#Marvel full fic

[gutsby]

Trigger Tease(r)

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Before his morning briefing, your mob boss husband decides to take a pit stop in the sauna with you.

Warnings: 18+. Oral (f!receiving). Gentle fingerfucking. Praise and degradation. Daddy kink. Dirty talk. Bucky talking you through it. Bimbofication if you squint.

Notes: @sluttylittlewaistenthusiast - you inspired me 🪽 I just had to crank out a little teaser for the third installment of Wedded Bliss. I hope y’all like it 💓

Full version here

In between breakfast and the start of your husband’s early briefing, you found yourself situated in much the same way you’d been spending a lot of time these days: pinned up against the wall of a wood-paneled sauna, Bucky’s broad shoulders supporting both of your legs as he buried his face deep between your thighs. You sighed.

“Hold still,” Bucky grunted, voice muffled as he tried to keep your slick, squirming body in place above him.

You yelped and seized a fistful of his hair when he wedged his tongue even further inside you, nudging your clit with his nose almost too teasingly and deliberate.

“I can’t…help it,” you bit back, ignoring the brief glare you earned from your husband as soon as you said it, “Your tongue’s just so— s— James!”

This time, Bucky let out a full-throated groan when you yanked on those poor wet locks of his—‘Gonna make me bald by next Christmas if you keep doin’ that, honey’—and he pried his head from your legs just long enough to knock you flat on the sauna bench close by.

The western red cedar seared hot on your skin, already flushed from the exhaustion wrought by Bucky’s tongue; you hardly had the strength to hold yourself up when he pushed you onto your back and crawled over your body.

“How ‘bout my fingers, doll? Can you take a couple’a those for me?” Bucky crooned above you as he stroked your hair, bathed in pure sunlight pouring in from the windows. His voice was a touch more sympathetic now.

After all, this was your third orgasm of the morning. It really wasn’t fair for him to use that biological weapon of mass destruction he liked to call his tongue when he knew how sensitive your clit would get from just one ‘O’. Even his hands might be too much in your current state.

Bucky was busy peppering your skin with kisses, working his way from the base of your neck to the crown of your head, when you whimpered and tried to fight a smile.

“Finger,” you corrected him, “Just one finger, Barnes.”

You would’ve thought you’d just thrown your wedding ring in his face and told him to eat shit. Just one?

“How’s one finger s’posed to stretch you out for my cock, huh? Practically had you screamin’ when I stuck it in last night,” Bucky wasn’t one to hide his amusement, grinning even bigger when you swatted him on the arm.

“Who said anything about your cock?” You tried to keep cool as Bucky’s fingers trailed right back down to the place you felt yourself throbbing, aching for his touch, “You have a meeting in ten minutes.”

“Meeting doesn’t start until I say so, my love,” Bucky reminded you just as his index ghosted over your folds.

In truth, he was willing to play this game any way, and for however long, you wanted it done, so long as he was the one bringing you pleasure. Be that his cock, his finger, or all fucking five on one hand, Bucky just wanted to get you off. It was better sustenance to him than the whole damn meal the two of you had eaten that morning.

Bucky kept it down to one digit and lightly circled your bundle of nerves when he sensed you were ready.

You gripped his forearm and shot a quick look between your legs, still in disbelief as to how he could make you feel this good so soon after you’d cum twice before. You felt his lips drift over to yours and steal a few kisses.

“Always doin’ so good for me,” Bucky praised, moving his finger in circles. When you whined against his mouth, he pressed it even harder, “Such a good girl for daddy.”

“James,” you breathed, clenching your legs together.

“Everything OK?”

“Uh-huh.”

More than OK, in fact. That delectable coil of sweet, euphoric release was already swelling gently in your tummy. Bucky moved his finger even faster.

“Tell me how it feels,” he murmured low in your ear.

Bucky loved seeing you try to articulate your feelings—relatively fresh and new to your world, still—while he was giving you pleasure. Adored the way you winced and whined and arched your back into his touch as a whole blustering hailstorm of sensations crashed over you.

He sank his tongue in your mouth as he kissed you, as if trying to extract the words from between your lips. Your response, in consequence, came somewhat stifled.

“Mm— feels so, oh—” Your voice broke off in a moan when Bucky tightened his circles, “—so good, daddy.”

“Wanna show daddy how good and cum for me?”

Bucky knew by the way you were whimpering under his hand that the tendril in your stomach had almost tripled in size. It wouldn’t take much to tip you over the edge.

“My sweet girl,” he said, rubbing your cunt at the same time he was stroking the back of your head, gently, “Feels so nice down there, doesn’t it?”

You rolled your hips against the bench and nodded. Your breaths were short and ragged, panting helplessly into Bucky’s mouth when he adjusted his hand just a little: pressing the pad of his thumb to your clit, with his index moving down to your entrance. Pushing inside you.

“Another,” you choked, not thinking.

Bucky met your desperate gaze and nodded, knowing this was exactly what you needed to make it over the precipice.

Still, he wouldn’t be Bucky if he didn’t tease just a bit.

“I thought my wife wanted one finger,” he hummed, brow pinching inward.

“No, no.” You could’ve shrieked when he curled the digit, “Want more— Bucky, please, please, I need more.”

Again, your husband appeared to nod in understanding, but his fingers didn’t budge. He worked his thumb a little faster and watched you writhe on the seat beneath him.

“How many, honey? Don’t wanna hurt my baby.” His words were all kindness, it seemed, but his tone laced with shameless condescension—the kind that said, yes, I know you need this, and no, I won’t indulge you just yet. Bucky was the worst when he wanted to prove a point. You could’ve ripped at his clothes and torn them in two if you weren’t both stark naked and shrouded in steam.

You opted to pull at his hair instead.

Bucky winced, but the smirk never left.

“I said how many?” he pressed again.

“Three. Four.” Fuck if you knew.

Your husband raised both eyebrows and hummed, a single finger still plunging in and out of your cunt in quick succession. He teased the tip of another at your entrance and smiled even more when you whined.

“Needy little thing, isn’t she?”

“Bucky—”

“Just wants to fuck daddy’s hand to get herself off, hm?”

Bucky didn’t bother to mask his sweet, degrading tone any longer as he talked down and teased you to no end. It drove him half-insane to see you squirm around, rut your hips, let him say the filthiest fucking words he could conjure up, and just bob your head to whatever he said. His impeccant wife and her insatiable needs—Bucky couldn’t even begin to express how turned on the sheer dichotomy got him. He stared in your eyes, all glossy and soft, and felt his cock stand even more rigid on his belly.

He didn’t give a shit if he’d taunted you enough or not; he just shoved his middle and ring fingers alongside the first and clenched his jaw to start fucking you hard with all three.

Your whole face contorted with pleasure, tinged with the faintest shade of discomfort at the tail end of it. You’d forgotten how big his fingers felt all together.

“Bucky,” you whined, mindlessly clawing at the wrist that was moving back and forth, fast, between your legs, “B-Baby, slow— slow down a little.”

But Bucky was deep in the zone. He knew you wanted it too—sensed that you liked to play it safe when it came to your pleasure and grew a little timid at times it got to feel too much—and he needed to talk you through it.

Rather than turn his head and keep to himself as he got you up to your peak, Bucky pressed his face down to yours and nodded again—this time with a tender sincerity.

“Feel a little stretch down there, huh?”

You didn’t have to say anything, just whimpering in time. Bucky kissed your forehead and let you fold into him as his fingers wreaked havoc down below. He kissed you again, and again, and in between kisses, mumbled,

“That’s daddy’s sweet, needy little slut.”

“My perfect fucking wife, so good at taking my fingers.”

“Gonna be nice and stretched out for my cock, hm?”

Every syllable spoken aloud was like a brand new catalyst for your impending release. You barely nodded your head, opened your mouth and whined pathetically, but that’s exactly how Bucky wanted you. Exactly how you needed to be, bucking your hips in time with the cadence of his fingers fucking inside you, and soon, those whimpers were turning to moans as that soft little helix inside you reached its breaking point.

Bucky brushed once or twice more against your sensitive spot, and suddenly you were coming undone all over him—crying his name, clawing his skin, squeezing your legs so tight around his wrist you feared you might snap it in two, and then getting kissed again, over and over while Bucky drank in your every sound, and the few tears that sprung to your eyes as they always did, like sweet nectar.

You were still moaning, curling your tongue feebly against his own and leaning into him as far as you could, when your husband slipped three fingers up between your mouths and pushed them past your parted lips.

“Suck,” Bucky said, gritting his teeth as he watched you, “C’mere, honey, taste your cunt on my fingers.”

You took him in and sucked your arousal off his fingers just like he asked. Took him by surprise and dragged a mindless, lazy, half-crazed and careless tongue all over his hand, where your juices had no doubt collected too.

That slutty, fucked-out look you gave him—like your brain had all but fallen out of your head with the orgasm he’d given you—was everything Bucky could’ve wanted.

He climbed on top of you and took the base of his cock, rock-hard and weeping tears of precum from the tip, almost drunk from the feeling himself. His mouth hung open as he dragged himself over the seam of your cunt.

“I need to fuck you.”

Taglist (STILL HAVE TO UPDATE THIS I'M DUMB AS SHIT): @vicmc624, @she-could-never, @mcira, @kentokaze, @identity2212, @unaxv, @buchi91, @ordelixx, @stinkerbelle007, @opibarnes, @wilsons-striped-ties, @desigirlxx, @pono-pura-vida, @geminiflanagansblog, @fandomsfeminismandme, @buggy14, @sky-full-0f-fl0wers, @buckysdoll1520, @armystay89, @minimarvelingmarvel, @kunakizen, @ghostiebby06, @blackhawkfanatic, @dameron-grant-spector, @sushiseoks, @deansapplepie, @mrsjoequinn, @lunaroserites, @first-edition, @kaybaby2494, @jaggedsi, @excusememrbarnes, @daisychainsoflove, @mostlymarvelgirl, @diannana, @shawnberry, @yujyujj, @urmomsalex, @mrs-bucky-barnes-73, @athenabarnes, @christinabae, @wintrsoldrluvr, @bethbunnyy, @i-heart-smut @dixsond

[imwall-e]

Patience

Pairing : Mafia!Bucky x OFC

Summary : Bucky Barnes wants her, and he is ready to wait...

Author's note : Not beta read. Some of the many little stories I have in my head. Maybe a future fic ?

There he was, leaning against his car, waiting for her. Just like every time she finished work. And it was the same in the morning. He waited in the same way, ready to accompany her. And every day she would meet his eyes and decide to take the bus.

But Bucky Barnes was a patient man. And patience always pays off in the end. Like today. It had been a long and complicated day. The buses were full and she didn't have the strenght to stand in the cold until the next one came along.

She'd be lying if she said that he was the only reason. This man looked after her. He gave her the attention she needed. He wanted her. Her and no one else. Something that no-one before him had ever offered her.

As she walked towards him, took his hand, let him kiss it, got into the car with him, she knew she was crossing a point of no return. But she did all this without regret.

[wandaspetal]

An Island Made From Love

𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦: Marvel/MCU

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫(𝐬)/𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐩(𝐬): Wanda Maximoff x Reader, mentions of Kate Bishop x Yelena Belova (platonic), and Kate Bishop x Wanda Maximoff (platonic)

𝐓𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞: Established Relationship

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.4K+

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Mentions of death (no one actually died though I’m not heartless) , Mental breakdowns, panic attacks, mention of anxiety, depression, suicidal ideations, crying, angst with a happy ending, VERY GAY AND FLUFFY AT THE END I PROMISE

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You make your island flag in animal crossing Wanda’s crown.

𝐀𝐍: Reader uses they/them pronouns! This is very much partially based on me restarting my anch island and wondering how Wanda would react after a hard day….I’m mentally ill shush.

Wanda had been having the worst day. The team’s mission went south very fast. Hydra began implanting bombs inside their base’s so that in the case if they are ever found they can destroy the evidence of them being there. Soldiers waited outside for them with military grade weapons. The Hulk went into a fit of rage, Clint almost lost an arm and Natasha was almost crushed by rubble. Wanda was able to push herself hard enough to use her magic to make sure Natasha and her got out of the building quick enough.

They were the only ones left inside as the rest of the team fought everyone outside. After everything was said and done the ride on the quinjet back to the compound was silent. Even a small cough had an apology following suit behind it. Wanda is surprised she didn’t cry the same way Kate did as Yelena held her on the way back. The brunette simply placed a comforting hand on Kate’s back on the way home.

Wanda Maximoff had lost so many people in her life and this was another reminder of why she had to keep them out the way. The team can protect themselves. Y/n, a barista at a family owned coffee shop–one they barely work at anymore because their rich girlfriend takes care of them and Tony and the team randomly throws money and gifts their way. But that’s besides the point. The team is strong with super powers or serums or martial arts and knows how to use weapons. Y/n makes the threat that anything can be a weapon yet they ironically apologize whenever they bump into a chair, table, etc.

The mere thought of losing them the same way she almost lost half the team today nearly sent Wanda into a spiral. She convinced herself to hold on and remain strong.

Once they landed everyone was sent off to med bay, visible injury or not. Wanda had a scar on her brow and a cut on her nose and a sprained wrist. Both her arms were sore but she didn’t think that was worth mentioning. After leaving medbay she informed Jarvis to tell the team she went to see Y/n if they asked where she went.

Wanda didn’t bother driving a car, she stepped outside and immediately teleported inside Y/n’s apartment. The Sokovian wasn’t allowed to do that anymore after she scared them but she couldn’t help herself as she was on the verge of shaking from overstimulation.

“Wanda is that you?!”

“Y-Yeah!” She already felt tears coming to her eyes at hearing your voice but quickly blinked them away.

“Oh! Come look and see!!” Y/n exclaimed happily.

Wanda smiled and quickly walked pass the small foyer and to the living room. Her shoulders relaxed at the sight of her partner gazing at the TV that displayed her animal crossing game on it. She walked over and sat down on the couch.

“I restarted my island and it took like five times but I finally got villagers that aren’t ugly!” They squealed with joy.

Wanda placed her hands in her lap and smiled authentically at the screen. Y/n had already begun decorating the island and including as much villager homes as possible. There was customized pathing on the beach and grass.

“I named it Westview because you know…we said we wanted to move there.” Y/n’s voice grew quieter as their shyness increased. They shrugged. “And yeah…”

Wanda turned her head and reached out her to tuck their hair behind their ear. “That’s nice, I like it.”

Y/n blushed then cleared their throat. “Oh! Also the flag!! Look, look, look!!” They still hadn’t looked at Wanda as they could not turn their attention off the screen. Not even a bowl of the best pasta in the world could take their focus off their hyper fixation right now.

Wanda turned her head back towards the screen, still twirling their strand of hair between her two fingers. She dropped her hand at the sight of the flag that blew in the wind at the airport. It was her head piece. The one that she didn’t like at first but Y/n adored because it suited her so well. And because Y/n adored it Wanda slowly began to, too. Tony designed it for her after he heard her ranting about wanting more accessories for her costume the same way Nat and Steve did.

“I made it just for you!” They exclaimed.

“You made me a flag…with my head piece on it?” Wanda asked, her eyes glazing over with the tears she had been holding back since the mission ended.

Y/n beamed at the tv screen missing the full effect of their words. “Yeah! Because you’re my favorite person in the world and–“ They faltered and their brow furrowed with concern as they finally turned to look at the brunette. “Wanda, are you okay?” Y/n reached out and caressed her cheek with their palm as the witch begun to cry.

“I just love you…so much.” A lone tear trailed down her cheek. “You make me so happy…I-…today was awful and some of the team almost didn’t make it and it was so traumatizing and I just–” A much needed sob broke free from her mouth as she curled into Y/n’s warm embrace.

Y/n began to rock them side to side and soothingly rub their hand up and down Wanda’s back. “You’re safe now, let it all out.” Wanda sobbed harder than before, gripping on Y/n’s shirt for dear life. “I’m so sorry all of you had to go through that.” Wanda continued to cry as Y/n continued to speak.

They sat in silence until her sobs died down to sniffles and her eyes had stopped producing as much tears.

Y/n moved to pull away then stopped as Wanda whimpered. “Put your head up for me please.” Wanda complied, sitting up straight with their arms still around each other. “I love you.” Wanda felt another sob building up in her throat. “And I’m so so proud of you.” Another sob broke free but Y/n continued to speak as they wiped away Wanda’s tears. “Today was really hard and you did such a phenomenal job–yes you did.” Y/n reassured as Wanda began shaking her head. “You did a good job because you did your best.”

Wanda pulled away from their embrace, her body immediately felt the rush of cool air surrounding her. “I didn’t even tell Pietro where I was going, I just left and came straight here to you because I just felt so overstimulated and…and broken and scared.” Y/n nodded, holding their palms together. “And I know I did a great job but fuck why did my life have to be this way, I’m still here, I’m still the scared little girl who hid under a bed with her twin brother for 3 days after realizing our parents are gone and dead and…” She felt herself begin to descend into a panic and placed one hand on her chest and the other on her head. “I’m tired. I’m so tired.” She choked out.

Y/n took both Wanda’s hands in their own. “Baby, look at me, hey-” Their eyes met. “I’m right here, okay? Everything is okay now, the team is okay, your brother is okay and you are okay..you’re safe now.” Wanda blinked. Y/n brought Wanda’s hands to their chest and took a deep breath in then a deep breath out and continued this until Wanda began to follow suit.

It took five minutes until the normal color returned to Wanda’s cheeks and blood no longer felt like it was rushing to her ears. Y/n placed their hand on Wanda’s cheek, smiling as the witch sighed out of content. Wanda turned her head and kissed their hand before she spoke.

“Can you show me more of…Westview?” She asked softly while making eye contact.

“Only as long as you promise to move there with me…and also order us a pizza.” Y/n bit their lip and grinned as Wanda giggled.

“I promise.” Wanda took her phone out of her pocket and snuggled into Y/n’s side as the number for their favorite pizza place began to ring. “Extra cheese?” She hummed as Y/n kissed the top of her head.

“Sounds great.” They replied and began to decorate Westview as Wanda ordered them enough food to have leftovers for the next day.

[phoenixcatch7]

I know 'person with secret to hide spots other person with secret to hide but doesn't say anything' is like. Thee trope in superhero crossovers, but come on! Some of these guys have been doing this for decades! There's tons of heroes that have gone to pretty extreme lengths to be Completely Imperceptible in civilian life.

Don't you think it's scarier, after all is said and done, to sit there and think I didn't notice a thing? I wouldn't have ever realised? I would never have known? To know that someone you were familiar with - close with, even! - had this whole other personality and skillset and powers and experiences and life just behind the curtain, and they hid it so completely you didn't even see it was there.

'I always knew there was something off' what if you didn't. How world shaking would it be to be so utterly blindsided? To know that this person had somehow learned to so deceptive?

[bisamwilson]

Sam bustles around the kitchen, cleaning off counters he’d deep cleaned two days ago, grabbing dishes out of the dishwasher that really could wait until tomorrow morning, putting some elbow grease into trying to get out the stubborn spot on their stove that’s been there since they moved in and that Bucky’s not sure will ever go away. They’ve been home from their last mission about a sum total of fifteen minutes, and Sam’s still in frenzy mode.

If there’s anything Bucky’s learned in all the years he’s been around his partner, it’s that Sam’s never really quite figured out how to slow it down.

Good thing Bucky’s always happy to help.

He straightens up from where he’s leaning against their kitchen’s entryway and walks over towards Sam, purposefully making his footfalls a little louder than normal so he doesn’t sneak up behind him.

“We’ve been awake for almost thirty-six hours, sweetheart,” Bucky almost croons, cozying up behind Sam and wrapping his hands around his front. Bucky himself doesn’t really need the sleep—not the way that Sam does—but he’s found Sam’s a little bit more willing to be pulled into slumber if they’ve both gone without for a while.

Just a little, though.

“I’m so close to getting this grease stain out,” Sam says, huffing a bit between words, his metaphorical feathers ruffled up, trying his best to resist Bucky’s attempts to get him to sleep.

Bucky knows Sam isn’t getting that stain out, knows that vibranium wool wouldn’t be enough to get that stain out, but Sam’s working at it like he’ll get it out if it’s the last thing he ever does, Bucky’s soft crooning be damned.

Time to bring out the big guns, Bucky thinks, nuzzling at Sam’s neck before peppering soft kisses all over it.

It slows Sam down enough that Bucky knows he’s at least got an opportunity here, so he kisses a little slower, a little more sensual.

They’re both too tired to do anything tonight, but neck kisses have always been Sam’s kryptonite; they might be the only thing capable of distracting him when he’s this wound up.

The mission hadn’t exactly been a pretty one, after all.

“Wanna snuggle up to you tonight, angel,” he whispers in between kisses, voice soft and adoring. “Hold you all night long, keep you warm.”

That’s the last push Sam needs to relax his shoulders, setting his cleaning supplies over to the side and breathing in deeply as Bucky places one last kiss on his neck.

“Ready for bed, angel?” Bucky asks, as quiet as he can, and Sam just turns around in his arms in answer, wrapping his own arms around Bucky’s back and tucking his face into the crook of Bucky’s neck instead.

“Shower first?” he mumbles, the already quiet question muffled by the words being spoken into his neck, but Bucky hears him anyway, bending down just enough to pick Sam up, wrapping his legs around his waist and carrying him off to the shower.

Sam doesn’t take his face out of the crook of Bucky’s neck until he’s placed back on his feet, the warm spray at his back still cooler than the feeling of Bucky’s hands on his abdomen, sudsing him up.

It’s a quick shower, warm but mostly utilitarian, a few kisses when Bucky just can’t help himself aside. They dry off only enough to not be uncomfortable between the sheets, and Bucky picks an already almost asleep Sam up one last time to carry him over to bed.

Sam immediately turns over to lay half on top of him, burying his face in Bucky’s neck once again, like it’s a barrier to keep out everything else. Bucky knows it won’t be long until Sam moves—knows Sam sleeps like a hurricane when he feels safe enough to, always looking for the cool spot—but it’s enough to warm Bucky all over for now.

“Good night, sweetheart,” he says, wrapping his arm in tighter around Sam. “I love you.”

All he gets is Sam’s soft, slow breathing in reply, but he knows Sam falling asleep next to him that easily is an “I love you” in its own right.

[earth90214]

Peterfel having their respective bachelor/bachelorette parties on the same night.

Felicia and her friends go out for a nice dinner, club for a little, then have a wine night and hang out.

Peter and his friends try to have a fun night on the town but its mostly spent fighting villains. Johnny’s blown up six different Kia Souls, chunks of Wade are floating down the Hudson, Miles wasn’t even supposed to be there in the first place, and Matt is so sick of everyone’s shit.

[the-ninja-legacy-whip]

trick or treaaaaat~!

Trick or Treat! Fic Edition!

All right, you get...*spins wheel*...a sneak peek at a WIP! And since I know you're an Aftershock advocate, you can have a little something from the Royal!Legacy Au :3

"…you know this was my mother's garden before she departed, right?" Cole stops walking, tilting his head to the sky. Jesse falls into step beside him, turning towards Cole with a curious gaze. He knows about the whole queen situation, but it's never been something Cole's brought up willingly. Jesse gulps, in fear of saying the wrong thing here, but settles for a calm yet encouraging, "Was it?" Cole nods. A spark of marigold whimsy dances in his eyes, only to be contrasted by the press of his lips into a thin line. Speaking about this…comes fondly, but from a place of hurt. "She…well, she always had an affinity for working with the earth. And it was almost like magic, the way she'd been able to make things grow in the otherwise rocky and lifeless terrain of these lands… she was a super strong queen, both for the kingdom and it's people, and I admired her so much for it." Cole smiles, though it slips off his face. "But one day, all that strength started to give out on her, leaving her bedridden for a longtime. And during that time, I'd come down to her garden every morning, find the freshest bloom I could, and bring it to her bedside. She said those little gifts were enough to keep her going each and every day…but eventually, not even that could save her." Cole's shoulders sag with a shrug. Jesse swallows around the lump in his throat, getting tear-eyed just from listening to the tale. "…and then, she died, and so did the garden. It was already depressing enough, not having her around… So, seeing the grounds so vapid and lifeless was like losing her twice. I…tried my hand at restoring what was lost, but…teaching me how to garden was just something an up-and-coming prince never had time for." "Oh, Cole…" Sympathetically, Jesse reaches out his hand, but stops himself. He can't—he can't just grab the hand of a prince! Minding his place, he steps back, all while biting his lip. Still, Cole turns to look at Jesse, a ghost of a smile returning to his expression. "But that's when I started hiring for a Royal Gardener. Of course, the first dozen or so were shitty, but…" Cole approaches Jesse, meeting him halfway and taking the hand Jesse started to offer. "…that's how I got to meet you. And that's why I'm so glad…you care as much about this place as she did."

[wolfsbanesparks]

39. Share a WIP

(From your Ask Game 👀)

HI! I'm so glad that I have an excuse to share another snippet from my WIPs.

I had to think carefully about what to share (gotta avoid spoilers for the major plot points). Under the readmore is a snippet from Pretty Little Thing a few chapters ahead of where we are now.

Freddy watched Darla walk away, waiting until she disappeared through the front doors of the school before he hiked his backpack up higher and made his way off campus, keeping his head down so as not to be noticed by the throngs of people heading to school. He would have to be careful to not get caught ditching.

Despite what he’d said to Darla, he planned on telling his foster parents that his leg had been hurting and that he’d spent the day camped out in the boy’s bathroom, in too much pain to make it all the way to the nurse’s office. It was plausible enough that they would accept it—though he was sure they’d treat him overly gently over the next couple of days.

It was a long walk to Billy’s apartment—his leg already ached just thinking about it. But he knew he could handle a couple bad pain days with much more grace than he could the nagging feeling of not knowing what was actually going on.

That visit from the Daily Planet reporters had shaken him more than he wanted to admit. He had known that Billy was in trouble—but Billy was always in trouble, always one step away from throwing himself at every disaster. But usually he was the Captain when he did that, usually he was fine. He had superpowers and the entire Justice League on speed dial, there was nothing that he couldn’t handle.

But sometimes he did things as Billy that put him in danger, not really caring about the consequences. That’s what had Freddy worried.

So the question was whether Billy was in trouble because he was the Captain or because he was Billy.

[samwpmarleau]

fic snippet: as foam upon the sea

meant for @fleurdelouvemonth but regrettably i don’t expect that the full fic will be done within the next two days and i’m already over a week behind the mermaid au prompt day this was supposed to be for (although elements of it apply to the days this week heyo), so i’m posting a piece from the middle of it to show that i participated. i haven’t written for either of these characters before so i really hope this isn’t trash, and if you notice logistical or geographical tomfoolery no you don’t

So abruptly she nearly knocks her head into his, Barnes stops. He searches the horizon — for what, she doesn’t know — his eyes narrowing beneath a growing frown. She treads water beside him, attempting to sense what he apparently does, but all she sees is what she doesn’t see. Just gently rippling blackness meeting an equally black sky broken up only by the pinpricks of starlight and the crescent moon high above.

“What is it?” she whispers.

He had said his arm could sense electro-whatever; maybe that’s happening now, maybe there’s a shark headed their way or something. Though, she doesn’t think Barnes would be quite so on edge if it were as mundane a thing as a shark. And that’s assuming a shark would even bother with them when it could have a much easier time finding different prey.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs. With a quiet shink, he withdraws a knife and hands it to her, then reaches for the boltgun strapped across his back.

She has about a dozen questions, but the tension and alertness rolling off him in waves keeps her from voicing any of them. She nervously adjusts and readjusts her grip on the knife, thoroughly unused to wielding such a utensil for any purpose besides cutting nets, cooking, or opening boxes.

Out of nowhere, Barnes snaps his head towards a specific point, no longer having a vague sense of danger. He shoves her roughly behind him, but not soon enough, and Sarah cries out as she feels a searing pain in her side. There’s still nothing above water that she can see; the shot had come from somewhere beneath. She feels another projectile whiz by, but it ricochets off Barnes’s metal arm before it can reach her. Which is where her perception of anything beneath her stops, for Barnes ducks beneath the water. There is nowhere nearby to retreat to, not even a piece of driftwood to use as a meager defense. All Sarah can do is float where she is, not draw further attention to herself, and try not to think about how much she’s bleeding from whatever laceration had been made.

She can’t tell whether it’s a minute or an hour that passes without a single indication of Barnes returning, which brings an entirely new fear to mind: whether he will return, and what it would mean for her if he doesn’t. If he’s been shot, if he’s been killed, if he’s been captured, at best she’ll be stranded in the middle of the ocean with an inventory of a single knife. Worse, HYDRA — and it must be them, of that she has no doubt — will kill her, too.

“You’re gonna be fine,” she tells herself, as if saying it aloud will make it true. “Everything is gonna be fine. This is just your typical aquatic assassination attempt, no problem.”

While it doesn’t lessen her pessimism much, it does at least help keep her focused on something other than sheer fear. She knows all too well how paralyzing fear can be, and that is the last thing she needs right now.

Shutting her eyes, she starts to hum a lullaby Titi used to sing. She can’t remember the words anymore, but she remembers the tune.

She gets a few verses in when she jerks back with a shriek, brandishing her knife at the movement she feels by her feet.

“Watch it!” hisses the movement, whose voice she identifies as Barnes. Wisely, he plucks the knife from her hand and returns it to its sheath.

“What happened?” she asks, hit with a waterfall of relief. She wishes she could see more than vague silhouettes. “That was HYDRA?”

“Yeah,” Barnes says, “They must’ve used some kind of heat signature tracking. Or maybe they caught sight of me back at the beach and dispatched divers to the area they thought I’d go. I don’t think they know exactly where, or they’d have sent more than a few guys armed with spearguns.”

That had to have been what she was grazed with, then, a speargun arrow. She can’t say she’s ever had that before, though she knows it happens back home every now and then, usually to stupid kids not paying attention to what they’re doing.

Of course, she’s fairly certain none of those stupid kids were shot by HYDRA spearguns. She gets the dubious honor of being the first.

“So what now? Are there going to be more where they came from? Do they have beacons or something they could’ve activated?”

“Likely,” Barnes says. He refastens her rope to himself. “We have to go. Once HYDRA notices their divers aren’t moving from this spot, they’ll come. With reinforcements.”

Great.

“So how are we supposed to get out of here?”

“I’ll have to dive.”

“Not all of us can hold their breath for as long as you can. How do you expect me to —”

“I don’t have time to explain.”

“Explain what?”

Barnes answers by cupping her face in his hands and kissing her full on the mouth. Before she can ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing or push him off her, she feels an odd, though not unpleasant, tingling in her lips. A warm burn slides its way into her lungs, as though she’s taken a swig from high-shelf whiskey.

The burn lingers as Barnes drags her beneath the surface of the water. Only then does he pull away, leaving her to panic at the sensation of having no air left in her lungs. That is, until she realizes that she doesn’t need to breathe. As Barnes swims away, the rope connecting them keeping her at pace, Sarah does her best to get her bearings.

Regrettably, for all that she seems to have temporarily acquired Barnes’s breathing ability, that hasn’t affected her eyesight or cognitive processing — she can make out some shapes, but for the most part everything they pass is a complete blur.

Once she gets over the novelty of the breathing part, the unnerving part of being along for the ride settles in. She hadn’t thought much about mermaid locomotion, but if she had, she doesn’t think she’d have banked on them being able to swim this fast. Not that she has a speedometer, but she’s sat seatbelt-less in the bed of a truck barreling down the freeway plenty of times, and this feels much the same. Only more wet. Needless to say, she grips the harness like her life depends on it — which, really, it does.

She also wishes that that kiss — or whatever it was — from Barnes helped with temperature as well, for while it doesn’t seem like they’re going deeper anymore, she’s fucking cold. Solely the fear of being tracked by an evil organization keeps her from tapping Barnes on the shoulder and asking if they could possibly swim a few dozen meters higher.

She puts up with it, knowing the alternative is tempting lethal fate. After a while, she nearly manages to fall asleep, such is her adrenaline crash and the steady fluidity of Barnes’s movements. She’s groggy when finally they stop, some sort of partially enclosed outcrop whose features she can just make out in the burgeoning sunrise. Barnes sets her on the rock and triple-checks both the entrance and surroundings.

Unfortunately, she discovers, the end feels much like the beginning, complete with the sensation of having no air even though now there is plenty of it. Is it possible to suffocate when there’s air to be had? Did Barnes merely delay her death sentence?

Apparently hearing her distress, he approaches with mild concern in his expression amongst the usual cagey neutrality, but his voice is calm as he instructs, “Force it. The air, you have to force it.”

The thought feels impossible. “I — can’t —”

“You can.” He places his hands lightly on her shoulders. “Breathe, Sarah.”

It’s the first time he’s said her name, she realizes, which all by itself is nearly enough to startle her out of her predicament. The touching takes care of the rest; up until now, their only contact has been of necessity, not comfort or even friendliness.

It’s a shaky breath that she draws into her lungs but a breath nonetheless, and once she’s done it, she gulps down as much as she possibly can. The pain in her chest slowly dissipates.

“Are you okay?” Barnes asks.

“Yeah I — I think so. Did you know it was that awful to come out of it?”

“No. I’ve never been around for that part.”

Now that she no longer is suffocating and they’re out of imminent danger, she wonders about the mechanics of the whole thing. “How’d you do it?”

“Something to do with the regenerative properties of the serum, it slows hypoxia. That’s what I was told, anyway.”

“Then why did it feel like I couldn’t breathe?”

“Because,” he says, “if you hold it too long, your body wants to keep the air it has left. It doesn’t realize it doesn’t have to until you force it.”

“That was too long?” she asks. “How long did we swim?”

“Bit over two hours, I think.”

“Two —”

He’d told her he could dive for an hour and a half, two hours maybe. And while with his enhanced strength she must not weigh much, she still weighs something. She takes stock of him, seeing only now that he looks exhausted, his own breath coming in heavier than normal. Never mind the exertion from fighting the combatants and what looks like a nasty gash over his eye dripping blood down the side of his face. He doesn’t appear bothered by it, but she’s been around him enough by this point to know he’s not the kind of person to admit to injury. Who knows what else he might’ve sustained?

Ultimately, she supposes the specifics of it all don’t matter and, frankly, she doesn’t have the patience for any more of a science lesson at the moment. Barnes himself may not even know the full scope. Really, she should celebrate the fact that he’s spoken more to her in the last two minutes than he has the last few days combined.

“So, how’d you figure it out, this breath-sharing thing?” she asks instead. “Got a history of saving damsels in distress, do you?”

She’d meant it as a joke, but a shadow passes over Barnes’s face. “No.”

“Then how —”

“Let me see where you were hit,” he interrupts. “You’re bleeding pretty badly.”

She looks down to see a wide bloom of red is indeed staining her shirt. The pain has become more of a throbbing nuisance than the acute sharpness it was before, though she’s not sure whether that’s a good or bad thing.

Sarah lifts up the hem of her shirt, and immediately wishes she hadn’t. It looks much worse than she thought it would. It still counts as a graze, she’d say, in the grand scheme of things, but an inch further and she’d have a hole straight through her abdomen.

“Seawater is healing,” she says with feeble confidence. It is, but she’s fairly certain this is too big of a wound for that to apply to.

“Stay here,” Barnes directs. “I’ll be back soon.”

He’s gone before she can ask where he’s going, disappearing under the water as quietly as always. She lets out a sigh. One of these days she’s going to make him give her an explanation before darting off.

[blackwood4stucky]

i scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream | aspen blackwood

steve rogers x james "bucky" barnes | mcu

masterpost | mini playlist

🆃 | word count: 1,110 | complete

tags: quiet horror, omegaverse, bucky-centric

The members of the Rogers family were unpacking their boxes, two rented U-Hauls sitting in front of their new house, when Bucky first heard it, the ice cream song playing from the truck down the street. It was a familiar little jingle, one he had heard for many years where he used to live. Such a tune usually brought joy, everyone loves ice cream.

It was late October by the time the Rogers relocated to a new community in East End, New Hampshire. Their neighbors were getting into the spirit of Halloween what with all the decorations strewn about the block. Fake webs and spiders covered many front lawns while homemade ghosts and ghouls blew in the cool autumn winds. It seemed that everyone in the community was participating from the sheer amount of laughter that could be heard all around them. Bucky decided then that they all would have to participate as well, how could they not? It was his favorite time of the year, family tradition dictated that they celebrate and he would not forsake that ritual. If only they could get everything done in a timely fashion. Looking at his little family though, he could see that his alpha and their daughter were worn out. Even their cat, Alpine, was lying about in the grass. Perhaps it was a good time to pause and take a break now that the ice cream truck was there. He had just begun digging his hands around in his pocket for change when little Sarah tugged on his pant leg.

“Mommy, why is everyone leaving?” His daughter’s voice sounded so small even though he knew Sarah’s curiosity was so big, the little girl could get into so much mischief if left to her own devices.

Glancing up, Bucky saw that Sarah was right though. Their new neighbors had all but dropped their various decorations to scramble for the doors. Even the pets knew the drill. With his heightened hearing, he could hear the telltale sound of locking mechanisms and whispers coming from inside of the houses on the block. Perturbed, but not one to stick around for danger, Bucky followed suit and beckoned for his husband, Steve, and little Sarah to do the same. Taking whatever they held in their hands, the Rogers family hastily went inside and closed their doors, making sure the deadbolt was securely in place. The song from the ice cream truck grew louder and louder, the pitch taking on a strange note at the end, one that caused a chill to run down Bucky’s spine. It wasn’t until a pained yelp rang out a moment later that they all realized Alpine was still outside.

Ever since that day, life went on as normal for rest of the members of the East End community. Bucky, on the other hand, developed trust issues. Not a single one of their new neighbors batted an eye when he and Steve asked what was up with the ice cream truck, when they questioned their new neighbors on the whereabouts of their beloved pet. All anyone ever had to say on the matter was when the ice cream song plays, you best get inside, don’t come out until it’s over, even then don’t come out until the day is over. If you’re caught outside when the song plays, you best pray for it to be over soon. For if you see the heads, if you see the eyes, it’s over. It’s over, it’s over for you.

Bucky had begun to question their decision to move to East End then. All the research he put into finding this community didn’t seem to be yielding the results it should have. All the reviews he read boasted of its exclusivity and safety for all sorts of people. All the interviews he and Steve had gone through were a testament to how serious East End appeared to take its application process. It all was supposed to result in a sanctuary. He knew his little family was different. Heightened senses, enhanced agility, and a less than stellar diet certainly didn’t make it easy for them to settle down. This was supposed to be their big break. He didn’t know how wrong he was.

A few weeks later, Bucky, Steve, and Sarah were enjoying the cool play day in breeze on their front lawn, when they heard it, the ice cream song playing from the truck down the street. Bucky and Steve were wary but gathered what was immediately around them to head inside.

“Excuse me.” A little voice called out from behind Bucky. “I missed you last time. May I have some ice cream, please?”

Turning around, Bucky saw their daughter standing in front of the ice cream truck with her little hand outstretched. His eyes widened when he got a good look at the truck. It was all white with a strange black symbol painted on the side facing their home, a sea creature with multiple bulbous heads and tentacles. To his utter horror, a familiar pale red light had begun to shine through the window on the driver’s side. It was one that bought horrific memories from his past, flashes of torture and pain.

“Sarah, get away from that truck!” Bucky’s body moved like a flash before he could even issue it a command, fear gripping his heart as he snatched the child up from the edge of the sidewalk. It was only when something cold and tight gripped at his leg as it latched onto his skin, that he realized his grave mistake. “Take her and get inside, lock the doors!”

“No! Not without you!” Steve had materialized at his side to take Sarah into his arms but he refused to leave. “I won’t leave you, not again.”

“You have to!” He groaned in pain and looked down at his leg, it was wrapped in some sort of chain with barbs that dug into his flesh holding him in place. There was no way he would let them get ahold of his entire family, there was no way in hell he would give Hydra a real win. Bucky’s fear was to be ripped from his daughter, from Steve, his husband and mate. It was his greatest fear to be returned back into the clutches of those that created monsters like him and Steve. All the while, that ice cream truck played its haunting song. It tormented him as he prayed for a swift end that he knew would never come. The first time the Rogers family heard the ice cream song, they lost their pet. The second time they heard it, the Rogers family lost Bucky.

[theartsybat]

hello this was a color contrast nightmare, thank god for black tho amiright?

anyway, we’re just throwing the same hot potato at each other now lol

[ context ]

@sibillascribbles08​

​

reposting this here cause i feel it should be together

also, i couldnt decide whether to post this in parts (for desktop reading), or the fullpage, so here it is in parts (plus glowing donnie, because i cannot for the life of me make decisions):

[sage-nebula]

Anyone who thinks fanfic commissions should be illegal because "you're making money off someone else's IP" better not ever take nor pay for fanart commissions, because that's the same exact goddamn thing.

[starlightbelle]

I’ve gotten, like, five new oneshot ideas for various characters but there’s no way I’ll be able to finish them all…right?

[smollandkindaannoyed]

It is a "Head empty, one thought" kinda day. And that one thought that has me thinking all day is Bucky calling himself "The Asset" in Sidereal from girlbookwrm and verbalatte.

Like I just finished the fic, loved it, but I cant stop thinking about how Bucky kept calling himself The Asset in the beginning. The way chapter two starts with: 'The Asset has no soulmark, as far as it is aware. Soulmarks are for the living, after all.' And that is some of the most heartbreaking shit ever. Like all I can think about is how Bucky really just became a weapon, an object, to be used for all those years till the point he himself doesn't even believe he is a living being anymore. How he talks about himself like HYDRA talks about him, how he starts to use their words and with talking in a thirth-person way also making his actions not his, because in the end all those missions were done by The Asset not by Bucky. Ye no this thought will be haunting my brain for next few days.

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

Chapters: 3/6 Fandom: Spider-Man (Comicverse), Marvel Noir, Marvel (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Jean DeWolfe & Peter Benjamin Parker | Spider-Man Noir Characters: Jean DeWolfe, Peter Benjamin Parker | Spider-Man Noir, Original Characters

Summary:

Hammerhead really just wanted to mark his territory, maybe garner some additional respect from other crime bosses in the process. Not- not them. Whatever the hell they're doing. Not fucking this.

[metalbvcky]

"Where would you rather go for vacation? Maybe out west? Or somewhere closer to home?" "How about the Virgin Islands?" Bucky says, his smile reaching his eyes. "I hear they have good weather this time of year."

A Steve/Bucky moodboard set in the Virgin Islands 🌊⛵🌴

Y1: Would You Rather | @buckybarnesbingo