pranks, Carmen doesn’t take her job seriously as much as you do, even now as you’re aware she should be at the front of the entrance, greeting people as they come inside.
“So the rumors are true? She’s actually going to be here?” Carmen inquires, closing the doors while you shrug. “Oh, come on. You’ve been trying to get the lowdown for a while.”
“Not a while,” you remind her, smoothing out your dress. “It’s a big deal. I’ve read about her. Left her job as a surveillance analyst when she met Steve. Just, up and left her job and she was the first Omega to take on a job in the Avengers compound. She gave it up for love, Carmen. No one ever sees her. All Steve does is talk about how much he loves her and how proud of her he is.”
“The model Omega,” Carmen says with a nod. “I wonder what she’ll be wearing.”
“I forgot,” you mutter, rolling your eyes at Carmen’s words. “Probably something expensive.”
“I’d expect nothing less. He’s giving a speech tonight, right?”
“Mhm,” Carmen replies. “Him and Sergeant Barnes will be giving a speech to commemorate the anniversary of our housing initiative.”
Eyes going wide in surprise, you’re speechless, trying to remember if you saw Barnes’ name on the guest list. He’d never confirmed his attendance, let alone shown up at any of the events since you last saw him.
For a moment, you wonder on the off chance that you meet again, if he’ll remember who you are.
🍷
Lush music plays, the lively band playing music from an era bygone. It harkens back to a time that he remembers clearly, looking around at the various designations.
All of them under one roof, pheromones lingering and the sour scent of suppressants that makes his nose wrinkle in disgust. Even here, a place that is dedicated to safety, there’s still distrust. Not that he can blame them, of course.
They’re easy prey.
“Ah, Sergeant Barnes,” an Omega calls out with a wave.
It’s Doctor Constance Gracey, head of the rehabilitation center for wayward Omegas. She’s quick to reach his side, the elder Omega grasping his hand with both of hers, giving him a gentle smile.
“I am so pleased that you’ve decided to come. I know you choose to lay low these days but I appreciate everything you’ve done for our center. I heard you received a tour of our new rehabilitation wing?”
“That I did, Connie,” Bucky agrees. “You have a very informative tour guide.”
“Oh good, that makes me happy to hear. It’s been a rough few months with the new laws and taking in so many that need care. I’m grateful she was able to discuss our initiatives with you. Did you have any questions?”
“Not yet. It is amazing what you’ve been able to do in such a short time.”
“We have generous donors,” Constance hints, letting him go as she sees another guest. “Enjoy the party tonight. I can’t wait for your speech.”
He flashes a smile at the thought of the speech, one thought up while they were building the framework for another housing development.
The uniform puts them at ease, just like Steve said it would. Omegas and Betas fawn over him while he scans the crowd. Steve isn’t here yet, not with the wrangling he’d had to do early in the day.
When his time comes, he’ll have an Omega who knows her place without being told.
Still, the upbeat music keeps him in a good mood while he mingles, catching a particular scent every now and then that makes his head turn. It disappears almost as soon as he seeks it out, only to continue on his way.
🍷
“Just go say hi,” Carmen quips, pushing you back outside. “You’re supposed to be out there getting more face time, remember? You’re the poster child for our cause.”
The slight frown that takes hold on your face makes Carmen hook her arm over your shoulders, pulling her toward you.
“You know what I mean. You have a damn good story to tell about why this place means so much to you. That’s more money for the foundation, ya know? Use that charm… and go say hi to Sergeant Barnes.”
One thing is for sure.
The man knows how to command a room. Everyone he meets, he shakes their hand or embraces him, his smile infectious that even you can feel your mood brightening. Still not convinced that he remembers you, you’re silently counting all the guests that are continuing to come in, greeting those you know and introducing yourself to those that you don’t.
When you hear your name being called, you turn, nearly tripping over yourself at the sight of Sergeant Barnes, extending his hand to you.
“I’m not sure if you remember me,” he begins with a smile. “But you were my tour guide a few months ago.”
“You remember me?” you question, blinking owlishly before you remember to take his hand and shake it. He draws you toward him, your footsteps gliding over the marble.
“I do,” he answers, the timbre of his voice making you shiver. You can feel his thumb swiping over your wrist, his scent intoxicating.
“It’s nice to meet you… again, Sergeant Barnes.”
“Bucky,” he corrects you, letting go of your hand. “I’ll see you a little later?”
You nod, Bucky laughing at your silence.
“I mean, yes,” you answer quickly, Bucky giving you a head nod before he leaves.
“Did he… did he scent you?” Carmen asks from behind, making you jump.
“Carmen!” you nearly shout, realizing where you are. “Stop that.”
“Did he?” Carmen looks serious, watching Bucky head toward another guest. “Or was I seeing things?”
“No one scents people in public,” you quip, hiding your hands behind your back. “It isn’t… respectable.”
“Seems like he did to me. I like Alphas,” Carmen says, her voice lowering to a whisper. “But… just be careful, okay? Maybe he didn’t mean to but if you’re close to a heat…”
“I’ll be fine. It was just a mistake.”
Carmen raises a brow at your quick excuse.
“So which one was it?”
🍷
That scent of yours.
He relishes it, even after you’re gone again, his nods to a long-winded patron of the foundation who speaks of the days of yore, sharing his own experiences as a once young Alpha who had defended helpless Omegas.
“Much like yourself and Captain Rogers,” he says fondly. “I like to think of myself as a hero to those in need as well. Very grateful that you’ve continued to support such a noble cause.”
“It’s my pleasure,” Bucky answers, giving him a hearty slap on the back. “Where would we be without them?”
He can hear it before he sees it, the small whispers and gasps of people turning around.
Steve stands at the entrance, his arm linked with his wife’s while he surveys the scene in front of him. Catching Bucky’s eyes, he smiles, a genuine one that sends the few single Omegas around him into a near faint.
Cameras flash as the two embrace, Steve’s wife moving out of the picture quickly, only to have Steve guide her right back to his side. It’s a momentous occasion, having her here tonight and Bucky knows that Steve will not let her out of his sight.
“Sergeant Barnes,” she says quietly, her head still down as he embraces her, more cameras flashing.
“You look beautiful,” he says against her ear. “Pregnancy looks good on you.”
He pretends not to hear her soft whimper, Steve guiding her across the floor as Bucky follows suit.
Still, you’re in his peripheral vision, your hopeful smile so sweet that it feels all too easy. Steve’s wife put up a fight.
You seem all but ready to fall into his lap.
🍷
“Thank you all for the kind and warm welcome,” Steve begins, standing at the podium. “This foundation has come from noble beginnings and it is my humble honor to serve on the board of directors to make sure that this amazing charity continues to open its door to the unhoused and those in need of care. It is my duty, my one guiding principle in life, to stick up for those who can’t. I hope that I have done so thus far.”
Thunderous applause fills the room, Carmen clapping loudly at your table as she nods in agreement. Leaning over, she whispers to you, making sure only you can hear.
“It’s Dior, right?”
“What?” you whisper back.
“Her dress, silly! It’s Dior, I think. Must have cost a fortune. Also… does she look pregnant to you?”
“Carmen,” you admonish, watching Bucky take the podium.
“I also want to thank this honorable charity for having me as a board member. It is important to me, as well as Steve, that Omegas feel like they have a place in this world. One that is safe, comfortable and without harm. I believe that the outpatient centers, the new housing that is continuously being built provides another step closer to closing the gap between the unhouse and food insecure in your designation. It starts with all of us.”
Steve gives Bucky a wink as they hold up their hands for silence.
“That is why we have decided that we are going to gift this prestigious organization with a one million dollar donation to speed up your efforts.”
Connie’s eyes go wide at the news, Carmen’s mouth dropping open in surprise as applause once again fills the air, people standing up as the continue to clap.
“Thank you all,” Bucky says with a grin. “We can’t wait to get started.”
🍷
Constance nearly fumbles over herself to grab you, hauling you over to the corner where Steve, his wife and Bucky are standing.
“Captain Rogers,” she starts, giving you a little nudge to step forward. “I don’t think you’ve had the pleasure of meeting our newest docent. She runs quite the tight ship here when it comes to our work.”
Introducing you with all the titles you’ve held, past and present, your face heats up at the praise, Captain Rogers’ expression one of warmth, his smile one of appreciation.
“This is Mrs. Rogers,” Constance continues. “Her first night out, isn’t that right?”
“It is,” Steve answers for her quickly. “Though we won’t be staying long. In her delicate condition, I want to make sure she gets plenty of rest.”
“Of course,” Constance agrees.
Mrs. Rogers offers you a smile, almost as if she wants to shake your hand but Steve’s grip seems tight. Her gaze lingers on you for a moment before Steve presses a kiss to the crown of her head.
Love, you think, is a powerful thing.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you both. Sergeant Barnes, it’s also been a pleasure. I should go find -”
“Do you dance?” Steve asks you, the conversations around you seemingly going quiet.
“I do.”
“Perfect. I believe Bucky needs someone who can teach him how to do dance.”
“Not this again,” Bucky mutters with a laugh. “I assure you, I know how to dance. I promise.”
“Dance,” Steve says with a nod. “Have a good night.”
It isn’t until you are heading toward the dance floor with Bucky that you realize that it was an Alpha command.
Steve helps his wife down the stairs as you watch for a moment. She looks reluctant to go, Steve whispering something in her ear before she lowers her head.
“You don’t have to dance, you know,” Bucky says behind you. “It’s just Steve… being Steve.”
“Oh, no, I want to.”
Perhaps you said it a little too fast by the way Bucky stares at you for a moment. It’s intense, almost as if he’s looking at you under a microscope. He softens then, extending his hand to you.
“Well then, let’s dance.”
Settling into the music, his hand splays over your back, warm and strong. You know you shouldn’t be as giddy as you are with his scent, strong and heady that makes your head spin.
“Follow my lead.”
With a nod, he leads, even as you ignore the tiny thought that maybe this was another Alpha command.
But it couldn’t be.
After all, he’s a hero.
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notyetneedcoffee · 2 years
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Kicking Up Dust - Part 2
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Bucky Barnes x Reader
Warnings: None in this chapter. Slow burn to NSFW
A/N: Takes place after ‘Falcon and the Winter Soldier’ with one major exception - Steve Rogers is not dead. He stepped down. This is in line with my Crossroads story. There will also be a parallel Steve story coming.
Part 1 here.
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TWO
The sound of a motorcycle on the gravel drive pulled you from the cabinet you were inspecting. Looking through the open window, you had a clear view of Bucky Barnes swinging a leg over his bike and unzipping his jacket. He only had a backpack tied to the seat. The man traveled light.
He walked up the steps, noting that all the windows were wide open. “Hello?”
“In here!” You called.
He slowly moved inside, unsure what to expect. The musty odor of an interior too long neglected was not quite covered by the smell of fresh cleaning solutions. The reception hall rose two stories, with a grand staircase. A runner carpet looked drab and worn, but the wood wasn’t in bad shape.
“In the sitting room.” You spoke up again.
Bucky followed your voice to a room easily the size of his whole apartment. A wood writing desk and chair sat in front of one window. Many glass front bookcases held a whole library. One wall was dominated by a stone fireplace with decorative iron grates. A large area of the floor showed the discoloration of being covered by a carpet for years.
You sat on a wood chair in front of an open storage cabinet. Small boxes and stack of papers were spread out around you.
“Hey.” He set his backpack on the floor and removed his jacket.
“Hi,” you smiled. “Glad you could make it.” He just nodded, looking uncomfortable. You stood up. “Um, let me show you around.”
“Sure.” Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. “I, ah, I read the email you sent. It’s good to know something of what happened to my sister.”
The email included an overview of what you’d uncovered so far; when she got married, the fact she had a son, but he died in Vietnam, how her and her husband ran a small plant nursery on their property, and that she died at 72 from breast cancer. You guessed, the house was boarded up just before her husband died several years later.
“So, I hired exterminators and a cleaning company to come in and deal with the worst of it. Some of the furniture had vermin, like the sofas that had been in here, so I had anything that was too damaged moved out to the barn. The frames are still good, so someone may want to restore them. I found her journals in among the books. There’s a whole shelf of them over there. The bookcases were shut up tight, so everything in them are in good shape.”
His gaze followed where you pointed. You watched his brows pull together, but he didn’t approach the shelf.
“Come on, I’ll show you the rest of the house.”
You led him through the ground floor which included a more formal sitting room, the dining room, kitchen, a bathroom, a butler’s pantry, a utility room, a boot room, and rear breakfast room with huge windows.
“The cellar is finished, but it was primarily storage. I just made sure it’s been cleared of critters, but there’s tons of boxes and stuff down there.” You started up the stairs.  “Up here there’s six bedrooms and two and a half bathrooms. All the mattresses had to be tossed out. I order two new ones and put them in the two rooms that are in the best shape. They’re smaller rooms, here to the right. The master bedroom has a Juliet balcony which flooded and leaked into the room, so it wasn’t in very good shape.”
“Wherever you put me is fi-.” Bucky’s words trailed off. He froze, eyes locked on the portraits on the wall at the top of the stairs. You stepped aside, watching him carefully. Slowly he moved to a faded photo taken some time in the late sixties. His sister had the same blue eyes and dark hair. His jaw muscles clenched.
“She was beautiful.” You said quietly.
“Always had to beat the boys off.” His voice was thick. Bucky’s eyes moved to a photo of her and her husband, a few years later in their life. The corner of his mouth quirked up. “She looks like Ma.”
“You want me to leave you alone for bit?”
He stared at the picture in silence so long that you nearly left. Then he shook his head. “No. Stay. Please.”
“This one is you, right?” A little further down the hall was a framed picture of him in uniform. It was not his service picture. His hat sat at a slight angle and a flirtatious smile lit his face. He looked really attractive.
“Yeah, whole other life.” He sighed. “I think that was right before I left Brooklyn.”
Next to his picture was one of another soldier. This man was serious, and in a properly presented Army uniform. The name tag said ‘J. Peterson’.
“Their son.” You said. “She refers to him in her journals as ‘Jimmy’.”
Bucky bit down on the corner of his lip, nodding.
“Near as I can figure, he would have been 22 or 23 years old when he died.”
He frowned hard.
“Too young.” You sighed.
“They always are.” He closed his eyes for a moment then looked back at you. “Let’s finish the tour.”
“Okay.”
The stoic man with the hard stare in front of you seemed impossibly far from the smiling flirt in the old photograph or the teasing big brother in Rebecca’s writing. You really hoped that person still existed somewhere, a bit surprised at your deep yearning to see him smile.
“These stairs lead to the attic level. The worst damage is up there. Thankfully, they didn’t store much up there. The west side of attic level has four small bedrooms and one bathroom. The other side is all partially finished storage. There’s were a few steamer trunks up there. I had them move to the basement with the rest of the storage stuff.”
“So there’s nothing up there.”
“Not anymore. Anything worth keeping is either in the basement or the barn. I’ve got a crew coming to re-roof and they’re going to have to take everything down to the frame. Since that whole floor will be remodeled, there’s no point in putting up new sheet rock yet. So, it’s just better to have it empty.”
You opened a door to a comfortable room with a painted iron frame bed covered in a dark gray comforter. A small bedside table, chair and chest of drawers completed the room.
“This mine?”
“If it’s okay. I’m right next door. The bathroom is across the hall.”
“It’s great. Thanks.” He looked down the long hall with so many doors. “What did the two of them need with so much space?”
“First, I think her husband’s family inherited it. So, I don’t think they chose it. I also think they may have hosted kids or something here. I read one entry where Rebecca . . .”
“Becca,” Bucky correct you.
“Becca said something about ‘the boys’ coming for another trip. Plus, there’s a ton of winter gear in the basement. Way more than they would need and in all different sizes.”
“Hm.” Bucky shrugged. “Don’t know. So, what do you need me to do?”
You laughed. “Need? Nothing, sweetheart. Not why you’re here.”
His mouth fell open a little.
“You are here to go through your sister’s things and decide what you want to keep so I don’t feel guilty about using, tossing or selling things.” You smiled. “And in the process, I really hope you can find a little more joy than sorrow.”
His eyes softened. “No ulterior motive, huh?”
“I may ask you to lift something at some point.” You winked.
A shadow of a smile loosened his mouth, showing the fullness of his lips. “Fair enough, doll.”
“Doll?”
“If you get to use ‘sweetheart’, I get to use ‘doll’.”
“Fair enough.” You beamed back. “Come on, I want to get through that cabinet before lunch.”
He followed you down the stairs, “You’re feeding me too? Steve warned you how much I eat, right?”
You teased, “Yup. He increased the grant payout by ten percent.”
A huffed laugh came from behind you, causing a flutter in your stomach.
A/N:
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bungalowbear · 1 year
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The Honeys VI
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader
Word Count: 2k
A/N: After a long time away from this story here is the next chapter. Hope you enjoy!
Series Masterlist
In the several weeks since the start of the school year your life in Wormwood has settled into a good rhythm. The last waves of summer heat lingered, disrupted only by whispers of the early autumn breeze.
Life at the cottage was like a domestic fever dream. You were nervous about sharing the small abode with Bucky, but to your surprise he was a model roommate. You imagined that his time in the military instilled his habit of keeping things neat and orderly. The strict schedule he kept was also no doubt a product of his years not only in the Army, but also his time with S.H.I.E.L.D.
Every morning, Bucky rose before both you and the sun. Even on his days off from work at the garage. He completed his workouts in the backyard, which was more like an open field, where he’d found a large tractor sized tire and some sand bags left behind by the previous tenants. After, he went for a run through town and then ended up back at the cottage right as you finished with your morning shower. It was clockwork. While you prepared breakfast Bucky showered, then you ate together and talked until it was time for him to drive you to work.
You appreciated that your routine at Wormwood Academy was consistent until the first bell of the day. After, there were no guarantees about which turn the school day would take.
Though your position as Fury’s secretary prepared you to expect the unexpected, you could admit that even you were a little rattled the day three of your students returned from lunch with stomachaches. You had just barely picked up the phone on your desk to call the nurse’s office when the screaming started. You looked up and saw your entire class had fled to the edges of the room as three of their peers stayed sitting in their seats with sick on the front of their shirts.
You still shuddered at the memory.
Yes, the day could be unpredictable, but every morning you walked through the front doors and relished the short time to yourself. You passed by the front office, seeing Agatha through the slim vertical window frowning at her computer. You made your way up to the second level of the building and headed to the teacher’s lounge for a cup of tea. You passed by Mara’s open door and bid her a good morning before entering your classroom.
You opened the blinds, the sunlight illuminating the bland walls. Mara said you could decorate, but it’s been nearly one month into the school year and you still struggled with fully embracing your new identity. There was no doubt that you adored your students. But brightening the classroom, creating a haven for them in this drab building, seemed like a cruel trick to play. It might be pretty to look at for a time, but you didn’t know how long the illusion would last.
Bucky said there was a general timeframe for this operation, but there were things even he couldn’t predict. If he had his way Freeman would be exposed and detained before Christmas and the two of you would be back at S.H.I.E.L.D., returning to your old positions. However, with the slow progress you’ve made with Phoebe you had a feeling your stay in Wormwood could stretch into the spring. You knew that frustrated Bucky, when things were out of his control, and you felt the same each day you stepped into your classroom. Bucky wore his duty well and suggested you not dwell so much on what has to be done, that it was affecting your focus. But how could you not? This was your first undercover operation. You couldn’t easily take on the new persona like he could.
You sighed and moved to your desk, dropping your bag onto the edge and began setting up for your lessons for the day. The solitude seemed to you short lived when the bell rang. You greeted your students at the door and managed to herd them to their seats within a few minutes.
The first lesson of the day was reading. You had asked the kids to bring in a book they liked that they would then write a report on. You walked through the rows of desks, approving the grade level appropriate book that each student showed you. For a short time they read to themselves. You were thankful that your class size was small enough that you could visit each of them and asked about their books. When the bell rang for recess, you dismissed your class then sat at your desk.
While the students filed out, you noticed Phoebe walking with her friend Chrys, short for Chrysanthemum, and the former’s crestfallen expression. It was as if Bucky’s hand was on your back, pushing you to speak.
“Phoebe?” you called, watching as both girls stopped in the doorway and turned to look at you.
Phoebe answered in a soft voice, “Yes, Mrs. Honey?”
“Can I talk to you for a moment?”
The girls looked between each other for a brief moment before Chrys promised to wait at the swings. She continued on while Phoebe approached your desk.
“Yes, Mrs. Honey?” she repeated.
“Is everything alright?”
You saw the slight frown for a moment before Phoebe turned it upward in a way meant to convince you she’d perked up. But you spent enough time around Nick Fury to know when you were being deceived.
“Yes, Mrs. Honey.”
Your eyes scanned her face before they flicked over to her desk. Her copy of Charlotte’s Web still sat on top. You had watched her as she read, a frown on her face as she flipped dully from one page to the next.
“I just noticed you didn’t really seem to enjoy the book you picked for your report.”
“I like it.” Phoebe paused. “It’s just…”
You let the silence settle between you, not wanting to pressure her into saying something she didn’t want to. Maybe if you gave her some space she might return to you later with what was on her mind. You were just about to tell her that she could head out to recess and meet Chrys when she suddenly spoke.
“Can I trust you, Mrs. Honey?” Her eyes bounced between yours, searching. “I feel like I can trust you.”
Could she trust you? Wasn’t the whole reason you were assigned to this town, this school, to exploit any information you were given? Again, it was as if you could sense Bucky behind you, an invisible guidance to tell the girl what she wanted to hear.
But you couldn’t bring yourself to speak. Instead you nodded your head.
“I’m not supposed to talk about it,” Phoebe said.
“Talk about what?”
“That I read harder books,” she explained.
“Charlotte’s Web is a perfectly—”
“Not that one.” She interrupted you, not impolitely, then scurried over to her desk. She bent down to open her backpack and took out a worn paperback book. She brought it over to you and dropped it on your desk. Your brows raised at the Russian name printed on the front cover.
“Crime and Punishment?” you asked, bewildered. How fitting, you thought to yourself. “Is this your father’s book?”
“Step-father,” Phoebe corrected. “And no. This is mine. I’m almost finished with it. See?”
She pointed to the blue butterfly bookmark that stuck out from the pages. It was indeed resting near the bottom half of the book.
“I see,” you said.
“I really wanted to choose this for my book report, but I know I’m not allowed. That’s why I was feeling sad earlier.”
Her expression dropped again and you made a quick decision.
“Phoebe.” She looked up at you curiously and you straightened in your chair. “How do you feel about doing two book reports for me?”
“Two?”
“After you finish reading Charlotte’s Web—”
“I already did.”
“Excellent.” You smiled. “Then how about you do one for Crime and Punishment, too?”
“Really?”
You nodded. “You can turn it in at the end of the week, same as the other. I’ll look over it during the weekend and I’ll have them both back to you on Monday. How does that sound?”
Her expression brightened.
“That sounds wonderful.”
🐝
On Saturday morning you and Bucky went garage sale hunting. This activity had become part of your weekend routine, and it was also the perfect cover for reconnaissance on the townspeople of Wormwood.
The night before, Bucky had been hunched over the local newspaper at the kitchen table. He was always very calculated when choosing the week’s target. A couple notable garage sales you’d been to so far were the Sheriff’s ex-wife’s and the head of Wormwood Academy’s PTA. This week you would be going to see Mrs. Burns, the librarian of the public library.
Unlike the previous garage sales you’d been to where you had a better chance at connecting with the targets, you both decided that Bucky would take point today. He assured you, reluctantly, that older people loved him. You suspected it had to do with shared life experience.
Mrs. Burns was an elderly lady in her late sixties with silver hair and a thin golden chain attached to her glasses. While Bucky spoke with her about the book section of her sale, you wandered off to the edge of the lawn where you spotted a round iron garden table. You traced a finger along the intricate curves of the metalwork. You could envision the table in your garden. On a clear day, sun shining down on you as you wrote your reports or did schoolwork. Breakfast in the mornings with Bucky.
Your daydream was interrupted when you heard Bucky call out to you. With one last look at the table, you walked over and he wrapped his arm around your waist. The action had become so regular that now it was second nature for you to lean into him and snake your arm around him too.
Bucky looked over his shoulder, then back to Mrs. Burns. “How much for the table, Patty?”
Your brows shot up, not having realized he’d been keeping an eye on you. Or that he’d somehow managed to get on a first name basis with the older woman in a short amount of time. Though you should have known by now that Bucky could be very charming. It was part of what he did for a living after all.
“For you Charles,” Mrs. Burns smiled sweetly at Bucky, “I’ll give it to you for half what I would’ve charged anybody else.”
With a light blush on his cheeks, Bucky paid for the garden table and carried it to the car. Mrs. Burns thanked you both and bid you goodbye. Her hand lingered on Bucky’s arm for a few moments longer before you cleared your throat and she seemed to remember you were there.
“She seems lovely,” you commented while you were in the car on the way back to the cottage.
Bucky sighed, eyes fixed on the road. “She was.”
A few silent seconds passed.
“She’s a little young for you though, don’t you think?” You couldn’t help tease him. “About a thirty year gap between you.”
“Ha ha,” Bucky replied dryly. Though you saw the corners of his mouth turn up slightly.
When you arrived at the cottage, Bucky unloaded the table and carried it past the front gate and into the garden. You found the perfect spot and he set it down without breaking a sweat.
While Bucky spent the rest of the afternoon inside, you sat in your garden while you did your grading. You brought out a chair from the kitchen to use for now until you found one for the garden. Bucky said next weekend he’d double check the newspaper for anyone selling one. But for now you were content with your one chair, cup of tea, and the stack of book reports.
You were pleased with each of your students’ work, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t rushing just a little. You purposely saved both of Phoebe’s for last. The report on Charlotte’s Web was well done. She answered all required questions and provided a grade level appropriate analysis. But when you picked up the report for Crime and Punishment you were not prepared for what you read.
It must have been about an hour later when Bucky appeared behind you saying it was time for lunch. He picked up one of the several pages of Phoebe’s report you’d spread out across the table.
“The kid wrote this?” He sounds impressed.
You nodded, focused on the final page.
“This is—”
“Incredible,” you finished.
Bucky made a noise of agreement.
“It’s immaculate,” you continued. “From her grammar usage, to complex sentence structure, and even her penmanship. She’s making connections through the text that you don’t see until college level studies.”
“She’s very smart.”
“More than smart. She’s…” you paused. “Gifted.”
I do not do taglists. This series will be updated every first Friday of the month.
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sambambucky · 2 years
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asdfghjkll; i drafted so much for sambucky au week and only finished one thing so far, please enjoy the beginning of my submission for day 5. Genre Themed: based on film or TV | The Office (US)
The scene opens with a view of your average office interior. Most of the space is taken by groups of desks clustered together, with a few cubicles towards the back. Everything is clean, but drab. 
Cheap carpet, laminate wood, and fluorescent lighting. Beige, grey, white.
“Working here is amazing, you know. Just a dream come true.” 
Sam Wilson's voice is kind, approachable, and confident as he speaks over mundane scenes from around his workplace.
”When I was a kid, I always imagined working in an outdated office with only three parking lot-facing windows.”
We see him now, center of frame and seated in front of the beige wall of a small conference room. A sliver of window shows us a few of his co-workers settling into their desks.
He's wearing a short sleeve button up shirt, a red burgundy that fits well enough. He's put together, goatee cleaned up, though there is a hint of sleepiness to his eyes.
More of his co-workers filter into the office space as he continues. 
“Trying to save small businesses a couple thousand dollars a year but pitching it like we’ve discovered the cure to Alzheimer's? It’s great.”
A few have backpacks, some with briefcases, but they all come in with someone at their side. The groups are mostly divided by team, talking animatedly as they make coffee and put away their lunch. 
“I swear when I was seventeen, I told my college recruiter: my biggest dream is to work at a desk forty hours a week for the rest of my life. Tell me what degree I need to do that.”
There is a singular private office near the front entrance. Tony Stark emerges the moment James Rhodes arrives, a comically oversized mug cradled in his hands. His exhausted expression brightens by degrees as they chat quietly and watch everyone else file in. 
Sam, still in the conference room raises his eyebrows, gaze off camera. He leans forward, tilting his head for a second before falling back fully into his chair.
“Sarcastic?" He laughs, a smirk on his face. "No one’s ever –”
A knock on the window rattles the plastic blinds and cuts him off, making him sit up and look up over the camera again. 
From the outside of the conference room, we see it’s Bucky Barnes at the window, looking visibly less put together. He kisses his middle three fingers before pressing them to the window, a sleepy, boyish smile on his face.
We can see, even from the outside view, that Sam’s smile is soft as he raises out of his seat to return the gesture. 
Natasha Romanova, in a sharp black pantsuit that is overdressed for this setting by several degrees, grabs Bucky by the arm and pulls him away from the window. They lean into each other as they speak, barely looking up as the walk to the back cubicles. 
Inside the conference room, Sam flops back into his chair and the frame with a sigh. 
“I can admit there are a few okay things about working here.”
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stray-kaz · 1 year
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Snow & Ice : a Bucky Barnes x OC FF : Nine
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Bit of 18 and up, y’all.
When the two women stepped out of the automobile, Peggy rolled her eyes as a broad shouldered man bulled his way toward them through the milling soldiers, all curious as to the identity of the young lady now in their midst. Peggy touched Lucie’s elbow lightly.
“Brace yourself” she muttered under her breath. “He’s a hard case.”
“Margaret” the man growled through gritted teeth.
He jabbed a finger at Lucie; she bristled and drew herself up, flinging her shoulders back.
“She shouldn’t be here” the man in officer uniform snapped. “Are you crazy, Agent Carter? We can’t have civilians to babysit!”
Peggy glanced at Lucie, whose eyes had gone hard and focused.
“I don’t need babysitting” she said firmly. “I’m a big girl. I can look after myself.”
Peggy bit back a smile. “Officer Phillips, this is Lucie Hall. She’s here for Sergeant Barnes. Captain Rogers called her and she hopped on the next plane out.”
Officer Chester Phillips didn’t look impressed, but his gaze calmed a little.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry that you flew all the way out here for nothing” he said. “Sergeant Barnes is dead, ma’am, and he isn’t coming back.”
Lucie bit her bottom lip and said nothing, but her own eyes didn’t soften.
“You don’t know that” she told him, the fingers of her left hand flexing tightly around the handle of her suitcase. “Steve’s gone to find him and he’ll bring me back my Bucky.”
She looked around at the scattered tents and the mud.
“Now, where’s his tent?”
Phillips stared down at her, deliberating. He seemed to make his decision.
“How old are you, kid?” he asked gruffly.
“Twenty two, sir.”
He shook his head.
“You’ve got guts.”
Lucie inclined her head toward Peggy.
“That’s what she said.”
Phillips glanced at Peggy and sighed.
“Of course she did” he muttered. “It figures. All right, follow me.”
She smiled up at Peggy before setting off after the officer, all too aware of the heavy gazes of the other men weighing on her.
“Who’s that?”
“Is that Bucky’s fiancée?”
“What’s she doing here?”
“Here for Sergeant Barnes, I guess…”
“Pretty tough for such a little thing, then, isn’t she?”
Their words glanced off and made her blush, but she kept her eyes forward and didn’t look at any of them, intent on following Officer Phillips and not tripping and landing face down in the wet dirt. At last, they reached a brown tent that looked the same as all of the others and Phillips drew the entry flap aside, gesturing for her to go in ahead of him. It looked as she’d imagined all of those times: drab, plain, a cot, low table with cards scattered on it, a spare rifle. There was no decoration, but for the photograph lying face down on Bucky’s bedroll. Lucie turned to face Phillips when he coughed a little awkwardly to get her attention.
“You can’t stay long” he told her. “Whether he’s alive, as you think, or not, we can’t have civilians in an active war zone.”
Lucie nodded and leaned her suitcase against the little table.
“I understand, sir” she said politely. “Thank you.”
He nodded at her.
“Do you have arrangements to fly home?”
“Yes. Three days from now. I will be out of your hair soon enough, sir, don’t worry.”
She smiled slightly and he looked as if he wanted to say something more, but he closed his mouth again. He nodded to her once more before ducking back outside the tent and letting the flap swing back into place.
Suddenly overcome by exhaustion, Lucie sat down hard on the edge of the cot. Then, remembering the photograph, she leaned back and grabbed for it, catching it between finger and thumb. She turned it over and found herself looking down at a picture of her and Bucky on a ferris wheel at Coney Island. It had been taken by Steve, clearly, as he wasn’t in it, and the two of them were waiting to be rotated up to the top of the giant structure. She was leaning her head on Bucky’s shoulder and smiling widely down at Steve holding onto the camera. She smiled down at the photo now; it was obviously one of Bucky’s fond memories, too.
Lucie yawned and considered the cot, her eyelids drooping. It would probably be uncomfortable, but better than falling asleep on the hard ground. Clasping the photograph to her chest, she slid up the length of the cot and lay down, her head pillowed on the bedroll and her knees drawn up. Seconds later, she was asleep, her thoughts slipping away into dreams.
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Bucky was quiet walking beside Steve on their way back to camp, his sniper rifle resting comfortably in his arms. His footfalls were quiet thuds of his boots on pine needles and packed mud, the sounds of the forest lulling him away to thoughts of Lucie.
Until Steve noticed that the silence had gone on too long and nudged him out of it with an elbow to the ribs. Bucky jerked and glanced up at him, startled.
“What?” he asked, confused, looking around him.
Steve smiled wearily back at him.
“You’re very quiet, Buck” he said. “What did they do to you back there?”
Bucky lowered his head and turned it away, reluctantly remembering the image reels playing through his mind, the drug concocted films that he now recognised to be false.
“I don’t want to talk about it” he mumbled, chewing on his bottom lip.
Steve’s smile faded and he nodded slowly, adjusting his grip on the gun he held; he didn’t like guns but had been forced to take one, just in case. Suddenly, Bucky’s head flew up and he pinned Steve with his blue eyed stare.
“Have you spoken to Lucie recently?” he demanded, restraining himself from grabbing hold of the front of Steve’s uniform and shaking him. “Does she know what happened? Does she think I’m dead?”
Steve looked steadily back at him, inwardly debating what to tell him. But Bucky’s gaze was wild, his eyes wide in his pale face. The stark blue of his eyes stood out frankly and he couldn’t lie to him.
“Yes, I’ve spoken to her. I called her back in Brooklyn as soon as I knew what had happened. I think I woke her up.”
Bucky waved this off.
“Well, of course you did” he retorted, muttering. “It would have been the middle of the night. What happened?”
“I told her everything I knew, but she doesn’t think you’re dead. In fact, she’s probably at camp right now, waiting for you.”
Bucky’s eyes widened even more and he stopped looking where he was walking, so nearly tripped headlong over a protruding tree root.
“What?” he sputtered. “She flew to Germany? Is she insane? Certifiable?”
Steve grinned wryly.
“She’s just in love with you, Buck, that’s all.”
Bucky’s gaze didn’t waver from his face for a few more seconds before he finally gave in and looked out at what stood in front of them: more trees and dirt and interminable space between him and Lucie.
“They drugged me” he said flatly, causing Steve to glance worriedly at him. “They found my photo of Lucie and took it and gave me something to knock me out and make me dream things. I believed it all because it felt so real, and I couldn’t wake up. I saw her die.”
His voice choked and he felt Steve’s hand come down on his shoulder.
“She’s not dead, Buck” he murmured, conscious of the dozens of other tired, rescued men walking behind them. “She’s very much alive and she came for you. She didn’t give up, so don’t you give up.”
Bucky hesitated, then nodded very slowly and cleared his throat roughly. He sniffed and raised one arm to wipe hard at the tears collected in the corners of his eyes.
“It’s been a year” he muttered. “Or close enough to a year. I wonder if she’s changed.”
Steve chuckled quietly.
“Not in any bad ways, Buck” he assured him. “She still loves you and she’s waiting for you. You’ll see.”
Bucky nodded and bit his lip, shifting his grip on the rifle in his hands.
“Okay, Steve” he replied. “You’d better be right.”
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A great cry swept through the camp that woke Lucie from her sleep. Groggy and disoriented, she slowly sat up on Bucky’s narrow cot and looked around, gradually remembering where she was. And then the noises came again, alerting her to a change in the battle atmosphere outside. She rubbed at her eyes and swung her feet onto the floor, standing up and running her fingers through her hair. The photograph in her grasp fluttered to the floor and she bent down to retrieve it, placing it carefully down on the card table. Three loud cheers went up and she stepped to the tent flap, pulling it aside and peering cautiously out. Soldiers were crowded around a slightly smaller group; she couldn’t see through to the centre of them.
A hand grabbed hers and she startled, looking wide eyed at Peggy as she stepped closer to her, smiling.
“They’re safe” she told her, her smile widening.
The air in Lucie’s lungs vanished and she felt like she’d been sucker punched.
“What?” she gasped, stunned.
Peggy squeezed her hand and pointed.
“Steve did it” she reiterated. “He found the men and got them out. He found -”
“Bucky” Lucie breathed, feeling her heart beating in her throat.
She tore away from Peggy without another word and without looking back and ran. She ran across the distance between Bucky’s tent and the crowded soldiers. She put her hands on one of them and pushed. He looked down at her, surprised, and instantly stepped back. He tapped the guy next to him and nodded at Lucie.
“Let her through” he ordered.
Lucie pushed her way between soldier after soldier; some of them moved for her, some of them were annoyed and looked as if they wanted to shove back. And then, finally, she broke through to the middle of the circle and they were standing right there. Bucky and Steve, alive, safe, alive. A shocked, broken sound escaped her and his head shot up, eyes locking on her face. Later, they wouldn’t have been able to say who moved first, only that they collided with one another bodily, her feet leaving the ground and her arms wrapping in a vise around his neck. Bucky was holding her so tight she could hardly breathe, but that didn’t matter at all because he was holding her now and nothing else mattered to her.
Her face pressed against the side of his neck, he could feel her lashes fluttering against his skin as she blinked away tears that slipped free nonetheless and splashed onto his skin, streaking through the sweat and dirt accumulated there. He dug his fingers into the back of her dress and she opened her mouth onto his neck as the dull pain shocked her, his fingers surely going to leave bruises.
And then he pulled away so he could look at her, his paleness shocking her even more. She reached up to press a trembling hand to his cheek, short, rough stubble scraping her palm and pads of her fingers. He let her down slowly, keeping one hand bunched up in the fabric of her dress, keeping her close. With his free hand, he trapped her chin and used it to tilt her head back and kissed her. Her response overbalanced him slightly and he stumbled a few steps back in the dirt, finally righting himself feet away from the gun he’d dropped the second he’d laid eyes on her. As he kissed her, he settled his hand on the side of her neck, two fingers against the flying pulse beneath her jaw.
He began gently, relief flooding through him that she was alive, she was here with him even though this was a place he wanted her never to see, never to know, but it soon changed and he became more desperate, running his hands all over her, clutching, pulling, tugging. Soft sounds echoed in his ears, she was leaning into him, her fingers tangling in his messy hair, the tip of his tongue touched hers and she pressed her fingernails into his scalp.
Somebody coughed and they stopped, parting, still touching, turning their heads to see Steve reddened, trying not to look. He was the one who had cleared his throat.
“Um, I think it’s best if you save that for later” he mumbled, embarrassed.
Lucie bit her lip and leaned against Bucky, his hands immediately coming to rest on her hips. He propped his chin on her head and grinned wearily over at Steve.
“Sorry, pal” he said. “It’s been a while.”
“Clearly” Steve muttered.
He began to wave his hands at the still gathered soldiers.
“All right, everyone clear out” he ordered. “Let them eat in peace. Come on, you two, let’s get some food in you.”
Bucky slipped his hand into Lucie’s and led her after Steve to the large, open mess tent.
Lucie sat beside Bucky as they ate, their hands clasped together on his right thigh. He ate with difficulty using his left hand, as his right was occupied. Lucie was pressed right up along his side, her head pressed to his shoulder as she ate, peace radiating through her. She had seen the haunting ghosts in his eyes, but she wasn’t going to ask about them yet. She would let him come to her with it; she would not drag it out of him.
“Lucie, hey.”
His voice was raspy and soft as it reached her and she sat up straighter, turning her head to look at him.
“The boys are talking about maybe going out for a drink and some dancing. Do you fancy going or do you want to go back to my tent?”
There was something not quite articulated in what he was asking, something nevertheless spoken loud and clear by his expressive eyes. His mouth was asking her if she wanted to go dancing, but his eyes were asking her if she perhaps wanted, instead, to finish what they’d begun on his last Brooklyn night. She looked back at him, her eyes clear and overjoyed at being able to see him again. She squeezed his hand and he looked down then back up, curious. She stood and pulled him to his feet; they stepped simultaneously over the bench seat and stood in front of one another.
“I think dancing can wait” she told him quietly, looking up into his face. “We can go dancing tomorrow. I want you to myself for a little while, James Barnes.”
Colour rose in his cheeks and his eyes danced. He tugged her hand up to his mouth and kissed the back of it.
“Come on then” he murmured against her skin. “Let’s go.”
They walked back through the camp hand in hand, Bucky rubbing his thumb over the back of Lucie’s hand over and over again. Catcalls followed them to Bucky’s tent, but he waved them off and lifted the flap for Lucie to duck through in front of him. Just in front of it, he knelt to unlace his boots and pull them off, wincing at the pain in his feet. He straightened without raising his head and toed off his socks, leaving them by the flap. He yanked his sweater off over his head and shucked off his army issue trousers. He heard rapid foot shuffling and the quiet yelp of an almost fall and finally lifted his head. His mouth went dry as cotton. Lucie was standing a little awkwardly a few feet in front of him, her green dress pooled untidily around her ankles. That’s why she had almost fallen over. There was no petticoat underneath, just a fair canvas of bare skin and matching peach coloured brassiere and panty set. Her cheeks were flushed with high colour as her gaze met his and she opened her mouth to say something.
“I didn’t have time to dress properly before I left” she said shyly.
It was all she had time for because Bucky crossed the distance between them easily, his mouth and tongue searching hers and his hands reaching to map her body, from the freckles on her shoulders to the curves of her hips. He paused in kissing her, his forehead pressed hard to hers, and looked down, his gaze glancing over her lips and dropping lower. Shakily, his hands skimmed the sides of her body until they reached her covered breasts. Lucie inhaled sharply, trying not to scare him. He ducked his head and locked her in his sight; her eyes were wide and dark now, her lips parted and red from his ministrations. He knew he would look much the same, his hair dishevelled from her exploring fingertips. He tugged gently on the straps of her brassiere, still looking her carefully in the eyes. She looked straight back, her chest rising and falling quickly.
“May I?” he asked her quietly, his voice very low.
She nodded, afraid to speak around the lump in her throat, but still he waited, needed to be sure of her. So she spoke.
“Yes.”
Bucky pulled her close against him and wrapped his arms around her, nimble, battle blunted fingers unclasping the tiny metal hooks with gentle ease. He slipped the straps down her arms and tossed the flimsy garment onto his own pile of clothes by the tent flap. Shadows covered them now and darkness spilled like ink onto the floor of the tent, creeping over their feet and threatening to swallow them whole if they didn’t do something about it. So Bucky did. He wrapped warm, strong arms around Lucie again and lifted her up, her chest pressing against his. They both sighed and he carried her to his cot, where he lay her down, making sure her head was on his bedroll. He leaned over her, his knees bracing him on either side of her hips. He leaned down closer and softly grazed her mouth with his; she closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him down further.
Foreheads touching, mouths meeting, they whispered at the same time.
“I love you.”
They smiled, then he was slow and careful and breathtaking and burning up and then she took him as the night swallowed them whole and a shooting star chased its descent across the black sky.
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fallencomrade · 2 years
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                                      𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁  𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝚂.                                                      JAMES   BARNES                                                                              ( CURRENT VERSE )  
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𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁  𝟶𝟶𝟷    :    𝐓𝐇𝐄    𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄.    
•  NAME  :  james buchanan  “ bucky ”  barnes.  
•  EYE COLOR  :  slate grey. 
•  HAIR STYLE  /  COLOR  :  ivy league cut.  classic scissor cut  /  dark brown.
•  HEIGHT  :  6″0"
•  CLOTHING STYLE  :  nondescript combat gear if on assignment. leather, spandex, kevlar, tactical vests and body armor. at face value, his choice in civilian clothing appear to be similar in nature and simplicity  -  drab, mundane, unexceptional  -  but james is actually quite self - aware of his outward appearance when eyes are allowed to follow him and dedicates some time in making sure he looks presentable, even if all he is wearing is a pair of old, worn jeans and a weathered leather jacket. he favors a certain subdued style, preferences which become slightly more clearer within the tiny details of the choices he consistently makes. he may not own much, but his closet consists mostly of darker colored plain t-shirts -  shades of browns, grays, blues and forest green - and worn jeans.           he does not own shorts or any kind of sweaters, but does have a few sweatshirts and a number of leather and bomber jackets. buck also has a certain proclivity for shoes, possessing a number of particularly expensive oxfords and derby plain toe shoes, neatly stacked next to a number of boots and sneakers. his style is much more simplistic than it had been back in the 30s, but james still has a way about him -  looking good despite his charade of nonchalance.
•  BEST PHYSICAL FEATURE  :  strong jaw line.  lush hair. 
𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁  𝟶𝟶𝟸    :    𝐓𝐇𝐄    𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄.    
•  FEARS  :  loss of control.  choice.  himself  /  his potential.   
•  GUILTY PLEASURE  :  trashy take - out  /  fast food,  bourbon  /  coffee  -  despite its ineffectuality.  the dodgers.  records & old movies.  polished shoes.  freshly baked pastries.  motorcycles.   
•  BIGGEST PET PEEVE  :  arrogant, egotistical high - and - mighty types.  megalomaniacs.  gaslighting.  entitlement.  derisive jokes  /  sense of humor.  a certain blonde punks’ complete inability to listen or follow even the most basic set of instructions ( ! )  also, how about habitual recklessness ?  or people who tend to do the exact opposite of what you ask them to do ?  and let us not forget his total disregard to self - preservation or his big mouth that just has ta challenge everyone and everything, always gettin’ him into trouble-- !
•  AMBITIONS FOR THE FUTURE  :  to make as little noise as possible. to fade away quietly. as the soldier,  he was used to punch such a huge crater into the making of history.    barnes would like nothing more than to live a life that has no further influence or impact in the world’s narrative.  if he can also achieve some good and make some amends before fading out, that would be something worth doing as well. 
𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁  𝟶𝟶𝟹    :    𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒.
•  FIRST THOUGHTS WAKING UP  :  those rare nights barnes does manage to shut his mind off long enough to fall asleep, more often than not he finds himself violently jolting back not an hour or two later thanks to a slew of horrific, reoccurring nightmares.   on such occasions, first thoughts are typically frantic disorientation, racing mind and unruly thoughts as he desperately tries to ascertain his current situation and location, any presence of danger or hostiles around him, if he is being watched, if he is being activated.     muscle memory tends to take over, the process of reawakening    &&    activation burned so strongly into his body and mind after all those years spent being ripped from stasis,      that he immediately assumes he is in a similar situation.       he can feel the ghost of hands on his body, demanding - dragging him forward, forcing him upright  ;;  can hear the echo of voices barking at his ear, the grinding of the chair charging to life ...  && his thoughts scream :   do not let them see weakness.     focus, focus, focus !  those rare times he does wake peacefully, his first thought is usually to find out what time it is and how long he managed to sleep.
•  WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT MOST :  his surroundings, his past, his crimes, his victims, his future.  
•  WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT BEFORE BED :   if it is safe for him to fall asleep. plans for tomorrow. the score of the game on the tv. reactions to the podcast playing in his ear. james tries to use any sort of distraction to steer his mind away from thoughts of his past.
•  WHAT THEY THINK THEIR BEST QUALITY IS :   -- maybe his, work ethic ?  or maybe his realistic outlook on life,  neither an idealist or a woeful pessimist   -   which allows him to make pragmatic decisions based on what he has seen and lived through.  
𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁  𝟶𝟶𝟺    :    𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓’𝐒    𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑?
•  SINGLE OR GROUP DATES  :   single, for certain. 
•  TO BE LOVED OR RESPECTED :  loved. 
•  BEAUTY OR BRAINS :  james barnes has always been a sucker for a beautiful dame, but show him a pretty face with a sharp mind and a wicked tongue to match, and he will fall to his knees and worship.
•  DOGS OR CATS  :  cats. 
𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁  𝟶𝟶𝟻    :    𝐃𝐎    𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘…
•  LIE  :  not often and not about most things, with the exception of his feelings and thoughts about himself and his past.    typically he either tells the truth or is silent about the subject at hand.
•  BELIEVE IN THEMSELVES :  no. 
•  BELIEVE IN LOVE  :  sure. 
•  WANT SOMEONE :  doesn’t everyone ? 
𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁  𝟶𝟶𝟼    :    𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄    𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘    𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑…
•  BEEN ON STAGE  :  a few times, back in his howlie days. 
•  CHANGED WHO THEY WERE TO FIT IN :  there were some occasions while on - assignment where the soldier was forced to in order to complete a mission objective or tail a target, but espionage was never the soldier’s forte and hydra kept him mostly concealed in the shadows, where he proved to work best.   he did to some degree proceeding the fall of project insight and while on the run,              in order to blend in with the society around him and avoid detection.
𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁  𝟶𝟶𝟽    :    𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒.
•  FAVORITE COLOR  :   blue (navy). 
•  FAVORITE ANIMAL  :  finches / goats.  
•  FAVORITE BOOK :  the maltese falcon.  a martian odyssey.  
•  FAVORITE GAME  :  poker. solitaire.  
𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁  𝟶𝟶𝟾    :    𝐀𝐆𝐄.
•  DAY THEIR NEXT BIRTHDAY WILL BE  :  10th, March
•  HOW OLD WILL THEY BE  :  whose even keepin’ count anymore ?   old. 
𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁  𝟶𝟶𝟿    :    𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇    𝐓𝐇𝐄    𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄.
•  I LOVE :  the colors the sky turns when the sun rises in the morning and sets in the evening.
•  I FEEL  :  more than i let on / more than people think i do. 
• I HIDE  :  from those who want to help me. 
•  I MISS  :  simplicity. peace. naïveté
•  I WISH  :  things had turned out differently...
TAGGED  BY :  self - tagged.  TAGGING :  @camerica​​ ; @mxndwitch​​ ; @fraegiles​​ ( muse of choice ! ) ; @sanguionus​​ ; @cxpt​​​    +  first  three  lovelies  on  my  dash ( at  time of queue ) :  @jazzloved ; @seesgood​  &&  @brooklynsoul <33
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rev-pirate · 2 years
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Tagged by @asexualzoro
Fave time of year: Summer. And those precious few days where a drab, chilly, wet spring finally starts giving way to the summer or when summer starts loosening it’s grip enough for the cool fall breeze to sweep through and you need a light jacket. Ultimately i am a lizard. I need sunlight. i want the sun to seep into my bones. I hate being cold. Winter depresses me too much. There is nothing quite like a nice summer day and taking a walk around the canal or sitting down in the shade by a fountain to read or write. Or taking a hike on the woodland trails and soaking your feet in the river while you watch the way the sunlight dances along the ripples. Going for a long drive with the windows down, the sun at your side, and jamming to some music. I am shaking the midwestern weather rn it is almost may why is it still cold
Comfort food: my relationship with food is unpleasant to say the least. I’m not sure i have one? But if i had to choose it might be chicken noodle soup with a healthy dose of mashed potatoes mixed in
Do you collect something: i collect a lot of things, its honestly a problem. Moving it all is a pain. And my wallet begs for mercy. Mainly I collect art prints, figures, models, comic books, dragon statues, ships, and books on my history interests. Though comic books i have fallen off from bc i moved and changed careers and there is no longer a comic book shop right down the street both from where i work and from my apartment and it’s difficult to convince my executive function to get dressed and leave the house to drive 20 minutes to get comic books on Wednesday when i could be watching Philza and cross stitching
Fave drink: Tea. Specifically earl grey. Drank hot in the winter. But in the summer a nice blend of Luzianne and earl grey makes for a very refreshing iced tea best drank while relaxing on the porch or patio with a book/fanfiction
Fave song: this is a tough one. Uhhhhhhhh. I think i’m gonna have to go with either the cover of High Hopes by Postmodern Jukebox or the cover of Portal’s Still Alive by 8-bit Big Band
Fave fic: the one that comes to mind for me is always The Night War: 60th Anniversary Edition by praximeter. It’s written as if it were a published journal that was written by Bucky Barnes during ww2 complete with footnotes explaining events/people/things/slang and providing historical context both real and only real in the context of the universe it takes place in. It also contains a healthy dose of Unreliable Narration. Genuinely reads like an actual published journal you picked up in the history aisle. It’s been years. I’m still Obsessed.
Tag 9 people you want to know better: rather than tagging anyone i’m just gonna say that anyone following me who wants to do this can say i tagged them in it i give my blessing
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ao3feed-stevebucky · 1 year
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Just The Beginning
read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/bmfUDMn
by honeycrrrisp
He’s seven years old when they meet, when the colors in the world shift from boring and drab to bright and vivid.
Words: 5109, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Series: Part 3 of kitty & puppy
Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Captain America - All Media Types
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: M/M
Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers, Sarah Rogers (Marvel), Winifred Barnes, Rebecca Barnes Proctor, Peggy Carter
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Additional Tags: Growing Up, Teenagers, Kids, Fluff, Tiny bit of Angst, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boys In Love, Moving In Together, Alpha Steve Rogers, Omega Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Scenting, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Knotting, Multiple Orgasms, Cat Ears, Cat/Human Hybrids, Cat Bucky Barnes, Dog Steve Rogers, Fluff and Smut, smut happens when they're older
read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/bmfUDMn
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mushyjellybeans · 4 years
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Loser Does The Laundry
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Prompt: reader introducing Bucky to computer games and bonding through it.
Warnings: FLUFF
A/N: this is for @the-ss-horniest-book-club quarantine drabbles! Grateful to this group for keeping us motivated during this pandemic situation 💜
"Hey doll, what are you doing?" Bucky asked with his hands shoved in his front pockets as he sheepishly walked towards you, his hair pulled back in a cute bun and you were jealous how he could make a man bun look so good.
"Just playing mario kart." You said with a slightly higher octave.
Bucky hummed and sat next to you. His hands in his lap as he watched your fingers press the buttons on the controller consistently.
"What does that button do?" He asked as he pointed to it.
"That's the acceleration button. Do you- do you want to play with me? We could play one on one." You asked and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.
"Sure!" Bucky grabbed the second controller and you started a new game.
The first round was intense and you let Bucky win a few races and then he started getting cocky when he genuinely beat you.
"Damn I'm good!" He raised his arms as he won another.
"I want a rematch! Loser makes popcorn for the movie night Friday night." You challenged.
"Pfft. If you're making a challenge doll, make it a challenge. Loser does the other person's laundry for the whole week."
"Hope you know how to use the washing machine!"
He indeed didn't need to. You had lost 3 consecutive rounds of mario kart and now Bucky was sprawled out on the couch with his book and coffee humming in delight as he smirked at you working hard folding the laundry. His laundry. The only thing you didn't tell him, his once white socks and boxers are now a pretty pink.
Tags: @sebbbystaaan @stuckonjbbarnes @valkyriesryde @jobean12-blog @this-kitten-is-smitten @honeyvbarnes @loricameback @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @criminal-cookies @hopingforbarnes @mycupoffanfiction
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iphoenixrising · 5 years
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For 600 Followers: The Surgeon, The Captain, and the Soldier
From the Dr!Tim Universe: civilian!Tony, Captain America!Steve, and Winter!Bucky Barnes. Mr_Flamingo said he would read the shit out of this. Welp, there you go.
Dr. Stark is a busy, busy man. Even without the weight of Stark Industries on his back (thank-you Miss Potts), he still runs from one emergency to the next.
This one just happens to be to The Captain America.
Which is so Classified even the top level brass don’t know the guy’s real name. Probably because his files have been sealed longer than most of them have been alive, which is just grand. If there’s anything Dr. Stark likes, it’s a challenge.
When Nick Fury of S.H.I.E.L.D came to him because honestly, he the best surgeon they’re going to get in this half of the hemisphere anyway, Tony tried to throw him out for approximately twelve seconds–
Until the file was tossed over his desk and a picture flops out pretty much in his lap.
And that picture is of a beautiful man.
With a star on his chest.
“I don’t put Cosplayers over people with real problems, Nick.”
“Stark, when I say he’s the real deal, that’s what I motherfucking mean.”
Mmhm. And he graduated from Med School yesterday. “Captain America has been dead for only seventy years, give or take. Looks spry for his age, good for him. I bet he’s Osteo’s wet dream, right?” Because he really does enjoy having witty banter with his rejections.
That’s when Nick Fury leaned over his desk, “you’re the only civilian the Black Widow has ever let work on her, and you think I’m bringing you someone in a costume?”
Some of the incredulous is creeping out of this exchange with the way Fury’s remaining eye is focused. “Seventy years? Nick, that’s–” but when Nick hasn’t moved a muscle, hasn’t blinked, probably hasn’t so much as inhaled.
That’s when the possibility becomes reality.
“Holy shit.” Tony’s eyes blow wide and the run-of-the-mill play date in the lab to make something to help with those pesky arteriovenous malformations is right on the backburner. “You’re kidding me.”
“Would I be here if I was kidding, Stark? He is the real World War II veteran. You save his life and I will give you what we have on a certain reason he survived.”
Dr. Stark stares for approximately thirty seconds, judging. The next instant he’s in his sharp coat and red shades, riding to DC in an Apache helicopter.
(Once upon a time, he would have told the engineers how he could make it better, but since his Dad died, he didn’t have to build for SI anymore. He could build for his passion and not feel one fucking bit bad about it.)
Forty-five minutes and he’s scrubbing in, the situation crucial. Agent gave him the run-down without giving him any real information on how this happened. He got a glance at scans of the cranial fracture and hemorrhaging. Shards of skull had been embedded in the grey matter (which makes no sense how he survived this long except as another shred of proof he’s the real deal. Captain Fucking America… his inner fanboy is screaming behind his calm, cool, surgeon demeanor.)
The team S.H.I.E.L.D gave him for the procedure are obviously all military, and in such need of a good laugh. Dr. Stark is sure they’re under order to watch every twitch of his fingers just in case he’s going to try making Captain America a drooling moron or something while poking around in his brain. So, he has to pull out the old SI CEO song and dance, being an unrepentant witty smart ass and talk fast before any of the sternly gowned agents can threaten him with horrible dismemberment if anything should happen to their delicate snowflake.
He gets the one called Barton to crack a smile while they’re scrubbing up, and it’s all going to be fine.
All is right with the world, except when he comes into the nice, sterile OR–
Where he finds the patient awake.
“Hey there, big guy,” he pats the shoulder of the utterly stunning blonde (who is apparently as old as his great-grandpa and has abs for miles), “we probably shouldn’t be meeting this way, considering you’re apparently the biggest secret in the Modern World, next to Big Foot sightings and the what is that gross ring around the tub really made of debate, but still, it’s nice to make your acquaintance. I’m Dr. Stark, and I’ll be your surgeon for the evening. Let me guess, gurney for one?”
He’s talking but checking machines, supplies, and sliding the special eyewear, taking the opportunity to review the site opened at the scalp to show the skull fracture at the side of Captain America’s head. While he watches, the skin is trying to heal around the clamps and a nurse apparently familiar with the Captain’s rate of healing is constantly re-adjusted to keep the wound open enough for surgery.
(The impact should have killed him. How did it not kill him? “Time is of the essence, Dr. Stark. You need to pull the bone fragments while he can keep his skull from healing over it.” Christ, Agent Tight-Ass, full work-up next time for Project Super Soldier Sandwich.)
“Hm…” slurred from behind the oxygen mask, and if Dr. Stark wasn’t one hundred percent invested on making sure he had everything he would need to fix the oddly not healing bleeder in the Captain’s temporal lobe (with things like Wernicke's aphasia hovering in the background), he would have shuddered. “Got that reference, Doc. S’funny.”
Watching the electroencephalography to monitor the Captain’s brain activity, Tony glances over as S.H.I.E.L.D’s people start filtering in around him and the ones with guns watch him closely through the observation windows.
“Never doubted you for a second, Captain. Guy that punched Hitler should be right above a Yeti in my opinion. Anyhoo,” and Tony, gowned, gloved, and masked, comes around to look at the very, very blue eyes and hold a hand close to the Captain’s blonde eyebrows to check the dilation. “The nice esthetician over there is going to hit you up with something to make you very, very sleepy so I can fix that terrible headache you’re probably having right now.”
And Captain America looks up at him from under those lashes, quirks a small shit-eating grin, “ssorry, Doc Stark. Knockouts...won’t work on me. S’ ‘causea the Serum. Gonna be awake no matter how much they gimmie.”
Blinking with his heart in his throat because he can’t imagine the pain the Captain must be in right about now, Tony gets himself back with, “oh? Then I have your witty repartee to look forward to while I work, don’t I Captain?”
“SSteve, Doc. I’m SSteve.”
“Nice to meet you, Steve. I’m Tony, and I’m going to save your life.”
“Soundss like ya gotta plan, Tony.”
And when the slightly familiar red-headed nurse gives him the thumbs up and it’s time to start, he has to step back around to the site being kept open for him.
“I always have a plan, Steve. Fortunately for you, part of my plan involves great music and nice conversations while we discuss your vitals.”
AC/DC starts in with a little Back in Black. And since he is who he is, him mouth moves on autopilot while he works with a delicate touch, fast and efficient, getting side-tracked from his running monologue with Captain Awake and Alert and Answering to accept vitals and updates from the other staff.
It’s been hours, and he’s on up-to-date knock-knock jokes.
They’ve run the gambit of must-see movies (and no he doesn’t see Agent Tight-Ass writing down the ones Steve asks about in detail because yes, he should see Firefly. Alien cowboys, Captain. Alien cowboys), and spent so much time on just the 60’s.
He’s gotten some stories that are absolutely hilarious (because Steve was so curious about the most oddball shit, ATMs, Fitbits, Twitter…) and is closing the wound in Steve’s scalp before he realizes he’s...done.
“Feels so much better, Tony, thank-you.”
“Hey, glad I was in the neighborhood. You’re quite the conversationalist when I’m poking around in your brain.”
“Could say the same. Thought ya might re-wire me to do something silly. Bark like a dog when someone says bell or something.”
And the staff is cleaning up around them, giving Tony the space to ease down just a notch, and wink, “sorry Captain, something I save for the bedroom, not the operating room.”
The sparkle that lights in Steve’s eyes–
–is really his undoing.
**
Riding the high of saving Captain America’s life got him all the way home and to his bed, still churning over the events of the surgery. Butterfinger and U were happy Daddy made it home in one piece (he’d kept the failed surgical bots, unable to decommission his first attempts at independent AI just because they’d rather play fetch than learn procedures...besides, they’re his creations and with their capacity to learn, they’re still evolving), and absolutely pampered him with coffee while he told them about why he was so late.
Butterfingers booped and patted his knee lightly while U rolled back and forth in excitement. Their favorite part was about the Apache, of course. His children were Philistines (but what would he do without them?).
Waking up at one am to Agent Tight-Ass leaning against the bureau in his bedroom was probably the fright of his life.
(Probably not, but no one needs to know that. Few people knew about his kidnapping in Afghanistan from a Medical Conference five years ago.)
“The Captain won’t let another doctor examine him.” Agent Tight-Ass said without even a hello or the decor is nice. “He’s asking for you.”
Tony completely blames it on sleep deprivation when he almost says my Captain? but shakes himself out of it at the last second.
The implications of Agent being here strikes him in the very next second and he’s throwing the covers off and climbing out of bed fast. A clean pair of purple scrubs and Agent knows he goes commando under his expensive and stylish pj pants. “Post-Op complications?” The litany of problems Steve could be experiencing after such a difficult and delicate surgery flash through Tony’s frontal lobe, a slideshow of problems he should have been able to catch before anyone else.
(They shouldn’t have made me leave him. He needs to be under close observation.)
“No. But, S.H.I.E.L.D needs to verify the Captain is physically fit for duty. He won’t let another physician check him out. We’d like you to come back to DC just to make sure.”
And, well, he’s Tony Stark, so he tries to play it off in front of Agent just to be a pain in the ass to deal with, but even before he’s had a single cup of coffee, Tony is riding in another Apache with his leg bouncing in anticipation.
He’s thrown a Henley on under his scrub top, cuffs up to his elbows and probably looking like a derelict resident, but dammit, at least he has good hair.
The damn corridors are long and Agent Tight-Ass is silently striding beside him while Tony desperately holds a cup of coffee in one hand and the Captain’s chart in the other, taking in every detail and plotting out all the worst case scenarios.  What he absolutely doesn’t expect is to see the gorgeous man in dark jeans, red t-shirt, terrible trucker hat, and a single black-gloved hand standing against the wall like he’s the only thing holding the building up. Tony manages to keep his tongue in his mouth when Agent Tight-Ass stops to introduce them.
“Sergeant Barnes, this is Dr. Stark, the Captain’s neurosurgeon.”
And those eyes are like winter, grey and cool, taking him in from dirty sneakers to the half-curl just above his temple. It’s terribly frightening and arousing at the same moment and Tony is absolutely, completely out of his depth in hot men.
(And in-between relationships, isn’t he? Why are the Gods so damn cruel?)
“Very nice to meet you, Sergeant. I understand you’re an unapologetic smart-ass that can kill pretty much anything a mile away and make the worst borscht known to man. Pleasure is all mine, really. Borscht is already terrible, but making is worse? That has to take substantial talent.”
What he doesn’t expect is the tall, intimidating brunette with the sexiest stubbled jaw to blink down at him, head cocking sideways like an inquisitive cat, “s’at so?  I think the pleasure is all mine, Doll. After all, Stevie ain’t quit talkin’ ya up all night. ‘Preciate ya taking good care a’ him fer me.”
Ah. Barnes. James Buchanan Barnes. Always thought those stories were exaggerated.
Tony absolutely does not, does not (think about them together), lick his bottom lip while staring up into those eyes. “Anything I can do for the red, white, and blue, Sergeant Barnes. Just showing my...patriotism.”
Tony grins wide when he gets the Sergeant to laugh out loud, ruining his intense I will murder you vibe.
“Speaking of the Captain,” Agent Tight-Ass interrupts smoothly.
Both of them give the agent waiting with a patient, pleasantly neutral expression, and when Tony looks back, he can see the tension in James Barnes, and lets himself be his usual kind of confident.
“Honestly, I’m going to take good care of him. If the slightest thing deviates from absolutely normal, you will be the first person to know.”
“Thanks, Doll. Good t’ know he’s in the best hands,” and the gloved one squeezes his bicep, right above his elbow (and he is completely imagining that hand has absolutely no give whatsoever) before he turns to where Agent is holding the door open.
The Captain is awake at this ungodly hour and apparently more chipper when he wasn’t in horrible distress from bleeding all up in his grey matter. It was really nice to see this side and observe his handiwork, amazed the staples had already worked themselves out and there wasn’t even a scar to show surgery had ever taken place.
(Steve’s hair is soft and unfairly naturally fluffy. Tony’s bare fingers are threaded in it while his thumbs press lightly over the surgical site to test the healing and be fucking amazed.)
Sergeant Barnes is there for the examination, back in a corner, with that sensual bad boy thing going on, arms crossed over his chest, eyes sweeping the room every few minutes (like he wouldn’t notice?).
And once he checks the normal vitals and signs, looks for all abnormalities, any hint of a complication, Tony Stark–
–lies through his teeth.
“You need at least a week of rest. No strenuous activity at all. No punching Nazis, jumping out of planes, or potentially dangerous anything. Watch terrible daytime TV, eat your weight in bad food, and take it easy. The possibility for complications, or of re-opening the bleed site is high, even for a Super Soldier. Normal downtime would be months, I’m giving you a week. No arguments Captain.”
He turns to look at the Sergeant over his shoulder and they exchange a nod, but he sees James Barnes rolling his lips down like he’s trying not to smile.
“A week? A whole week?” The Captain honest-to-God whines, looking up at him, sitting up with perfect posture that makes his chest thrust out in such a distracting way.
(Those eyes should really be illegal.)
“Absolutely. I’m saying only a week, okay? That is very, very good news for you. From the scans taken less than an hour ago, you’re healing quickly and well. Still, we’re not going to take anything to chance.”
He grins down, completely confident he’s giving Steve the chance to get out in the world more, maybe get out from under all the Agent-Agents around here.
It’s all too soon he’s being ushered out the room and back to his Penthouse in New York, his heart thundering in his chest. The last twenty-four hours seem like some kind of dream, some kind of forbidden fantasy, something he couldn’t have really done, and being set back at his place with his bots and his lab, his nice office in Stark Medical waiting for him tomorrow, with endless calls from Pepper about the Board really wanting him present for the Quarterly Meeting this time, all of reality lays so heavy on him that he thinks maybe Agent Tight-Ass messed with his memories somehow so he’d never be able to tell anyone why S.H.I.E.L.D really wanted him in the first place.
He goes back to bed for an hour of sleep, thinking about Sergeant Barnes’ hand and Captain Roger’s eyes.
Dodging Pepper’s calls the next day between consults, residents, trips to the robotics, and some time spent in the lab, he’s in his office for a whopping fifteen minutes when his secretary knocks on his door.
“I’m sorry Dr. Stark, but they said they know you and he’s your patient–”
When Captain America and Bucky Barnes appear over her shoulder, looking a devilish mix of sheepish (Steve) and smary as hell (of course, the crackshot), Tony wonders how much effort it would take to clear his schedule completely–
–for the next seven days.
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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Captain America (Comics) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers Additional Tags: Stucky - Freeform, winter soldier - Freeform, Captain America AU, Fluffy Ending Summary:
Wednesdays were bounded to be special days in Steve Roger's life.
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becca-e-barnes · 3 years
Note
Your dad’s best friend is struggling to adapt to living alone, so you make an offer to move in temporarily to help him. The only problem is, this is the guy you’ve been thirsting over for a long time.
The Divorce
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Finally!! I’m so sorry this took a little longer than I planned! Kind of merged a few different ideas that you guys seemed keen on into one fic here! Personally, I don’t place a huge value on virginity but you guys asked for it so here it is!
Pairing: Dad’s Best Friend Bucky x Reader
Word Count: 4.5K (No wonder this one felt so long!!)
Summary: Your dad’s best friend is coming out of a rough divorce so you agree to keep him company. He’s also quite surprised to hear you’re still a virgin
Warnings: Smut, alcohol mention, significant age gap (Bucky is in his 40’s, reader is in her early 20’s), loss of virginity, handjobs, dirty talk, praise kink, divorce mention, cheating mention, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, food mention
Minors, do not interact
You weren’t sure what was going on with Bucky anymore.
The usually reserved older man was the very definition of sunshine and light these days. His smile took over his face, he was so easy going, nothing seemed to bother him in the slightest.
Bucky was quite a positive person, all things considered, so that wasn’t really out of the ordinary.
But what surprised you was the fact that he was still so happy not long after finding out this wife had been cheating on him.
He hadn’t even known her all that long, in truth. They had dated for a little while, married quickly and moved into a house together but that was all in the space of a year. She’d barely lasted two months of being ‘Mrs Barnes’ before Bucky came home from work early one afternoon and caught her in their bed with her coworker of all people.
She’d begged for forgiveness of course. Begged for a second chance. Begged to make things right but Bucky hadn’t given in.
And why should he? Sure, he was secretly heartbroken but he knew what he wanted. He knew he didn’t want to stay married to someone who didn’t value him like he valued her and he was totally right. Even though almost everyone saw it coming but him.
But your dad wasn’t convinced by Bucky’s act. Not even a little. He had known Bucky far too long to believe Bucky would be okay so soon. Marriage, in Bucky’s eyes was a commitment. He was so dedicated to his wife and he valued her, even if they didn’t always seem like the happiest couple in the world. No one looking at their relationship from the outside could’ve said they seemed particularly in love but that was no one’s business but theirs and for a while, things had seemed to be working regardless.
But now Bucky had moved out of his house, leaving his soon-to-be ex wife in it. He had moved into a modest little apartment, one that was dull and drab but it had a bed, a kitchen and a bathroom so it would do in the short term.
“Honey, do you think you could do me a favour?” Your father asked nonchalantly at dinner one evening and you nodded a little, your mouth full of pasta.
“There’s a big game on tomorrow night, you wouldn’t mind keeping Bucky company, would you? I have to work late and your mom is going to your aunt’s and I just don’t want him to be left alone at the moment.” He knew he didn’t need to tell you what sports game it was. It’s not like you would care much anyway.
“I was just gonna crash on his couch afterwards, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you doing the same.” Truthfully, you weren’t all that interested in sports but you shrugged your shoulders and agreed anyway, knowing that you and Bucky would have a nice evening no matter what. He just needed some company, you didn’t really have to pay attention to the game.
So that was how you ended up climbing the stairs up to his flat the following evening, a few of your dad’s beers and snacks in hand, ready to spend the evening with your head tucked in your phone.
You gave the door two little knocks, tucking a flyaway strand of hair behind your ear before it opened, Bucky standing on the other side, beaming as always.
“Angel! Thank you for coming! God, look at you, you look beautiful, come in!” He grinned softly, arms wrapping around your waist as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
It was torturous how good he smelled, never mind how good he looked.
“Good to see you too Bucky!” You laughed, only able to hug him with one arm.
He was sporting just a little stubble but it suited him, his body so warm as it pressed against yours.
But then his heat was gone almost as quickly as you had registered it, one hand on the small of your back, leading you inside.
The place was spotless, everything neatly arranged but his own belongings were minimal. There were no photos anywhere, nothing personal and it made you more than a little sad for him.
“Game starts in half an hour sweetheart, I was just gonna make the nachos your dad likes and order some food but we can get whatever you like.” It wasn’t hard to see the excitement radiating from him and that’s when you realised you were probably the first person outside of his job that he’d spoken to in quite a while.
“Sounds great Bucky, your nachos are the best!” Your enthusiasm only made him happier, as did the fact you didn’t hesitate to make yourself at home, opening a beer each and placing the rest neatly into his fridge.
It was almost strange how natural it felt, being so domestic with Bucky, just letting him work away in the kitchen while you sat on the counter, talking about work and anything else that popped into your heads.
He listened to every single word you said, actually taking an interest in everything you talked about and God, did it feel like such a pleasant change.
The beers slowly disappeared as you chatted on the kitchen floor, your backs pressed against the kitchen cabinet, the game playing in the background, almost entirely forgotten about. Not that either of you cared. For Bucky, it was never about wanting to watch the game, it was about company and companionship, usually with your dad but he was finding your company just as fulfilling. He didn’t actually care who won or lost in the slightest.
It didn’t take long for the beers to run out, moving on to something a little bit stronger. You were both pleasantly buzzed, your tongues getting looser under the effects of the whiskey, innocent touches lasting just a little too long, his eyes flitting over your body, hoping he didn’t accidentally spend so long staring at your breasts that you noticed.
“God honey, it’s awful but honestly, I just miss the sex more than anything else. Miss feelin’ her. It’s so stupid, jus’ can’t…. Can’t stop thinkin’ about how good it felt. Shit, it’s pathetic.” Bucky was getting vulnerable and you were happy to listen, taking his hand in yours to offer a little support.
“It’s not stupid Buck. Keep going, it’s good to talk about it.” Bucky wasn’t even sure he wanted to. Definitely not with you anyway. Not when your body was so close to his, your perfume intoxicating him more than any drink ever could and shit, you were understanding him even though your life experiences were so different to his.
“I’ve said enough angel, the divorce is for the best.” He smiled sadly, looking down at your linked hands, giving yours a little squeeze.
“It’s definitely for the best Buck. But I get it, losing that intimacy must be awful. I mean, I wouldn’t know but… You two were close. Sex must be nice when you trust the other person like that.” Bucky was hanging on every word that tumbled from your lips, watching as your mouth moved, feeling the cogs in his brain turn slowly.
“You wouldn’t know? I’m sure you’ve dated in the past?” Bucky asked softly, the alcohol emboldening him to pry into your private life. He had spilled his to you so it was only fair.
“I mean yeah, I’ve dated but I’ve just never… Found someone I trust enough to have sex with. Never felt like that about someone before.” You felt like you should’ve been embarrassed to admit your little secret but your blood in your veins was buzzing pleasantly, another sip of whiskey washing over your tongue and you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.
“Shit angel, you’re a virgin?” Bucky sounded enraptured. “You’re easily the prettiest girl in this town, you could have anyone you want.”
“It’s more than that though Buck. Want to be with someone who knows what they’re doing. Don’t want it to be awkward and awful and sore. Wanna enjoy it. Wanna feel good.” Every last word was making his heart thump, blood rushing to his dick of its own accord.
“I guess you’re right angel. Those boys your age only care about getting themselves off. They have no idea what good sex means for a woman.” His lips looked so pink and soft and wet with whiskey, you almost felt a little lost just looking at them.
“Just need a man I can trust. A man I know will take care of me. A man that knows how to make my first time exactly what I’m looking for.” Your breath felt scorchingly hot against his face. Oh god, when had you moved closer? How hadn’t he noticed? Your fingers were still laced together, you thumb running gently over his and that’s when he realised, he needed this far too badly.
“Sweetheart…. We um…. This isn’t a good idea-“ he began but he was cut off by the feeling of your lips hitting his.
He couldn’t help the heat burning inside him as your hand came to tentatively land on his cheek, his hands moving to your waist to pull you closer. Between opening up about the divorce and hearing you were a virgin and the fact you were both sobering up very quickly, Bucky was getting lost in the feeling of being wanted. The feeling of taking care of another and being taken care of in turn.
But shit, the kiss was getting far too heated far too fast and he could feel how badly you wanted this. He could feel your passion, your need for your first time to be on your terms and he almost admired how you weren’t afraid to tell him exactly what you wanted.
But you were both getting far too caught up in the moment and he’d be damned if he was going to let your first time be on the kitchen floor of all places. So instead, he helped you up, joining your lips in another gentle kiss before encouraging you to jump up on him, into his waiting arms. Your legs wrapped around his waist, helping him carry you to his bedroom without ever breaking the kiss.
You were breathless by the time he dropped you onto the bed, watching in awe as Bucky hovered above you looking flushed and excited but almost scared.
“You know you can stop this any time angel? You don’t have to go through with it if you don’t want to. The second you tell me to, I’ll stop. I won’t be upset.” You hadn’t expected him to be so tender. You had a fair idea he would be a considerate lover but this kind of soft spoken intimacy was quite foreign to you. It was certainly not unwelcome though.
“Bucky. I want this.” You whispered, letting your hands grab at the edge of his t-shirt, pulling it up over his head. Before the thin material had even fallen to the floor his lips were back on yours again, letting you set the pace.
The feeling of your soft hands exploring his bare chest almost drove him wild. You weren’t timid in the slightest, no you were keen, eager and so damn excited he couldn’t help but feel the same.
“Can I take your dress off angel?” He breathed, barely even removing his lips from yours to whisper the words out. Your little nod was all he needed to have the confidence to reach down, finding the hem quickly to pull it up over your head.
The sight of you left him speechless. An endless expanse of soft skin and sweet curves, beautifully encased in a delicate white lace bra and panty set and that’s when he realised just how much thought had went into this evening. You’d planned for this before you even got here.
“Do you. Have any. Idea. How beautiful. You are?” Bucky’s little praises were broken only by the gentle kisses that he pressed to your skin. There was no rhyme or reason to their placement, he was just going along with whatever felt right.
“Bucky please… Don’t tease.” Your breathlessness caught him off guard, the need inside you becoming unbearable. You had waited far too long to feel what sex was like and you would be damned if you were going to wait a single second more.
“Keen aren’t you sweetheart?” He laughed softly with a confident smirk, ridding himself of his jeans. His dark boxers were tented deliciously, the outline of his thick cock was so evident, straining against the material.
You couldn’t help how your mouth watered as you reached over and pulled his boxers off, his hard length springing free.
“You happy to take your underwear off honey?” he asked quietly, pulling you from the filthy thoughts filling your head. Rather than answer him, you shimmied out of your panties, letting them fall to the floor in a little damp heap. Your bra followed quickly after, Bucky’s hands moving to cup your breasts while his lips made their way to your neck.
You could hear every soft groan that left him as he played with you, pinching and rolling your nipples into stiff buds. His cock was resting perfectly between your thighs, pressing against your slick sex but certainly not trying to breach it yet.
“Never gonna get this sweet body out of my head angel. You mind if I work you up a little? Don’t wanna hurt you.” Fuck, it melted your heart how he could say something like that sounding overly confident and cocky. He wasn’t over exaggerating his size or trying to suggest he was too impressive to handle. No, Bucky was just genuinely intent on making this good for you and easing the discomfort as much as possible.
“Touch me Buck. Please. Give me something.” Your eyes fluttered shut as one of his huge hands moved from your breasts, down between your legs, two fingertips dragging ever so lightly over the exposed skin that no one but you had touched before.
“So wet for me aren’t you?” His whisper pulled a groan from you, his finger dipping between your folds, coated in your slick. You didn’t care how wrecked you looked, not paying attention to the fact your hips bucked up of their own accord to meet his hand.
“So wet Bucky, please.” His heart melted at your little plea and how the hell was he supposed to deny you?
Slowly, Bucky began to slip just one finger inside you, drinking in the whimper that left you. One was certainly bearable, it wasn’t too much of a stretch, in fact it felt nice.
But then his finger started to curl and God, it felt better than just nice. You could feel him rubbing parts of you no one ever had before, parts you couldn’t reach by yourself and it didn’t take long for the feeling to become unbelievable.
“Have you ever cum before, honey?” Bucky whispered over the sound of the slick noises your body was letting out.
“I, ah- I don’t know Bucky. Touched myself before but n-never felt this good.” He couldn’t help but chuckle, working his finger in and out of you at a nice steady pace.
“Show me how you touch yourself angel.” His voice was so low and sinful it made you shiver, your hand drifting down to rub your clit in time with his thrusts.
“Bucky I need more. Please gimme more.” You were breathless, arching your back off the bed, chasing a high you didn’t know how to handle.
“Gonna give you another finger. Might hurt a little but I’ll try to be gentle.” You couldn’t have possibly cared if it would hurt or not, you just needed something more.
As he pulled his finger out on the next thrust, he lined the second up beside it, pressing in slowly.
“Oh that’s it, good girl, takin’ me so well. Doin’ such a good job for me.” You weren’t sure if it was his praise or the stretch that made you whimper but you were loving how both made you feel.
Finally, your own fingers started working your clit again, Bucky taking that as a cue to start moving ever so slowly, rubbing your sweetest spot just as he had before.
Two fingers felt so much better. It was a tight fit but you couldn’t deny how good it felt.
It didn’t take long for your body to respond, a knot in your belly tightening, your toes curling slightly.
“That feel good sweetheart? You think you could cum for me?” You were nodding at his words but you weren’t even sure you knew how.
“Buck… I’ve never…. This feels different.” You whined, trying not to desperately fuck yourself down on his fingers.
“It’s okay honey. Just do what feels right okay? Rub yourself faster if you need to.” He was so gentle with you, letting you take the chance to chase your peak.
His fingers didn’t stop, yours sped up and it didn’t take long for you to be writhing, almost crying, right on the edge of a feeling you couldn’t describe. You knew you had to fall into it but how?
But then Bucky’s fingers crooked slightly differently, you rubbed yourself just a little harder and it all came crashing down at once. You felt yourself tighten around his hand, a wet heat covering the insides of your thighs as pleasure consumed you.
“Fuck oh f-fuck Bucky.” You whimpered, your eyes catching his and you could’ve swore there was no where else in the world that man would rather be in that moment. He looked enthralled, his fingers never stopping, letting you drag every last second of ecstasy out as long as possible.
“That’s it. Keep going honey, doin’ so so well. So pretty for me.” His words were soft but his eyes twinkled with a kind of lust you knew was reflected in your own. His cock was throbbing but he was happily ignoring it. This wasn’t for him after all, this was all about you.
Eventually, your high subsided, Bucky taking the fact your fingers had stopped as a cue to stop his own.
The feeling of him slipping from you was almost disappointing, your body fighting to keep him in.
“You want to stop there honey? I won’t mind if that’s all you wanna do tonight. That looked intense.” He laughed quietly, stroking your hair gently with his free hand, pressing the tiniest of kisses to your forehead.
“No chance, Barnes. You’ve been holding out on me.” You laughed quietly, your chest heaving after so much excitement but still ready for more.
“Would surprise you what tricks you pick up.” Bucky laughed softly, drinking in your enthusiasm and the feeling of you leaning over, taking his cock in your hand.
Your nerves had melted away. You weren’t shy in the slightest. No, you were a confident young woman, thriving off the unknown and he loved it.
“Just like this honey.” He encouraged softly, placing his hand over the top of yours teaching you how to jerk him off the way he liked.
You couldn’t help but watch his face, loving how his eyes fluttered shut, pleasure clouding his brain. A little gasp left his lips when you squeezed ever so slightly harder, giving him nice tight strokes, focusing on his head since it seemed so sensitive.
“Oh fuck, spit on it honey. Don’t be shy.” He breathed, rutting his hips ever so slightly into your hand. His bare thighs looked so strong and powerful yet here he was, practically purring against your touch.
You did as he asked, albeit slightly timidly, leaning over and spitting in his head, letting the saliva trickle down his length, massaging it in with your hand.
“Good girl, that’s it. Feels s-so good honey, makin’ me feel incredible.” He didn’t mind taking the second to let you catch your breath. Why would he? You were making it so enjoyable for him, his little grunts filling the room.
“Bucky… Can we… You know.” You asked quietly after a moment. Not that you weren’t enjoying jerking him but you had bigger ideas in mind in that moment.
“Of course sweetheart, you ready?” He asked softly, his eyes opening and finding yours, sincere and gentle but twinkling with passion.
You nodded gently, letting him take the lead, laying you back on the bed, his lips on yours in the kind of passionate kiss that left your head spinning.
His hands felt like they were everywhere all at once. One ran up the side of your body gently, reverently, feeling your soft skin. He worshipped you, letting you have a second to get ready and truly decide if this was what you wanted. And God, it was.
“Bucky…” you groaned quietly, pulling him out of his haze, dragging him back to the present.
“You wanna stop. You want me to slow down. You want to take a second to breathe. You let me know. This is all on your terms.” You knew he meant every single word with all his heart. You knew there wasn’t a single thing to be worried about either. Bucky would take such good care of you.
But rather than explain all that to him, you reached up and cradled his face in your palm, letting him press tiny kisses to your wrist as he lined himself up at your entrance.
You were soaked by now, no doubt about it. The evidence of you first orgasm let him slide into you with ease, his length slowly starting to divide your walls, your body welcoming him in. It certainly wasn’t euphoric. It wasn’t uncontrollable pleasure. In fact, it was hardly pleasurable at all. It was a stretch, tinged with pain and discomfort.
“Almost all the way angel. God you’re doing so well for me. Swallowin’ me up.” Bucky’s voice grounded you a little as he continued to press into you.
You stuck it out for the next few seconds as he slipped entirely inside, bottoming out with a groan.
“It’s a lot to take baby girl. Look at you though, doin’ so well for me. Such a sweet girl. Gonna give you a minute honey. It’s gonna feel so good though, I promise.” You couldn’t help but believe him, your walls fluttering around him in a desperate scramble to get used to the invasion.
After a minute or two of being doted on, kisses peppered to your neck and shoulders, the stretch didn’t feel so bad anymore.
“C-can you move Bucky. Think I’m ready.” You whispered quietly, digging your fingers into his bare back.
So he did. He drew his hips back, pulling out almost the entire way before sliding back in slowly, a groan leaving both of you.
“S-shit you’re tight angel. Feels so good, you know that? Fuck, tighter than I could’ve even dreamed.”
His little cries had you whimpering, your body still sore but the pain was definitely subsiding with each slow movement.
But it didn’t take long for the pain to stop altogether, giving way to a pleasant ache for more.
“Faster Bucky, God please gimme more. N-need you.” You sounded wrecked in the best way and Bucky was more than happy to give in, setting a nice decent pace.
“Can’t believe how good you feel, so wet and warm and ah- you’re so keen. Grippin’ me like your little pussy doesn’t want me to stop.” His head had fallen to the crook of your neck, almost panting at the feeling of you swallowing him up.
“Gonna give you more baby, you think you can take it?” He asked quietly, his hand slipping down between your bodies to rub your sensitive little bundle of nerves.
Everything felt heightened as soon as his fingers connected with it. Any lingering discomfort melted away into a pleasure so sweet, you weren’t sure how you had ever lived without it.
“I can take it Bucky please, need you to fuck me.” Hearing such filthy words fall from such sweet lips did something to Bucky he couldn’t quite explain. The moan that you tore from him almost seemed to reverberate around the room. His hips sped up, not just fucking you, more grinding into you, every movement assaulting that sweet spot he made you aware of earlier.
The sensation was so m different to that which his fingers had offered. This was all encompassing, his blunt head spearing into you in a way that felt so good, you could almost cry.
“Fuck, ‘m losing it angel. Lemme know if I’m going too fast, okay? I’ll stop everythin’.” As soon as you nodded, his filthy grind sped up and your body reacted of its own accord. Sounds escaped you that you didn’t even know you were capable of, your fingernails digging into any exposed skin of Bucky’s you could reach.
“O-oh Bucky fuck, fuck holy shit that feels so good. Oh no Bucky please, I’m gonna cum. No God, I’m gonna cum.” You whimpered, held right on the edge of such intense pleasure all of a sudden. A low growl left Bucky’s throat, his breath coming out as a strangled pant against your neck, his body casing you in, trying desperately to catch up so he wouldn’t overwork you chasing his own release.
“Jus’ a minute longer. Hold it for me baby girl.” He whispered through gritted teeth, rolling his fingers against your delicate bud.
“Bucky I -oh. Fuck, what happens when I cum with you inside me? Oh shit, how do I, ah!” Your little desperate pleading gave way to a high pitched moan, your orgasm hitting you far harder than you could even have anticipated. Your cry suddenly silenced, the pleasure not stopping, your body trembling as you rode it out, barely registering the deep grunt that came from Bucky.
“Shit, angel that’s it, milkin’ my cock, feels so good you know that. Takin’ every drop. Now this little pussy’s got a taste of my cum, you won’t be able to stop, will ya?” Your head nodded, the feeling of Bucky’s balls emptying inside you making every conscious thought leave your body.
But all too soon, he was pulling out, flopping onto the bed beside you, pulling you into a warm embrace. Your bodies were sweaty and fucked out but feeling so close to him still felt lovely, his lips littering kisses wherever he could reach.
“Well? As good as you dreamed?” He chuckled quietly, taming your wild hair as much as possible before pressing a kiss to your head.
“Far far better.” You laughed softly, almost delirious from the endorphins coursing through your body.
“Hm, I’m glad toots.” You didn’t need to see him to know he had the exact same content smile on his face, wondering how one earth you could possibly find so much comfort in each other
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howlingbarnes · 7 years
Text
Bump
A/N: This is less than 500 words so I’m not adding a read more. It’s a sleepless 6am for me right now but I couldn’t get this out of my head. Hope you guys like it!
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“I can’t do this.”
“It’s a bit late for that, Buck.” You scoffed softly and ran your fingers over the surface of your stretched stomach.
“No, I know,” Bucky answered, propping up on his elbow to let his free hand join yours in the exploration of your skin.
You could’ve sworn that the baby could feel the chill of the metal and the electric buzz that emanated from Bucky’s fingertips. Inside your belly, your child was basically doing backflips. This was nothing new whenever Bucky would touch you though and you were left convinced that they knew it was him. If his touch wasn’t a dead giveaway, it was his voice.
“It’s just...after all the time that I’ve been around, I never really felt like I would leave anything this important behind. I didn’t think about the Barnes legacy being carried on either, just always thought it’d die with me.”
“Your legacy would’ve never died either way.” You reminded him. “Howling Commando? Captain America’s right-hand man? Any of this ringing a bell for you?”
Bucky shook his head before pressing a kiss to your stomach and rolling onto his back, his eyes finding a random spot on the ceiling to stare at while he spoke. “That’s different. People will always remember me, sure, but having a family is a whole ‘nother accomplishment altogether. I spent so much time feeling like this was impossible like love was this unattainable thing, and I’d be a machine following orders for the rest of my life. Now I’m here, and we’re gonna have a baby.”
“We’re gonna have a baby.” You repeated, almost as if trying to remind yourself that it was real life.
After a long pause, Bucky opened his mouth as if he was going to talk but then closed it before opening it one more time. “Can we name him after Steve?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Really?” Bucky groaned.
“Fine, but middle name only.”
@bionic-buckyb @purgatoan @mamapeterson  @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @feelmyroarrrr @my-blackbird-universe @hellomissmabel @huffleypuffelycas @thirstybitchqueen @palaiasaurus64  @callamint @takemetoneverland91 @seargantbcky @marvel-fanfiction @hollycornish @toc1985 @lillianfromaccounting @viollettes @sincerelysaraahh  @anyakinamidala @teamfreewill-imagine @debzybrazy @justareader
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straywords · 2 years
Text
Bloodbound II
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Banner by @sgt-seabass
Part I
♦️ Dark! Vampire! Stucky x Virgin! Reader, Wanda x Reader ♦️
Despite your best efforts, you find yourself pulled into the orbit of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, the most prominent couple on campus.
CW: NON-CON, Smut, Threesome, Loss of virginity, Mind Manipulation 
Words: 10k
Main Masterlist // Library
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You wake up feeling groggy, your throat parched and your neck sore. Still, you cannot deny how rested you feel. For the first time in a long time, a sense of peace lies in your veins. Blinking through bleary eyes, you yawn as you rise from bed.
Your eyes wander about. You rub the sleepiness out of them with your palm. Wanda isn’t here. It should worry you, maybe, but it doesn’t. All is quiet in your mind for once. The concerns, the stress that are constant burdens weighing you down yield to the waves of calm rippling through your body.
A smile lifts your lips as you make your way to the bathroom.
As you stretch your neck, an odd ache pulsing through it, your forehead creases as you spot something strange in the mirror.
Two puncture marks grace your skin, below the ones you already had. Twin sets of similar wounds. They glisten appallingly in the drab, yellow light of the shared bathroom.
You scratch your head. Bed bugs?
Your fingers hover over the wounds. They are puckered, angry and raw, as if they were still fresh, ready to ooze crimson liquid. Yet they don’t.
You sigh as you notice your dim complexion, the color drained from your face, and your lips, cracked and dry. You look awful. It’s peculiar because your blood sings with the vibrant array of possibilities the day has to offer.
You smile at your ghastly reflection.
Splendid. Wonderful. Any number of terms could be used to describe how you feel. But none would quite grasp the euphoric lightness lingering in each of your bouncy steps.
Last night is a blur your brain can’t summon a single glimpse of, but it doesn’t matter. A glance at your watch informs you that you are late for your shift at the café. Dangerously late.
“Shit,” you curse.
A quick shower and frantic dress-up session later, you are scurrying through campus to get to your part-time job.
You are pretty sure you are wearing mismatched shoes and clothes from the weighty glares you gather on the way. Apologies pour endlessly from your lips as you crash into at least a dozen other students during your wild race.
By the time you’ve arrived, your lungs are scorching and you’re bent over with a hand over your pounding heart in the café’s entrance.
Panicked lungfuls of air draw in and out of your mouth as you shakily make your way to the counter.
Your manager tosses you a stern glance. Icy contempt burns in his gaze.
“You’re late… again,” he says as you approach.
Quickly, you begin to remove your bag and head towards the back. He raises a hand to stop you. You freeze.
“Don’t bother coming back tomorrow.” Cold spreads though you at his words, tears starting to bloom at the corner of your eyes.
The lightness in your chest slowly kneels to the overbearing pressure of the concerns constantly eating at you.
Your shoulders sag. You draw a deep, quivering breath to avoid crying in front of someone who couldn’t care less.
A wobbly, polite smile curves your lips as you bid goodbye to your manager.
As you step outside, the sky is overcast, thick clouds darkening it and concealing the sun. Stiff, grey air surrounds you. A slight layer of mist clings to the atmosphere, making campus appear surreal, chimerical.
As if one was peering through a glass. A slanted, uneasy version of reality.
The gloominess of the weather is a pitiful companion to your hopeless heart.
You amble aimlessly for a long time before stumbling upon a spot that’s perfect. Far away from prying eyes. You crumble into a heap against a wall and bring your knees up against your chest. The sturdy fences you’ve erected around your feelings shatter all at once. You shatter all at once.
Tears stream down your face. Unceasing, burning rivulets of anger and frustration.
The unfairness of it all hits you. You never missed class or a shift before. You know what hinges on your academic success. Sleepless nights and perpetual studying are the price of freedom down the line.
A career, opportunities and independence. You can’t rely on your absentee mother or your alcoholic father to toss a dime your way. They have never done anything but let you down. Take your meager hopes and stamp over them till they’re ground into dust.
Last time you called your dad to ask if he could pitch in for your next tuition fee installment, you were met with slurred, disjointed ramblings.
He was too inebriated to even recognize your voice.
Your chest constricts, sobs ascending as you hiccup.
You cannot fail. There is no warm home to go back to if you do, a comforting safe place to get back on your feet while you ponder what your next step should be. No soothing embrace to welcome you and reassure you that it will be fine.
You have nothing but this.
And it’s all falling apart.
As you rock yourself back and forth, the silence only broken by your ugly, strangled sobs, you don’t notice the shadow lurking towards you, looming over your form.
“Hey, dove, what’s wrong?”
Drawing a sharp breath, you snap your head up towards the deep voice. Your jaw drops open as astonishment sparks within you.
“Steve?” you inquire weakly.
Even his lazy smile has your heart stuttering in your chest. Maybe the sun isn’t hidden beneath the dusky clouds, after all. Maybe it’s taken shelter in the scorching brightness of Steve Rogers’ beautiful smile. He kneels in front of you. His brow’s wrinkled in concern as he studies you. His head tilts. You gasp when frosty knuckles sweep over your cheek to collect errant tears.
“You’re crying,” he states.
At first, there’s curiosity; a wide blue gaze taking you in with unwavering focus, blazing enough to make you squirm.
Then a different expression twists his handsome features. One you’ve never seen on his face.
Anger.
Your jaw is held firmly between pale, nimble digits.
“Did someone hurt you, dove?” Even in his rage, Steve is terrifyingly gorgeous, you note with dread. Your breath stumbles as you try to speak.
There’s an eerie glimmer in his gaze. You find yourself incapable of looking away. It should frighten you. Yet it doesn’t. Every cell in your body wants to lean into his touch, yield to each of his demands.
In that moment, the profound knowledge that if Steve asked you to leap from atop the highest building on campus, you would, carves a hole in your soul.
You wouldn’t ask why. You wouldn’t beg him not to. You would simply jump. Your nerves are at ease and your limbs are numb, despite the forcefulness of his grip. Despite the danger leaking from his pores.
“I got fired,” you confess meekly. The somber dip of your head is halted by Steve tilting up your chin. Softness blunts the sharp edge of his gaze.
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” he purrs. The honeyed pitch pours sweetly in your ears, draping a balm over your wounded soul. “You were always too good for this measly job anyway.” A faint corner of you whispers that his matter-of-fact statement should upset you. This ‘measly job’ is the only reason your payments happened on time.
But all you do is offer the shadow of a smile through your tears. A thumb skims over your bottom lip. For a moment, you’re ensnared by the thick lashes kissing the rim of his gaze as he peers down at you, sparkling blue glistening underneath like sapphires.
Steve’s beauty borders on ethereal. He seems to read your mind, smirk waltzing over his rosy lips.
As his face inches closer to yours, his next utterance makes you go still.
“I could kill him if you wanted. That’d teach him to make my sweet dove cry.”
The seriousness marking his statement shakes you out of your daze… and his grip. His fingers go slack as you pivot your chin, a little furrow decorating your brow. Nervous laughter peals off your lips.
“Don’t be silly, Steve.”
You expect Steve to laugh too. Afterall, offering to murder someone for the sake of hurting your feelings is ludicrous, isn’t it? But his face is still, searching yours quietly. There isn’t a hint of facetiousness on his sculpted features. Your hands twitch around your ankles.
You grow acutely aware of Steve’s closeness. Why did it not occur to you before, how’s he’s invaded your space, inappropriately so? Like a lover, almost. As you press yourself further into the wall, his voice startles you again.
When Steve seizes the bottom of your face in his hand this time, it’s firmer. His eyes dive into yours and your impulse to distance yourself from him melts away. His grin is huge, enticing. A perfect white, row of shimmering pearls.
“Bucky’s throwing a party tonight,” he says silkily. “I really missed you last time, sweetheart. I want you here this time.”
The command laced in his tone is weaved softly enough to miss, but you hear it and it stirs something in you. You blink, confusion muddling your thoughts. Something is eluding you. Something you should know, remember. It keeps slipping through the cracks of your mind like sand.
Squeezing your lips, you stammer, “I don’t know if… Wanda said…”
The snow gliding under Steve’s fingertips seems to cut into you. The air itself seems to still. Heavy and stifling. You shiver.
“Don’t worry about your friend. She’s a bit of a killjoy, isn’t she?” Your foggy mind receives each of the words like a prophecy, an infrangible truth. His rapturous, sensuous voice engulfs you, as if Steve weren’t just in front of you but everywhere around you at once. You get lost in his presence and the mesmerizing glow of his smile. “In fact, you should steer clear of her for the rest of the day. Avoid her so she doesn’t spoil our fun, sweetie.”
You nod.
“She is a bit of a killjoy. I shouldn’t let her… spoil all the fun.”
There’s the sense of forgetting something again but it quickly withers, Steve’s charm quelling all your doubts.
“Good girl. I can’t wait to see you tonight, sweetheart.”
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The rest of the evening is spent ignoring Wanda’s texts and dodging her calls. You are careful to avoid her, only sneaking in your dorm while she has econ to rummage through your tiny closet in search of a dress and shoes to wear for the party.
Night falls quickly. Clumps of fog still linger as you traipse sound campus in a flimsy jacket, a short black dress and chunky heels you got on sale. There’s a chill in the air, seeping right through your bones.
Teeth chattering and heart bouncing, your feet drag you to the house of the infamous Alpha Delta Gammas. Their lair some might even say, if the dire stories harbor some measure of truth. The usual wariness you nurse for the lot of them bears no relevance now because one idea rooted itself at the forefront of your mind, tossing every other thought, every other impulse, into a well of oblivion.
You have to attend Bucky's party tonight.
Your heels click hurriedly against the cobblestones as the fraternity house darts into view. The bulky building strikes an imposing shape; it stands out ominously against the inky expanse of the night. The silver crescent ornating the starless sky is the only light spilling from above. The Greek letters etched on the roof appear to ooze blood, the scarlet paint glowing oddly under the moonlight.
You already feel out of place, untethered. Giggles erupt around you. Girls in skimpy clothes that have your own outfit seem like a church dress take zealous strides towards the house.
Music rages, loud and obnoxious, from inside. The cacophony probably has a radius stretching for miles, tearing many away from silence and tranquility. But no one would dare file a noise complaint against the brothers.
In the eyes of the Alpha Deltas, messing with their fun is a declaration of war.
You swallow the lump in your throat.
The last few steps on the porch are the toughest. Rubbing your sweaty palms together, you're on the cusp of ringing the doorbell when, abruptly, the door swings open in your face.
You draw a sharp breath.
His massive frame swallows most of the entrance as he leans casually against it. The white shirt and blue jeans are tight over his thickly corded limbs. An appreciative gaze rakes over your form. You writhe nervously, fiddling with the hem of your jacket. Tongue sweeping over his bottom lip, your heart leaps as Steve tugs both of your hands, bringing you closer to him. The smell of his expensive cologne saturates the air and assaults your senses. A peek of something sharp and blindingly white winks at you between Steve’s plump lips. You let out a shuddering exhale.
Your lids flutter. As you peer up at Steve again, his teeth are normal.
You dip your head in befuddlement. You aren’t sure what you saw. It’s probably your frazzled nerves playing tricks on your mind.
“You look enchanting, dove.” The smooth baritone washes over you, a soft current assuaging your fears. An effortless smile unfurls on your lips. Steve’s thumbs run over the back of your hand, his expression brightening even more. You let him escort you inside.
It’s like visiting a foreign land. You can’t help but throw anxious glances around you. Saying this is not your usual scene would be a gargantuan understatement. Accustomed to the quietness of libraries and study rooms, the crowded frat house shakes unease in the pit of your stomach.
There are even more people than you imagined. Drinking. Laughing. Flirting.
You cling to Steve’s side and he slides an arm around your shoulders. The lack of heat radiating from his body should unnerve you, but instead it feels strangely familiar.
Your head whips up when a booming, thunderous roar rises up in the room, above the clamor even. A gigantic blonde with long, golden strands kissing his shoulders and a wide, toothy smile stands on a pool table. Beer splatters at his feet as he waves his drink high in the air.
“Welcome to Alpha Delta Gamma, where you have come to the right place if you want to let loose and go a little wild.” His statement is towed by whooping screams. You shiver as he chuckles, the clamorous singsong penetrating your chest. His grin turns smug as his blazing, blue eyes sharpen on his rapt audience. “Because in our house, the blood never stops flowing and the party never ends!” More enthusiastic yelling drowns out the music as your pulse quickens.
Your mind halts, confusion creasing your forehead.
The blood never stops flowing and the party never ends.
Your scattered, panicked thoughts are interrupted when Steve’s beautiful face invades your line of sight. Rubbing his large palms over your shoulders and arms, he coos reassuring words that you somehow hear perfectly despite the uproar. Your surroundings blur, Steve becoming the axis around which your whole focus spins. There’s only him. His angelic features. The lulling quirk of his mouth. The comforting press of his skin over yours.
"Don't mind him, dove. You're safe with me," he whispers. Steve's soft pitch resonates through your being, sweeping away the seeds of worry before they can grow.
"I'm safe with you," you repeat.
The certainty of Steve’s words is overwhelming. You feel light, safe.
He encounters no resistance from you when he takes you to a table a bit further. Frowning, you cast a questioning glance at Steve, looking to him for guidance. A nonchalant smirk hovers over his plump mouth.
The puzzled stares from other students itch your skin. They’re waiting. If Steve weren’t at your side, pulling everyone’s attention like a magnet, you know you’d be as invisible as you usually are. A wallflower wilting in some discarded corner of the room.
"I don't know how to play beer-pong," you admit, slightly ashamed.
Steve's response is to slide behind you smoothly. The weight of him against your back and his chin resting on your shoulder, silky hair grazing your cheek, steals your breath. You tense, unmoving as Steve mutters the rules near your temple. His lips brush against the shell of your ear, satin soft.
Everyone's watching. Heat rushes to your face.
The first time, Steve wraps his hand around your wrist to direct your strike. He's encouraging, praising you as the ball reaches its destination, landing in the cup right in the middle. You feel some pride, even if you know it's mostly him.
"Drink! Drink! Drink!"
The aggressive chant of the other students bears down on you. Hand trembling, you grasp the cup and down its contents in one swig.
The beer's sweet on your tongue. Its warm buzz goes straight to your veins.
Steve's body still draped over yours in an intimate embrace.
There's a second strike. And a third. The heady delight that comes with each drink spreads like delicious poison and a dopey grin splits your face. Steve mirrors your expression, his eyes glowing in the low light. Icy fingers pet your warm cheek.
"See, I knew you needed to let loose a little. Aren't you having fun, dove?"
You acquiesce, giggling and pulling him closer. He lets your hands trail clumsily over his jaw, amusement etched in his cobalt stare. Your breath catches as he takes hold of your fingers to drop a soft kiss on your hand.
Time hangs in stillness as Steve’s face approaches yours.
His lips are above yours. You swear from the impish glint in his gaze, he can hear the blood rushing in your veins.
But before Steve can close the distance, a voice bursts through your drunken bubble, shattering the spell.
Stunned, you back away from him. He has yet to release your hands.
“What is it, Scott? Now isn’t a good time.” The calm aura that typically engulfs him melts as he fixes the newcomer with an angry glare. You bristle. Steve’s never been this cold or callous around you.
The brown-haired young man fidgets awkwardly.
“It can’t wait, Steve. I’m having issues with the shipment. It seems to have gotten lost and if we’re not ready for…”
“Quiet, moron,” Steve halts the rambling with a twitch of his jaw, flexing it in annoyance. The other one, ‘Scott’, immediately goes quiet, quivering a little under Steve’s sharp stare.
Before you can dissect the nature of the weird interaction, Steve whirls towards you. Your eyes round. It’s day and night, the way his expression drifted. He’s now all smiles again.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can, dove. Wait for me here.” He strokes your cheek and you lean into his palm. A reflexive nod is your reply.
“No one touches her,” Steve utters, casting a warning look above your head. His tone, bleeding with vicious intent, raises chills on your spine. Even if it’s not directed at you, the threat makes your heart miss a beat.
Steve gazes at you one last time before following Scott. His absence creates a void that leaves you unmoored. You inhale a slow breath.
Uneasiness slithers through you. You didn’t like Steve’s tone then. Not one bit. It fills you with dread, how he can flip on a dime.
This isn’t right. But for some terrible reason that eludes you, your feet are glued to the floor. Steve told you to wait for him and every cell in your body refuses to budge, your mind screaming at you to stay put.
Your eyelids flap quickly. You massage your forehead.
What were you thinking then?
The corners of your lips quirk upwards. It’s unimportant. Irrelevant.
Your shoulders slump as a tide of serenity glides over you, sinking into your being. Steve told you to wait for him. So it’s the only thing you need to do. Wait for him.
“Well, kitten, you seem astray. May I assist you in finding your way?”
You squint at the chiseled chest of the stranger addressing you. His towering figure is several inches above yours. Slowly, you tip your chin skyward to get a glimpse of his face.
You gasp in surprise. It’s the boisterous blonde upperclassman from before, the one who jumped on a pool table. Instantly, you attempt to shrink away from him, his brash demeanor rousing discomfort in you.
But he gets in your face. His breath reeks of some strong alcohol you don’t recognize.
It turns your stomach.
“You’re cute,” he purrs, sneaking his fingers under your chin to study your face. His eyes do not remain on your features for long. They venture down, alongside the swell of your breasts and the flare of your hips, almost immediately.
He flashes you a feral grin and your muscles tense. Your breath stills in your throat.
His smile’s full of razor-sharp teeth.
Trembling, you croak, “I’m not interested.”
He grabs your wrist and it’s forceful enough to induce a rush of panic in your gut.
“Well, I am.” He bends over you and drags the tip of his nose alongside your neck. His throaty rasp fills you with fear. It’s too intimate for your comfort. “Most girls don’t really know what they want, what they need, kitten.” He hums obscenely as he inhales your scent.
You shudder. Nostrils flaring, he licks his lips. A wicked smile blooms over them.
“By the gods, you smell so delicious, so ripe.” He tugs your wrist, bringing it to his mouth. As you try to shake him off you, his hold on you tightens.
The bass of his laugh trickles through your senses, kicking them into alertness.
You peer around you for help, desperate. The other students pay you no mind, lost in drunken haze or flirtatious thrill.
You swallow thickly. You’re on your own. And your feet still won’t move.
“A pretty thing like you…untouched. How has such a rare, delightful treat ended up in our den of sin and revelry?” Revulsed by his closeness, your breath hitches as his teeth ghost over the skin of your wrist. Blue eyes cling to your wide terrified stare.
Teeth begin to pierce through fragile skin. The sting of flesh tearing scrunches your features, pain pulsing through your arm.
"Odinson!"
A stunned exhale spills from your mouth as your wrist is roughly wrenched away from the senior's hungry mouth.
"Barnes, I was hunting her first…" Wrath vibrates in the blonde's imperious baritone.
When you peer upwards, you're greeted by Bucky's face, distorted in anger. He's clutching your hand and shielding you from the other man's view. Chest swelling with dread, your eyes bounce between the two of them. It's like two dogs fighting over a bone - your mouth goes dry - and you're the bone.
Bucky scoffs. Contempt drips from his voice.
"She isn't yours."
The blonde squints. Breathing itself becomes near impossible, the air thick with hostile energy. It’s palpable enough that you feel its oppressive weight clogging your lungs.
"You can't just-" he starts, advancing towards Bucky.
A growl rises deep within Bucky’s chest, reverberating through your flesh.
More beast than human.
You go rigid at his back, in disbelief such a sound came from him.
The golden-haired giant pauses.
His eyes slide down from Bucky to you, then land on Bucky again. The long unnerving stretch of silence is heavy with the threat of violence. Then he throws Bucky one last annoyed glare before stomping away.
There’s no time to think, process any of what just transpired.
Bucky drags you away.
He half carries, half pulls you into a room, keeping you tight against him with little to no effort. Every attempt to fight back is met with failure. Mind whirling with a thousand questions, you pant as he tosses you on the floor carelessly.
The door slams shut.
Your head rises, the direness of the situation striking you. You’re alone with Bucky. Bucky who’s leaning on the door in a detached stance. Bucky who just threatened another student without uttering a single word. Bucky whose fangs glinted in the dim light. Bucky who might be a…
“T-That’s impossible,” you stammer, standing on wobbly legs. “Him…And you…You’re…”
Bucky snorts. He sits heavily on the bed and the mattress bounces underneath him, the hinges whining.
“A vam-pi-re, doll,” he says with a lopsided grin, insisting on each syllable. “You can say it, it’s not a dirty word.” His ravenous leer lingers over your jittery frame. “Though, I’d love to teach you a few.”
Tears prickle your eyes as the awful truth invites horror to your frenzied thoughts. Why does it feel like déjà vu? Bucky's chill-inducing smirk feels frighteningly familiar.
But you would remember such a nightmare occurring before. There's no way you could forget the heart-stopping fear seizing around your throat.
You start to run for the door but Bucky’s in front of you in less than a second, slanting his head mischievously. Panicked sobs climb up your throat. He was on the bed not even five seconds ago.
“Please, leave me alone,” you beseech.
He pouts in a mockery of concern, taunting you.
“Now, why would I do that? You’re too much fun when you’re worked up like this. Besides…” The slow steps he takes towards you make you draw back.
Chaotic heartbeats drum in your ears.
“I love the way your blood tastes.” Bucky’s tongue pokes out and drags over his upper lip. Sharp fangs wink at you when he smiles. “I’d love to know how other parts of you taste, gorgeous.”
Shaking your head, you dash towards the opposite end of the room, towards the closet. Hectic energy courses through you as you slide open the closet’s door, the only place free of Bucky’s foreboding presence.
Eyes widen as your jaw drops open.
A different nightmare welcomes you in its ghastly arms.
A body collapses on top of you. You try to wrestle it off between alarmed gulps of air. It’s crushing you under its weight.
Your struggle only stops when it’s lifted off your form.
Still on the floor, you scoot backwards as fast as you can, until your back slams into the wall.
Your mouth trembles at the ghoulish spectacle you witness. Goosebumps rise all over your skin.
Bucky’s dancing with the body.
No…
Bucky’s dancing with the corpse. It’s clear the young woman breathes no longer, her grey complexion and lifeless eyes cluing you of her demise.
Chills hop over your spine when Bucky sends you a sharp smile, halting his demented waltz. As he hauls her by the jaw, her inanimate limbs slump horrifyingly. Bile crawls up your throat, and your hands fly to your mouth to cover it.
“Why the long face, sweetheart?” he says, pulling on her rotting jaw. A fly escapes her mouth and you release a whimpering squeak. “A bit of a party pooper that one. Just couldn’t help bleeding her dry…” He sighs. “She just wouldn’t shut up, you know?”
You look at the girl’s face. She was young, pretty. Even through the decay and sickening stench, you can see how pretty she was. She probably had hopes, dreams, plans.
Like you.
Your insides wrench. It could be you. It will be you… if you don’t escape.
Rational thoughts crumble under the fear. You race for the door.
Surprisingly, it’s not locked. Hope flutters in your chest.
But it’s smothered promptly.
“Steve?” you sputter, the floor seeming to sway underneath your feet.
He’s unfazed by you bumping into him, the slant of his head curious.
“Dove?” he says, the picture of innocuity. “Something wrong?”
As you drown in his concerned azure gaze, a flood of memories sweeps your mind in crimson-stained hysteria. You remember. All at once, troubling images storm through your senses.
It all rushes back, and you come back to yourself. Bucky manhandling you. Steve sinking his teeth into you. Repeatedly. Having your wills and desires twisted and manipulated. Your brows crumple as you shake your head.
“Stay away from me,” you scream, retreating. “Both of you!” Amusement hovers over Bucky’s sculpted features, while Steve stares you down impassively. “You two are monsters!”
None of them stop you as you bolt outside, fighting your way through a numb, blissed out crowd.
You don’t stop running until you’ve reached your dorm. And once you’re there, you lock the door and slam each window shut.
While lying in bed, rest eludes you, your only companion the agitation propelling you down a spiral of panic at each trivial sound the still night births.
Instead of sleeping, your mind is at work, attempting to conjure ways out of your nightmare.
All your thoughts converge to that closet. And you find yourself wondering if, soon, your limp body will be hanging in it too.
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The next days roll on in fretful turmoil. Each waking minute is spent looking over your shoulder, waiting for something gruesome to occur.
It doesn’t. Which is almost worse. The fright nestled in the lonely, quiet expectation.
It shadows your every move. You don’t sleep. You don’t eat.
You might as well already be dead from the zombie-like state you’re plummeting into.
It’s the day of Halloween when you make the decision. You’re in the campus doctor’s office, getting checked out after fainting in class. Despite your protests, Wanda insisted on escorting you.
“You look like death,” she said, and you found it difficult to disagree.
Brows knitted, Dr. Cho is perusing her chart.
Her gaze on you is sympathetic but worried. She puts a hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently.
“You’ll need to slow down with the blood donations. They’re taking a toll on your health. And if you keep going like that-”
You push up from the bed, nervous giggles erupting from you.
“I don’t…donate blood…” you trail off.
She offers a sad smile. “Well, the tests I ran, and the symptoms you’re displaying do not lie. You’ve either suffered severe blood loss or donated liters of it.”
Your blood curdles at her words.
You freeze as your heart hammers in your chest.
Images flicker through your brain. Horrifying nightmares you could never quite shake. Bucky at the end of your bed, crawling towards you, face and neck drenched in blood. Steve hovering above you with a sick smile on his face.
Huge black cats tearing you piece by piece. Devouring your flesh.
“I-I need to go.” With haste, you grab your things, ignoring Dr. Cho’s pleas for you to stay and rest.
Wanda is loitering in the hallway, clearly waiting for you. Your lips press tightly.
The memories of Steve and Bucky aren’t the only ones that resurfaced. Wanda too has secrets. She too isn’t quite human. She too is more than meets the eye. And it’s too much for your frazzled brain to handle at the moment.
“I have to go to class,” you begin. Library’s off-limits. Steve’s made sure of that when he breached the safety of your sanctuary.
Wanda catches your hand, her viridian eyes pleading.
You firmly dislodge your fingers from her grasp before crossing your arms.
“Stay away from me.”
She flinches at your tone.
“Birdie, I was only trying to-”
“Protect me?” you scoff. “You could have done that by telling me what they were.”
As she tries to edge nearer, your hands rise. Hurt flares across her graceful features. She lowers her head, chewing on her lip. She fiddles with the plethora of silver rings adorning her fingers. A long sigh blows past her lips.
“I’m not sure how you’d have reacted. Look how freaked out you are now…”
Your eyebrows crumple.
“So, this is my fault?”
Your best friend’s forehead wrinkles.
“No, of course not, pretty bird.” Her lips move in a small smile, her expression hopeful. “If you just let me, I could cast a spell and-”
You snap your head in acute incredulity.
“Seriously, Wanda? I’ve had enough of you people messing with my mind…” Your fists ball up. “With my life.”
Licking your lips, you announce, “I’m leaving tonight. I called my grandma.”
Surprise skews Wanda’s features. She knows how desperate you must be to have contacted your grandparents. They want nothing to do with your mother, and you, by extension. It had taken some bargaining, but you managed to convince them to help you. They are virtual strangers, but it beats going back to your drunken father. His insults and criticism are the last thing you need after this awful ordeal. You don’t need more salt on your wounds.
“She said I could stay… for a little while at least. I just can’t be here right now.”
Wanda’s eyes begin to glimmer as her mouth quivers.
“Please, don’t go. I can fix it. I can help-”
“I just want things to be normal again,” you interrupt curtly. “Can you do that, Wanda? Can you make everything normal?"
Unshed tears mist over green depths. Your chest clenches. The temptation to wrap your arms around her singes your insides, embers of longing dwelling inside you still.
Her melodious accent quavers. “You called me ‘witchy’ for years. Somewhere deep down, you had to know…”
“It was a joke! I never thought any of it would be real. I thought-”
Feverish lips cover yours, silencing you. Soft and sweet. Even better than you’d dreamed. Wanda’s hands are warm on your face. Strands of her hair caress your face as her tongue searches yours tentatively. Her creamy skin smells like scented candles and cherry lipstick. You moan in the kiss, melting in its tender passion. Eyes fluttering closed, you commit the taste of Wanda’s mouth to your memory, surrendering to it for a handful of wonderful, dizzying minutes.
She feels like home. Soft, safe, warm. But she isn’t, you have to remind yourself. She’s one of them.
When the kiss ends, her hands are still cupping your face.
“Please, stay.” Her voice breaks as tears trickle down her cheeks.
It takes everything in you not to cry too. Chest tightening, you remove her hands from your face gingerly.
“I’m sorry, Wanda, but I’m leaving. Just… stay away from me, please.”
Your heart sinks at Wanda’s sorrowful expression.
But you swallow a deep breath and will yourself to turn away from her, and all the horrors lurking in the dim hallways of your faculty.
Leave all the awfulness behind. For good.
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Packing your sparse belongings doesn’t require more than one hour. Melancholy tugs at your heart the whole day, your insides twisting every time you recall Wanda’s pretty face contorted in anguish. Several times, you ponder if you should stay, the lingering heat of her lips impossible to erase.
In the end, the dread weighing on your mind wins over the yearning blossoming deep within.
Leaving at night makes you antsy. As you’ve learnt, monsters are very real, and they don’t hide under children’s beds. They stalk campus in plain sight, hungry beasts in search of youthful necks to sink their teeth into.
Duffle bag slung over your shoulder, you’re shaking all over as you scurry past the athletic center and the community hall.
If only you could have booked a ticket during the day. But your pitiful savings wouldn’t allow you to find a plane in your price range at any other time.
Paranoia dances alongside the edges of your brain. You jump every time you brush past anyone.
The playful atmosphere of students in various disguises, from sexy to frightening, and everything in between, contrasts with your sombre mood.
“Trick or treat!” a whimsical sophomore yells behind your back. Your heart drops in shock and fear. His cheeky grin boils your blood. Annoyed, you flip him the bird and he hisses “Bitch” at you.
Rolling your eyes, you resume your hasty walk.
Jack-o-lanterns have been hung on the trees, bathing the path you try to stay on in yellow light. Maybe if you stick to the light, the darkness will not creep up on you.
When the rusted, wrought iron gates, with ivy crawling over the brick walls, dart into view, a sigh of relief slips past your lips.
You’ve made it. Maybe now, you can finally be free of this nightmare.
You’ve only gotten as far as three steps towards freedom when, suddenly, all is darkness.
Chest heaving in panic, you wriggle to disentangle from the sturdy embrace restraining your movements.
Your sight is obliterated by the bag over your head. Your screams ripple through the night as you’re hauled over someone’s shoulder with ease. Inhuman ease.
“Sorry, dove, but you aren’t going anywhere. Not tonight. Not ever.”
Steve’s stern baritone raises goosebumps over your flesh. You struggle to no avail. Anxious fear resonates through you as you wonder where Steve’s taking you. He ignores all your inquiries, your wailing ricocheting off him like rocks skipping over water.
When the bag is torn off your head, you’re in a lowly lit room. From the looks of it, you’re in a crypt or a tunnel. Torches are the only source of light, the shadows of the swaying flames dancing on the stone walls.
A stunning red-haired girl with a pouty, mischievous smile approaches. She’s wearing a white cloak that covers her form.
“I’m Natasha,” she says. “The head of Kappa Delta Gamma house. We’re the female chapter of Alpha Delta.”
Natasha Romanoff. Your breath hitches. The sorority sisters, while known for their mesmerizing looks, mostly keep to themselves.
You grip her forearm in desperation.
“I-I’ve heard of you. Natasha, you have to let me go.”
She giggles. It’s chilling in its musical eeriness. A beautiful, inhuman sound.
“Oh, no can do, pretty girl.” She strokes the side of your face. Her fingertips are cold. You tense. “You’ve been chosen. You should feel honored.”
Fear makes you go motionless. You don’t move an inch as she peels off your clothes, her gaze tarrying over your curves appreciatively.
“I don’t understand. I-I’m scared…”
Natasha’s fleshy lips curve in a lopsided smirk. She dresses your shivering form in a white garment. A sleeveless white sundress that shows too much cleavage for your comfort. You feel naked in it.
“Is our blood maiden ready for the ritual?”
Bucky’s voice startles you.
Natasha’s perky as she whirls towards him. He’s wearing a cloak too, only it’s as pitch black as the night. up
“Oh, she’s more than ready. Have at her. You know, now that I see her.” She twitches her eyebrows. “I have to say, I’m a little envious.”
Bucky laughs and sends her a wide grin.
“Well, she’s ours, Nat. So you’ll have to find your own mortal plaything.”
She throws you a lewd glance, her intentions unmistakable. “Hm, a pity.”
Before the chills can fully form on your spine, you’re on the move. It’s irrational, reckless. But terror has a mind of its own. It has you racing towards the only entrance.
Bucky’s wintry breath teases the back of your neck when he catches you.
“Doll, you can’t keep running away,” he whispers. The gentle lilt wheezing across your earlobe sickens you. “I’d hate having to break those pretty legs of yours.”
The threat, delivered so casually, has your pulse quickening.
“Please let me go. I promise I won’t talk about you guys. I won’t say anything to any-”
The laugh he emits, low and malicious, reverberates ominously through your chest. He pets your cheek.
“How could I let you go when you beg so sweetly, doll?”
Sobs climb up your throat as Bucky picks you up and carries you to another room. It’s palatial and symbols have been engraved in the stone on the walls. A coffin has been propped up on the other side of the room, in the furthest corner. A circle of men in the same black cloak as Bucky stand in a circle.
Steve’s there too, at the center of the circle in front of an altar. His dazzling smile summons a swell of dread in the pit of your stomach.
The men in cloaks start chanting. The words are in a foreign language you've never heard before.
As your eyes wander, the faces you recognize fill you with grim understanding. The upperclassman who hit on you at the party. Scott Lang. Sam Wilson. Tony Stark. Clint Barton.
All of them are here.
How were you so nose-deep in your books you never took notice of the secret vampire cult operating on campus?
Bucky sits your body on the altar with astonishing caution.
He and Steve trade a look. Bucky nods.
When Steve starts speaking, your terror reaches a peak.
“On this wicked night of All Hallow’s Eve, we offer He who bestowed upon each of us the gift of life, the gift of blood… a sacrifice.”
Bucky continues with utter seriousness, the mirth vanishing from his face, “The first pluckings of maidenhood. The gift of innocence.”
Blue eyes burning with intensity land on you, their unflinching focus scalding your skin.
“This is silly. I’m not-” you begin, the meaning behind their words taking a horrifying, clear shape in your brain.
Steve's jaw twitches.
“Dove, don’t even bother trying to lie. I could smell your innocence from miles away. That enticing smell…" Lids dropping, Steve inhales the air, a serene expression falling over his features. "It's unlike anything. So pure. So sweet.”
Bucky licks his lips as his gaze cinches to your neck.
“And her taste, Steve. It’s even better.”
They smile at each other knowingly, as if they were reliving a pleasant memory. Your chest seizes. Reminiscing of the torment they inflicted on you is what brightens their mood.
“You’re right, sweetheart. That’s why we should take our time. We have to make sure she never forgets this night.”
You still at Steve's words. Heart thudding, you squeeze the edge of the altar. You wish you could run, hide. But surrounded by these monsters, you wouldn't make one step before vicious fangs tore through your skin.
"True. It is our doll's first time after all." Mouth desert dry, you're stranded in helplessness as you witness Bucky and Steve shed their night-colored cloaks. The sight of their pale, bare, chiseled bodies is a bolt of lightning through your system. You inhale audibly at the sight of the thick cocks bobbing against their muscular thighs. The imminent nature of what's to come renders your breaths short and uneven.
"Do not fear, we will worship you, dove," Steve mumbles as he materializes in front of you. The sapphire glow of his orbs enthralls you. His command penetrates your very soul. Shoulders slumping, the terror dwindles, still there but muted. Your body goes slack but your mind remains braced in frightful disarray.
"She's still terrified, Stevie. I can see it in her eyes."
Steve chuckles, the edge of his smile wolfish.
"A little bit of fear never hurt anyone… It'll make her blood even sweeter." He bends down to whisper in your ear. "You can scream as loud as you want, dove. No one will hear you."
Their fangs gleam in the eerie light, pearly daggers driving ripples of inevitability through your veins.
Steve's mouth descends on yours first. His kiss is possessive, all-consuming. As if he wishes to devour you whole with his lips only. The sharpness of his fangs pierces the soft barrier of your flesh. Blood trickles in the iciness of the kiss, warming it. Steve moans, swallowing each of your whimpers. You feel him grow hard against your stomach, your blood rushing to his cock. He grinds into you and his nimble fingers cradle your face. Trembles course through your frame as he licks a path down your chin and neck, greedily collecting each stray drop of precious blood.
His crimson tongue glides over his lip as he nudges your body down on the cold stone.
You yelp as your dress is ripped in the middle, exposing your heaving chest, to Steve, to Bucky, and all the other men leering at you hungrily. Shame prickles your skin.
Bucky cups your cheek, baring his fangs as a devilish smile expands over his features. He's the one who tore your dress. Suddenly, his mouth collides with yours. His kiss rivals Steve's in possessiveness. You feel more pain than pleasure as your lips are split open again, more blood spilling over your chin. Bucky groans as his tongue dances with yours. Large palms find your taut peaks and knead them between cruel fingers. He laughs in the heat joining your lips as you whine at the sensation.
"Our sweet little lamb makes such pretty noises, Steve," Bucky purrs, arousal dripping from his tone. As his teeth disappear in the tender flesh of your neck, his hard length springs to life against your thigh. Bucky's muffled hums vibrate through your skin when he feeds from you. Stunned air is sucked in your lungs, eyes wide, as his hand sneaks between your thighs. He starts rubbing your naked folds. Tiny gasps escape the confines of your chest. Gnawing on your bleeding lip, you try your best to stifle them. It's impossible. A helpless cry stumbles in your throat as one of his fingers sinks into your cunt. The friction of his expert digits is a dreadful tease, one that has you dangling between an ocean of bliss and a chasm of shame. Water pools in your core, your body growing limp, needy. Bucky’s blood-stained mouth quirks upwards.
"So much fuss and you're already dripping wet, doll."
The way he brushes against your soft spots is both torture and pleasure tossed in a sinful cocktail. One you’re forced to down in one swig to its dregs, instead of savoring sip by sip. You’re drunken off the breath-snatching sensation. It becomes hard to think, a mist of lust fogging your perception. Your walls grip Bucky’s fingers on instinct. It’s clear he’s determined to have you come apart with his fingers alone. The heel of his hand massages the tangle of nerves above your core. 
Liquid fire pours in your veins, growing into an inferno, as Bucky thrusts purposefully inside you, again and again. His fingers are still hooked inside you when you cum. Breathless mewls topple from your lips as your back arches. Stars land in your eyes and you feel infinitely weightless. Like being nestled on clouds. Clouds made of fiery tingles.
Even the times you tried to find satisfaction between your lonely sheets, you had never experienced anything like this.
Smugness paints Bucky’s features as his hand vanishes from between your legs. Chest fluttering, you blink at him through your hazy sight. Humiliation swirls in your gut. Your cunt’s clenching from the sudden absence of his fingers.
Heat floods your face as Bucky licks you off his fingertips with a gravelly hum. Brown feathery lashes caress carved cheekbones when his eyes close.
"I knew you'd be sweet, doll.” Flames swallow your skin as his gaze burns into yours. "Wanted to taste you for so long.” His intensity, such a far cry from the usual jests and taunts, unsettles you. Confusion fills you. But there’s no time to ponder further on it as Steve’s head is suddenly between your thighs. Tumultuous inhales still rattle your chest and your legs still quake from what Bucky did to you. Yet there is no time to recover as Steve licks a sluggish stripe over your sensitive folds. Your eyes roll backwards, your neck twisting at an odd angle. 
Steve’s mouth is like heaven and hell all at once. 
The warbled sounds departing your lips as he eats you out sound foreign to your own ears. Wanton, filthy and oh so needy.
Steve sucks your tender bud in his mouth, worshipping it with sensual flicks of his tongue. That same wicked tongue plunges into you and explores your folds with dangerous meticulousness. You inhale sharply as he strokes one of your softest spots; Steve’s plump lips curve into your trembling flesh.
His large hands grab under your thighs, fingers squeezing enough to leave marks on your skin. 
You know his harsh grip on your thighs will bruise tomorrow… if there’s a tomorrow. 
Steve holds you in place like he’d rather snap your neck than let you go somewhere he’s not, and devours your cunt with the slow eagerness of a man who's been ravenous for centuries. 
Another orgasm travels through your frame, blinding you, as Steve swirls his tongue over your clit. 
Sharp pain slices through the veil of lust when his fangs sink into the delicate flesh of your inner thigh. Broken wails echo off the walls. The sting doesn't last. It soon surrenders to the delirious wave of ecstasy engulfing you. The more of your life elixir he drinks, the more dizzy and hot you get. 
As Bucky's mouth joins his in utterly ruining you, sparks bloom on your flesh. Your hardened nipples tremble as Bucky's tongue circles them. Steve scatters bite marks all over your thighs then blows icy air over your overwrought core. 
You spasm. When he raises his head, you're pinned by his incandescent gaze.
He rolls your soft flesh between his fingers before trailing bloody kisses over your navel, ripping more of the flimsy white material with one tug. You suck in a sharp breath as the chilly breeze kisses your bare flesh.
"Beautiful…" Steve says hoarsely as he admires your naked body.
They exchange a half-lidded glance before their blue eyes land on you at the same time. Their strange, unnatural focus reduces you to shivering, wide-gazed prey at their mercy.
"Our perfect doll," Bucky whispers seductively, crawling over your frame.
Both of them savoring you at the same time is too much. An out of body experience where any sliver of control you might have had withers in the throes of sensual bliss. Your mind empties and you become nothing but a heap of fiery nerves beneath Steve and Bucky's hungry touch.
No inch of you is left untasted or ungroped.
You’re a whimpering mess when Steve spreads your legs wide, your wet pussy bare for all to see. Embarrassment blooms in your face. Reflexively your hands slide between your legs, in search of long lost modesty.
Immediately, your wrists are seized and slammed into cold stone. You gasp. Bucky’s face fills your line of sight. Anger swirls in his shadowed depths. His teeth glinting in the dim light quicken your pulse. You wince as he bends down and nibbles into your ear.
“Don’t ever try to hide from us, doll,” he growls against your cheek, menace seeping from his tone.
Steve’s thick head begins to prod your entrance. You stiffen. Each of your muscles is coiled tight as a knot as you’re about to meet your fate. You can’t bring yourself to look and your eyes squeeze shut.
“Look at me,” Steve says firmly. His thrall is at its strongest. You can’t resist it. Teeth grinding, you open your eyes. The blonde’s conceited smirk welcomes you.
“You’re ours, dove.” Your heart lurches at his ominous words. He rubs his thick length against your slit, sultry groans rolling up his chest. “It’s high time you accept it. And take what we give you.”
Steve surprises you when he sinks himself into you with one swift thrust. Your vision spins. Your back shudders. The stretch of him inside is agonizing. Like being torn apart from within. Tears start brimming your fluttering eyelids.
There’s no time to accommodate to his throbbing girth as he starts rocking his hips almost immediately.
His vicious cock ruins you completely. You feel every vein and ridge of Steve’s length as he pours inside you without a care for your comfort. The burn in your core is sheer agony.
Salty water freely spills over your cheeks.
When you imagined your first time, you had dreams of it being soft, tender; a slow exploration of bodies in the arms of someone you loved. Not this nightmare where your body isn’t yours anymore, but a mere toy in Steve and Bucky’s hands.
More water gathers under your lashes as flickers of scarlet strands gliding under your fingertips, bubbling laughter and vibrant green eyes fleet across your mind.
“Hm, you’re even tighter than I imagined, dove,” Steve praises, chewing on his lip.
His pelvis brushes against your clit with each forceful stroke and you feel yourself grow warmer.
Tingles start bouncing on your flesh, slithering to your core. Your torment is worsened by Bucky’s palms, which never stop roaming over your flesh. And his mouth, which never stops wandering. Biting and kissing and lapping at your dainty human skin.
You keen and mewl. Your vision grows hazy.
Steve pulls you closer, his cock hitting spots deep within that have your heartbeats faltering. Different sensations sweep over you. The threads of your resolve come apart at the seams.
Shame dulls, dwindling to an echo as all your thoughts converge towards one thing and one thing only. Steve’s cock. And the way it drags against your walls, steadily driving you insane.
“Your pussy’s like heaven, dove.” He brings your thighs close to his chest, cramming himself in you so deep, you think your heart might stop. “The one we were denied. I knew from the first time I saw you that you’d be just right for us.”
His pace is more frantic now. His hips slam into you more cruelly. Pounding. Taking. Bucky kisses away your hot tears.
Soon your cunt pulsates around Steve’s cock, gushing wetness between you both. Lewd grunts mingle with your desperate sobs, the perverse symphony resonating in your ears.
You climax with him still inside you.
Steve chuckles. “Hm, dove. You’re making a mess on my cock.”
He drives his cock in and out of your drenched cunt again and again before having his fill. His wild motions slow, a harsh snarl escaping his lips. His warm, bloody spent paints your walls. As he comes, his fangs elongate and his eyes glow eerily. Sharp cries split the frosty air as his head swoops down and he buries his teeth in your skin again. The sting, while ephemeral now, is acute and ever-present.
When Steve finally unfurls from your wet heat, he’s hard again. You gape in horror as he fists his veiny length, his gaze never leaving yours.
Before you can catch a full breath, Bucky is on you.
Your cunt and legs still pulse with pain from Steve’s roughness.
Bucky flips your body, providing you no time to recover. His large hand fastens around the back of your neck, pressing your cheek into icy stone. Tremors course through your frame as you continue to sob, never having stopped. You wonder how you still have tears to shed when they’ve drained you so carelessly. He corrals your hips in a firm, bruising grip, lining himself with your center. The breath catches in your throat. The thick head of his cock drags up and down your folds. A thumb rubs over your quivering flesh, teasing your oversensitive bud. A frosty breeze washes over your back, fearful anticipation coiling in your stomach.
“You’re so pretty there.” He sinks into you unhurriedly. Your belly tightens as you chew on your lip. You can feel every inch of him. Every vein, every ridge, every curve of his thick cock. “Gonna keep you with us always. Our own sweet doll to play with…forever.” 
The daunting prophecy fills you with dread. 
You choke on your tears. Regret scalds your insides. 
Will you ever see her again? If you’d known it might have been the last time, you’d have chosen your words more carefully. So many unsaid words sat on your tongue then. And each will remain unspoken.
More whimpers bubble up your throat.
“I want you to feel me in you long after we do this, gorgeous.” His broad body drapes over yours and his sickeningly sweet scent, dipped in death and sin, engulfs you whole. Soft lips trail over your shoulders. Teeth tear into your flesh to etch their ownership over it, to brand you. “Not that it matters. It’s not like you’ll be going anywhere anytime soon.”
You draw a squeaky breath as he pushes further into you, stretching you uncomfortably. Your nails start to crack and bleed as they rake into hard stone.
Through your swaying vision, you get a peek at Steve, hand around his huge, throbbing cock, stroking it with low, feral sounds. His inhumane pupils twirl with want.
“I plan to have you sitting on my cock, crying those pretty tears, many more times, gorgeous.”
A stuttered wail falls from your mouth. Your lungs constrict as he bottoms out. Like Steve, he doesn’t wait before moving inside you.
Ferocious, primal roars climb up Bucky’s chest as he rails into you. His pelvis brutally slams into your ass and you can barely breathe. Despite his devilish pace, your cunt grips him like a vice.
It doesn’t take very long before Bucky makes you see stars too, your body spasming as you shatter beneath him.
“You were right, Steve,” Bucky grumbles as his hips accelerate. “It’s like coming home.” His twisted laughter bounces off the walls of the temple. “The way she hugs my cock.”
Steve nods.
“Pussy like this shouldn’t be wasted on immature college boys…” Steve’s gaze sharpens, his lips quirking unevenly. “or girls.”
More heat rushes to your core as Bucky’s fingers dig into your waist. Wordless screams part your lips. It seems to last forever. And the pain doesn’t subside, coalescing with the pleasure in a confusing, dizzying mix of sensations. Bucky’s relentless as his cock ruins your walls, bruising your soft petals.
A mess of blood and cum leaks from between your legs when he finally releases himself. Blanketed in terror and exhaustion, you don’t stir as deft fingers circle your swollen nub. When Bucky’s chestnut strands graze your shoulders, his fangs slicing through your sweat-drenched skin, the ache is a faint echo of what it was. Your slumped form is unmoving. As Bucky’s cock becomes taut and wide against the swell of your ass, a single tear slides down your cheeks.
Their mouths, cocks and hands never seem to find satisfaction. They rob orgasm after orgasm from your languid body. The wet sounds of skin against skin, the fanatical chanting, and the lewd sounds pouring from Steve and Bucky’s mouths as they empty their sick lust into you meld into the wicked ballad of your ruin.
“You’re ours in every way, now, doll,” Steve says, licking a path across your chest.
“Now and forever,” Bucky adds, his hand cupping your pussy possessively.
As time expands into a torturous eternity, a numb haze falls over your senses.
You’re a mere spectator, your mind hovering over your body.
The storm of delight swaddles you in its heat and you let it.
Your tears dry. You go quiet.
It’s the rumbling sound booming across the temple that yanks you back towards reality. The walls quake and the chanting halts.
All the vampires’ eyes rivet on the furthest end of the room, towards the colossal coffin made of carved wood etched with strange symbols. The symbols pulse and glow. The lid of the coffin shakes.
Steve and Bucky hold you tight as they stare in awe.
Through the fog, in the shadowy light, you get a glimpse of brown skin, purple robes and a wide, manic smile.
A deep, mellifluous voice wrecks the silence with theatrical flourish.
“Well, that was quite the show you guys put together.” The stranger radiates a stifling power that makes the room feel small, suffocating. He chuckles darkly. “Usually, I get goat or pig sacrifices but… this is so much better.”
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“Wanda, we’ve looked all day. She isn’t here.”
Playing with her rings, Wanda paces furiously in front of the café. She keeps hoping she’ll see you waving at her from inside, eyes wide and fearful as you silently beg for her to save you. But all the people dwelling inside are strangers. None of them is her pretty bird.
Another deadend.
It’s the third time this week.
Her brows knit together.
“I sense a dark presence in this town. And the pendant…”
Pietro’s hand lands on Wanda’s shoulder.
“Could have been pointing out any kind of supernatural creature.” A sad smile lifts her brother’s lips. “Even us, sister.”
He sighs.
“Do you know how many vampire nests there are in America? Look, I miss her too, but-”
Her eyebrow twitches as she brushes off his hand angrily.
“I don’t care, Pietro. I will find her, no matter the cost.”
She ignores the pointed worry in his gaze.
“Wanda, it’s been six months. You know, she might not even be the same when you-”
She whirls towards him, silencing her brother with one sorrowful look.
“I see her in my dreams, you know?” Tears press behind Wanda’s eyes. Her voice comes out wobbly. “Or should I say nightmares. She’s suffering. She needs me. Knowing she’s out there, and these monsters are hurting her…”
Red sparks sizzle at the edge of her fingertips. Dark thoughts of what she’d do to them once she finds you lurk in her mind. Whatever pain they inflicted upon you, they will experience tenfold.
“It’s not your fault.”
Wanda laughs dryly, unshed tears glistening under the rim of her lashes.
“I should have taken her away someplace safe. I could have used the Darkhold, enchanted her for her own good and-”
Pietro’s silver locks shake as he frowns.
“Wanda, don’t. The last thing she would have wanted is you using your magic on her.”
Her lips tighten. Grim resoluteness plummets on her features.
“I know. But I won’t rest until I find her. And when I do, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.”
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