#;rumlow's desires | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darkdemeter · 7 months

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𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍, 𝐁𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐈

— BUCKY BARNES COLUMN (ONESHOT)

Dark Pirate! Bucky Barnes x Siren! Female Reader

—- not my gifs, credit to original posters! -—

| A/N | DISCRETION |

A/N — Ey yo let’s go! Here it is, part 2!

Dark, pirate Bucky — possessive Bucky, also feat. possessive reader — profanity — angst! — mention of alcohol — pet names ("Siren") — SMUT 18+ Minors DNI — unprotected (given) p in v sex — mention of marks/hickeys — there be depiction of wenches/prostitutes — semi-exhibitionism — mention of memory wipe through magic — minor cigar consumption (not reader) — very brief depiction of harm against a crew member — Rumlow, he's a bit of a sly creep — I think that's it?

| SUMMARY |

You are his siren. Why do you insist on your curiosity when you know it will only get you into trouble? In your captain's search for the ancient treasure, a temple only you know the location of, the voyage will take momentary port in Nassau. Mina, a fellow siren, reveals to you the dark truth that you have been blind to. Lied to. She encourages you to take back the necklace. The time to be a siren is now, to lure your captain into a false sense of devotion, that your sights and desires only draw to him; and not the necklace bound to his hand and the secrets he's been keeping from you.

*6.1𝐤 ────────────────┘

| M-LIST | TAGLIST:

@identity2212 @sebastianstansqueen @openup-yourmind @kandis-mom @calwitch @cjand10 @ashdoctor @missmarvelophilic @mostlymarvelgirl @daddy-bucky @thegirlwholoveslivesfanfiction @armystay89

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Dawn kisses the horizon’s rolling waters, erasing the wicked hue of intermingling black and blue with colours brighter, more promising, to bloom over sky and sea. A sight that portraits serenity in order to inspire a welling of hope. The flaming orb of heat commands to stir the once slumbering crew into action. Little does it work to awaken your captain, already awake and buried deep in the channel of your cunt, his cock surges forward aggressively, tip kissing your cervix with each powerful snap of his hips.

Relentless, he rolls in tandem with the rock of the ship, a string of grunted breaths and deep, stuttering groans thrum in the cavern of his large chest, heart hammering against his ribcage.

He pulls from you another countless orgasm to add to another countless hour of this tortuous bliss. A flushing, white and hot, seizes hold of you and beckons your body to respond accordingly, trained in his art of greed your legs drag over the terrain of defined muscle to bring him impossibly closer. Skin melding to inked skin, sweat laced bodies mingling in heated, frictional euphoria.

“Y’love that, Siren? Huh,” he pants on the shell of your ear, “love it when I have you full of me?”

You mewl a small, whiney sound.

“Yes—” you intake sharply, “C-Captain…”

“Aye, say it again.” He growls deeply, teeth nip the lobe of your ear, his nose buried in the crook of your neck inhales deeply the sweet dew of your flushed skin. Rough and strong, his hands have yours pinned, as he does your entire body, pressed against blood-red and snowy white velvets and silks and dark, exotic furs once belonging to pompous princes. Now, they belong to the king of the sea and his siren. Hips rolling together in time, fingers interlacing, woven together in bound strength to hold each other as guarded lifelines, the webbing between your slender digits draws and withdraws from their tucked beds of skin. Pupils conflict between dark, slitted lines and circular globes of blackness blown in pleasure.

“Shit… fuck– so fuckin’ tight, Siren!” he hisses, “mine… only mine.”

Already your core burns enticingly, welcoming another orgasm that follows closely behind your one just prior. His navel arcs to brush your clit, the girth of his cock strikes true each time, he pummels harder and faster, his tip the only portion to remain before he thrusts forward with a moistened glide.

Corded notes of pleasure are threaded into hitched knots, producing small, hiccuping whines as your abused, slickened walls constrict around his cock to milk him of every drop. The small bridge of your back arches, the smooth surface of your salty skin gliding over the defined divots and scars of his muscular front, inch by inch you feel him everywhere; both outside and inside.

He’ll never let you go. As a man who prides himself in the fine freedoms of piracy, he’s a blackened heart that guards you with vigorous possessiveness. Nor do you think you’re capable of ever leaving him. He is all you have. He is yours just as much as you are his.

The treasure he covets with unmatched greed. No woman on this earth could ever encounter what you have above you and between your quivering legs that loop tightly over his strong waist. And because of this, you equally covet this treasure of yours.

His cock ruts your cervix roughly, tugging forth a long, high noted yelp underlined with a breathy huff, the rhythm of his hips stutters at the sound. His pink lips find yours, tongue drawing over your own, your submission allowing him to do as he pleased. He feeds off the chorus of your breathless song, a song meant just for him. Because of him.

“Fuckin’ hell…” His voice rasps, teeth sinking into the bend where your shoulder and neck meet. “Love it when y’sing for m— me.” A gut-emitted groan reverberates in his chest, Skin meets skin in synchronised slapping, raw and primal with need. Wooden legs rub and claw the floorboards with heavy creaks.

“L–look atcha… huh, whiney and cock drunk– mmm, gonna make you scream for me, Love.”

His thrusts grow as ruthless as the brewing storms of the sea, lashing and rocking you beyond the point of refusal. There is no denying, no pushing away. Not when it comes to your captain.

“C’mon, Siren—” He pants with a series of rushing thrusts that pin you down. “Sing for me.”

The erected peeks of your breasts are tender as they push against his chest. You whimper softly.

“Captain…”

“Aye, louder,” he growls. Of his flesh hand, his knuckles whiten dangerously until the skin melts over bone. Another harsh snap of his hips sends you spiralling on the verge of your orgasm.

“Captain—” you gasp and he bites down into the bevel between your collarbone with a rasping growl. “Captain!”

Your velvety walls tighten around the hardened length penetrating you, filling you, his cock encumbered by the vice of your cunt. The blinding flash covers your vision and heat spreads through every corner of your body, leaving nothing but a siren blinded in lustful bliss. He groans with each drag and push, muscles glistening in the soft glow of the rising sun. The flowing wave of his precious seed finds purchase in your lower abdomen.

It’s not until he completely empties his hot load, does he finally slow his pace to a stop. Above you he pants heavily, each breath reminding you of the sea’s spray and sun-tainted breeze that tousles the darkened locks of his hair.

Your energy sapped from the unbridled temper of your beloved captain, you find reprieve in the gentleness of his tongue tracing the numerous dark marks covering your skin - his marks.

“Know this…” His voice rumbles lowly, his flesh hand harbouring the necklace dangles it mere inches over your parted lips. “There is nothing for you to find in a dried pearl, Siren. I am all you need.”

Metal squeezes your jawline, pursuing your understanding. The pink tip of his tongue wets his lips and he arches a brow.

“Yes…”

You needn’t be jostled twice by the threat of his grasp, you whisper, voice barely audible, “…Captain.”

“Atta girl.”

Arriving at port in Nassau means safe haven for the crew of The Avenger, a chance to rekindle spirits with a few dozen barrels of liquor and a woman’s belly to keep any weathered sailor happy. In the Caribbean’s turning and heating morn, gulls scavenge for pickings of food, the white banks of sand converging with the blue tinged tide bathe the nudity of your feet with absorbed heat, it brings an irate wince to cross your features. Over the vast stretch of beach and headed further inland, the jolly tune of harboured pirates emit from the wooden, creaky shacks, if not counting the ruckus of noisy patrons enjoying their paid company.

Never did your captain have need for such sleaziness, such lazed women who lounge in wait for coins to fill the near-always empty drawstring bag tied to their thigh. He had you. To hold you close to the scorching warmth of his battle hardened body, to passionately entangle your limbs in an endless thread of desire, and to bask in the radiance that is one another; the possession of a companion no other can have.

And your own guard for your beloved captain doesn’t go unnoticed, by either him or the hungering gazes of those women yet in wait, your arms encircling around the bulk of Bucky’s flesh arm, in your neck the muscles strain as your fangs become elongated in a threatening display, the disguise of your eyes falters into narrow strips of glaring obsidian.

These women are no strangers to the presence of sirens, in spite of the limited number of population, a siren’s prize is never to be taken from her.

“Easy, Lass,” Bucky coos, lips drawn on either side into a charming grin. “There’s none suiting my fancy but you.”

His assurances brighten refocused pupils and the lines around your mouth pull into a smirk. The now scornful glares of ladies unworthy of his time burn into you, and you in turn purse the tip of your tongue between your lips in retaliation. Behind, you hear a few members of the crew huff in their amusement.

With the crew tailing loyally behind their captain, each body a weighted husk ready to drown themselves in all that Nassau offers, the striking colour of a scarlet coat saunters forward in the corner of your vision. In a briefly stolen glance to your side, the brilliance of her green irises invade you with a soulless engagement, full lips drawn into a thin line and below the crimson stripe of her bandana, her brows are furrowed.

It comes to mind Bucky’s attendance on deck to anchor the ship at port, and so too does the possible thought that during that increment amount of time, Bucky could have very well informed Wanda of your curious skirmish ending in upheaval, caught red handed in the act.

And yet the events, the memory of what you experienced - the estranged bond you shared with the necklace - all of it remains. No bouts of stomach churning nausea or blurred hazes that leave you to stumble on your two feet, abandoning you to the mindless plane of confusion where memory is your worst and forgotten enemy.

And you prefer to keep it that way. These invasions that leave you more curious, sensing something greatly amiss the more of its occurrence is known, perhaps it’s best if you surrender the search. Your captain is all you need. Nevermind the ghostly songs that haunt the realm beneath the surface. Maybe, just maybe, there is good reason why you don’t remember anything. And if you cease this affair, then maybe with the grace of your beloved, that there will be no need to be swallowed into the misty thicket of her dark, scarlet magic.

I am my captain’s siren. I must remain with him. He is all I have. All I want to have…

‘Mm hm, mm hm, mm~hmm~hm~mm… mhm.,.’

The melody chimes to lure your attention, the trickery of the voices blooms thickly throughout the forefront of your mind. You press to ignore the empty promise of their secrets revealed. This search ends now. No more. In defiance to the woeful, bleeding song of murmured hums, your arms hold tighter to Bucky, his chin dips low as his blue eyes look you over, gorgeous eyes of the ocean, captured within the handsome sculpture of his visage. A forbidden make of marble, carven with perfection in mind.

‘Mm hm, mm hm, mm~hm—’

“Something the matter, Siren?” thrums the husky drawl of your captain. You turn your eyes - your entire form of attention - to him, devoting it to him alone, and not to the tune that wanes with grieving cries that drown in the mists of that plane. You shake your head with refined elegance and bring a smile to grace him with.

“Nothing, my Captain,” you purr sweetly. Voice soft enough to easily die in the crashing of heavy waves, but so throbbing to the heart that the lilted beat of your voice could never be lost to him. Bucky grins at your words, respite is found in the security of your vow. Not only does your answer satisfy him immensely, but it draws Wanda’s intense focus away from you.

The quartermaster, Steve Rogers, is met in an engulfing embrace by a striking brunette with bouncy curls, lips bright and red and grinning, brown eyes sparkling in the Nassau’s brimming sun. Truth be told, she was far too pretty to be a mere human, her beauty akin to a glistening ruby, and maybe it saddens you the littlest bit that she foresees you with eyes of weariness rather than friendliness.

Perhaps if she were a siren herself, you’d both have settled together rather fondly as friends - as bonded sisters. But alas, with her own treasure now ashore for now, she takes to him and welcomes him with moaning cords and absorbing kisses, Bucky chuckles slyly with a wink to his exhausted friend.

Weather-beaten tables score the large deck of the tavern, most of them being vacant outside, but given the beginnings of your skin drying out, Bucky takes care to situate you as close to a shaded spot. Something you are noticeably grateful for with your cheek nuzzling into the openly revealed space of his chest, the belted strips of leather strapped over his chest warm your skin as well as his skin.

Casting you in flittering shadows are the swaying palms, their long and prickly spine leaves howling in the sea’s constant winds driven ashore. While other members of the crew flee to their own affairs to relax, those of Bucky’s inner circle remain close, like cards held to his chest, and you being the winning ace of his games, are held the closest.

“Restock of the ship’s supplies will take all day, not to mention, the girl needs a few restorations herself,” says Bruce, spectacles resting low upon the bridge of his nose, eyes finalising his scrawlings as his voice confirms. His hand runs over the plump of his cheek with a drained sigh, middle finger pushing the brass loop of his glasses upwards.

“And that’ll spend us… half our funds.”

“Wouldn’t need to waste so much coin on crackers ‘nd other shite, had someone not snuck ‘round like a rat.” Clint’s eyes squint in his accusation towards none other than the master of maps and navigation, Stark, who partakes in defending himself behind a weak shrug.

“There’s actual rats aboard. T’wasn’t me.”

Clint’s upper lip curls into a sneer, the ship’s cook primed to render Stark into salted meatloaf, a dullened knife he took to using in both battle and kitchen is held in his nimble fingers.

“Fuckin’ thievin’—”

“Quit your squabbling,” rumbles your captain, “strike what isn’t needed for the voyage. Double on reinforcements and armoury.” His gruff voice sends tingles through your still connected cheek to his front, content in hearing its booming and steady beat. Bruce nods and returns his gaze downward to his leatherbound companion, quill resipping ink, he scribbles into his book once again, humming and murmuring to himself.

Bruce Banner, though quite brutal in the midst of battles, is a relatively quiet man who tends to keep to himself for most of his membership as a crewmate. Often he dwells below decks, counting stock, taking note of damages and overall engaging the skin of parchment rather than a woman.

Not to completely disregard the sometimes scarce glances between himself and the fiery, flintlock dancer herself, Natasha, eyes meeting between the wooden blanks separating their worlds from dark to light. If history is planted there, there is little to know in your knowledge - your hazy knowledge. From what you’ve gathered, Natasha has a tongue that leaves many of the males on board chest torn and heart bleeding, in dire need for her to bandage them with a moment of her time. Time that she rather spent either dancing in the heat of conflict, pulling the ship in order or occupy herself with you.

In comparison to the neighbouring woman often skulking silently by Bucky’s heel like a prowling animal on a leash, Natasha offered you what nobody else truly had; a connection. Someone you can maybe call friend.

By no means is she completely softened around you, she pushes you beyond your limits, but in her interactions with you, she layers herself with a bout of steadiness and calm to keep you level headed at best. She even takes the time to teach you letters and words of human speech. Too nervous to ask such a tedious task of your own captain, it had been Natasha called upon to teach you.

Under her mentorship, she had governed you away from the native tongue of your sea dwelling folk, and what had at first been mistaken as the ship’s adored feline, Alpine coughing up a fish bone, had just been you taking the first step in learning to speak the language of humans. Only then and afterwards did your captain also take part in your teaching, albeit through a more erotic means of lessons behind the closed door of his cabin.

Steve returns with a sway to his step, Peggy held snug to his hip, the two bound by invisible, sticky sap that glues them together. “We’ve drinks comin’, Cap!” He laughs with a clap to Bucky’s broad shoulder, jostling you forward with a startled whine, eyes stinging and dry in alertness.

You miss catching it at first, the sharpened glare of ice in his eyes towards Steve for his abrupt disturbance of you, the blonde haired man, lass-drunken already, clicks his tongue with a grimace of offered sincerity, uttering a quiet apology under his heated breath.

Bucky is only willing to let his scowl go after you assure the quartermaster that there is no harm done, excusing yourself that your fatigue had gotten the better of your guard.

Flared tempers now cooled, Steve leans back against the rickety stage of the deck’s plank railing. The ruffled skirts of his companion’s dress ride a little higher on her thigh as she rests it over his lap, drawstring bag visible… and fattened with coin. Paid very early in advance. Paid full with at least three weeks worth of salary strapped to her leg.

A chorus of cheers spill out into the open air when tankards of foam-headed refreshments are delivered. Tony’s chapped lips bend around a cigar stick, catching a flame to his match by the heel of his boot, he lights it and puffs a smog that brings your nose to wrinkle and lungs to jump.

“Right,” he says, the end of the word lost in its pronunciation, “Down ter business.” The master of maps of navigation procures from his coat rolled parchments and lays them flat to the wooden rot, he knocks a knuckle hard in indication of the pirate’s haven.

“We’re here, Lassy. Show us where it is.” Silence falls over those of the inner circle, each pair of eyes lace between the strewn papers and your expression, gauging the lines around your eyes that speak of your concentration. In wait for either your truthful answer or another lie.

The tips of your fingers run the inked lines that describe the landmarks of islands, points of interest, known ship routes and x marks, whilst your captain’s own fingers trace along the outer of your thigh teasingly beneath the cover of your robe and the table. His touch is distracting you, but could you be to blame for their failure in search of the ancient treasure? After all, your memory wasn’t of best quality these days.

Tony rolls his fingers in a drumming pattern, each minute it grows louder and pounds in your eardrums, the wafting curtain of thick, cigar smoke clouds your senses.

Your captain, scowling at this, shoots his metal arm forward and plucks the cigar from Tony’s mouth and pushes the burning ash and tobacco into the veiny hide of his bare hand. Tony bites a string of curses as his hand retracts.

“Next time, it’s shoved down your fuckin’ throat, got it?”

“Aye, Cap…,” mutters Tony. He shoots you a seething glare but nevertheless, relinquishes his attempts to intimidate you into answering.

“You forget, sirens speak a certain way.” Comes the low purr of his lilt, breath hot against the shell of your ear, the encouragement of his hand snakes your thigh over into his lap, leaving your core, though hidden to others, exposed to his addictive touch. Your breath becomes latched in your lungs, struggling to be free and your toes curl as his flesh hand slips between your parted legs. “You just need to know how…”

You barely hide the hiccup in your erupting breath. His thumb, rough and firm, toys with the delicate bud that spurs the welling of arousal to moisten your folds. Behind the sealed line of his lips, he breezes a rich chuckle that courts you with promised, devoting attention to your clit, circling it slowly as the long, thick body of his middle finger runs further down your folds. The chill of gold grinds into your skin gently, the pearl hums lowly in the deep reverie of your mind once more, grazing your skin with a harmonic resurgence against the combating of Bucky’s explorative touch.

If the air had been thick with the sun’s heat before, then it was downright unbreathable now, your skin aches and itches to be submerged in the tranquil waters. You all but claw a single rocky formation on the far edge of the map. All eyes zero in on the point, taking in the towering form of inked rocks.

“You’ve to be jokin’,” Clint hisses quietly. Sam Wilson is the next to speak with a sigh, “That’s a death wish, Captain.”

“Siren, you’re sure?” Your head bows slowly to Bucky’s question and his thumb ceases its movement. Your finger situated over the landmark trembles, your throat is dry, saliva collects in thick rivulets and makes it difficult to swallow your despair.

Hushed whispers fall over the crew as Bucky’s smouldering eyes darken in thought, contemplating the high stakes. For your finger lands not just on the precise location of the temple harbouring the world’s greatest treasure horde any pirate or king alike could dream of.

It spans over into dangerous, uncharted territory. Territory that resides as a mass graveyard for ships and souls. The Misted Song Isles.

A bedded corner of the world untouched by sunlight, forever shrouded in a mist that never falters in its opacity, leaving many blinded to the ambushing predators that await them.

These cousins are the cause of your repulsion. They are not sirens. They do not possess the ability to sing beautifully anymore. That which haunts the mists are not curated melodies to turn a heart soft and a man stirred in longing, no, but devilish shrieks and wallowing howls that scream in revel of their kill.

“Captain, think about this for a sec—” The quartermaster, as is everyone else, silenced within an instant. You yelp and pull your hand close to your chest as the sharpened point of a blade punctures right where your finger had been. Your heart races against your ribcage.

“We set sail at dawn.”

His command goes unchallenged and hangs in the eeriness of uncertainty. His lips formulate into that smirk, daring of the course ahead, ready to face whatever thrilling adventure awaits him and his hardened crew.

“Prepare yourselves. We’ll soon amass a fortune like no other. Riches beyond belief,” Bucky preaches with a deepened, growling cord, thumb reviving the pleasing buzz between your thighs. Your head presses back into his shoulder, arching your core slightly into his hand. “I’ve never known those of my crew to shrink away from glory and plunder. So what of it, mates? Are you lot ready to take what’s ours?”

“Aye!” erupts a booming throng of cheers and hollering, tankards fly skyward with trickling, foamy ales, and fists pound the tables enthusiastically. From you, Bucky draws a softened, pleasured whine only captured by his ears, a musical note he licks his teeth in savouring delight.

“What a rousing speech, Captain Barnes. Touches my own heart.” The inner circle becomes disrupted, parting into a narrow corridor to give their captain sight of the outsider. Bucky’s thumb comes to pause again, much to the displeasure of your quiet grumbling, your eyes seek out the intruder and gape with widened eyes.

“Rumlow,” growls Bucky. His hand bares upon your thigh a tightening squeeze.

Brock Rumlow, captain of The Lady Strike, stands present, brown coat beaten and done in by the rough life at sea, tricorn equal in match to the rest of his dishevelled attire. Dark, matted and oily hair is swept behind his ears, stubble very much unkempt and in need of a shave. His brown eyes take in the near bareness of your form, your hand pulls the robe’s fabric over your already covered breasts, and Bucky curls you further inward, protecting you from the fowl leering of Rumlow’s dark eyes. His jaw is set hard as a deep, possessive growl emits from his large chest, the storm of his jealousy on the rise.

With a cock of his head, Tony shoves the plans back into the confines of his coat with a huff, missing the tangy flavour of his cigar.

By now, those of Rumlow’s crew move in behind him, a battle of glares and curled snarls, only one amongst the opposing crew brings a grin to fall over your face, eyes brightened in relief. Long, raven black hair sweeping down the curve of her back, strips of plaits are decorated with beads and small shells, A tall and lean build of a woman a few years older of your age, eyes the shape of almonds and disguised as kindly, sparkling hazels of greens and browns.

Her thin lips form a smile to match her tender features. You barely have another chance to second guess your next move, taking care to keep the intricately patterned robe around to protect your modesty, you push yourself away from your captain and fly into her open arms, her embrace a welcomed one after all these weeks.

“Mina!”

She greets your name with a softened breath, the calming lull of a siren’s power. The prodding of shells poke into your chest, but you pay little heed to them, too much absorbed into a fellow siren’s hold. To be held and nurtured by one so connected to the sea as you, and who is also held prisoner above its beckoning tides.

“My dear, your skin!” she gasps. Her lithe fingers skim the lengths of your exposed shoulders, shoving under the flowy sleeves to do the same along your arms. “How long has it been since—”

“She does not speak that way anymore.”

The voice of your captain is sharp, cutting right through to the bone, it chills you. You know you did wrong by your actions, caught in the flurry of your excitement to meet Mina. He hadn’t expressed his permission for you to leave his side.

Her eyes forecast the irritated slits, the ridge of her mouth shifting. You shake your head quickly. “Don’t…”

She listens to your plea and directs her gaze aside, retrieving back a more composed appearance. “Apologies, Captain Barnes. I forget her tongue falters and is now consumed by human speech. Please, forgive me.”

His eyes stare point blank akin to the barrel of his flintlock, finger locked ahold of the trigger and primed to fire a metal ball right between her eyes. He takes into account that her voice is dry in its sincere case that begs forgiveness. A case he finds unmoving.

And so it falls to you. Her arms fall from around you reluctantly, you press on towards Bucky, hands caressing the carved shape of his jawline. “Please, Captain… forgiveness?”

For a moment he is silent, his stare unwavering and unblinking, it churns your innards unassuredly. “Aye.” His response brings you to breathe again with a smile. You swallow thickly, steadying yourself with the words you have become accustomed to, at first rehearing it over in your thoughts before you speak.

“May I go to the Pools? My skin… is dry.” As if to further accentuate, the inflection of your voice matches your statement, having to clear your throat gently.

He nods. “Very well, Love. Hour’s half.” Ingratiating yourself in his good graces, you capture his lips in yours, his own chase after your brief kiss but the embarrassment that they give away just how parched your body is steers you away quickly.

You are blind to the narrowing of cold, steely eyes following Mina who walks at your side, arms encircling around you protectively, her own eyes meeting the ferocity of Bucky’s glare, her own hardened stare watered down to save you from being caught in the crossfire for her temper. She knows that you would suffer just as well as her if Bucky turned his decision around.

The conversing crews are drowned out noise in the back of your head, Mina guides you along the dirt path towards the haven’s centre.

The Pools, a central hub that extends low into the island’s heart, and a system of interconnected tunnels for sirens to rejuvenate their exerted bodies, confining them to an enclosure with no means to swim directly back into the ocean. By all means, it was a natural formation turned into a cage.

Peering over the rocky lips, the inviting waters below reflect minute glimpses of the sun, a portion of it concealed under the shrubbery and towering palms. The hue of bright blue blankets the surface before the long stretch of abyssal black that cascades down the rock walls.

The waters, as expected, are vacant of any other sirens, and those scarce few could only be seen in flashes of shining scales and shadows moving beneath, dipping into the mouths of the tunnels. Hidden from sight.

You shed the covering of your robe and set it aside, its luxurious fabric smelling of yours and Bucky’s intermingling scents, the decorative stitchwork and colours flaunt it as one of a kind, a nabbed piece from a Japanese merchant schooner Bucky and his crew pillaged, and which your captain presented to you as a gift. The first of many he would later present. Intriguing artefacts.

Mina didn’t have need to discard herself of human-given clothing, plunging into the heavenly waters before you, her attire made with the natural ingredients of the sea, leather strips and woven cords stretch around her chest and back with rings of shells to fasten over it, keeping her breasts pushed together. The wispy lengths of her skirt flows with sheeted seaweed, circling around her slim waist as a ghostly curtain. You follow not long after with an eager dive, your nude skin is soothed by the cool waters. Your legs morph together into the singular, powerful tendril of your trail, the webbed fins attached to your lower back flutter like the wings of a dove finding freedom on the winds.

Your bodies take refuge below the surface, skin no longer assaulted by the lacerations of the sun’s light and blazing scorch. How sailors could idle by whilst under the cruelty of it, you will never understand. Your back arches into a spiralling twist, a high pitched chirp bouncing from your throat and coursing through your gills.

You bask in the excitement with Mina who twists and bends, circling you with a teasing swish of her tail, she gargles a sweet note that bubbles around her lips, her forehead presses to yours affectionately.

She intends to regard you with the native speech of your kind but stops, brows falling into a firm, saddened line over her eyes. In shame, your head bows.

Those of your crew may have stripped you of your right to recollect the siren dialect, but if she can count on anything, it is the motion of her hands and arms. The common communication of one’s body.

In a sequence of expertise, her arms rotate and her fingers stretch and curl.

What do you remember?

Your eyes analyse her movement, careful to decipher her code. Not as fluent, given the occasional puzzled twist of her head, followed by a nod of understanding and correcting signal, she encourages through your hesitation, wanting for your answer.

I… remember a necklace. Bound to my Captain’s wrist.

And what did this necklace look like?

Again, it takes you a moment to find the rhythm of your response, her eyes narrow in their deep seated concentration, almond curved eyes that widen upon realisation.

You tell her of the golden chain, sleek and elegantly thin yet strengthened, the many, tiny crystallised pearls that line the gilded netting over one larger pearl, with a finer shaped one looped beneath it that dangles.

Given her momentary pause, you nervously motion.

What is it?

She raises her hand over her head, webbed fingers fused together, she rotates her wrist in circles.

Royalty. Pearls represent royalty.

The sudden confusion presently blinking in your eyes gives Mina reason to continue. She moves quickly, it’s hard to exactly understand, you motion for her to pace herself, that you’re struggling. With an apologetic chirp, she starts over.

You must get it back. That necklace is more significant to you than you realise. Undoubtedly, a gift from your late mother—

I don’t understand! What… of my mother?

Mina truly sees the sickening infection of your hazy memory, all too aware that it’s the doing of that scarlet witch, tainted by the dark magics that spawn from the mangroves, the teachers there no strangers to utilising sirens as part of their rituals. And all by the order of your captain. A crew lacing you with deceit.

Her waterline is touched by tears that form into uplifting bubbles. She organises her words slowly. Each one brings a sharp pang to your chest and your stomach to drop further and further down into the abyss below.

Your mother - the Queen - is dead.

Your heart is scored by the penetrating daggers of Poseidon's trident, the creeping of unnatural coldness sweeps the back of your neck and down over your shoulders, you huddle into yourself. You shake your head and it ensues into a maddening display of denial, your body trembles, the water grows increasingly troubled, once a calm settlement over the surface now laps at the surrounding edges of the enclosure.

This cannot be right, this cannot be the truth. No, you don’t wish to believe it. A weight is crushing around your chest, you want to resurface. For the first time, you crave to be out of the water. All you seek now is the scent of your captain washing over you, drowning you passionately in his possessive devotion, to be treasured by him and him alone, bathed in his dominating presence. His shadow.

At this point, you’d happily let him fuck the knowledge out of you.

In your abrupt desperation you take to moving swiftly, your head breaches through the barrier with a sputtering fit of coughs and gulps, but Mina follows you. Her webbed hand catches your wrist, her voice plucks through the ripples like the baritone string of a guitar. She calls for you to wait. Gently, she coaxes you to delve below once more, her eyes imploring you to remain, to not go running off to the very same man who wants for you and holds you captive.

The milky glaze of your eyes brim with tears, tiny bubbles run to the corners before they float upwards.

She rests her head to yours, silky thumbs caring over the form of your cheeks, running smoothly under the bend of your tearful eyes. When she believes you have calmed, she asks another question.

What else about this necklace can you tell me?

I hear… voices. A-a melody. I don’t– don’t understand the words. It plays faintly.

If the crew who harbours you stays for the festivities tonight, get the necklace and bring it to me. I may be able to appraise it.

A lump catches in your throat, eyes bearing your terror, the harrowing thought of being caught again. You aren’t sure if the potential of another scarlet mist is worth the risk.

Steal it? I-I can’t! He’d know if I stole—

You cannot steal what’s already yours, young one. Besides, you know just the way to get it from him. I saw the softened regard in his gaze for you.

What she suggests is laughable, and your disagreement shows, your head shaking and throat bobbing in motion akin to a scoff. But still, her insinuation brings warmth to bloom in your cheeks. Her brows furrow at this display, tail idly swaying, the length of her hair creating a dark, winding halo behind her. She dissects the gestures of your words.

His gaze never softens to me…

In spite of this, she rolls her eyes, but they are hopeful in their stare towards you. You were done with the search… before. Now, you want answers.

“Siren!” A familiar voice booms, tone muffled by the watery barrier. Answering his summons, you return to the world above, sighing a deep breath of air, the few faces you recognise are mere blurs, unfocused in your vision. Your eyes meet the wintery cold of his eyes, not softened, and clouded in their ever present desire to have you under him - pinned skin to skin to him - and his beautiful lips shaped into a smirk. His stance high above you dominates you in his darker shadow that casts over the water.

“Hope you’re in a festive mood, my little Siren.”

#bucky barnes x reader #female reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky smut #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky x reader smut #pirate au #siren reader #pirate bucky #bucky barnes x reader smut

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wntrs0ldier · 1 year

Text

An Offer · part 05

pairing: mob!bucky x reader words: 4,4k warnings: typical mafia (dark themes, language, violence, etc.)

<previous part | next part> | series masterlist

series summary: When your father dies, the only thing you can do for your family and the empire he built, is to marry a powerful man.

chapter sneak peek: “It's time for you to go, I suppose. Is that correct, boy?”

You nearly winced at how patronizing Michael addressed Bucky. It was almost insulting, meant to put Bucky back in his place. He, however, looked composed, but you got to know him well enough to be aware that he would rip Michael's head off if the opportunity arose.

At first you saw it as a nightmare, the meeting with John Walker. No matter how many times you told yourself you were fulfilling your duty to the Family, fear, uncertainty and stress were the only things that duty brought you. Yet, given the darkest scenarios swirling in your mind, and memories of the meeting with Brock Rumlow, John seemed like a really decent type.

He invited you to dinner to one of the most expensive, top rated restaurants in the city. To get in, it was usually necessary to make a reservation several weeks in advance. Suspecting that his highly influential uncle had a hand in the whole venture, you appreciated the effort anyway. You were surprised, however, that John didn't give up, didn’t take the path of least resistance, despite the fact that you hadn't shown any interest so far.

Without being gross or intrusive, he complimented the red dress you wore; asked about your work and hobbies, didn't mention business. You felt like you were on a real date, moreover, a nice one. Seeing that jumping from Brock to John wasn't going from bad to worse let you feel at ease. For the first time in, it seemed, an eternity.

Despite everything, there was something missing. You had no desire to throw yourself at John, no curiosity about what his lips tasted like. Essentially, you didn't need that in an arranged marriage, but guessed there will be time for everything. With Bucky, though, time was necessary – all you needed was a single look. But he wasn’t an option.

“Wow, that was… beautiful,” John claimed after you laughed at the joke he told. In reality, you were amused by how unfunny and stupid the joke was. Perhaps the consumed alcohol and the pleasant atmosphere also played a part.

“Well… Thank you,” you said, lifting a glass of wine to your lips. When you emptied it, John immediately came with a refill. “Don't you think we should talk about business?”

“What exactly do you want to talk about?”

“How would that work,” you suggested with a casual shrug. “You haven't mentioned an agreement yet, so I suspect you haven't prepared one. That's a bit…” You hesitated, wondering briefly if you would offend him with your choice of words. “Strange, considering, you know, the nature of our profession.”

John smiled, then hung his head and shook it. “I guess we'll just have to trust each other. Not to sound like an asshole, but I've heard that Rumlows have backed out. At least for now. If not them, your father's business will be ruined, leaving your Family with nothing. I also know that Stark has started to turn his nose at your partnership. You’re in a bind, Y/N. And I want to do this the easy way. No complex agreement, just some basic arrangements.” He raised his hands up in surrender.

You were struck by how honest and straightforward he was. Fair to both of you.

“But… Why?” You asked quietly. “Why are you so nice about it?”

“You don’t know?” He pretended to be surprised. “I've always wanted you, and now I have my chance. I don't want to do it through a system of rules and punishments. Not too bad, right? And taking charge of what your father created will help me strengthen my position.”

There was a moment of silence as John gave you time to process what he just said. Soon, however, he grabbed his glass and raised it for a small toast.

“So, what'll it be? Can I keep trying or are you giving up on me?”

It was clear that he wasn't really offering you a choice – you could only decide how to play it; keep John at a distance, or make it easier for him to approach you, let him court you.

Having clinked glasses, you both drank the wine, but you could barely taste it. Only the bitterness that the future was to bring. At this point you thought you were prepared for a marriage without love or at least friendship, but the closer you got to one, the more panic you felt. Being aware that the whole situation was difficult, you still didn't expect such a burden.

“Don’t worry,” John added, seeing the concern on your face. “Maybe one day you'll love me. Maybe when kids come along.” He shrugged. Your eyes widened, but John didn't mind it. “What? Someone will have to take care of your father's legacy in case we're gone, don't you think?” He smiled sincerely. You wondered if he was already fantasizing about the future with you.

Destroying the atmosphere with the shock you experienced wasn’t part of your intentions. The only right idea was to kill the negative feelings with a little more alcohol, so you asked John to refill your glass again, and he did so with pleasure. While dipping your lips in the wine, your eyes wandered mindlessly around the room until they landed on a familiar face – the last person you expected to be here.

You choked, and the sticky drink dripped down your chin. A momentary, barely noticeable panic crossed Bucky's face as he watched you carefully from his table – as if he was concerned that you might have choked to death. However, he stayed in place; rushing to help you would have exposed him.

“Oh God, are you all right?” John handed you a napkin right away, which you accepted and wiped your chin with a few delicate taps to avoid washing off your makeup.

“I’m sorry. Gone down the wrong way,” you struggled for breath.

“It’s fine. Are you sure you're all right?”

“I’m okay,” you said, still feeling the aftertaste of wine deep in your throat. “Excuse me for a moment.” Grabbing your purse, you got up from the table.

“Of course.” John also stood up from his seat, watching you walk away towards the toilets.

You put your bag next to the sink and focused on your reflection in the mirror. Tears, which filled your eyes as a result of choking, smudged your mascara, and the wine – just as you suspected – ruined the foundation on your chin. Yet, you weren't bothered by the poor condition of your makeup. Your thoughts revolved solely around the fact that you just saw Bucky. You would’ve been tempted to treat it as a mere coincidence, if not for him staring directly at you. It was probably his intense gaze that drew you in that direction.

The door opened, and at this point you were ready to see anyone; you wouldn't be surprised if your father decided to come back from the dead and show up here. But it was just Bucky. Again.

“What are you doing here?” You grated, crumpling a used piece of paper towel in your hand, with which you had wiped the remnants of mascara from under your eyes.

“Are you kidding me? The wine almost came shooting out of your nose, I had to check on you.” His forehead furrowed.

“I’m not talking about the toilet! What are you doing in this restaurant?”

Squinting, Bucky thrust his hands in his pockets, and sized you up.

“So?” You pressed, the tone of your voice impatient.

“You really think I'd let you come out here alone?” He finally let out. Your battle ready attitude had eased somewhat, but Bucky was surveying you sternly. “You gave me your permission to protect you, remember? So I’m trying to do that.”

“But John wanted this meeting to be more... private.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, taking a deep breath. “And nobody found that unusual?” He sneered. “You shouldn't drink that much,” he added after a moment, slightly changing the subject.

Your brows snapped together. “I drink exactly as much as John.”

“Yeah, except John is three times your size,” he said unmoved. “Look, I'm not stopping you from anything. Drink yourself unconscious if you want. I'm just saying you should be careful around guys like John Walker.”

The urge to ask him to elaborate on the thought crossed your mind, but you didn't really have the time. You didn't want to arouse suspicion by spending too long in the toilet.

“I’ll be careful,” you promised with a sigh. “See you later..?”

Bucky's face softened with surprise, his eyebrows rose slightly. There was no trace of the earlier toughness. “Sure.”

The corners of your mouth turned up with all the tenderness you had for him. You grabbed your purse, then left.

When you returned to your table, John greeted you back with a smile – but it wasn't a smile that melted your heart, or one that caused the butterflies in your stomach to go wild. It wasn't Bucky's smile.

When the black SUV pulled over near the Barnes' mansion, you thanked the driver and dismissed him, assuring that you would be fine if you needed to get home. You left the car, reached for your high heels, which you had taken off immediately after being picked up from your date with John, and closed the door behind you. Having spotted Winnifred right away, you made your way to her. She must have been tending the flowers in front of the house up to now, as you could conclude from her gloves and knees, dirty with soil.

“Y/N, how lovely to see you again.” The warm tone of her voice and the friendly look on her face didn't allow you to even consider that she might be insincere. And although you didn't get to know George Barnes personally, you presumed that Bucky and Josephine inherited their gloomy, ironic, a bit dark and sassy way of being from him. “What brings you here, sweetheart?”

“I came to see Bucky.”

Winnifred grinned even wider. “He is at the back of the house. In the garage,” she said after a brief quietness, which she spent observing you. That's probably why you didn’t move a step. “Oh, your fathers would absolutely love it.”

Smiling tentatively, you gave her a questioning, slightly confused look. “They would..?”

“Our oldest was a boy, your parents’...” She motioned at you. “a girl. So when you and Jamie were younger, your dad and my George used to joke all the time about pairing you two so that everything could stay in the family. But it was just a joke,” Winnifred emphasized.

Was it, though? Given the world your fathers came from, the environment you and Bucky grew up in, and the situation you were currently in, was it just a joke? Perhaps it was the alcohol talking, but you began to wonder what would have happened if your father was still alive – would he have let you settle down on your own, without Brock or John's presence, or would he have married you to Bucky?

He wouldn’t. Because Bucky didn’t want to get married. He didn’t want you.

There was something else bothering you. You already knew that your families were close, yet you had no memories that would prove it. “Why did you stop being friends? If I may ask…”

“It's no mystery,” Winnifred said lightly, smiling. “You know how your mom is,” she began. You guessed that politeness prevented her from saying directly that your mother tended to be paranoid, but regardless of her choice of words, you nodded. “I think she got scared that our husbands would actually turn words into action. She made it clear that she wanted a lawyer, a doctor or an estate agent for you. But it seems that, despite all the odds, you and Jamie found your way to each other anyway.”

You felt your face turning red along with the heat spreading in your stomach. So you weren’t wrong; it was in your blood – the affection you had for Bucky. No wonder you two clicked the moment your eyes met. However, in this situation, it was like a curse.

“You have a beautiful garden,” you admitted to break the silence and, above all, your own thoughts. In fact, Mrs. Barnes’ garden looked a little bare, incomplete. The flowers were just beginning to bloom.

“It is promising,” she agreed. “But I’m done for the day, it’s getting late. Why don’t you come in? I’ll make us some tea.”

“Oh, thank you.” You shook your head. “I was supposed to see Bucky, so… I should go.”

“In this case, I’m not keeping you.” Winnifred beamed at you.

Keeping in mind the place where you expected to find Bucky, you headed to the back of the mansion. Evening dew had collected on the freshly trimmed lawn; not the most pleasant experience to your bare feet, but you preferred it to uncomfortable high heels, which probably wouldn't have handled this soft ground anyway. There was a peace and solitude that was lacking where you lived – there were no cars, no lights of street lamps, no noise of the city.

The garage was not difficult to locate; especially as there were quiet sounds indicating someone's presence.

Bucky stood in front of a lifted hood of another vintage car. But instead of focusing on the vehicle, your thoughts wandered uncontrollably to Bucky's broad back as he was leaning forward, probably working on the car’s engine. His muscles were clearly visible under the tight fabric of his t-shirt. You felt your mouth watering.

He raised his head slightly, as if listening for something, then looked over his shoulder. He didn't say a word, but returned the favor by fixing his gaze on you – his eyes darkened with the same rawness as when he saw you in your house that night. Beginning from your bare feet and slowly moving up, he scrutinized your whole body, studying the curves of your thighs, hips and breasts. And you couldn’t blame him since your red dress was even tighter than his t-shirt.

Letting out a shaky breath, you got rid of the excess air churning in your lungs. “So, you like old cars.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, keeping his eyes on you. After a while, however, he focused on the vehicle. “That one belonged to my old man. I don't want it to rot here.”

Based on how Bucky responded to Brock's mention of his father, you presumed that George Barnes was a sore subject. So you were surprised, maybe even a little touched, that he was now bringing it up himself. You did ask him, but he could brush you off or say nothing.

Driven by some subconscious need to be closer, you took a few mindless steps and stood not far from the vehicle. It was colder inside the garage than outside, so you instinctively folded your arms, trying to keep as much of your own warmth as possible.

“What car is that, exactly?” You asked genuinely curious, eyeing the cream body.

“Chrysler. From 1970.”

“What about your Mustang?”

Bucky squinted suspiciously, smiling. “The Mustang is a year older…” He answered hesitantly. “You’re into cars, too?”

“Not, but-” You let out a quiet laugh, knowing how you were about to sound. “This era was the sexiest for cars. And it suits you.”

His eyebrows rose with astonishment. He shook his head, then got back to the uncovered engine. “This was the most twisted compliment I've ever heard.”

“You’re welcome.” You grinned, fluttering your lashes.

Having checked out your surroundings, you concluded that the inside of the garage wasn’t interesting enough for you to keep your eyes somewhere. So you dropped them to Bucky's hands. Stained with grease, they appeared to be the hands of a professional; they knew exactly what to do. No accidental, hesitant movements.

“How was it?” He asked. You immediately looked up at his face. “With John.”

“I made a pretty good impression on him, I think. He wants to have babies with me,” you said casually.

Stopping everything he was doing, Bucky tensed at your words, a muscle in his jaw twitched. “And you? Do you want to have babies with him?”

“Looks like a baby-free deal doesn’t exist, so if I have to…” You shrugged. The alcohol in your system kept you from panicking at the very thought. Or was it Bucky's presence that had that effect on you? After all, you felt safe around him, so no prospect seemed so frightening. “Why don't you have a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend?” The question suddenly left your mouth, because since it popped into your head, you decided to satisfy your own curiosity right away. “You are attractive. Very attractive. Protective, maybe too protective…” You squinted. “But people, especially girls, like it. You can be really funny if you want to, you have money and position. And some pretty cool cars.”

“What’s with all these compliments?” Bucky raised his eyebrows.

“I get flirty after wine.” You waved your hand dismissively, not intending to continue with this particular topic. “I remember you were, well, a ladies’ man.” You pressed your lips together; you wondered if you should have used that term. It's not that you didn't think it was accurate - you just didn't want to offend Bucky, or upset him.

But he looked at you, smiling with a softness that in no way matched the whole situation. “You remember me?” He repeated. As if it was the most obvious thing, you nodded in response, your forehead furrowed. “I didn’t know you were aware of me.”

“Don't change the subject.”

Bucky sighed heavily, but did not answer straight away. “I liked being around women. Still do. But in a different way. I’ve changed, I guess. Matured, realized a few things. I had a lot of time to think over the last two years.”

You listened to everything he had just shared and, despite your drunken boldness, you didn't have the courage to bring up his father's death again or to find out more about the lessons he had learned over the mentioned two-year period. You decided to grab onto something else. “In a different way? What do you-”

“That I don’t try to sweep them off their feet, or wrap them around my finger,” he said calmly, but there was something in the way he was talking to you and, for a second, you felt like a scolded child. “I don't hit on them, I don't flirt, I don't try to be charming or funny. If they want to fuck, we fuck. But I'm not looking for an opportunity to take someone to bed.”

Overwhelmed by the information you wanted yourself to hear, you didn't know where to look. “Mhm…” You murmured, trying to appear completely relaxed, maybe even indifferent. On the other hand, you presumed your cheeks that turned pink gave you away. “And you…” You began, partly to talk about something else, partly out of pure curiosity. “Do you remember me? From back then?”

Bucky loosened up a bit, a smirk crept across his lips. He reached for a piece of cloth slung over his shoulder, and got rid of the grease off his hands by wiping them thoroughly. “Maybe,” he answered, shrugging. It was clear he was teasing you, and you wondered if it was some kind of punishment for bothering him with personal questions. “Watch your fingers,” Bucky warned gently, so you took a step away from the car, then he closed the Chrysler’s hood. “I’ll drive you home, huh?”

When the car finally stopped near the familiar building, you breathed a sigh of relief – you were only a few steps away from a warm shower and a comfy bed.

Before you could touch the handle, Bucky's hand wrapped hastily around your forearm. You turned your gaze to him to see what had come over him, and saw a completely controlled unease painted on his face.

“You know that car?”

Having followed his gaze, you spotted a vehicle; you did not recall it belonging to Michael or anyone in the Family. “Not really.”

Bucky reached into the glove compartment above your lap and pulled out a gun. It was only then that you felt a sprouting anxiety; not out of fear for your life, but at the thought that something might happen to Bucky because he'd decided to get you home.

“Come on,” he said, and there was nothing but calmness in his voice.

You got out of the Mustang and joined Bucky on the other side of the car.

“Stay behind me, okay?” he instructed, and you didn't protest only because you didn't want to sabotage the possible plan he had formed in his mind. You nodded, and just as he asked you to, you kept two steps behind his back.

You cautiously entered the house, Bucky keeping his gun low but unlocking it earlier, his finger close to the trigger. It was dark inside, except for the warm light pouring out of the living room. It was also where the quiet conversation was coming from; you recognised Michael's voice, and it put you a little bit at ease – you didn't think he was in danger, or that you two were the ones who were threatened. You touched Bucky's arm gently to prevent a potential reaction.

As you approached the living room, that’s when Bucky really tensed up. Seeing Michael in the company of John Walker wasn't exactly a delight for you either. No one needed to speak; it only took a few glances for the atmosphere to thicken in the blink of an eye.

“Y/N,” Michael’s displeased tone pierced the heavy silence. “What is he doing here?”

“Making sure she gets home safely,” Bucky asserted before you had a chance to think about who Michael actually had in mind.

“From where?” John interjected; he sounded casual, amused even, but his edgy smile said otherwise. “Should I feel threatened?” His question, thrown around as if playfully, only confirmed your assumption that John was unsure of his position.

“No, of course not,” you protested right away.

Michael could have drilled down. However, you could see that he didn't want to do that – he didn't want to raise doubts about what you were doing with Bucky; to give John a reason to back off. All he cared about was putting an end to the subject as soon as possible and not returning to it – making it seem forgotten at least. “It's time for you to go, I suppose. Is that correct, boy?”

“Correct,” Bucky agreed. He held his gaze on Michael for a while longer, then, a brief glance was everything he got for you, and it felt cold – like when he left you in that pub. You watched him walk away, but Michael's grunt brought your attention back.

You didn’t stay with Michael and John. Hiding behind a long, tough day and pouring honey in their ears by telling them you didn't want to disturb an obviously important discussion that your feminine mind wouldn't comprehend, you got away. Still, there was something bothering you. So, not long after the desired refreshment and making sure Michael was alone, you went down to the living room.

Michael peeked at you, looking up from his newspaper, waiting patiently for you to raise the matter on which you had come here.

You sat down in the armchair next to his, and for some reason, nervousness led you to occupy your hands with the belt of a soft, fluffy robe you wore after the shower. “Why was John here?”

“To speak about business,” he said immediately, still focusing on the paper.

“Right, let me put that differently…” You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “Why do you think John was here?”

This time Michael did not answer straight away. Nor did he appear to be thinking about the answer; his eyes roamed over the next lines of text. “I believe he wants to control you. Keep an eye on his investment.” He closed and put the newspaper down on the end table between the chairs, then looked straight at you. “Do you want my advice? You'd better let him,” he said. It wasn’t the content of his words that caused your forehead to crease, but the determination with which he said them. “At least two candidates backed out after Bucky beat Brock. Men are afraid to approach you because you got yourself a guard dog.”

At least two candidates, and you had no idea about that.

“He didn’t beat Brock because of me,” you protested.

“But he did it. They don't know the details, they don't need them. All they need is that it happened at a meeting that should have ended with marriage. Instead, it ended with Brock Rumlow's broken nose. Of course,” Michael continued. “There were those who were encouraged by it. Who thought it must be a game worth playing. But I turned them down right away, because only a fool would think he stood any chance with Bucky Barnes,” he almost spat. Then, he took a deep breath to release the tension. “He would be a perfect candidate, you know?”

Although you had lowered your head somewhere during Michael’s monologue, you now raised your eyes to him. Your heart was racing, gaining a familiar, nearly furious rhythm.

“The friendship of your families, the power and reputation that the name Barnes holds… And it turns out that Bucky Barnes is the only man in New York who doesn't fight for your hand in marriage.” Michael smiled bitterly.

You looked away to avoid having to face Michael. You crushed under the weight of the awareness that his words had aroused in you. Experiencing far too many emotions at once – you felt angry, sad, disappointed and even a little betrayed – you were hopeless as never before.

“I know that this is difficult,” Michael spoke again. “However, we can't lose John. We can't be sure there will be more better candidates, and even if there will be, we don't have enough time. I don't know what you got yourself into with Bucky, but he can't protect you until he becomes your husband, which he has no desire to do. So whatever is going on between you two has to stop. Now.”

“What does that mean? I can’t see him anymore?” You asked, your voice weak.

“You don’t have to run for the hills each time you accidentally meet him,” he clarified. “But whether you continue to be friends will depend entirely on your husband.”

a/n: feel free to share your thoughts, they are more than welcomed 🥰

taglist: @goldensunflowe-r @nefri-black @vickie5446 @learisa @sjsmith56 @aya-fay @hhiggs @wishingwell-2 @buckysgirl01 @emily-roberts @prettylittlepluviophile @leaaa008

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #mob!bucky #mob!bucky x reader #mob!bucky x y/n #mob bucky #mafia!bucky #mafia!bucky x reader #mafia bucky #bucky x reader #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky fanfiction #bucky x y/n

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neonovember · 1 year

Text

Redwood Oak’s

Mafia!au x Steve Rogers

CHAPTERS: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

summary: your escape to Brooklyn was harboured by secrets and a harrowed past, left abused and betrayed, you accepted your destiny of being swallowed by the crowd. Until the King of New York showed up in front of you and wanted a piece of you for himself.

divider by @firefly-graphics !

Taglist 🏷️ (send an ask to be part of my taglist for this series!)

@tinkerbelle67 @patzammit @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory@nomadstucky @nessie2183 @shamelessfangirl-3 @namelesssav @marvel-phoenix @euphoric-goddess @roseeatta @abschaffer2 @louderfortheback @stupendouslovegardener @wandamaximoff-simp @thedonswife13 @hpsimpspot @samsgirl93 @cynic-spirit

Steve's words echo loudly in your skull like a ball being knocked around your head, turning your brain to mush. The warmth of Steve's breath that had gripped you like a vice had dissipated the second the both of you had entered the expansive room of Steve's Office.

You don't see it, but Steve clenches his jaw in tight restraint to stop himself from putting a hole in Rumlow’s head and instead envelopes himself into the stone-faced demeanor he had learnt to form the moment he stepped up to the throne destined for him.

But god, did that horrified look on yourself tear Steve from the inside out. What had he done to you? It screamed betrayal in Steve's mind, that you not only had been hurt but by one of his own men. The man who had sworn to protect you had lied. And for Steve, his word was as good as its weight in fucking gold.

Steve had to play it level headed, the heavy weight of his father's presence was always near, but it seemed to cloud his vision at this moment,

“Don’t do nuthin stupid, think, just stop for a second and think”

Steve didn't want to think, he wanted to delve deep into the darkened desire within him that preened at the idea of Rumlows blood dripping between his clenched fists. Steve’s desire for violence shocked him a little, he could feel his fist shaking under his grip, like they had a mind of their own.

Steve wasn't a violent man, he was sensible, it didn’t matter if the entire city of New York believed he was cruel, because he knew every action had a means, it wasn't just to spill blood and crack skin. Steve’s entire enterprise was never built on appearances, despite the world it lives in, nothing Steve did didn't have an objective reason. He thought that would be a light of mercy before the spray of blood would coat his button-up.

But now, there didn't seem to be any reason to wait and sit, in the end, it all seemed sensible. Any threat of danger to your life needed to be eliminated, and returned with such a display of cruelty that no one would try it again. There was a gnawing feeling, however, at the recesses and edges of Steve's mind, the kind that screamed at him to see what was truly happening.

“Look”, and Steve learnt to listen.

There was something more to Rumlow than just scaring you, something more sinister, it echoed deep within Steve and the reminder of the cruel world beneath the gravel ground was as clear as ever. Steve had to find out because now he felt that your safety was his responsibility, an obligation he felt every bone within him scream to fulfil.

“Bucky” Steve calls the brown-haired man dressed down in a black suit, the outline of a holster poking through the waist of his jacket.

Bucky murmurs something into Sam's ear, before making his way towards Steve, his gaze shifting between you and the tall blonde standing a few spaces behind you.

“Need something from me, Steve?” Bucky says, making an effort to keep his gaze towards Steve, despite Steve's gaze being situated on you.

“Take our friend here to get something to eat, and then use one of my cars to get her home”. Steve murmurs, almost discreetly so only the three of you can hear.

You noticeably fidget at the mention of going home, it wasn't that you didn't want to, you did, by all accounts, but you didn't know what you would open the door to when you did end up back at the decrepit apartment complex you loved. Your apartment wasn't necessarily known for being the most well-secured, but you figured your neighbours would at least tell you if someone had broken in and trashed the place.

Steve moves towards Bucky, turning his body to face away from your wandering gaze

“Take one of my unmarked cars, it seems we’ve got a fuckin rat in our very own house” Steve whispered into Bucky’s ear, causing Bucky to turn his head to face Steve. A look passes between the both of them, their eyes conversing in a way words never could, in a way that told you they had been brothers long before this entire world fell upon their shoulders.

“Well go on then” Steve’s deep voice whispers into your ear, you can taste the heat of his hand pressing onto your waist, as you feel the outline of his revolver press into the small of your back.

“Don’t think I won’t hurt my men to protect you, I’ll kill him if I have to” Steve murmurs, he doesn’t have to say his name, but your mind has been repeating it enough to know who he's talking about, and your heart skips a beat in surprise, air catches your lungs and you have to swallow back the strange feeling brewing in your stomach before following Bucky’s pointed gaze out the office doors, several dozen eyes watching your every step.

The squeak of Bucky’s dress shoes and the click of your pump loafers follow each other down the carpet and painting-lined hallways. You sneak glances through half-open doors and you're met with similar pictures, women and men dressed in black and white staff uniform cleaning and dusting away priceless antiques, ruffling pillows and beds that were never going to be slept in, and folding the endless crisp white shirts Steve wore.

You pass a hallway that looks different to the rest, darker somehow like it was sacred. You don't see any of the endless staff coming out of any of the rooms too, and the millions of questions it springs forth have your eyes squinting to see past the 2 main opening doors.

Bucky turns a corner quickly, and without realising you bump into his back, the rock-hard muscle acting like a brick to cushion your fall. You can’t help but let out a loud yelp, before Bucky turns and catches you from falling flat on your face.

You look up at him clearly flustered, and Bucky gazes down at you in interest, he begins to murmur something but thinks better of it, and slowly lets go of his grip on your waist.

Coughing, he straightens his suit, before motioning forward

“We’re here”

“Hmh? Where is here-” You say

“Oh”

You look towards the expansive dining room, fitted with leather couches surrounding a cast stone fireplace connected to a brick stone kitchen, an iridescent chandelier hangs from the tall ceilings, looking as if diamonds were dripping from above, and the halo of a sparkle glints over the both of you and you can't help but gaze in awe.

“Gorgeous isn't it?” Bucky says, and you glance at him watching the way the chandelier cuts the sunlight so it breaks across the dining room.

It was beautiful, despite being in a room that was in a house of violence, it was the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

“Bucky? I thought you already emptied out my kitchen” Calls a voice from the kitchen

Bucky turns towards the voice, a smile for the first time appears on his face and he walks up with you trailing behind.

“You’re still here? I thought Steve gave you the rest of the week off?” Bucky says, and as you walk past the expansive dining room you see a woman dressed in a dirty apron, wiping down a pristine marble countertop that Bucky leans on.

Pots and pans hang from high above the centre block, glinting in a perfect steel arrangement, long panned windows filter light in from the manicured lawns and an array of shelves and creme cabinets line the kitchen. A double burner oven is situated against a grey stone wall, and low-hanging lantern lights are hung from above. David would have loved cooking in this kitchen, that is all you can fathom as you gaze across the opulent space.

You are too fazed to take notice of the conversation happening beside you, until the kind woman looks towards you, cocking her head, her hazel eyes gaze you up and down, taking notice of your strange attire.

“And who is this?”

“One of Steve’s friends came here to get her something to eat but if you're leaving, just know your kitchen is in great hands” Bucky smirks towards the woman, who shakes her head reverently.

“Oh absolutely not, he burnt soup once, goddamn soup!” The woman scolds, a frightened expression taking over her face as she widens her eyes at you.

You can't help but let out a giggle, she was nice, this woman, dark auburn hair braided into a fishtail cascades down her back, her cheeks full as her big brown eyes smile at you.

“Hey!, it was one of those artisan ones alright, screw me for trying to follow a recipe online” Bucky replies, rolling his eyes at the woman as he tries to argue his side to you

“It’s soup Bucky, you put it in a pot and let it heat up” You reply, shaking your head, the woman looks up at you swiftly, a look comes over her face and she nods.

“By your clothing, I can see you are a curator of the kitchen as well?” The woman replies

You look up at her surprised, “Oh no, I’m,-I’m just a waitress”

“Well does the waitress have a name?” She replies

You hadn't had to introduce yourself for much of your life, your name and entire identity stolen and curated by your husband until he was the one introducing you, and now, the sound of your voice feels foreign on your tongue.

“A pretty name for a pretty lady, my name’s Katerina, but just because you're a friend of a friend you can call me Kat. So what would ya like darling?” She says

“Oh, no” You take notice of the recently wiped down and cleaned tabletops

“It’s alright, you've already cleaned up everything and I'm not that hungry, besides Bucky promised to show me around the Manor '' You reply, wiping a hand down to iron out the wrinkles in your work shirt.

“I did?” Bucky replies, and you turn your head, pleading with him to go along with it

“Oh yeah, um, I’ve got to get my Vitamin D you know” Bucky coughs, wincing as he digs his hands into his dress pants.

Kat looks between the both of you, a knowing smile on her face as she nods,

“Oh, I know you'll be here a while.'' She replies, before you both bid your goodbyes and head out through the French doors and onto the stone steps of the entryway of the Manor.

“You really made me lie in front of Kat? What do you think this is? You know I don’t answer to you, and Steve told me to make sure you eat something, especially since last night-” Bucky scolds, before cutting himself off at the mention of your embarrassing

“You know about last night?” You mumble, the burn of embarrassment crawls up your chest as Bucky shifts his gaze to you in guilt

“Parts alright? It was late at night when Steve found you at that bar and it was getting..I just knew I had never seen Steve so, so..” Bucky trails over, shifting his gaze from your eyes.

“So what?” You reply, Bucky was about to tell you something about Steve, specifically last night and every inch of you wanted to know what it was.

“Forget about it” Bucky replies, and you shake your head defiantly.

“No, no I won’t, ever since that day Steve walked into my diner, I’ve been doing this blindfolded dance, spinning around the truth but never being told anything” You reply, challenging Bucky.

Bucky pulls his tongue from his cheek, eyes trailing the manicured garden of the front lawn before looking down at you.

“He was silent. He didn’t say anything the entire ride back, just motionless. And I know Steve has that stone face going on, but honestly? It was like he was thinking, plotting something in that mind of his, and he didn't stop until you were taken to your room and tucked in, hell he didn't stop until we both walked into those office doors”.

You look down at your hands, twirling the old copper band around your index. Thinking? Thinking? You didn't have a clue how to read Steve, let alone know what he could be thinking of all things.

“What does that even mean?” You reply

“It means Steve is deeper in this than he thinks he is,” Bucky replies.

You catch your tongue before you reply with what automatically pops into your head,

If Steve was in this knee-deep, you were entirely swallowed.

Your eyes catch a light shining from the corner of your peripheral vision, over the wall overgrown with ivy.

“I wasn’t lying before,” You say

“Hmph?” Bucky asks, clocking his eyebrow

“Take me there” You reply, pointing towards the wall towards the back of the Manor.

“You mean the abandoned garden?” Bucky scoffs, shaking his head

“If it’s abandoned then no one will know we’re there, right?” You argue

Bucky narrows his eyes, but reluctantly agrees, walking down the steps in long strides as you run after him to catch up.

You both walk along the expansive gravel driveway, the piercing gaze of Steve from the office window above follows the both of you as you venture through the spiny trail that leads to the garden hidden beyond the large hanging evergreen trees that grew along all over the grounds.

Almost losing your balance once or twice, you finally make it through the overgrown foliage, following the stone trail that soon crumbled into the dark dirt floor. Bucky steps over a broken step, before unlatching some kind of bolt and shoving a rotten gate open, breaking the vines that had once grown on the wood.

You walk through the opened gate, Bucky following close behind, and the shrubbery opens up to a clearing. Large evergreen trees like the ones near the Manor surround the open land, however, a different kind of tree stands sky high, and you can’t stop yourself from walking up to one, and feeling the maroon bark rough against your fingers.

You close your eyes and it comes to you,

Redwood oaks.

Times when you would think hard enough, the silhouette of skyscraping trunks, and deep green leaves would cloud your vision, and when you lean your head forward you can almost smell your past. It is beautiful and strange and it hurts just as much. You can’t find yourself anymore, you've resigned yourself to that, but these thousand-year-old trees make you feel more connected than ever.

You want to climb into it and let it consume you. Sleep until you woke up and you knew who you were. It’s strange, the tree reminds you of Steve somehow, like you've been here with him before and it's hitting you like deja vu.

Something has gifted between the both of you, between you and Bucky too, you noticed it today when he spoke to you rather than through you. He didn't have that unsure expression anymore like he didn't fully trust you, and you don't know whether it was because of Steve or because of last night.

The clearing is almost a hill, and you can see fields of honey-coloured wheat and grass cascade into hills as you look beyond the tall trees. You can make out the backbones of where some sort of wooden shelter or structure once stood, now all that was left was a pile of rotting wood and leaves.

“Why is this place abandoned,” You say, it was gorgeous and let in the sun in just the right way for it to be reflected from the trees and shower the clearing with a honey glow, but it was hidden. And all hidden things were hidden for a reason.

“Don't know, it's been in Steve's family for generations, rented out to a couple people and then sold to a family in the mafia. Until Steve bought it back, it seems like this used to be where some sort of sheltered seating area once stood” Bucky replies, digging his shoe into the dirt.

“Yeah well it seems like someone’s put it to good use” You reply, noticing a small hardwood sculpting table fitted next to a workbench, a small but well-built wooden gazebo shelters the workspace, and you want to step forward but something tells you that place is sacred.

A sound comes out of Bucky and when you turn your head, he looks towards the gazebo like he knows who it belongs to. It hits you that he probably does, being the eyes that see all in the place anyway.

“This place yours or something?” You reply, and Bucky looks towards you in surprise like he forget you were there.

“Hmp? No, not me necessarily, but I think I know who” Bucky murmurs, his eyes trailing back to Manor fixating on Steve's office and you have to swallow the laugh that erupts at the assumption.

“Steve? If Steve was to have a hideout behind his Manor it would be for a guillotine, not an easel” You reply.

You look towards the Manor and even though your vision only catches the pitched roof peeking through the dark pine trees you don’t doubt by the feeling crawling up your arm that Steve is watching you too.

“Steve, he's done something but, he's- he's a good man” Bucky replies, turning a rock onto its smooth side between his hands

“Oh yeah? Just like my husband is? I’m starting to figure out good men don’t need to say they're good men” You retort

Bucky shakes his head, turning the rock between his hands before tossing it into the shrubbery.

“You’re husband, he's done things you can't even imagine, he is the farthest from Steve, he's the farthest that Steve could ever be” Bucky replies with a heated tone.

For some reason that statement sent a burn down your stomach, in some sick way, you felt it was your responsibility to protect your husband's honour and name in front of Bucky, but it disappears when you realise you're the one who had run across the country to escape the very man Bucky loathes.

“I know the things he's done alright? I’m not that oblivious”

“I’m sure you aren't, Steve wouldn't go through all this trouble for someone who isn't..smart. But what you know about your husband is only what he's allowed you to see, in this life, there's so much that goes between looks and eyes,”

“Steve, it's this life that's changed him, changed all of us, swallowed him up until we couldn't even recognise each other. God I wish you could have seen him before, he was so carefree, ran like the wind couldn't even catch him. Your husband, evil like that is born in you, encoded into your DNA until you know nothing else" Bucky replies

“How do you expect me to believe that about him if you leave me in the dark all this time? You say Steve is a good man, well then tell me how” You reply

Bucky grinds his teeth, his jaw working as he weighs the metaphorical pros and cons of letting you in, and telling you things you he doesn't doubt Steve hasn’t. It was strange, Bucky felt it was wrong for you to be in this agreement with Steve so blindly, Steve had told him he wanted to protect you, but how can he say that when you don't even know what he's protecting you from?

With a gruff sigh, Bucky turns his neck to face you, delving into one of the main, if not the entire reason Steve is the way he is, and of course it had to be connected to you.

“About a decade or so ago, Steve was in love with a woman, she was everything to him, his breath, his bones, his love, she owned it all. Now it was about the time when Steve was ordained to take over from his father, it was a tradition since the Rogers planted their foot in the underworld, and it was once Steve's father did not take it lightly. Taking over meant your entire life would be dedicated to this throne, you would live, breathe and eat business, and for Steve, what he lived for was her.” Bucky shifts so that his gaze moves from the Manor. And like he's ashamed to be telling you this, to let the stark demeanour of Steve crack.

Bucky chuckles in the sort of way that wasn’t out of humour, your eyes strain as you peer at him, watching him scratch his jaw and tussle his brown locs free from their curls.

“Steve’s father could sense his weakness before it even started, I guess he thought Steve would realise what was at stake, the responsibilities that he had to honour as part of this family. That week before his coronation, Steve refused his father in front of an entire dining room of men. He refused to let go of her in exchange for his marriage to the throne. Told all of them that he was going to marry her and run off. And I still don't know if it was a show of discipline or plain evil, but Steve never got that chance” Bucky says.

“What do you mean?” You reply, your confused expression turning grim as you notice the bleak look on Bucky's face.

“She was- she was murdered that very next morning” Bucky replies, his eyes returning to you, as you whip your head back to stare at him in horror.

“Your husband, was paid by Steve’s father to murder his fiance” Bucky replies after a beat, your breath leaves your chest as you stare at him in disbelief, hands grasping the edges of your apron as you wait for the punchline, and Bucky stares at you in anguish as you realise there isn't.

You don't know what sounds leave your mouth, just the look of Bucky’s face tears you away from his gaze and the tears glide down your neck. You don’t bother to wipe them, you don't doubt there is more anguish to come, more revelations that will have your head spinning, more secrets that were kept from you.

“Hey, hey, look at me” Bucky replies

“I can’t, I didn’t tell you this for nothing alright? I can’t have you leaving here teary-eyed, you told me you were strong yeah? So be strong. Your husband is a murdering psychopath, he has been since he was a teenager, this mercenary job was done to get his foot in this business, and now you're all muddled up in it too. And Steve, he doesn’t want what happened to her to happen to you” Bucky replies, squeezing your arm to shake you back to the present.

“But why? Why would Steve’s father do that?” You reply

Bucky stares off into the curving hills of wheat and grass, shaking his head before replying

“It was Steve’s obligation, it had been since he was conceived, Steve's father thought he gave him a life free of responsibilities while growing up in that town, he didn't think that recklessness would follow him to Brooklyn”.

“Town? What town” You ask, and this time Bucky avoids your gaze, whispering incoherent obscenities under his breath

“That is something only Steve can tell you, me and Steve grew up together in Brooklyn during our teenage years. That place was something from before even that, before even me”. Bucky replies

You nod as you stare at the river that swirled across the Manor grounds, the shock of your husband's role in Steve’s becoming the invisible stone-faced don he was now didn't fully hit you yet. It was like you were numb, forced to put on a brave face in front of Bucky, who had trusted you enough to tell you about Steve.

Steve.

The man who you had believed conned his way into your life, and tricked you into a deal you didn't agree to now seemed different to you, you can’t fathom how a man like that, a man so instilled in the traditions of this world once defied it. Steve had once been so in love he was ready to disown his father's own expectations of him, and yet in the end it had gotten her killed, and it had left him seated on the very throne he despised.

“We should probably head back, lord knows what Steve would say if he knew you were still here” Bucky replies, pulling out a cigarette from his suit breast pocket, and flicking open a metallic silver lighter encrusted with the Rogers family heirloom.

The amber light that ignites the bud elicits a strange feeling that litters goosebumps across your body, it reminds you of a burning photograph, left to ashes and soot. You can smell the stench of it too, and Bucky watches you carefully as he clasps the lighter back into his pocket, nodding to the trail you had just come from.

Your mind is too preoccupied to remember walking back to the Manor, or even sliding into the car door Bucky had opened for you. Your mind circled back and forth between the answers Bucky had muttered under the sweet wisp of the morning breeze and the millions of questions that were met with the same silence and face of neutrality that Steve wore.

There was so much that you didn’t know, it hadn't hit you before, but it was so frighteningly obvious now. You were still the same foolishly naive girl that you had been 10 years ago, except this time, if Bucky had been right, you weren't being robbed of your entire autonomy.

You couldn't deny that since you had arrived in Brooklyn, you felt a strange pull that led you to Steve, you felt it the first time he walked into the diner, and although it was crowded by fear then, you can feel it in all its entirety now. For some strange reason, you hoped what Rumlow had said was just another thread of lies he had made you unravel, you hoped to god for Steve’s sake that all it was, was a childish attempt at getting out of babysitting.

You had steered your mind clear from falling down the rabbit hole of what else it could be, and the sinking feeling that begins to unfurl in your stomach now has you pinching yourself awake, and forcing yourself to stare through the tinted car windows. You watch the blur of the pine trees crowding the curving roads and Bucky’s incessant tapping of the steering wheel over-stimulate your senses, resting your head on the window.

Perhaps Steve knew a thing or two about betrayal, and from the same man that had made you run halfway across the country.

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nekoannie-chan · 4 months

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Week 19 Reblog Masterlist

Welcome to Week 19 2024 or Week 227, as always, fics would be listed in the order I read them.

I hope you enjoy it!

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

♥ You can check my reading guidelines here.

♥ You can check my masterlist here.

♥ You can check my main reblog masterlist 2024 here.

♥ You can check my May reblog masterlist 2024 here.

♥ You can check Week 18 2024 here.

♥ You can check Week 20 2024 here.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

𝙺𝚎𝚢𝚜: 💛 ᵒʳᶤᵍᶤᶰᵃˡ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ

💜 ʰᵒʳʳᵒʳ

🖤 ᵈᵃʳᵏ

❤️ ˢᵐᵘᵗ

💚 ᶠˡᵘᶠᶠ

💙 ᵃᶰᵍˢᵗ

🧡 ᶜᵒᵐᵉᵈʸ

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

This is the list of the fics I read and recommend in Week 19 2024:

Music to my ears (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @ultralightpoe 💚

The brand (HYDRA trash party)( by @mournthebird🖤

You're stuck with me chapter 4 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @your-eternal-lies 💚

Hawkeye part 4 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @swan-of-sunrise 💚

Caught (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @mysecretlittlelibrary ❤️

You are my only love Part 1 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @marvelmcumania 💚💙

Lust Royale 4 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @cevansbaby-dove 💚

Moving like a river of trouble crossing (Steve Rogers X Brock Rumlow) by @vivelarevolution13 💙

March 30 (Bucky) by @between-a-ship-and-a-hard-place 💙

His desires (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @welikeimagines-andfandoms ❤️

Misunderstanding part 1 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @sosa2imagines 💙

The Gemini part 10 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @rogersideup 💙

Primal Functions (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @needl6ereads ❤️

Pretty As A Picture - Chapter 1 (Steve Rogers X Reader X Bucky Barnes) by @mrs-barnes-rogers-writes 💙

Cruel World 1 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @lizamango 💙❤️

You're stuck with me chapter 6 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @your-eternal-lies 💚

Till Death do us part (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @cevansbaby-dove 💙

Misunderstanding part 2 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @sosa2imagines 💙

Hummingbird Epilogue (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @thezombieprostitute 💙

You're stuck with me chapter 7 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @your-eternal-lies 💚

𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 (Stucky X Reader) by @targaryenvampireslayer ❤️🖤

Lazy Weekend (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @eva-knits12 ❤️

Take care of part 4 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @huffelpuff210🖤

Redemption part 10 (Ransom Drysdale X Reader) by @syntheticavenger 💙

I’ll Wait For Your Love (Stucky X Reader) by @dbnightingale24 💚💙

Sick of It (Steve Rogers X Reader)( by @bigtreefest 💙

Cruel World 2 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @lizamango 💙❤️

The bolter part 5 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @endless-ineffabilities 💚

#Annie recommends #week 19 reblog masterlist

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saiyanprincessswanie · 1 year

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SaiyanPrincessSwanie - Reading List Week 159 & 160

Welcome to Week 159 & 160

Sorry the reading list is a little short. I had 3 surgeries in 7 days. So I fell behind in reading. I will carry over the remainder fics to my next list.

As always these will be listed in no particular order. None of these stories are mine. I’m just signal boosting them. Author is listed next to title. My goal is to signal boost writers and spread positivity in the community. 💜💜

Click HERE to see what I will or won’t read. This is very important.

Click HERE for past reading lists.

My Masterlist click HERE

Please make sure you’re reading the warnings on every story. They range from dark to fluff. Do Not Read if you are under 18 years old. These stories are meant for adults only. You’re responsible for your own media consumption.

Page-break by @whimsicalrogers & header by me

If you can, please reblog these lists so they can reach more people on Tumblr.

I love you 3000 💜 Missy

You Will Love Me - (Steve x Reader) - @saiyanprincessswanie

Clairvoyance - Part 1 - @talia-rumlow

Clairvoyance - Part 2 - @talia-rumlow

Clairvoyance - Part 3 - @talia-rumlow

Clairvoyance - Part 4 - @talia-rumlow

Stucky Oneshot - @biteofcherry

Dark Desires - (Bucky x Reader) - @jobean12-blog

Kiss the Cup - (Jake x Reader) - @drabblewithfrannybarnes

Bucky Oneshot - @tuiccim

A different celebration - (Wanda x Clint) - @nekoannie-chan

Bucky Oneshot - @itiswormtimebaby

One Look At You - (Stucky x Reader) - @sidepartskinnyjeans

Where's My Love - (Bucky x Reader) - @flordeamatista

No More Last Chances - (Cole T x Reader) - @georgiapeach30513

Deal with the Devil - (Robert P. x Reader) - @stargazingfangirl18

five minutes - (Bucky x Reader) - @witchywithwhiskey

Weird place - (Steve x Reader) - @nekoannie-chan

Clairvoyance Part 5 - @talia-rumlow

Nrfth (7) - Shattered dreams - @holylulusworld

Nrfth (9) - Faded memory - @holylulusworld

Affectionate gesture - @nekoannie-chan

If I Can't Have Everything - (Andy x Reader) - @writing-for-marvel

Steve one shot - @imyourbratzdoll

Mark My Territory - (Steve x Reader) - @georgiapeach30513

Shreds of Flannel - (Bucky x Reader) - @jobean12-blog

Bucky oneshot - @angrythingstarlight

#saiyanprincessswanie #recommended reading #missy reads #missy reblogs #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #stucky x reader #jake jensen x reader #cole turner x reader #robert pronge x reader #andy barber x reader

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ex0rin · 1 month

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heyhey, you've gotten me into the winterfalcon jr ship ngl and i'm curious how you see them together. cause for me it's a bit like the classic sunshine x grumpy cliche.

hello! welcome to winterfalcon jr (aka buckquin)!! population like, 6 people? probably? 🥳

anyway, i gotta be honest, this ship is a mixed bag for me. i like it a lot of ways (though currently that way is What If? Secretary!Bucky with Intern!Torres… and uh, a side of Head of Security!Rumlow maybe 😅)

it definitely started with sunshine x grumpy though! (and then devolved so fast, as small ships do) mostly just sweet young Torres with a huge crush on the grumpiest of old men and Bucky not sure what to do with it tbh

i think, and just go with me here, that my fave concept for them is stress relief doll (Torres) and keeps making the same 'mistake' over and over again (Bucky) - as in it starts as a total accident, one of those half asleep nights where Bucky rolls over on the bed he didn't realize he'd even collapsed on and ends up with Torres pinned underneath of him…

and like, okay, if you haven't read @sparklingbinjuice 's fic White Kicks (Dovich/ Torres, warning: noncon) you should BUT Torres having a panic attack from some being-pinned-ptsd but letting it happen anyway because he's got SUCH a crush on Bucky (i was gonna share a bit of a fic for this thought but in theory it's almost done and i don't wanna jinx it 🙃)

so a little Bucky with HTP trauma and a little of Torres' own trauma mixing up in a perfect way that sates my desire for dark-ish fic and my current insanity about Torres...

that feels like a lot of text please tell me your thoughts now thanks 🙏

#anon asks #asked and answered #winterfalcon jr #buckquin #(the real ship name i suppose)#noncon tw #(just in case)#cara writes #cara gifs #torres tag #bucky tag #me back into htp peripherally like:#ah lads not again

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whereianonymouslypostfics · 1 year

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Dreams

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: ~2.4k

Summary: You can’t sleep

A/N: More baby stuff to come, but first I need to post a couple of drabbles for the sake of not making a confusing af timeline.

Warnings: Angst mentions of death, dealing with trauma

As soon as you first stepped into your house you knew that your favorite part would be the view. You had stepped onto one of the decks outside and immediately fallen in love with the house. You spent hours outside, or even just on the third floor looking out to the dense trees of the mountains beyond your yard.

You found nature calming and if you had the time and the ability to just wander out into the woods and spend a day relaxing you would. You’d even go at night despite knowing how much your wife would disapprove of this plan.

Despite this somewhat repressed desire, tonight is not one of those night. You’d certainly come back with a cold given how hard it’s raining outside. It was storming when you went to bed, and despite being exhausted, you couldn’t stay asleep. You’d been woken up only a few hours later and you ended up lying in bed listening to the rain for nearly half an hour before you decided to get up.

You’d crept out of bed, not that you thought Wanda would hear you, and you looked downstairs to make sure your dogs were there. They were lying down in the living room sleeping, so you let them be as you wandered upstairs to the third floor. From up here you could look out the floor-to-ceiling windows that showed you an unobscured view of the dark sky that was only occasionally illuminated by lightning that seemed to be right on top of you. The loud thunder and the rain beating against the roof was enough to distract you temporarily from the dream you’d had.

You’d struggled a little this week, and you know you hadn’t hidden it well from anyone. You’d been at work busy as always, and a new client had come in for an appointment for his dog. The dog was adorable but you honestly didn’t remember anything about him because you’d been so distracted by his owner.

He’d looked remarkably similar to a younger version of Rumlow and you’d nearly had a panic attack at the possibility that he wasn’t really dead. That he’d come back for you.

You’d had to excuse yourself and you asked another doctor to fill in for you under the guise of feeling sick before fleeing for your car. You’d sat in it for nearly ten minutes before you’d managed to drive away and head home.

You hadn’t told Wanda about it immediately. Despite coming home to find her downstairs, you’d immediately gone to shower and then crawled into bed. She’d been concerned and confused about why you were home so early, but you hadn’t managed to tell her any more than what you’d told your coworker.

You sigh as you remember the nightmare you had and how Rumlow and Vision still plagued your dreams months after their deaths. You wondered how long they would torment you for as you lay your head back and try to focus on the torrential downpour that you were considering stepping out into.

“Y/n?”

You don’t hear Wanda immediately because you’re so distracted, but you do hear Boone shake himself out from where he’s standing beside your wife. The sound of his collar catches your attention and you open your eyes expecting to see just him. When you see Wanda standing beside him, you can’t help but smile apologetically.

“Hey. Can’t sleep either?”

Wanda had actually been sleeping really well despite the storm. She loved it when it was raining and she could honestly stay in bed all day if it was like this outside. What woke her up was your absence that she’d noticed almost immediately after you’d left. She’s never been great at sleeping alone since you two got together, and not even a perfect thunderstorm could keep her in bed once she realized you were no longer with her.

She moves to sit down next to you, waiting as you greet Boone with a quick scratch before lying back against the cushions with a sigh. She frowns slightly as she looks you over, and she realizes fairly quickly that you’re tense. You’d been a bit off recently and you hadn’t really told her what was bothering you. After coming home early from work this week and claiming to feel sick, she’d watched you carefully during the following days to try and figure out what was wrong. It hadn’t taken her long because despite how well you hid your stress during the day, once you were asleep, you subconscious seemed to run wild and reveal every worry that you’d had that day.

She just had to watch you sleep to understand that something was stressing you out. Most of the time it was work, but you would tell her about that easily enough. Given that you’d been so tight-lipped about this she feared it was something worse.

By the second night you’d given her confirmation when she’d woken up in the middle of the night to you talking in your sleep. She’d been a little confused and still sleepy so she hadn’t really heard most of what you said. It wasn’t until you said a very familiar name that she’d jolted awake.

Vision.

She hated to think that Vision was still causing you stress and literally making you lose sleep despite being dead. He was long gone and she had wanted to promise you that he would never hurt you again. Unfortunately, Wanda was well aware that he’d caused too much lasting damage for all of his influence to die with him. She’s reminded of this yet again as she watches you curl up and pat the blanket that you have on your lap and spread out on the couch.

“Come here.”

You don’t really have to say it because Boone is all-too-willing to jump up and sit beside you on the couch. He stays on the blanket but is quickly plopping down next to you, and you smile at him before turning back to your wife who still hasn’t answered you. You knew Wanda was too smart to believe that you were just restless, and you needed to tell her what’s been on your mind.

Wanda eventually shrugs before she claims that she could sleep fine, but she’d been worried about you.

“Why couldn’t you sleep?“

You wait until lightning flashes in the sky again before reaching out for Wanda with a sigh. She moves closer to you without you having to do much, and you smile before leaning in to kiss her cheek.

“Old demons.“

You’re still not exactly excited about discussing this, so you’re vague in hopes that your smart wife will understand your meaning. You realize this isn’t entirely fair, and even after Wanda hits the nail on the head you decide to be more upfront. Wanda shifts slightly so she’s leaning into you and can rest her head on your shoulder. She watches Boone yawn cavernously before daring to confirm her fears, and yours.

“You mean my two least favorite dead men?”

You can’t help but crack a smile as you nod and think about how accurate Wanda’s description is. Despite having met a lot of insufferable people over the years, these two certainly took the cake.

You take a deep breath before you turn away from your dog so you can look at your wife as you talk to her. It’s still dark since she hadn’t bothered to turn on the light and you can only see her outline, and her bright eyes watching you worriedly.

“Yeah. I’m having dreams about them again.”

Wanda was well aware of how during your recovery, and periodically since then you’d be reminded of the fear you’d felt when you’d almost died. You’d think about how just one minute’s difference or one interaction with Vision could have meant the end for you by one of their hands. You’d mostly had the same dream each time. You’d be sitting in that room again, tied to a chair, but neither of them would be present. You’d just be waiting for them to show up, knowing they would show up to hurt you.

You always woke up sweating and panicked for a few minutes before you could shake it. Sometimes Wanda woke up and tried to distract you and pull you out of it, but there was only so much she could do. She’d tell you that they were gone, and that no one would hurt you like that again. Wanda had made you promise to wake her up whenever you had this dream, but you honestly only ended up doing it about 50% of the time. Tonight being one of the times that you chose not to.

“This one was a little different though.”

Wanda had been wondering if something had triggered you this time when you say this. She eyes you curiously as she considers all of the possibilities, but you speak up before she gets anywhere close.

“We switched places and for some reason they were hurting you instead.”

You don’t have to say how much this shook you. You’d only worried about Wanda being hurt because of her job since you found out what it was. Once you’d learned that Vision was interested in her, and that he really wanted her for himself, you’d been wary and distrustful of him. He’d been too smart to try anything outright, at least until the end, but the fact that he’d tried to kill you so he could have Wanda all to himself made this particular dream seem unrealistic.

“I thought this was weird because I’m sure Vision would rather kill me three times over before hurting you. Rumlow though…”

Wanda scowls at the name, and she thinks about the brunette who’d hated her practically for his whole life. The first meeting between the two of them had honestly set the stage pretty well for every future interaction. He’d been brash and distrusting towards her and Pietro, and this rudeness became hostility before pretty soon after. Wanda still berated herself for not seeing something like this coming. She’d been prepared for whatever type of work-related sabotage he tried to throw her way. And there had been plenty over the years.

She just hadn’t been quite ready for something like this, and she fears every day that someone else will try it now that they were aware of what happened. As much as she tried to shield you from her work and keep people from knowing too much about you, it was impossible to keep them completely in the dark. It wasn’t ideal at all, but now that you were home and she wasn’t working, she was hoping you’d be safer. It had been months and she’d only heard murmurs of threats, nothing solid that would make her do much more than curse the stupidity of these nameless people.

“I know that I’ve said this before, detka, but now that I’m not working it will get better. That said, I can understand that your fears don’t exactly change because of this.”

Not like mine at least.

Wanda doesn’t say this because she doesn’t need to, and it makes her feel a little guilty. Sure, she will never not fear that you are in danger because of her, but the fact that she’s truly left it and has no responsibilities now, does make her feel better. However, she can’t assume that this is all you need to be reassured, and realizing that it isn’t makes her feel like she’s neglected you somehow.

You shake your head as you try to figure out how to tell Wanda what happened this week. It seems silly and you are embarrassed by your reaction to it, but you suppose you can’t help how you feel. You need to figure out how to convince yourself that your wife is right. You’re safer now, and you know that she will do everything she can to make sure this continues to be the case.

Wanda waits patiently as you find your words before looking back to your dog with a smile. His head is in your lap and he whines as he picks up on your anxiety. He nudges you with his nose a few times before you scratch his head and you can’t help but feel well taken care of in that moment.

“I know it will, Wands. I just---someone came into work and he looked so much like Rumlow I just freaked out. Of course I knew it wasn’t him, but it made all of the fears I thought I’d done a good job repressing rise up to the surface and smack me in the face.”

Wanda would usually smile at your sense of humor. However, given that you’re using it as a coping mechanism, to hide how true your words are, she can’t help but frown. She holds you hand tighter before offering you the only reassurance she can. She moves closer to you so she is almost on top of you like Boone is. She kisses your cheek and holds you close waiting until you sigh in exhaustion. You’d been extremely stressed for the past few days, and having this off your chest was just the beginning of feeling better. The rest would come with time and help from your wife who was all too willing to do whatever you needed.

“I’m sorry, Y/n. It’s going to take time.”

You nod in agreement because this is the worst part of it. Just separating yourself from the event by time was important, but also continuing to live your life was too. You wanted to move forward with your plans to have a family with Wanda. Now that she was truly retired and you were no longer hobbling around, you and Wanda would start to figure out the logistics of adding to your family.

You’re about to respond to your wife when she shifts slightly with a reassuring smile that you can’t see, but you practically know it by heart at this point.

“I promise I’ll be here for whatever you need.”

The two of you go back to listening to the calming storm outside before eventually returning to bed. You know that the chances of having another nightmare about your encounter with the doppelganger are high, but as long as you’ll wake up with Wanda by your side, you decide that you can face anything.

“Thank you, Wands.”

Masterlist

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda x reader #silver springs #silver springs drabble #silver springs au

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dilemmaontwolegs · 2 years

Text

Unexpected Salvation || Mafia!Bucky Barnes

Summary: Betrothed to an abusive mafia crime lord, Brock Rumlow, you can only dream of escaping his violent tendencies. On your wedding day you find yourself helpless and hopeless - until Bucky arrives. A crime lord himself, Bucky was no saint but to you he was suddenly a guardian Angel and you saw your path to freedom. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, physically abused reader, suicidal thoughts, domestic violence, mentions of violence, weapons and murder, unprotected sex, oral (f rec) WC: 8.1k

Bucky Masterlist

This was supposed to be the day that every woman dreamed about and no expense had been spared. The billowing layers of ivory satin and tulle swayed around your legs with every careful step you took, the soft swishing sound only interrupted by the heels tapping on the polished concrete floors.

Your father waited expectantly. His lips were pressed in a harsh line as he held his hand out, beckoning you to take your place at his side even if it was only going to be for a few moments. This was not how you imagined your wedding would be.

The whale bone corset did more than restrict your access to air, it restricted your ability to move. It was another pretty shackle that had been strapped to you, just like the stiletto heels and heavy wedding gown - everything was designed to stop you from escaping.

“Father, please, I can’t do this,” you whispered as he hooked you to his side and pinned you with a cold stare that froze any further pleas.

“You can and you will,” he growled under his breath. “Rumlow is the most powerful man in this State and this marriage will make our family name great again. So, be a dutiful wife and don’t fuck this up.”

You swallowed the sob that clawed at your throat and prayed for salvation as music filled the air, the wedding march. The corset bodice had contorted your body into what was deemed desirable to Brock, but it was a mockery of who you were. The strangers who dressed you had not hidden their laughter as they pushed and pulled at your skin, shoving your breasts high up your chest and pulling at your waist until it bowed into a painful curve. In this dress, you didn’t recognise yourself - maybe that was the only salvation that there was.

Heavy doors swung open and you nearly collapsed at the sound of the hinges groaning with a final plea bursting from your lips. You looked to your father but for the first time in your life you saw fear reflected in his eyes and you cast your eyes ahead to find the doors to the church still shut, your condemnation sealed on the other side.

Dead, brown leaves drifted past your feet on a phantom breeze and you teetered on the heels as you spun around to find the grand doors that lead to the pebblestone driveway wide open. The sunlight streaming in blinded your vision to the man filling the doorway but you could tell from your fathers reaction he was not a welcome guest. A flick of his wrist gave a signal and more men streamed in, this time there was no mistaking who it was. There was only one rival brave enough to interrupt Brock Rumlow’s wedding day.

James ‘Bucky’ Barnes.

There was no time to think as he stepped closer and you saw the halo of light around his head. This was your salvation, he was the angel sent to save you or maybe he was just another devil in a Versace suit.

Your father sensed the change in you and tried to reach for your arm but the horse had already bolted and you were racing across the foyer. Blue eyes widened imperceptibly as you gathered your skirts and ran for him, praying the heels didn’t snap your ankles. Guns were drawn around him but Bucky splayed his hand out, stilling the fingers pressed to the triggers and turning their aim away from you, to your father.

You crashed into his broad chest and his arms encircled you, tucking you into his side and away from the man who had raised you, the man now screaming for Brock’s men that were waiting inside the church.

“Take me with you, please,” you begged as you fisted his expensive suit.

Bucky may have been as much a criminal as Brock but rumour was that he had a moral code when it came to who he killed - no women, no children. You were willing to bet your life on that rumour.

Bucky stared down at you with cold, calculating eyes before he nodded and cast his arm protectively over your shoulders, “Let’s go.”

Your fathers shouts echoed after you and a small crack cleaved in your chest as he shouted at Bucky to give you back. You tried to believe that it was a final gift from father to daughter, that he made it seem like you were being kidnapped, but in your heart of hearts you knew the truth - he was doing what he did best and only protecting himself.

Blacked out Escalades were idling in the drive and Bucky quickly bundled you into the back of one, slamming the door shut before the quiet pings of silenced shots cracked the glass beside your head. You screamed before slamming a hand over your mouth and slid to the floor as the engine roared and pebbles scattered behind the skidding tires.

“You’ll be safer up here with a seatbelt on,” Bucky said with a small amused smirk playing on his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s bulletproof.”

You swallowed the bile rising in your throat and crawled out of the sea of fabric as panic began to swell in your chest. Every breath burned your airway and you couldn’t fill your lungs with the corset constricting your ribcage. A fine sheen of sweat broke out across your skin and you tried to tear through the layers as you tried to get back to your own body.

“Hold still,” Bucky ordered with a commanding voice that gripped you in its snare. His hand disappeared into his suit jacket and pulled out a flick knife, the blade jumping forth before it was aimed at you and he repeated the command. “Don’t move.”

You gasped at the cold touch of the blade against your skin and readied yourself for the pain but it didn’t come. Fabric was torn and ribbons sliced and suddenly you could breathe.

“I couldn’t do it,” you whimpered between the gasping intakes of air that refilled your lungs to the brim. “I couldn’t marry him.”

A warm hand caught your jaw and slowly turned you away from the blur of the world passing by, right into the path of the bluest eyes you had ever seen. “You are going to hyperventilate if you don’t slow your breathing.”

“I. Can’t.” You tried but all you could think about was the look on your fathers face, the betrayal you saw when you looked back. Then the fear began to grow, the fear of what Brock would do if he took you back. “I can’t breathe.”

“You can,” Bucky argued, his hand sliding along your jaw so he could remove the diamond drop earring then did the same with the other. He tossed the expensive pair into the cargo space, atop the mass of fabric he had cut from the dress. “Let go of that fear, doll. You’re safe now.”

“Am I?” His fingers danced around your throat and he frowned as he felt your body tremble beneath his touch, retracting his hands as soon as the diamond and ruby necklace was unclasped. You exhaled the breath you had been holding when he leaned back and you saw those inquisitive eyes asking questions you weren’t ready to answer.

“Yes,” he said quietly as he mindlessly spun a signet ring around his finger, “I won’t hurt you.”

Though you had no reason to, you believed him. You felt safe and he had been nothing but helpful so your rapidly beating heart began to slow. The months of nights spent lying awake and planning an escape finally caught up with you as the SUV sped to some unknown destination and you found your head coming to rest on Bucky’s shoulder as your eyes fluttered shut.

Of all of your plans to run away, this had never been one. You had wanted to escape the mafia but somehow you had run from one boss and right into the arms of another. Strong arms. Very strong arms and blue eyes.

The scent on the pillow immediately told you this was his room, his bed. It was the same calming scent that had lulled you to sleep on the drive here, wherever here was. You didn’t really care, you were just grateful it was anywhere Brock wasn’t.

A smile grew on your face at the thought of the tantrum Brock would probably still be throwing but it quickly dimmed when you realised there were probably a lot of people getting hurt because of it. Brock’s temper was the thing of nightmares and you had been on the receiving end of it enough times to pity those who had to deal with him this time.

You rose from the bed and looked at the tattered remains of the wedding dress in the full length mirror, it looked like something out of a Tim Burton film. You tore what little remained away and kicked it away only to shudder at the new reflection.

Swollen purple bruises littered your skin and left your stomach turning as you slipped into the closet needing to hide his violent touch. Brock was strategic in where to leave his marks, places only a lover would find them. It was just another way to control your life.

Expensive suits and dress shirts hung neatly along the closet walls so you walked further into the room until you found something a little more casual. You were finally successful in finding a plain t-shirt that covered enough skin but you could still tell from how soft the fabric was that it was no less expensive than the rest of Bucky’s clothing.

You wondered where the jewellery was that Bucky had taken off you as you slipped down the stairs to the main floor, following the deep voices. He didn’t need the money from pawning them off but you certainly would if you planned to make a life outside of the mafia. You would ask him at some point, but for now you wanted to know exactly who Bucky was, the type of man he was.

“Well, that didn’t go to plan.” Steve took a seat and sipped his whiskey before he spoke again, “That asshole is still alive and everyone thinks you kidnap women now.”

Bucky huffed a laugh and dropped into his own seat, swirling his own drink around the crystal tumbler as he pondered the turn of events. “It could work in our favour, it certainly sends a statement.”

“Buck, I have never questioned your orders-”

“Please don’t start now,” Bucky interrupted before he rolled his eyes and tipped his head back, waving his hand to let Steve finish.

“That woman asleep in your bed is going to be more trouble than she is worth. He’s going to come for her.”

Bucky’s lips twitched and Steve heard the words that went unsaid, ‘I know’.

“Did you plan this?”

“No,” Bucky admitted as he reached over to the cigar box on the side table. “But I wish I had thought of it. Do you know what his investors will be thinking - the great Brock Rumlow can’t even protect his own wife. They will question his capability.”

“I am not his wife and I never will be,” you vowed with absolute certainty, appearing barefoot in the doorway. “I will die before facing that fate.”

Bucky took your seething words in stride, closing the cigar box and curling his finger to beckon you into the room before patting the cushion beside him. You hadn’t felt threatened by him or any of his men since they saved you so you had no reason to distrust him and quickly crossed the room.

His smile disarmed you as you sat beside him and he trailed his fingertips lazily across the hem of his shirt riding high on your thighs. “After that display of courage today I am inclined to believe you. Not many women would run towards armed strangers.”

“When life gives you lemons,” you murmured, ignoring the heat that was quickly spreading beneath his light touch.

His deep laugh blew warm air across your neck as he leant in closer and spoke with a soft intimacy that shouldn’t have been heard outside the bedroom. “Is that what I am? Lemonade?”

“I guess that depends on how sweet you are.” The sassy words flowed from your tongue unconsciously but the moment they were voiced you bowed your head and murmured an apology.

“It’s late, Steve, go home. I’ll see you in the morning.” Quiet footsteps retreated from the room followed by the definitive click of the door shutting behind him. Your pulse thrummed like a hummingbird as you screwed your eyes shut and waited for the sharp burn of a slap to heat your skin. But it didn’t come. “Open your eyes.”

It took a moment to gather the courage before you could open them and face your punishment. Blinking twice, you were certain your eyes were deceiving you as you saw pity instead of rage, and Bucky reached out slowly to graze the back of his knuckles across your cheeks.

“What did he do to you?” Those azure eyes of his seemed to shred through your physical being and see the broken soul that lay beneath. The intensity of his stare drew tears to the surface, blurring your vision as they erased the composure you had bitterly fought to hold. “I’ll kill him.”

He thumbed away the tears that escaped down your cheeks but more replaced them as you shook your head. “You can’t kill him.”

Bucky smiled darkly, his lips so close to your skin as he whispered his secret in your ear, “He doesn’t know it, doll, but he’s already dead.”

“He has half a dozen men with him at all times, his house practically has an army surrounding it and they monitor the surveillance cameras 24/7.” You sighed and looked away to hide the bitter disappointment written on your face. “Trust me, he’s impossible to kill.”

“He bleeds red just like you and I, so he can die just the same.” Bucky rose from the seat and offered you his hand. “It’s late, we can talk more in the morning.”

You stared at his hand a moment before looking up at Bucky and asking the question that had been building since he sequestered you away from the church. “Why are you doing this for me?”

“A man of my position can hardly be called altruistic, but the way you looked at me today…I wanted to be worth that look of hope.”

He wiggled his fingers and you placed yours on them, letting him pull you from the couch and against his chest. He dipped his head and quickly kissed the racing pulse in your neck, so fast you could have almost imagined it. He stepped back and let his lips curve into a playful smile that had you press your toes into the carpet to stop them curling. “Plus, I couldn’t stand to see a beautiful woman in such a hideous dress.”

You covered your face with an embarrassed laugh while you nodded in agreement. “I know, it was criminal how bad it was. Thank you for tearing it off me.”

He caught his bottom lip between his teeth and your stomach clenched at the mischievous glint in his eyes as he bowed. “I am humbly at your service.”

It was hard to believe that this man was the head of the Romanian mafia in New York, he was just so different to Brock. He made you smile. “I’m not sure you know the meaning of humble.”

You were struck again by that warm laugh of his as he led the way from the room and up the stairs. Although the house was huge and there were a handful of closed doors along the hall that likely hid ornate guest bedrooms, Bucky opened his and ushered you through. Your eyes darted to the bed, still messy from where you had slept between the sheets, and Bucky smirked as he began to remove the cufflinks on his shirt.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I won’t do anything you don’t ask me to,” he said.

You couldn’t look away as he took his shirt off and you saw every inch of that hard muscle you had crashed into, the tanned expanse of his skin sculpted like the depiction of gods you had seen in a museum. The dark curls that trickled down the centre of his chest teased a line that disappeared below the belt that he was unbuckling and you tore yourself away, ignoring the chuckle that followed you.

“You can look, I don’t mind.”

The belt landed beside you on the loveseat and you flinched at the sight, twisting away to find Bucky frozen. He looked back at the belt with narrowed eyes and cursed under his breath before swiping it up and tossing it to the back of his closet and running his hands roughly through his hair. He tugged the ends with barely controlled rage but dropped them to his side when he saw your wary step towards the door.

“I’m not going to hurt you, doll,” he said gently.

You looked at the rug on the floor and focused on how the bright colours came together to form the beautiful design as you spoke, “You are angry.”

“Yes, but not at you.” Bucky sat on the edge of his bed, his tall frame no longer so imposing. “My mother had a boyfriend who…he was cruel and a sick piece of shit. I was young, too young to do anything to stop him and one night he just didn’t stop.”

His eyes looked straight ahead but you had stared into the past enough times to know where he truly was. You weren’t even sure if he noticed when you took a seat beside him and placed your hand in his, your thumb caressing his with a comfort you wished someone had given you.

“I’m sorry about your mother,” you whispered.

“I killed him. Took everything that was his, all of this, and I killed him,” Bucky said with a catch in his voice that he cleared before turning to you. “I’m going to hell for an infinite number of sins but killing him isn’t one, and neither will be watching the life bleed from Brock fucking Rumlow’s eyes when I gut him for what he did.”

For the first time in your life you didn’t shirk at the threat of violence, your hands didn’t shake and your skin wasn’t clammy. The small voice in your head that had abandoned you when Brock first laid his hands on you whispered that Bucky was different, that after watching his mother’s assault he would never turn his anger on you, and you believed it. And that thought scared you more than anything.

Bucky watched you silently, as if he could see every thought passing through your mind and saw the moment you needed a distraction from your own mind. “Big spoon or little spoon?”

You frowned as your thoughts were derailed and you blinked his handsome face back into focus. “Spoon?”

Bucky shrugged casually. “I’m a sleep spooner. So, which would you rather be?”

“I don’t even know what that means. Are you propositioning me?”

Bucky laughed before sobering up when you remained serious, then that scowl of his that you had come to notice only appeared when he thought about Brock. “Motherfucker.” Bucky stood up and kicked his trousers off before pulling the sheets back. “Hop in, sweetheart, let me show you what you’re missing.”

You stared at the space he offered beside him and wondered what he was really asking of you. Was this a ploy to use you? Brock had used sex as a means of blackmail and to undermine not just you but the wives of his officers. Could it be a trait shared among the bosses?

“Spooning isn’t a sex position, if that’s the reason you’re looking at me like that. I mean, it could be, but only if you ask nicely.”

The teasing smile eased your mind and you climbed into the space beside him. His body curled against you and his scent enveloped you in a comforting cocoon, even when your spine stiffened at the proximity.

“Roll onto your side, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured as he gently pushed you away. You did as you were told and turned away but the shirt shifted and slipped over the curve of your hip, baring the result of Brock’s violent touch. You tried to grasp at the hem as panic and shame swelled in your chest but it was too late, Bucky caught your wrist and moved it away.

His touch was hesitant but gentle as he brushed his fingertips over the swollen, bruised skin. The tenderness was a juxtaposition to Brock’s savage sadism and a wave of fresh tears filled your eyes as you experienced kindness. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt it.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Bucky murmured softly as he brushed your shirt higher. “None of this is your fault, no matter what that sick bastard has told you.”

You buried your face in the pillow as you heard the words you had tried to cling to in the early days. But months into being Brock’s personal toy, to play with as he pleased, made you think you must have done something to deserve such a fate.

“Tell me to stop, and I will stop.” Bucky’s fingers trailed higher, taking your shirt with them. “No hesitation, no question, no repercussions.”

The word danced on your tongue but you bit it as his thumbs drew soft shapes along the canvas that had been ruined. You weren’t sure when you would feel a gentle touch again so you were going to savour the moment, even if it only lasted one night. “Don’t stop.”

Your body was still stiff and tense, the muscle memory struggling to differentiate the feel of his hands on your skin as it waited for the pain to begin.

“Some of these are old, weeks,” Bucky muttered to himself as he shifted down the bed and rolled you onto your back, looking between the different shades of bruises. “Did your father know that this has been happening?”

“He knew enough to ensure Brock couldn’t use a knife or flame.” It was meant to keep you safer, or at least not permanently maimed, but the restrictions only made Brock angrier. He spent that anger in the only currency he could, with his fist. “Beyond that, I don’t think he cared. The only thing he cares about is money and power.”

“Do you want me to kill him too?” There was no judgement in his eyes as he waited for an answer, he was probably planning it from the moment he stepped into the church, but he was giving you the option. The choice was entirely yours, but you weren’t sure if you had the stomach to give him the answer and he saw your hesitation. “Whenever you are ready, just say the words.”

You bobbed your head, not trusting your voice when you could feel the lump of emotion stuck in your throat.

The tension in your body began to ease as you grew accustomed to the soft, teasing touches of his fingertips and when he brushed his lips over the tender skin across your ribs you actually moaned. The sound was so foreign it took a moment to realise that it came from your lips.

Bucky peeped up from under thick lashes and he smiled at the sound, moving to kiss another bruise as if his lips could erase the memory of Brock from you entirely. “I wonder what other sweet sounds those pretty lips can make,” he mused aloud.

Your head was spinning as you melted beneath him and after he pulled his shirt off you, tossing it to the floor, you made no move to stop him from removing your lace panties. You intrinsically knew if you asked him, he would stop - you were letting him show you how pleasurable touch could be.

Compliments fell from his lips that devoured every inch of you and his blue eyes bled to black as his pupils exploded when he saw your nipples peaked and begging for his tongue. Your back arched with a cry when he took one in his mouth, licking and sucking at the sensitive nub before he gently grazed his teeth over it.

“Bucky, please,” you begged as you buried your fingers in his dark hair, needing more of the ecstasy he was giving you.

More than willing, Bucky moved between your legs and pressed his erection against your core. A throaty moan purred from you and you wrapped your legs around his hips, grinding yourself shamelessly and finding the only barrier stopping you from what you wanted was the thin pair of boxers he still wore.

“Tell me what you want, doll.” Bucky whispered between the kisses he trailed up the column of your neck and towards your parted lips.

“Everything,” you moaned. “Show me everything.”

Two Weeks Later

“Rumlow’s got every one of his men out looking for her, poking their head in our business, asking about a ransom. They are starting to cause some real problems, for not just us, but the Cartel too.” Steve looked wary as he sat in his usual seat. “Tell me you have a plan.”

“I have a plan,” Bucky said, running his thumb across his bottom lip with a dark smile. “I need you to get a message to Brock, if he wants a ransom then he can have it.”

Steve pulled his phone from his pocket to reach out to the contacts that would get the message across but frowned before he could hit the call. “How much?”

Bucky shrugged and made his way to the door. “Pick a number, it doesn’t matter.”

“What do you mean it doesn’t matter?” Steve asked but Bucky didn’t answer, he was already heading back up the stairs where you were still sleeping soundly.

A warm arm curled around your waist and you smiled as you woke to a pair of cerulean eyes watching you. You no longer startled awake, not after the first few mornings of waking in Bucky’s arms. You still occasionally jumped at an unexpected touch but even that reflex was beginning to be controlled. You were healing.

“I want to take you out, go shopping, have dinner, do whatever you want.” Bucky said as he pulled you against his chest and rested his head on yours.

“I do too,” you whispered. It was a nice dream but the reality was you would never have that freedom so long as Brock was alive and looking for you.

“I’m going to take you out, sweetheart. I just need you to trust me first.”

You tipped your head back to see him with a faraway look in his eyes, stroking his short beard to draw his attention away from that calculating place it had gone to. “I do trust you, Bucky, more than I have ever trusted anyone. I know you do bad things, I’m not naive, but you have only been good to me.” You ran your thumb over his lips, remembering the feel of them on your lips, on your skin, between your legs. “I trust you.”

“Good,” Bucky’s tone didn’t sound happy like you expected when he spoke, “because I sent that bastard a ransom.”

A phantom hand wrapped around your throat but Bucky was there, soothing words and calming hands rubbing your back to chase away the rising panic. “Shhh, I’m not going to let him hurt you again, he’s not going to hurt anyone again.”

You let his words sink in and quell the uprising panic, slowing your breathing to match his before you could speak, “You’re going to kill him?”

“I am.”

“How?”

Bucky licked his lips before answering, “Steve will negotiate a handover to your father, the money in exchange for you, somewhere neutral.”

“How are you going to kill him there? And who's to say he will even show up if I’m to go with my father?” You pushed yourself up so you weren’t distracted by his touch. “He will have a small army with him.”

“Brock is a control freak, there’s no way he would miss out on the exchange, he will want to see it with his own eyes.” Bucky sat up to mirror you. “And while he and his small army are otherwise occupied, I’m going to go to make myself at home. That’s where I need your help.”

And helping Bucky is exactly what you did. You gave him the layout of the house, and the gardens, drawing a map so he could plan his break in and where to hide, lying in wait for Brock to return with you. When there was no other information you could think of, you sat back and asked the question that was burning in your brain, “What happens to me?”

Bucky placed his pen down upon the papers and looked into the flames of the fire warming his study. “You will be free.”

It was all you ever wanted but an ache grew in your chest at the idea of leaving Bucky and you had to look away before you asked your next question that you weren’t ready to hear the answer to. “Okay.”

The decision was made two days later, when both parties finally agreed on a disused parking lot far enough from both of their territories that it was considered neutral and also open enough that there couldn’t be an ambush set. Those two days were the worst you had experienced and just the idea of eating anything made you sick with the somersaults and knots in your tummy. Your palms were constantly clammy and not even Bucky’s ministrations could distract you from the fear of facing your abuser again.

“I’m calling it off,” Bucky announced as he settled into bed on the eve of the exchange. “I’ll find another way that doesn’t involve you.”

“It’s all set, Bucky, you can’t cancel now.”

“I can and I will,” he countered. “All the progress you were making…I shouldn’t have asked you to get involved.”

Your hands still shook but you placed them on his anyway. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, waiting for the day he finds me and drags me back to that place. I have to do this, it is my choice, please don’t take that away from me.”

His eyes screwed shut in defeat because no matter how much he might want to protect you, the trust he had built with you had been laid on the foundations of the freedom to choose. He would never take that away and you knew it. “You should rest, it’s a big day tomorrow.”

You smiled, falling back into the pillows and taking him with you. “I’m not tired.”

Bucky’s teeth flashed with a wicked grin and his hand slid up beneath the hem of his shirt you wore, freezing when it reached the apex of your thighs and finding it bare. “Naughty girl.”

You arched under his touch, his finger gliding between your slick folds before reaching your clit and teasing it with your own arousal. He knew your body better than you did as he made you praise his name with just a few strokes of those thick digits, plunging them into your pussy and curling them to that sweet spot that made you see stars.

“Please, Bucky, I need more than your fingers.”

He chuckled disappeared between your legs, his broad shoulders spreading your knees wide before his tongue delved into your cunt. Your legs trembled as his mouth set fire to your core and he kissed you just as thoroughly as he did with your mouth, dominant and full of tongue.

His name was a prayer on your lips when he brought you to the edge only to pull away before you could come. He could feel the frustration radiating from you when he kissed your inner thigh and murmured, “Patience, doll, when you come I want to feel it around my cock.” He kicked his boxers off and then he was there, filling your vision and sharing a kiss that tasted of your liquid delight.

You both moaned as your tongues danced and his cock stretched your entrance as it filled you. His hips met yours and the orgasm that had been close crashed over you, the bump of pressure on your clit enough to tip you over, but he didn’t stop. You couldn’t tell when one orgasm ended and another began, it was wave after wave slamming into your body and blinding you with the pleasure Bucky had opened your eyes too.

“Fuck, you feel so good, sweetheart,” Bucky praised breathlessly as your walls fluttered and clamped down with each orgasm, the feeling as close to heaven as a man like him would get. “You’re a goddamn angel.”

He was close to finishing; his revered rambling and the loss of his steady rhythm was something you had come to learn quickly in sharing his bed. He would always set your heart racing with the sweet nonsense he whispered in those final moments.

His body shuddered and the pulsing of his cock buried within you sent another tremor of aftershocks through your core before he collapsed above you, resting his head in the valley of your breasts. There was never a hurry with Bucky, and it was this moment that you savoured - when he listened to your heart beat and his thumbs drew mindless circles on your sensitive skin.

“I could stay like this for eternity,” Bucky said as he gently blew cool air across your nipple and smiled as the skin prickled into goosebumps. “I love the way you respond to me.”

You combed your fingers through his hair but kept your own admissions to yourself, knowing this was the last night you would spend in his embrace. Tomorrow, if all went to plan, you would be free.

All too soon Bucky’s cock slipped from your body and you immediately missed the fullness and warmth as his cum ran down your thighs. His eyes watched with hunger and pride as he knelt between your legs and watched it leak from your core, his bottom lip fiercely caught between his teeth.

“Come on, let's get you cleaned up.” The begrudging tone brought a smile to your lips and you accepted his hand as he pulled you up and led the way to the bathroom. “We really should try to get some sleep before tomorrow.”

“Relax, Bucky’s the smartest man I know,” Steve said, looking across from the driver's seat. “He’s got everything all planned out.”

“It doesn’t make the waiting any easier.” You wished Bucky was with you instead of Steve, he would have held your hand and squeezed it reassuringly. You looked at the clock for the millionth time and found only one more minute had passed. “Where are they?”

Steve nodded his head to the southern entrance of the disused parking lot and you spotted the line of blacked out SUVs pulling in, parking in a perfect symmetry to Steve and his men. “How many times have you done this?” you asked as they all opened their doors at some silent signal.

“Enough.”

It took all your willpower not to vomit on the asphalt as you put one foot in front of the other, Steve’s hand coming to rest on your lower back where your hands were fastened by cable ties. It was the first time you had voluntarily let the restraints be placed on you and hopefully it would be the last.

It was Steve’s hand that stopped you from recoiling when you saw Brock step out of his car and start strolling towards you, looking for all intents and purposes as if he was out for a relaxing walk. Your footsteps stumbled and Steve urged you under his breath to calm down as he kept you upright, but that was when you saw your father and the smirk playing on his lips - like he had won.

“Steve, I need you to get a message to Bucky.” Time was running out but you finally had your answer. “Tell him I have no father.”

Steve frowned down at you. “What do you mean?”

“Bucky will understand, that’s all that matters.” You took a steadying breath and focused on your feet. “I know you weren’t happy when Bucky saved me, but thank you anyway.”

“I could argue that you saved him,” Steve admitted quietly. “I don’t think he had any plans to walk out of that church alive - he was looking for absolution by dragging as many of Brock’s men down with him. So, I should thank you. Now scowl and turn to your fiance, he has to believe this.”

The scowl was very real but it wasn’t aimed at Steve.

“One million dollars,” your father said as he stepped forward and dropped a duffle bag at Steve’s feet. “Do you want to count it?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Steve said with a smirk. “If it’s not all there then you will know about it very soon.”

You stepped forward when Steve patted your back gently, swiping the handles of the bag up after you passed it and waited stiffly at your fathers side. “What now?”

Your father sneered down at you and Steve fisted the bag tighter to fight the urge to steal you back. “Someone has to repay Brock for his generosity, that is a lot of money to drop on one woman. Go and show your gratitude to your future husband.”

Bile rose and you swallowed deeply as you walked away from the safety of Bucky’s men and deeper into the army of demons that Brock commanded. The devil himself smiled with a baring of teeth and he opened the passenger door for you, his leering eyes mentally stripping the clothes from your body. “Welcome home, my little pet.”

Bucky will be there. Bucky will be there. Bucky will be there.

You wouldn’t face this alone. That is what you repeatedly told yourself as you climbed into the SUV, jolting at the sound of the door slamming shut.

Bucky will be there. Bucky will be there. Bucky will be there.

Your heart threatened to jump right out of your chest when the SUV turned into the driveway, stopping at the gates so that security could let him through. The drive had been silent but you had noticed the many SUV’s hadn’t followed Brock’s. A part of Bucky’s plan - they were suddenly finding themselves occupied by Steve and his men.

Bucky will be there. Bucky will be there. Bucky will be there.

Brock’s hand was a shackle around your wrist, leading you to the master suite, leading you to your future or doom.

The door was still swinging shut when Brock’s hand tightened around your wrist, spinning you towards the bed and pushing you onto your back before you could regain your balance. “Did he touch you?” There was no room to recoil from Brock’s spitting question as he pressed you into the mattress with his weight on top of you.

One hand snaked up your body and wrapped around your throat and your hips bucked to try to move him as his other hand spread your legs. Tears blurred your vision as Brock growled at the tight jeans kept him from easily taking what he wanted, a reason he never let you wear them when he was around. “Did he touch you?”

Your lungs were burning with the need to breathe but Brock was relentless. Where was Bucky? You had trusted him to be here, he was meant to be here.

The weight was suddenly lifted as Brock was thrown off you and you gasped at the air you could finally pull into your lungs. Bucky’s knife glinted on the floor where he must have dropped it to tackle Brock and now they were grappling on the carpet, raining fists upon each other while you tried to swallow the screams that were brewing.

Bucky slumped to the side when Brock’s fist connected with his temple and you cried out when he swayed trying to rise. You couldn’t sit by and watch the only man who stood up for you die because of that honour so you crawled to his side and curled up against him.

“How sweet,” Brock scoffed, kicking Bucky’s limp foot. “I always knew you were a whore and you know what I do to whores.”

You shuddered at the thought of him strapping you to his table in the basement and taking his time as he marked you with a knife or flame. No one would find your body, no one ever found the girls that were taken out of the basement in the dead of night. That was not going to be how your life ended, you had suffered enough.

“Get away from him. You belong to me.” Brock snapped his fingers and pointed to his shoes, like he was calling a disobedient dog to his side.

Something snapped and your fingers curled around Bucky’s knife as you looked at Brock’s cold, empty eyes. “I belong to no one.”

Brock spotted the knife as you pulled it out and held it at arm's length, the blade pointed to your heart and he lunged as he realised you were going to take away his playtoy. Your body shifted suddenly and the pain in your ribs flared but it wasn’t Brock that had pushed you but Bucky. With a burst of energy he knocked you aside and tore the knife from your hands, deftly spinning it and greeting Brock.

Shock flitted across Brock’s face that ended up so close to yours that you could feel his ragged breaths on your cheek. His lips parted but whatever spiteful words he had to say were lost when Bucky shoved the knife up and into his heart. You could hardly think as Brock’s blue eyes dulled and he was pushed away onto his back, knife still buried in his chest.

Dead, the monster was finally dead.

“Bucky?” His eyes were blinking hard as if to help him focus the stars that were loitering his vision but he managed to pull himself to his feet and help you to yours. “Are you alright?”

Bucky ignored you and looked to the door. “We need to get out of here before anyone comes to investigate the noise.”

You placed a hand on his chest so he stopped and looked at you. “No one will come, they are used to it.”

Bucky closed his eyes and dropped his forehead to yours. “You were going to kill yourself.” His voice broke and he wrapped his arms around you, needing the embrace as much as you did.

“You saved me, Bucky, again.” You pulled away before you could let the flood of tears run free, knowing there was still another battle to face. “Let’s go.”

You looked back as your fingers curled around the door handle, taking one last look at Brock as his blood turned the white carpet red. You should have been paying attention ahead but you crashed into a startled maid with an armful of lace underwear you knew he had ordered for you.

The maid's eyes went wide as she saw Bucky standing behind you, then saw Brock dead on the floor, his lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. You could feel Bucky reaching into his pocket where his knife had hidden after retrieving it from Brock’s chest but he stopped when the maid dropped the lace, stepped away and whispered, “Go, quick.”

You rushed past her and Bucky quickly moved in front of you in case anyone else showed up unexpectedly, his limp barely noticeable as adrenaline chased away the pain. When you turned back she was already closing the door and using a universal key to lock it from the outside. No one would dare disturb Brock if his door was locked, it meant he was playing.

“Left,” you whispered to Bucky as reached the end of the hall, “there’s a false door beside the laundry.”

He turned without hesitation and when he reached the laundry he took a defensive position while you moved in. This door was only to be used if there was a police raid and very few people could access it, but as Brock’s significant other you were one of them. You opened the false panel and pressed your palm to the scanner, sighing with relief that they hadn’t cancelled it when you were kidnapped.

You let Bucky enter, then followed and closed the door behind you. “It’s about a mile to the river, can you manage it?”

“I’ll be fine,” Bucky assured you, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to it. “How are you?” His fingers traced over the bruises that would surely start to bloom across your throat.

You thought of the dead man lying in his own blood upstairs and smiled despite the aches that plagued your body. “Never been better.”

Bucky looked down the empty tunnel, every fibre of his being telling him to start moving but he needed to do one thing first. His arm curled around your waist and pulled you against him as his lips crushed yours in a devouring kiss that you couldn't help but surrender yourself to. “I..I’m so proud of you, doll. You faced your fear, there’s nothing holding you back now.”

You nodded with a tight smile that you didn’t feel. You had quietly hoped he would ask you to stay, even though you had said that you wanted to be free of the mafia from the very start. You didn’t want to be free of him. “I’m proud of you too, your plan really worked.”

“We aren’t out of it yet,” Bucky said at the reminder, lacing his fingers with yours and beginning the walk to freedom.

It was dark when you emerged from the tunnels to find two unrecognisable cars parked outside. Fear coiled in your belly at the thought that the single taste of fresh air and freedom would be all you had but the door opened and Steve stepped out.

“I was getting worried,” Steve admitted as he greeted Bucky with a hug and sent you a smile. “The money is in the car, it’s all clean and counted, and the package is in this trunk.”

Bucky took the keys and placed them in your palm, the metal cool against the warmth where his hand had been. “Take this, sweetheart, take the car, the money and start a life somewhere far from here. You deserve to be happy.”

Your lips parted but he was already moving towards the trunk of Steve’s car, where muffled cries had erupted from. The words were lost as Bucky opened the back and pulled your father from the back - his eyes widening when he spotted you. The cries increased as he fought against the hold Bucky had but Bucky didn’t notice, he was watching you, silently asking if you had changed your mind.

You shook your head and turned away.

The gunshot was deafening against the quiet night on the edge of the city and you jumped at the sudden sound but refused to turn and see the face of the man who should have protected you from the moment you were born. He had betrayed you in the worst ways and you had no space in your heart to feel anything for him.

As the ringing in your ears dimmed, you heard Steve talking quietly to Bucky, quietly but sternly. Intrigue begged you to try and listen closer but you gripped the jangling keys tighter and tried to push it into the keyhole with trembling fingers.

Footsteps approached and you froze as Bucky’s hand wrapped around yours, guiding it to the door and turning the key to unlock it. His lips brushed your ear as he leaned in close and breathlessly begged you, “Ask me.” He turned you in his arms and pleaded with eyes deeper than the ocean. “Ask me to come with you.”

The words came easily, rolling off your tongue like silk. “Come with me, Bucky.”

“Ok.” His lips curled up into a smile and he reached past you to open the door. “Do you trust me?”

You grinned back as you accepted his hand to ease you into the seat painlessly. “With my life.”

“Good,” Bucky said before racing around the car and slipping into the driver's seat. “This is going to be one hell of an adventure.”

#mafia!bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x poc!reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky fanfiction #tw: domestic violence #tw: abuse

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rogerswifesblog · 8 months

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3 - The Devil I Desire

My masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: Hello! Sorry for being so incredibly inactive but…I don’t have an explanation. I’m a bit unmotivated. I hope you’ll enjoy this chapter even though it might be a bit sad. Don’t hate me, I’ll make it up to you…I hope

Warnings: heartbreak, betrayal, cheating, not Peggy friendly, not Steve friendly, homophobia (from Steve:(), internalised homophobia (also Steve.), yeah Steve is a total dick, don’t hate me

Pairing: Silver Fox Steve Rogers x College student Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes x Brock Rumlow

“Bucky you have to come out at some point, you know?”, sighed Wanda while leaning against the bathroom door, in which Bucky had locked himself in since this morning. “No. I don’t want to”, he hiccuped back, sitting on the other side of the door.

He didn’t want to face anyone, especially the realisation that Steve didn’t care about him at all. More than that. He just used him for his needs. Bucky felt humiliated, used and dirty.

And stupid.

He just felt incredibly stupid for all that.

But Steve seemed so…trustworthy. How could Steve turn out to be so different? And how could Bucky be so naïve to believe him. All the lies he had told him. Everything just so he’d sleep with him.

“Bucky please…come out, I’m getting worried”, Wanda interrupted his train of thoughts. She was right. He should come out, talk to her but he was embarrassed to admit how stupid he was.

Sighing he turned they door key, immediately feeling how Wanda opened the door, making Bucky fall onto the living room floor.

Wandas apologising face came into his view and he swallowed hard, knowing it was time to open up.

“He…he’s married. And he used me. Just for fun”, Bucky hiccuped.

Waking up in Steve’s arms was a great feeling. He felt his warm arms around his body, Steve’s solid chest against his back and…slightly hard cock. Excitement immediately rose in him, arousal too.

A sleepy smile crept onto his lips as he slowly turned around, placing a soft kiss on his lips. Could this be his future? Lazy sex in the morning? Waking up in a tight hug? Surrounded by the smell of Steve and soft silky sheets?

But as soon as Steve opened his eyes Buckys little dream of a domestic relationship broke.

“Fuck”, was the first thing Steve said, looking at the digital clock next to his bed before moving in lighting speed. It was only 9 am? Maybe he had to go to work? Even though Steve had said he’d want to eat breakfast together, have a coffee…and it was also Sunday. He wouldn’t be working on a Sunday morning at 9 am, right?

“You have to go. Now.”

With that Bucky got even more confused, sitting up. “Do you have to leave or-?”, before he could finish his question Steve threw his clothes at him, while Bucky sat up, “no. Go. Fuck off. Go home or whatever. You can’t be here”,

“I don’t get it-“ “oh my god, I’m a speaking in a different language? Don’t you understand me? Get.the.fuck.out. You were supposed to leave after we finished. God damn it. I never fell asleep”, the last sentence was only a quite mumble to himself.

Steve wasn’t even looking at Bucky while he was putting on his jeans. He didn’t even notice Buckys teary eyes. The trembling lips. He didn’t give a damn about him.

But he had promised-

“It was all just sweet talking you into my bed, don’t you get it! I wanted to fuck a tight young ass with a pretty face. You are one, Beck”, even saying the wrong name showed how little Steve cared. He didn’t even remember Buckys name. Ouch.

“Let’s talk about it-did something happen-?” Bucky tried to say something but steve only laughed coldly. “I can’t believe it. You either dress now or I’ll throw you out naked, I don’t care. It was just for fun”, “but you said-“ “I said many things you wanted to hear, that’s all. Now get the fuck out before my wife and kids come home and see you, you little fag.“

Bucky had no idea at what point he got up, but the next thing he felt was a painful tingle in his palm when he slapped Steve in the face.

They looked at each other for a second, Bucky now openly crying while quickly putting on his cloths and leaving the bedroom, immediately looking for the way out, not fully remembering where the frondoor was.

Bucky heard Steve’s steps behind him, so he glanced one last time at the man he had hoped to wake up every morning from now on, before slamming the door closed.

He probably imagined the hurt expression on Steve’s face.

“Oh buck….”, Wanda whispered when Bucky told the whole story, wrapping his arms around him. At this point they were sitting in the living room on the couch, wrapped in a tight embrace and cozy blanket. “I’m so sorry…you did nothing wrong-“ “I shouldn’t have trusted him”, he interrupted her with a hiccup.

“No, no…it’s not your fault. He is the one who leads you on. He’s the one who did it all on purpose. He manipulated you”, the woman whispered wisely, kissing Buckys tremble gently as he quietly cried into her shoulder.

Bucky spent most of the day wrapped in the blanket, eating fast food and tons of ice cream before passing away on the couch late in the evening, tears still drying on his cheeks from all the crying over Steve.

Even though Steve had broken his heart the days passed and with every next morning the pain stopped to be so noticeable, till he completely stopped thinking about Steve. Well, not completely but it didn’t affect his daily life anymore.

So after six months he finally managed to go on a date with a nice guy from grindr, Broke. From the start on the conversation was great, they talked about random stuff and also serious topics. It just…clicked.

After leaving the restaurant Broke walked him home, gave him a kiss goodbye at his door and went into the direction of his home, looking one last time at Bucky with a sweet smile.

Maybe this was how it should’ve happened. Maybe he had to get his heart broken to meet someone who’d treat him better.

Bucky invited Broke to his place after the sixth date. Even then nothing happened besides some making out and light touches. He felt comfortable with Broke. Bucky could tell he wouldn’t be played this time. Not like Steve had played with his heart.

Even though he really tried not to think about him, he had to admit the older man still crept into his mind sometimes. Not that it surprised him. Steve was the one who took his virginity and then treated him so awfully, who wouldn’t think back to that sometimes?

He told Broke about Steve after two more dates. He understood Bucky and promised not to rush him with intimacy.

They were officially together after the tenth date.

A month later they said the first ‘I love you’s, even though Bucky didn’t feel the movie-like butterflies in his stomach, but he believed it might have been just a myth. The butterflies in the stomach probably didn’t exist.

(He tried to ignore the memories of how his whole body had tingled when Steve had kissed him.)

Even though everything went smoothly, he could tell the happiness wouldn’t last for much longer-and he was right.

Alpine disappeared.

“Maybe she just went out for a short walk? You know, to enjoy the weather-“ “Broke, don’t try to calm me down, I know she’s not just out for a walk-she hates going outside! Besides, it's raining!”, argued Bucky, looking one more time into the little cat house she was usually sitting in.

Nope, still gone.

A son escaped his lips. “What if-what if someone steals her? Or worse-a car runs-“ “then let’s go, we’ll look for her.”

But they weren’t lucky, even after two hours of looking for alpine everywhere.

“Where did she go-Brock, what if-“ “Baby, stop crying. She’ll probably come back soon”, Brock sighed, slowly getting annoyed at Buckys behavior. He understood the cat was important to him, but he just didn’t want to listen more to Buckys whining.

“But I can’t go to sleep now-she’s not home, she’s not in her bed and she can’t sleep outside-she’ll think I abandoned her-“ “oh my god, shut up. I’m tired. It’s nearly ten pm and we were walking through the city for hours. I want to go to sleep”, Brock hissed at Bucky, making the younger man's tears fall quicker.

a sighn left brocks lips as he pulled bucky into a hug, “sorry…im just tired. We’ll look for her tomorrow, promise”, with that he managed to pull Bucky with him to the bedroom, even though it was harder than he hoped.

What Bucky didn’t know is that the alpine was safely sitting in a stranger's living room, after having found an open window and climbed inside.

Comfortably sitting in a little boy's lap, being pet by him. “-I don’t wanna go to bed yet, please! Dad I don’t want to”, he whined, while looking down at the cat and then back at his father. “Harrison Joseph Rogers, I’m not gonna continue this discussion. I gave you thirty more minutes to pet the cat, but now it’s nine thirty and I want to see you in your bed in ten seconds”, Steve said, crossing his arms.

He could see his son wanted to argue more, but he only furrowed his eyebrows, put the cat down and stomped to his room. “As stubborn as his father-“ “not any less than his mother”, Steve said when Peggy entered the living room. “Touché.”

“But now the more important question…what do we do with the cat?”, asked Steve’s wife, placing a bowl of water onto the floor. They both watched as she drank. “I’ll check the address tomorrow. It’s not far from here so I can go there in between meetings. Tonight she’ll stay here…it’s raining”, Steve petted the cats head. She was very sweet. Familiar in a way…it’s like he had seen those blue eyes before.

He sat down on the couch, watching as the white creature walked over to him and jumped onto his lap. Even though he had never been a big cat person he scratched behind her ear, noticing the small old rip in it. She must have been though some stuff, but her new owner cared about her a lot. He could see it. This person must be worried sick since she ran away. “Who do you belong sweetheart….”

He looked at the little badge at her collar. Alpine Barnes. Hm. It sounded familiar….

But he was probably imagining it. It was just a cat.

Thank you for reading! I’d appreciate some feedback ❤️ please don’t forget to like, reblog and comment ❤️❤️

What do you think will happen next? Why does Steve behave like this? 👀 I’d love to see some of your ideas

Taglist: @ozeriterchick @guiltypleasureisfun @ayronren @gracescor3 (I’ve decided to tag some people that might be interested! )

All posts taglist: @rogersbarber

#steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes drabble #james bucky buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barnes #silver fox steve #steve rogers fic #stucky moodboard #stucky fandom #stucky fluff #stucky fic #stucky fanfiction #stucky fanfic #stucky

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mthofferings · 1 year

Photo

blackthorn_possum

See blackthorn_possum’s existing works here.

Preferred contact methods: Email: [email protected] Tumblr: possumwoodpie Discord: possumwoodpie

Preferred organizations: - Anything from the list of approved organizations

Will create works that contain: Angst, whump, dark!characters, kink, nsfw, recovery, trauma, humor, farming/gardening, demi/ace characters, non-sexual kink, trans characters

Will not create works that contain: Kidfic, majority fluff, modern/college/coffeeshop AUs, Omegaverse

-- Fic or Other Writing --

Auction ID: 1003

Will create works for the following relationships: Bucky Barnes-centric - 616, MCU Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov & Sam Wilson - MCU Bucky Barnes/Brock Rumlow - MCU Bucky Barnes/Bucky Barnes - 616, MCU Bucky Barnes/Hydra - MCU Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanov - 616, MCU Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers - 616, MCU Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov - 616, MCU Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton - 616, MCU Alpine & Bucky Barnes & Clint Barton & Lucky - 616, MCU

Work Description: This is my first year doing MTH, so I'm very open on pricing and details! I don't have much specific in mind, so let's dream up something great together. In general, the higher your bid, the longer your fic. Max limit approx 50k, but I am notoriously bad at estimating word length once I get into a story. As for scheduling, I would like to try and get things wrapped up within a year, and the shorter the story, the easier that will be. I usually write primarily in the MCU with some comics influences. Open to platonic/nonsexual/etc pairings of any of the above offerings. Not really into domestic/fluffy AUs or most modern ones, unless it involves trauma, goat farming, or gardening. Would love to do some kinky ShrinkyClinks, or trans characters. Open to discussion about monster AUs. No matter what I'm writing, some humor always manages to sneak in, even if it's dark. You may notice that a lot of my work deals with non-con and HTP. I am totally interested in writing things that are NOT that, if that's not your cup of tea! That's just where I happened to get started with some of my writing. But, y'know, kink is always fun, and I'll gladly provide for your crackiest, darkest HTP desires if you like :3

Ratings: Gen, Teen, Mature, Explicit

Can pods bid on this auction? Yes - Podbids welcome!

CLICK HERE TO BID ON THIS WORK

-- Podfic --

Auction ID: 2003

Will create works for the following relationships: Bucky Barnes-centric - Any Universe Bucky Barnes/Any - Any Universe Steve Rogers-centric - Any Universe Brock Rumlow-centric - Any Universe Natasha Romanov-centric - Any Universe Tony Stark-centric - Any Universe Clint Barton-centric - Any Universe

Work Description: I am just starting out in my podfic practice, but I'd love to put your story to audio! You can see a few examples of my previous pods on my AO3 page. The most recent one is Haunted House by Rainbow_WinterBones, and that will give you the best idea of my current mic quality and setup (previous pods were done with an older mic.) The higher starting bid reflects the time needed for both recording and editing. The longest pod I've done so far is 20 min, about 4k words, but I'm willing to go for longer stories. The higher the bid, the longer the pod! They may take a while for me to start and complete, as I often have to wait until I am home alone for the best recording environment, but I will do my best to get them done by the 2024 deadline, probably earlier. I'm open to many pairings and any rating for podfic recording, but do be aware that I am an American who is not super practiced at doing accents in my voice work. I'll do my best, but especially for Wakandan characters, I'm hesitant to take on more than I'm capable of doing justice for. I'm also open to doing Hydra-focused podfics for any universe. Do feel free to DM me and ask more specific questions!

Ratings: Gen, Teen, Mature, Explicit

Can pods bid on this auction? Yes - Podbids welcome!

CLICK HERE TO BID ON THIS WORK

The auction runs from October 22 (12 AM ET) to October 28 (11:59:59 PM ET). Visit marveltrumpshate.com during Auction Week to view all of our auctions and to place your bids!

#blackthorn_possum #auction: fic #auction: podfic #mth 2023

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talia-rumlow · 3 months

Text

Home Sweet Home (AU Brock Rumlow/OFC) Chapter Six

WORD COUNT: 5178

TRIGGERS: Sex talk, heavy emotion, virginity, age gap

HAPPY READING!

CHAPTER SIX - I FEEL THE LOVE!

youtube

When Calleigh returned home around 4:30 pm, Brock's truck was not there. She wasn't sure how to react. Part of her wanted to be greeted with a hug and kiss, to prolong the feeling of being an adult. But another part feared that his few hours alone had made him change his mind about this whole thing.

Though they were both betraying Jack, it was harder for Brock. If Jack found out, he could completely cut ties with Brock. But it would be harder for him to turn his back on Calleigh - she was his daughter, and he had to love her no matter what. So if anyone was going to back out, Calleigh thought it was more likely to be Brock.

As Calleigh maneuvered her car into the garage, she took a moment to admire the meticulously crafted exterior of their home. The house required minimal maintenance, save for the intricate patterns around the windows. The driveway and front lawn were Jack's pride and joy - he loved washing the driveway and mowing the lawn, as it gave him a chance to chat with and get to know the neighbors.

With the recent expansion of their neighborhood and Jack's busy work schedule, tending to the garden had become an excellent way for him to connect with the community. Personally, Calleigh never understood why Jack didn't simply hire someone to handle the yard work. It seemed he was incapable of sitting still, always needing to keep himself occupied. Even their vacations were jam-packed with activities, not that Calleigh disliked the experiences, but sometimes the constant busyness felt a bit excessive.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

As the massive garage door closes, Calleigh steals a glance at Jack's Impala. She can't help but take a deep breath, her mind drifting to the memory of Brock standing there - his worn work jeans, the cloth tucked down the side, that sweaty, oil-stained upper body. Calleigh feels a surge of desire; she's more than ready to take their relationship to the next level. But the prospect of confessing her feelings fills her with uncertainty. What if he rejects her? How could she even broach the subject? Should she just be direct and tell him? Or would that be too forward? Calleigh's head spins with these unanswered questions, wondering if her uncertainty will prevent anything from happening at all.

After a brief internal debate, she decides to take it slow. She recalls spotting flour, yeast, spices, and herbs in the pantry this morning. And she knows the fridge is stocked with milk, cream, eggs, and an assortment of cheeses. Cooking for him seems like a good idea. While she doesn't consider herself a culinary master, her specialty Cheese and Herb Bread, Garlic Bread, and Cheese and Jalapeño Dip are unparalleled - dishes she executed flawlessly every time. Not that she expects her cooking to seduce him, but there may be some truth to the notion that "the way to a man's heart is through his stomach". At least she could try, and see where it gets her.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

As Brock completes his final checks in the garage, ensuring everything is secured, his mind drifts to the events of the past weekend. His heart had skipped a beat the moment he laid eyes on her. Brock had always been drawn to blondes, though he couldn't quite explain why. And Calleigh - she was a rare beauty, a once-in-a-lifetime woman. Her skin felt like silk against his touch, her lips soft and warm. The mere memory of her hands on his body sent a tingling sensation down his spine. God, how he wanted her. But she was a virgin, and he was 26 years her senior. Could he really go through with this?

He remembered the first time he had sex. The whole thing was really awkward. He was 17 years old and had just joined the ROTC program at school. The military uniform he wore seemed to attract girls like a sugary drink attracts ants.

The girl he had been crushing on, who had never given him the time of day before, suddenly seemed to like him. It didn’t take much to convince him. They fumbled through the experience, both nervous and unsure, but determined to make it work.

He recalled how his hands shook, the awkward pauses, and the nervous laughter. Now, looking back, he couldn't help but chuckle. It was clumsy and far from perfect, but it was an important, if awkward, moment in his life.

Of course he had way more experience by now. But still; the mere thought of having sex with Calleigh filled him with both lust and a weird sense of responsibility. If anything were to happen, if a real and lasting relationship even could happen. He wanted to; no he needed to be able to tell Jack that he was respectful towards Calleigh from the very beginning. That he put her first in every situation, and that he never pushed.

Even before that last thought was finished, a new even more frightening thought entered. Because what was he doing now? He pushed, just in the opposite direction. He pushed her away. He didn’t lie when he said that he wasn’t ready. But the reason for him not being ready was that he thought that she wasn't ready, that she wasn’t 100% sure about what a step like that really meant. And who could possibly know that, when it was their first time? He should probably talk to her about his thoughts around this; it was just that he didn’t know how to. If this thing they started was ever going to work, he couldn’t come off as a father figure to her. He needed to weigh his words carefully.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

After a quick shower, Calleigh starts gathering the supplies for her culinary adventure. A wave of confidence washes over her. This dish was typically reserved for girls' nights with Molly and Jess, and Brock was probably used to more sophisticated fare. But Calleigh felt confident she could pull it off perfectly. If it had been any other guy, she would have called Molly to cook something amazing and then passed it off as her own. But Brock would see right through that. So tonight, he was getting bread and dip.

Totally caught up in her own mind, fantasizing about Brock praising her food and them eating and having a nice quiet, intimate evening in front of the TV. Maybe even share a kiss or ten, and then; when the day came to an end, they would once again get into her bed together. Or, she hoped they would.

Brock's voice suddenly rang out, "Wow." Calleigh looked up from the cutting board as he chuckled and gestured to the counter, now overflowing with ingredients. "Did a tornado run through here that I didn't know about?”

"Ha ha, very funny," she replies, brushing a stray hair from her face. A quick glance over the counter confirmed the tornado comment wasn't far-fetched. "Oh," she utters, her tone sheepish. "I may have overreacted a bit," she continues, flashing Brock an innocent smile.

“Home cooked food. I feel honored," he smiles as he walks over to her side of the counter. “What are we having?” He asks, lifting his hand up to caress her face. He smells like garage, mixed with new car smell, and Calleigh can't help but to find that smell safe, like home.

“Bread and dip,” she replies. And then that feeling of inadequacy comes back. What is that? She had never felt anything like this around Brock before. And he was still Brock. That didn't change. “I know it's not a gourmet meal, but-,” she starts, but he cuts her off.

“It's perfect. I love bread,” he tells her, before he removes the same strain of hair Calleigh removed just a second ago. “You need any help?” He asks, closing the distance between them.

Calleigh swallows nervously. Should she move closer and make the first move for a kiss? "Yeah, that would be great," she says, her voice tinged with defeat. "I was just about to knead my dough," she continues, betraying her desire to lean in for the kiss she yearns for. "But you should probably wash up first," she adds when she notices his oil-stained hands. "I can't remember seeing motor oil anywhere in the recipe," she quips, mentally chastising herself for her timidity.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

When Brock finishes washing up in the downstairs bathroom, Calleigh quickly clears the counter and prepares it for them to knead the dough. Just as she sprinkles flour for both of them, Brock returns. "You can knead that one. It's the cheese and—" Calleigh's sentence is interrupted when Brock suddenly grabs her behind, giving it a gentle squeeze that elicits a happy squeak from her. "Not THAT!" she laughs.

"Sorry," Brock whispers in her ear from behind. "I couldn't resist. It looked so delicious," he continues, giving her behind another playful squeeze.

"Are we going to make food, or are we gonna play?" Calleigh asks, throwing a handful of flour at him as she emphasizes the last word. Flirting is her forte, but she's unsure of what comes next.

Before she can think of her next move, Brock grabs her by the waist, pulling their bodies closer. "Oh, you asked for it," he chuckles, scooping up flour in his palm and smearing it across her face. It's been ages since he indulged in playful flirting, but he couldn't resist the temptation. The liberating feeling made him happier than he'd been in a long time. Calleigh truly brought out the best in him. “I think I'm winning,” he whispers in her ear.

Still held in place by Brock's strong grip, Calleigh scoops up flour herself. “Oh, really?” She laughs, before moving her hand behind her, getting flour in both his hair and his face. Everything about this is perfect. The sensation of his strong body against hers, his breath on her skin, in her ear. His deep, husky voice. She wants to turn around and kiss him, but her stupid mind won't let her.

Brock inhaled deeply, captivated by Calleigh's alluring scent. It evoked the delicate fragrance of a rare flower, though he couldn't quite place it. The subtle, comforting aroma made him feel safe and drew him closer, as if he could stay by her side forever. "Calleigh," he whispered reverently.

Calleigh turned her head at the sound of him uttering her name reverently, almost like a prayer. She couldn't help but smile at the sight of the flour dusting his face and hair. The stark white powder against his dark locks gave the impression of premature graying, which, to Calleigh's surprise, she found rather appealing.

For a minute they just look at each other, eyes filled with love and admiration. Calleigh almost feels like she's in the middle of one of her favorite romance flicks. But she knows from her pounding heart that this is reality. “You are so beautiful,” he says, in a whisper meant only for her. He lifts one of his hands to caress her face, before he leans in for a soft kiss.

As he breaks the kiss and slowly pulls away, Calleigh's gaze lingers on him. Her eyes likely reveal the emotions she feels, but she doesn't seem to mind. After all, he told her she was beautiful, and in his company, she feels that way. However, the intensity of her feelings suddenly overwhelms her, almost to the point of fear. Desperate to diffuse the loaded silence, she blurts out, "Looks like you got gray hair, Mr. Rumlow" - instantly regretting her ill-chosen words. She just had to say something, anything, to cut through the tension. How foolish she feels.

Lifting a hand to drag it through his hair, he lets out a hearty laugh at her remark, creating a cloud of flour around them. "It's just snow in June, Princess," he chuckles. Calleigh joins him in laughter, though she's uncertain if it stems from his infectious mirth, her own deep feelings for him, or the nervous anticipation of what's to come. Nonetheless, the shared laughter feels good.

Another deep kiss shared. Brock puts his arms around her, pulling her into him, deepening the feverish kiss further. Calleigh feels like she's floating. It's like she's levitating off the floor into his embrace. Lightheaded and breathless she mumbles “We should get started with the doughs, or else they'll dry out.” She hates herself for being this squeamish. She doesn't understand how her body can tell her one thing, and her head tells her something completely different. What is she so afraid of?

Brock clears his throat. “Yeah,” he mutters. Unsure about what this might have led to if she hadn't stopped it. Unsure if he was moving too fast for her, or for himself. His body was more than ready, with that tingling sensation every time they touched; it was impossible to deny. His head however; that was a different story. He should probably tell her that. But he needed to find the right time for it; and the right words.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Calleigh closes the oven door and dusts her hands on her t-shirt, glancing up at Brock through her lashes. "We have about 12 to 15 minutes. Any ideas for activities?" she asks, attempting an innocent yet alluring look, though she's unsure how to pull it off.

He flashed her a playful, teasing smile. "Oh, I might have a few of those," he said, licking his lips suggestively. Without warning, he grabbed her behind and lifted her off the floor, eliciting a surprised yet delighted scream from her. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, clinging to him. His familiar, comforting scent enveloped her, and she marveled at his strength. Surrounded by his embrace, she felt utterly safe and cared for. Burying her face in his neck, she allowed that secure, protected feeling to wash over her as he carried her to the couch.

Brock pulls Calleigh close as she straddles him on the couch. This intimate moment is new for her, and the thrill is palpable. Brock gently runs his hands along her back, a soothing motion that eases Calleigh's nerves. Her concerns about their age gap and Brock's commitment fade away. It's evident he cares for her deeply, perhaps even more so now. Calleigh buries her face in his neck, inhaling his spicy, masculine scent that stirs a flutter in her belly.

He's consumed by an all-consuming desire for her. Every inch of his body burns with need, impossible to contain. Her warm breath on his neck sends his blood racing, pooling with arousal. A shiver runs through him as her lips graze the sensitive skin behind his ear. Breathless, he murmurs "Come here" before their mouths crash together in a desperate, feverish kiss.

Calleigh can't contain the sound that's leaving the back of her throat, as their lips meet. He pulls her even closer, if that's possible at this point. Without realizing that she does, she rolls her hips against his. Pulling a deep groan from him, as his hands come to a rest at her lower back. Is this it? She thinks, a thrilling sensation fills her. Maybe tonight is the night.

Brock is struggling to hold back his intense desire for her. The temptation to pin her down on the couch and take her is about to overpower him completely. He knows he needs to stop this before it goes any further. If he's going to be intimate with her, he wants it to be a positive experience for her. He needs to let her take the lead and be in control. He wouldn't allow himself to just take her like this. Slowly, he lifts his arms to remove hers from around his neck, his mind racing with what to say to her. How does he explain that he wants her, just not like this - not in the heat of the moment when he might hurt her? What has he gotten himself into?

He closes his eyes, pausing for a moment. "Ca...Calleigh," he breathes, his hands gliding down her arms as they hang limply by her sides. He senses her defeat, even without looking. The last thing he wants is to hurt her, so he knows he must tell her how he truly feels - that this is not the right path. That this isn't the way he wants it to happen.

“I get it, Brock,” she says; moving to get up from his lap. Why doesn't he want to do it with her? What is she doing wrong? Is it because she's so much younger than him? Is it the virgin thing? She prays to God that it's not because of Jack. If her dad is going to become a problem, this will never work, no matter how much they want it. Or well, how much she wants it. Because Brock obviously doesn't. How could she be so stupid as to even entertain the thought of them being together like that?

Brock takes a breath to regain composure. Then he grabs her wrist to stop her from moving away from him. “Hey, Princess. It’s not you,” he says. Perfect, he thinks, being transported back to high school for a moment with the whole ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ deal. Only this time it’s the truth.

Calleigh let out a sarcastic "Yeah, right," as she plopped down next to him on the couch. "What is it then?" she continued, rolling her eyes at him. Inwardly, she knew she was coming across as a silly teenager, but that's often how she felt. His constant rejections only exacerbated the issue.

He steeled himself, turning towards her. “Okay,” he said, searching her eyes to see if he had her full attention. “If I were to,” No that didn't feel right. He cleared his throat, trying to start the sentence over. “If we were to do that,” he continued, emphasizing that. No, that didn't sound right either. How come the words always failed him whenever there was a serious issue. “If you were to have sex with anyone,” he started again. His voice almost breaks at the word ‘sex’.

“Let's stick with you,” she told him. Her eyes determined as they looked into his. “I don't want anyone else,” she added, promptly looking away again.

Again he had to clear his throat. “Okay,” he started again. “If I.. If we.. If I were to sleep with you,” he finally got the words out. Sorta clumsy, but screw that. “I would be entering you,” he continued.

“I know how it's done, Brock. I'm not an idiot,” she says, obviously annoyed by his childish approach to the subject.

He lets out a nervous chuckle along with the words “I know that.” Clearing his throat again he continued “That's not what I meant,” he moved his hand nervously letting it rest on her knee, thanking higher Powers when she didn't move away. “What I meant was that you'll be letting me in,” he informed. “Into your body. Literally," he continued. “I… I just want you to be absolutely sure that you want it. That you want ME,” his eyes searching hers for a reaction, vocal or not.

“I do want you. I don't want anybody else, Brock,” her eyes sparkled, but he didn't know if it was from her feelings for him, or if it was from sadness from his rejection. “It's you,” she continued. “It's you who don't want to,” she finished, sniffling a bit.

“I want to. God, I want to, Calleigh. You have no idea how much,” he informed. “But I need for it to be a beautiful experience for YOU. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I hurt you in ANY way,” he continued. Taking a deep breath, as to tell his body that he got it out there. That she knows now. He just hopes it's enough.

Calleigh looks at him for a bit, just to make sure he’s really telling the truth, that this isn’t something he’s just saying to comfort her. “Yeah?” she finally asks, swallowing audibly when his hand moves from her knee up to caress her face.

“Yeah,” he replies, nodding carefully to emphasize his words. His thumb gently brushes over her bottom lip. Then he slowly leans in for another tender kiss. Her lips feel like heaven on earth, and his breath hitches as their tongues meet and start to slow dance together. It’s like the whole world disappears. He’s so caught up in the sweet sensation of his tongue wrapped around hers that he doesn’t notice at first the smell of burnt food slowly filling the kitchen and the living room. “Is something burning?” he murmurs into the kiss.

It takes a second for Calleigh to realize what he just said. Sniffing the air, she lets out a startled gasp before jumping up from the couch. “The food!” she yells, sprinting into the kitchen.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Heavy smoke pours out of the oven as Calleigh yanks open the door. “Fuck! Fuck!” she mutters, angrily waving the smoke away. She’s on the verge of crying. Everything seems to be falling apart around her, and now she can’t even get her signature dish right. Was life really supposed to be this hard? “Damnit!” she yells as she slams the tray with the two blackened lumps that were supposed to be Garlic & Cheese and Herb bread onto the counter.

Brock slowly enters the kitchen, unsure how to handle the situation. Though he has minimal experience dealing with angry teenagers or young adults, he knows enough to keep his distance when they are having a tantrum. But this is different—this is someone he loves, someone he wants to take care of and protect. Carefully, he places his hand on her back, then quickly peeks into the oven. “Don’t worry about it, Princess,” he begins in a soothing tone, grabbing the oven mitt to retrieve the cheese and jalapeño dip. “At least the dip survived,” he says, hoping to defuse the tense moment.

“Arrrgh,” Calleigh lets out a frustrated sound before kicking a half-open cabinet door. The door flies open before it closes again with a loud bang. “I can’t do ANYTHING right,” she continues. “Why is this happening to me?” she cries out, her tears streaming freely. She can’t help it. All these new feelings, everything. She had hoped that everything would be like it was before she moved back. But instead, everything has changed, and then there’s Brock, and all these new, unfamiliar feelings. It makes it even harder to keep her secret at bay. To have someone who cares that deeply about her, and that she cares about, makes it so much harder not to open up.

Brock instantly envelops her in his embrace. “Shhh, Princess,” he whispers into her hair, doing his best to comfort her. “Don’t worry about it.” He doesn’t quite understand why two burnt pieces of bread have affected her so deeply, but then again, it’s been ages since he was 20. The world is a vastly different place now, and he has little insight into the struggles young adults face these days. Brock decides against pressing her, hoping she will open up to him when she’s ready.

“Oh God,” Calleigh suddenly blurts out, pulling away from his embrace. “You must think I’m such an idiot,” she continues, drying off her remaining tears. She feels so embarrassed, crying like a spoiled brat in front of him. She recalls one of those stupid gatherings at the golf club when she was younger. There was a family there with their daughter, who was about the same age as Jack, but she behaved like a spoiled brat. Calleigh couldn’t have been more than ten years old when that girl almost cried to her richy-rich dad because her mom, Gen, had sat down in what the girl decided was her seat. Calleigh would never forget that. And now, here she is, behaving in the same exact spoiled, childish manner. God, how mortifying.

Brock gently cups her face, looking into her eyes with a reassuring smile. “You’re not an idiot, Calleigh,” he says softly. “Everyone has moments where things just feel overwhelming. It doesn’t mean you’re spoiled or childish. It just means you care, and sometimes things don’t go as planned. It’s okay.”

Calleigh takes a deep breath, his words slowly sinking in. She nods, feeling a bit more at ease. “Thanks,” she whispers, leaning into his touch. “I guess I just needed to hear that.”

“Anytime, Princess,” Brock replies, kissing her forehead. “Now, how about we salvage what we can and make the best of it? We can always order pizza if we need to.”

She chuckles softly, the tension beginning to melt away. “Pizza sounds good,” she agrees, feeling a bit more like herself.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Since the case he was sure would come to an end today seemed to drag out further, Jack had decided to take his legal team out for a nice dinner, his treat. The choice fell on ‘Ever’, a sophisticated high end restaurant, located in the heart of downtown Chicago. Given his business arrangements and his friendship with the owner, it wasn't hard to get a table last minute.

The dimly lit restaurant exudes sophistication, with its dark interior, wooden beams separating the tables, and a Michelin-starred chef serving an 8- to 12-course tasting menu. Tonight, Jack had opted for the 10-course experience - a two-and-a-half-hour dinner that would allow him and his team ample time to discuss business over a carefully curated meal and hand-picked wine pairings.

“Leave it,” Pepper tells Jack, when he reaches into his pocket to retrieve his phone for the hundredth time. “She is twenty years old Jack, and she spent four years in New York. She knows how to handle herself,” she continues.

Jack slowly drags his hand through his hair. “You,re right. It's just..,” he lets the sentence die out. He's not here to talk about his difficult relationship with his daughter. He's here to find out how they can get fucking Kevin Saunders to leave the business without giving them too much of a headache.

“You hate to leave her,” Pepper finishes his thought. “I know, my sixteen year old has a game tonight,” she continued. Earning a sympathetic look from Jack.

“I'm sorry, Peps. I didn't want to have to drag you away from your families,” he tells everyone, not only Pepper.

“Eh, we all knew what the job required of us when we started,” she replies with a smile.

“And the pay is really good,” Maria shoots in. The petite brunette always seemed to have a way to turn even the hardest situation into something funny, if she felt the need to do so.

Jack chuckled as he replied, "You deserve it." Though grateful for Maria's intervention, he couldn't shake the guilt he felt about leaving Calleigh to manage the business alone. After all, she had only been there for three months. Jack knew Calleigh was a quick study who had mastered most of the necessary information, but he still felt it was wrong to thrust her into the role so abruptly.

“Aisha says the office is in good hands,” Clint enters the conversation. He knew that Jack trusted his computer genius receptionist with his life, so if she says everything is in perfect order, that should help Jack to enjoy his dinner. “Your daughter even handled Karen Jessop today,” he continues. In any other business he would never have talked to his boss about family things, but he did work in a family business, and they were a tight-knit group. That was one of his favorite things about working at Rollins Delivery. He had been in the business only a couple of months longer than Jack's daughter, but he had felt at home from day one, and if life wanted it that way, he would never want another job.

As the first course is served, the diners fall silent, savoring the delectable dish before them.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Brock sat propped against the headboard, the covers draped over his lower abdomen as he watched Calleigh rummage through her closet, searching for clothes for the next day. He was grateful for the covers concealing his lower body, as the sight of Calleigh in only her pink silk Louis Vuitton sleep shorts and bra was having a noticeable effect on him. The tantalizing glimpse of her slightly tanned, bare skin made his fingers twitch with the urge to reach out and touch her, to feel her softness against his own.

She had already decided what to wear, but she wasn’t ready to have the conversation with him about Jack just yet. All night, she had been trying to find the right opportunity to bring it up, but the timing never felt right. With Jack currently in Chicago, everything seemed fine for now. However, she knew he would eventually return, and she couldn’t help but worry about what would happen then. Could they continue seeing each other if he was around? And how could she possibly keep another secret hidden? Her drawer of secrets was already dangerously close to overflowing.

Holding up a white, short-sleeved shirt and one of her black, knee-length skirts—her typical work attire—she turned to Brock and asked, “Is this okay?” The sight of his sculpted, broad-shouldered physique nearly caused her to lose her balance. Brock was a veritable Greek god, and she still couldn’t believe he was there in her bed for the third night in a row.

Brock shifted in the bed, taking in the sight before him. “P…perfect,” he rasped. “You’re perfect,” he added, earning a smile from her. “Wanna… err…,” he continued, “wanna come to bed?” God, why is he talking like a fricking teenager all of a sudden? ‘Wanna come to bed?’ Jesus, how stupid he feels.

She couldn’t help but smile at his clumsy nervousness. It added to the thrilling sensation inside her, knowing that he was also nervous. It gave him a… she couldn’t find the right words for it. Human touch? It showed a vulnerability she almost didn’t think he had. It didn’t help that Jack had portrayed Brock as a hero her whole life—the hero who saved his life, so that he could come home to her. God, she thought, as she made her way over to the bed. How on earth could Jack ever be okay with her and Brock being together?

As she climbed into bed beside him, Brock reached out, pulling her close. His touch was gentle yet firm, a comforting blend of strength and tenderness. “We’ll figure it out,” he whispered, as if reading her mind. “Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

Calleigh nestled against him, feeling the warmth of his body seep into hers. For now, the future could wait. She was content to be in this moment, wrapped in Brock’s arms, letting the world outside fade away.

<----------- Previous Chapter

Next Chapter ----------->

@nekoannie-chan @saiyanprincessswanie @late-to-the-party-81 @rip1009 @the-ero-writer @there-goes-thefighter @ladysif8

#brock rumlow #rumlow #rumlowfiction #fanfiction #jack rollins #fan fiction #original female character #Youtube

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blackwood4stucky · 7 months

Text

to become a monster

a morbius stucky au

Just imagine a lil Stevie Rogers tryna make it in the world. A brilliant young boy with a keen mind for science, stuck in a facility to help him live.

Enter Brock Rumlow, just another kid with bad blood running through his veins. Dubbed Arnie by Stevie, after a string of boys that always end up leaving the facility in body bags, Brock and the little blond mastermind become good friends.

Fast Forward to the Future

Dr. Steven "Steve" Rogers and Arnie are still best friends. Arnie funds Steve's research for a cure to their disease and others like them.

Enter Dr. James "Bucky" Barnes, army vet turned scientist with a metal arm to show for his efforts.

Working with Dr. Rogers was something else, the guy was a firecracker with a mind for the ages. Bucky learned so much from Steve, he grew to admire the blond's inner strength that made him seem larger than life, his willingness to help people, to give his all in order to save lives.

Once Bucky realizes what Steve's research is actually about and what he plans to do... well, Bucky goes with him. He's not going to allow Steve to do this alone! Absolutely not, Steve would have to count his fuckin' days if he ever thought he would be attempting self-experimentation on his own! He's going to make sure nothing happens to him, even if he has to conduct the procedure with Steve. Save that little asshole from himself...

It breaks Bucky's heart to see Steve lyin' on that table like that but if helps him live, he'll wait by his side because that's what partners do. He doesn't know how he'll react if something goes wrong, he doesn't know how he'll go on without his Stevie.

Of course, things do end up doing wrong. Sleazy mercenaries that think they're above everyone get caught in the crosshairs and Bucky, well... he gets hurt.

Steve can't believe what he's done. Bucky's lying there on the ground, he's still alive - heartbeat strong in his chest, metal arm resting limp at his side. All he knows is that he can't leave Bucky like this... but he can't get caught in the crosshairs by the authorities either. So he makes a call... then he leaves...

Steve is a scientist at his core, he knows he'll have to see just how powerful he has become, to understand just what he can do. Of course that comes with consequences when Arnie comes back into the picture with his own desire to live. Steve knows that no one can get their hands on the serum he created, not even Arnie.

Bucky wakes in a daze to officers in his hospital room. So many questions about Steve's whereabouts, about dead mercenaries, about unsanctioned experiments, but he says nothing. He knows nothing, he hit his head and blacked out, there's nothing he can help the officers with. He would rather die than turn on Stevie.

Bucky knows the cops will be watching him after that interview though. He weaves through the city with his work bag on his shoulder, trying to lose his tail. He speaks Romanian with the bodega owner before dashing out the back of the store and onto the next bus that comes his way.

Hearing Steve's voice behind him sends tremors of relief and desire through his veins. Stevie's okay, is all Bucky can think. There is no way he will let the little bastard out of his sight again. Only, he's a big bastard now.

Stevie as always needs Bucky's help. Arnie has lost his marbles and stole a vial of the serum to become the monster Steve wanted to protect the world from. Bucky vows to do whatever it takes to help Steve, he always will, till the end of the line.

Getting back into the lab is easy for Bucky. No cops anywhere, retrieving everything Steve needs will be a breeze. Or it should have been. Arnie was waiting for him, or rather, for his Stevie. It's easy to keep his heartbeat calm but how long will he be able to keep this up?

Bucky returns to Stevie's side in the makeshift lab where they spend a little time getting reacquainted with each other. Where they can finally act on desires they've had for awhile.

The moment doesn't last but often times they never do. Being pulled away from Bucky never settles well in Steve's stomach but his old mentor needs his help.

It's obvious that all this was Arnie's doing to draw him away from his Bucky. That much is plain when he hears both of them calling on the wind. Stevie, Stevie, Stevie. Arnie's plan in drawing Steve out works, nothing will keep him from Bucky but it's too late. A kiss of death is all Steve can give Bucky. All Bucky wants is for it to mean something as his life slips away from him but not before taking a bit of Stevie's blood into himself.

youtube

A fight to the death between Stevie and Arnie, Brock, sees Steve as the winner while Bucky claws his way back to life.

If anyone wants to write this just tell me and send me a link to read!

#stucky au #loosely written #not writing a full fic #too many wips #morbius #I enjoyed the movie #a lil oneshot type thing #a headcanon maybe?#Youtube

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neonovember · 2 years

Text

Maraschino Cherry

Mafia!au x Steve Rogers

CHAPTERS: 1 2 3 4 5

divider by @firefly-graphics !

Taglist 🏷️ (send an ask to be part of my taglist for this series!)

@tinkerbelle67 @patzammit @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @nomadstucky @nessie2183 @shamelessfangirl-3 @namelesssav @marvel-phoenix @euphoric-goddess @roseeatta @abschaffer2 @louderfortheback @stupendouslovegardener @wandamaximoff-simp @thedonswife13 @hpsimpspot @samsgirl93

notes: school has been kicking my ass lately, this is quite short, especially for me but part 7 will be out very very soon!

Your heart had dropped into your stomach the moment Rumlow had forced you into a realisation you were foolishly blinding yourself from.

And it had been there ever since.

You can’t remember locking up the diner, can’t even remember feeling the keys between your fingers as you stumbled down the shadowy streets of Brooklyn. The crumpled figures of people sleeping on the streets, the flash of yellow cabs and vendors on the corner, and the never-ending rumble of train tracks echoing under overpasses is fleeting now. Just flashes of colours and sounds you can’t really place.

Your fingers, your skin, the muscle and bone beneath are itching with a need, the relief of liquor pouring down your throat, the burn of its heat spreading through your belly. It’s a relief you know all too well, one you had almost lost yourself too years before, just as your mother had.

But that motivation to fight through the teeth needing desire of your addiction doesn’t seem quite as strong, nothing seemed to matter after Rumlow had told you about Steve, nothing at all. So who was going to stop you from diving into the bottomless pit of pathetic drunkenness? The sobriety chips you stacked over the years should’ve toppled over by now, they were bleak and washed out anyway. So dull under the fluorescent lights of your bathroom when you muffled your cries under the low pressure of your shower.

You are your mothers daughter, and the doors of the bar you enter almost sneer at you condescendingly

We knew you would be back, one way or another.

Drink drink drink until it seeps from your crevices and cracks. Until it pours from within like you're a shattered glass, oh how you had broken years before. How it feels now to fill up those cracks with your pleasure, it’s like a welcoming old friend. You reach out for its hand as you reach out for another glass.

The bartender looks at you in pity, but money is money and he looks the other way as you slide your busted wallet across the counter. It was your fathers one, that you can decipher even through your drunken haze.

You tilt your head forward, and the vibrant LED lights that line the walls of the bar you had thrown yourself in shine so bright, you bite back a giggle as you recall your foolishness. You had been so blind, hadn’t you? You weren’t the type to get lucky, to be protected, your entire life has told you so.

This arrangement between Steve was nothing but a farce, a lie he shoved in your face that he knew you would have no choice but to accept.

The crowd of patrons scattered around barstools and cozy booths cheer towards a large TV bolted to the wall, some sort of sport flashes across the screen, something with a ball and a lot of running.

You hadn’t noticed before but paper ribbons hang across the pine wood ceilings, pom-poms squished into the sides and other cheap decor covers the bar, distinct colours of a team in a sport that was probably showing on the TV you had turned away from.

You shudder into yourself as you look down at the translucent liquid swirling in your cup, the reflection staring back at you is one that’s fuzzy and undefined, with jagged edges and loose ends that a close to unravelling.

It was already the sports season, and you know this only because you had escaped your husband at the end of it, sleeping under bridges and bus stations where those distinct team colours fell from the sky like snow, ribbons and feathers scattered across the damp pavement you slammed your feet into running from his men.

The crowd of sports fans that littered the streets of New York helped mask your anonymity when you escaped, losing your capturers in the thousands of people rushing through Time Square. You suppose you ought to be thankful for them, so you lift your glass and shout a cheer.

You begin to stand onto your barstool, balancing yourself and your drink from spilling over, the bartender is tending to an order, his back turned from your rambunctious behaviour.

“Next round’s on me!” You shout into the crowd of bustling sport fans, there’s a beat of silence, a moment where you fear you’ve embarrassed yourself and they want nothing to do with you, someone who’s been tending to her own lonely drink the entire time she’s walked in. But then this is an erupt of cheer, the crowd going into a frenzy as a burly man lifts you up and throws you onto the crowd.

Your limbs are lifted by the hand of the crowd, surging over patrons and customers you don’t know but have spent the last 2 weeks of your earnings on.

Alcohol made you sweet, it also made you fucking stupid.

The barkeep looks towards you surging the crowd, before being dropped back onto your feet in a not-so-gentle dismount. He looks as if he’s about to say something, mouth opening before a dark figure you can’t see beckons him over, shaking his head before whispering in his ear.

You don’t see the silver card being slid across the bar counter, but you can feel those pair of cerulean eyes burning into you, trailing down your figure as you sway your hips to the music.

Steve.

You want to tease him a little before you would leave him for good, he wanted his own little wife for himself, didn't he? You didn't know why these men were so adamant about making you their wife, wasting effort and bullets for a white picket fence they knew they would never provide. Not in this world. You know its something more though, and the front of your mind screams at you from within, begging to remember.

You shake it off with a twirl of your hips.

You don’t back away when a tall figure dances against you, their back pressed against your body as they grind into you.

Dancing with a nameless stranger wasn’t something you could do, it wasn’t something you had done, your entire early 20’s was a missing piece of memory from your brain. It hurts to remember it in a fuzzy kind of way.

It had been so long since you felt this light, this effortless, you let loose as you feel the brandy to your bones.

Your mind is scattered in a thousand different places, kept sealed in treasure bottles thrown across the ocean, left falling onto the forest floor of your hometown 100 miles across the country.

You don’t notice the man grinding on you disappearing, his warmth ripped from you like he was thrown across the room.

Your trance is interrupted by a strong hand that grips your arm, pulling you gently away from the crowd, you don’t try to fight it, it’s strong the way a current is, and you let the wave carry you away.

Maybe it will wash away everything too, make it clean again in a way you try hard to remember.

You don’t know why, but there’s a familiar warmth that rises from those strong hands guiding your back, like a protective armour against all the bad in the world.

You turn, and catch Steve’s eyes boring into your own, eyes surveying your loopy state that seem to cause your features to sink in.

He's not wearing his usual tailored suit, in fact, it seemed he arrived here in a rush, his white shirt crumpled with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You don’t catch the specks of blood splattered on his collar, nor the shadow of fresh blood he’d done a poor job of wiping off his face.

He looks so different in this state, looks younger too, where his golden locs are ruffled and messed up from their usual impeccable place. Where the role he had to step into, the throne he upheld, didn’t weigh him down like a thousand bricks.

Steve hadn’t noticed it before, but the life forced onto you had aged you in a heartbreaking kind of you, your features just like his, still were young, but they lost that sense of youth, that naivety and innocence that used to soften your edges.

“Where are you taking me golden boy?” You slur in a shrill voice.

Steve grunts before pressing you further to exit the bar quicker, he really didn’t want you here.

“My apartment? Or is that another one of your lies hm?” You giggle the last part, but Steve’s ears perk up and catch it anyway, confusion fills him momentarily before he shakes his head, focusing on getting you out of here as quick as possible.

To Steve’s surprise, you don’t fight against his motion of leaving, and for some reason, it makes a pit form in his stomach, this wasn’t the girl he knew, and he feared what had caused such an abrupt change.

Stepping outside, the breeze of the cold air of the city cools you down as you tug on your jacket discreetly.

A suit jacket seemed to appear out of thin air in Steve’s hand, and he places it over your shoulders quickly, before easing you into the parked car waiting on the side of the road.

“Steve..?” You mumble, before tugging on his blonde roots gently, you per towards him in interest.

“ ‘m right here” Steve replies gently, but his eyes look anywhere but your own.

“You're much better like this hiccup not when you- you lie to mhmme..”

Steve grits his jaw, he has to restrain from running back into the bar and beating the bartender with the edge of the counter for continually serving you despite you increasing drunkenness.

Fucking greedy sons of bitches.

“I mean- I get it, I’m so goddamn stupid sometimes, why wouldn’t you just see me as a means to an end? I’ve always..always been discarded you..know?” You mumble incoherently, tugging on his shirt collar as he places you in the back seat.

“I need to get you safe alright? We can talk as much as you want after okay? Can you do that for me?” Steve replies, gently un gripping yours fingers from his shirt, but making no motion to let them go.

Steve looks at you in desperation, the same unrelenting addiction that found you in a bar is present on his face now. But unlike you, he doesn’t give in, squeezing his eyes shut and shutting the door quietly.

You sigh as you watch him slide into the drivers seat, readjusting his mirror to keep his eye line on you as the rev of en engine fills the empty desolated streets.

Resting your head on the car window, you sink into Steve’s suit jacket that you swim in and smells like tobacco and maraschino cherries.

It's never felt so familiar.

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