#and men with broad backs..... 👉👈

[starmocha]

Laying flat on your stomach on Caleb's back, arms around his neck, as he does push-ups. Just. All giggly, because he likes making you laugh and proving that he can comfortably do the exercise even with your entire weight on him.

Laying under him to receive kisses as he goes down. He smirks and goes down slowly. One (kiss). Two (kiss). Three (kiss). Four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleventwelvethirteenfourteenfifteen—

He laughs when you're red-faced and breathless, still in shock by the sudden change in pacing and his relentlessly quick successive kisses. "What's the matter?" He asks, already knowing the answer, "Did you forget how to count, pipsqueak?"

Laying on top of Caleb after his exercise is done. You rest on his chest, listening to his heart. It's beating so fast, you tell him.

"It is," he agrees, holding you tighter to him. He doesn't let you leave. "Stay with me. Like this. Let me recharge."

[wntrs0ldier]

An Offer II: Safe Haven · 02

pairing: mob!bucky x reader words: 5,3k warnings: smut, typical mafia (dark themes, language, violence, etc.), a/n: so i went MIA 👉👈...

series masterlist

series summary: The ride was bumpy, but in the end, you got your husband. Your marriage gave you protection, and your new husband shared with you his life, his Family, his wealth. His demons and his enemies. Only time can show whether it was worth it.

chapter sneak peek: Bucky leaned his chin on your shoulder. You didn't speak, absorbing this closeness in silence. For a moment, you forgot about the months of separation; about the fact that you weren't actually connected by true, deep affection – in that moment, it felt like you had known him forever.

The rays of the harsh morning sun broke in through the huge window, casting a bright glow directly on the bed. The beams of irritating light brushed your face, and you immediately regretted that last night the thought of drawing the curtains hadn't crossed your mind. But there was no room in your head for rational thinking or predicting the future; you were too excited, too overwhelmed for that.

Driven by your instinct to stay awake, instead of falling into further sleep, you lifted your eyelids with difficulty, and your eyes fell involuntarily on the figure lying next to you. For the first time in nearly three months, you had a man in your bed; or rather, it was he who had returned to his bed, and had no choice but to accept that you had usurped it. Eventually, you were both in your shared space, and for the first time you had the opportunity to wake up next to Bucky.

He was sleeping on his stomach, with only one leg under the covers and the rest of his body outside; half of his face was buried in the pillow, the other half was covered by his hair falling down. You admired him with fascination – your eyes ran over his broad back and the muscles it showed; over his strong arms, kissed by the Italian sun. He wasn't doing anything special, nothing spectacular – just breathing, slowly and steadily – yet you could watch him for hours. You feared, however, that he might sense this and wake up, and interrupting Bucky's sleep was the last thing you felt like doing. He had been working hard for the last few months and now he was finally being given a rest. You weren't going to deprive him of the comfort of sleeping in his bed, in a safe, familiar space, so you slipped carefully out from under the covers and headed to the bathroom.

Your sore feet still reminded you of last night – of the hours spent in the club, the alcohol consumed and the men looking at you. Bucky was right – some were looking at you with a strange longing, and at the time you hadn't wondered what it meant. Now, although the question was only just seeking a place in your mind, you were curious about something else: did they know that you belonged to him? You wore the ring, you carried his name, but you haven't yet had the chance to show yourselves in public even once. You assumed that it was the soldiers of the Barnes Family, not leaving your side, let everyone know that you had also become a member of this house. Regardless of whose wife you were, your new name was a kind of warning sign.

As the pleasant stream of warm water washed over your body, your mind was flooded with more questions. For the past few months you had been a wife, but without a husband around. What was your life going to look like from now on? Was Bucky going to fit into your mode, you were going to be forced to fit into his, or were you both going to lead your own separate lives, ignoring each other; your existing routines, habits and needs? 

The water fell on the shower floor and crashed against the tiles with loud splashes; nevertheless, the characteristic click of the door closing reached your ears. You looked over your shoulder, spotting Bucky, and your breath involuntarily stuck in your throat. He was standing by the entrance; with his hair only brushed through with a careless, accidental sweep of his fingers, his boxers framing his hips tightly and such a hungry, raw expression on his face that it instantly made your heart beat faster. You forgot about the fact that you were completely naked; the thought of satisfying this primal need took over your consciousness. Anyway, he soon returned the favor – without taking his determined gaze off you, he removed his underwear and joined you in the shower. Or rather, he attacked you as if you were his helpless prey.

His huge, hard body collided with yours; his arms immediately surrounded you with the purpose of protection from any possible loss of balance due to this sudden, violent push. Bucky's lips – which had reminded you of their existence the previous night, of the pleasure that came from them, and which you still craved – pressed onto yours in a desiring kiss. His beard irritated your tender skin in that strangely pleasurable way, but the truth was that whatever he would do, it would bring you nothing but pleasure. You couldn't imagine doing anything other than simply surrendering to him – you wanted the same thing after all, and you couldn't let him leave you starving and lusting even for a moment; you needed his attention, you needed compensation – you needed him to reward you for those few months during which you had been dying of hunger.

“Fucking missed you, Y/N,” he muttered into your lips.

“Me? Or did you miss this?” you asked innocently, and although he smiled with mild amusement, there was something punishing hidden in that smile. 

“I've thought about fucking you. Many times,” he agreed bluntly, and his hands slid through the sides of your body, from your hips to your ribs, making you shiver. “But I missed you. All of you. Even those stupid questions.”

You stretched your mouth in a wide, bright grin, and looking at him – so beautiful, so ravenous and all yours – you kissed him, placing your hands on his rough cheeks. Bucky's arms once again wrapped around your body and strengthened their hold even tighter than before. You moaned softly, crushed by his own body he pressed you to; you moaned because there was no way he could keep you any closer. Soon you felt the coolness of the tiles on your back – they were like a sharp sting on your heated skin, making you gasp shortly in surprise. Bucky stepped back slightly and stared at your face for a moment. His hand went to your neck, his fingers clenched carefully around it, and when you tried to pull away from the wall in order to get back to his lips, he held you in place without the slightest effort.

“What are you doing, Jamie?” The innocence and helplessness in your voice made Bucky hold his breath at first, then let it out with a loud gasp. As if he was savoring your softness, but in no way intending to take advantage of it. He knew you needed him as much as he needed you. 

“I want you to stay here. For better stability,” he replied with calmness and patience; your heatedness fully deserved just such an approach. 

“Stability..?”

Without taking his eyes off you, he knelt down. He carefully grabbed your ankle, and you obediently allowed him to lift your leg, which he finally put over his shoulder. You parted your lips, watching him with astonishment.

Bucky's eyes bore relentlessly into yours, his hands rested on your hips and his tongue slid lazily over your swollen, throbbing clit. You let out a shuddering breath, then sank your teeth into your lower lip. Bucky's hands clenched more securely on your body and his tongue began to rub against your knot – exploratory at first, since he was more than happy to learn your body's reactions and draw conclusions, and when he finally found the right rhythm, you knew your end was near, but you weren't about to deny yourself from being thrown into that abyss.

One of your hands found its way to his head; you slipped your fingers into his hair, and, whimpering in a desperate search for an outlet for all the pleasures building up inside you, you squeezed them there reflexively as Bucky sucked on your more and more sensitive clit. He closed his eyes, his fingers digging into your hips in a slightly painful, yet terribly satisfying way. You watched him from between half-open eyelids, and if at all possible, you got the impression that he was getting even more pleasure out of it than you were. And instead of weakening in intensity, he wanted more and more; he was no longer massaging your clit, expecting the desired reactions – he was devouring you for his own selfish fulfillment; he was devouring you like a starving man, and his appetite grew as he ate. You could feel his frustration; you could feel that he himself was left unsatisfied, and it was these desperate actions that pushed you to the edge. Leaning you against the wall earlier was a clever move - now it was keeping you safe, as your legs grew softer and softer until they finally refused to cooperate completely. Fortunately, there was Bucky under you.

Your chest rose and fell along with quick, short breaths. Not only were they coming out of your throat, but also the moans that accompanied them. For the past few months, not once had you thought the long wait would be worth it – you didn't think anyone could have given you such pleasure. Now it was growing in intensity in your lower stomach until it finally exploded, shaking your weak body with strong spasms. 

“I've got you, baby,” you heard, and the soft tone hardly matched the character of what Bucky had been doing just moments before. But you didn't think about it. You weren't actually thinking about anything; you were fighting for consciousness with the effects of overflowing pleasure. And you were losing, as your legs finally gave up under its weight.

Bucky took your leg off his shoulder, but held it so that when he got up from his knees, it hung at the level of his hip. He put his free hand around his length, and again you felt strangely fascinated by this – he hadn't touched himself once; until now his hands had rested only on your hips. Yet, his cock was hard, wet with precum, twitching in need. It slid into you without any difficulty, but you still felt its thickness stretching you. 

Your lips parted even more, letting out a hollow gasp, and Bucky moaned softly, closing his eyes for a moment. He didn't relish the sensation for too long – he started pounding into you, and unlike the previous times, he didn't begin with gentleness. He couldn't stop himself. He couldn't wait any longer; not since he finally had the chance to satisfy a need that had been piling up inside him for months – the need to fuck you. To fuck his wife.

You rested your hands on his shoulders, pressing your nails uncontrollably into his heated skin. You tilted your head back against the tiles, and this time their coolness did not bring you the same sobriety. And although you were once again intoxicated almost to the point of unconsciousness, your gaze wandered to the space between you – appearing there only when Bucky withdrew his hips. You watched as he thrust in and out of you, while Bucky observed your face; he absorbed your every grimace and every wince. 

His tongue left you sore and swollen, so his rubbing cock was driving you crazy with every movement. Finally, his hips were slamming against yours so fast, and your position provided you with such a perfect angle that your consciousness began to slip away again.

“Did you miss me, Y/N?” he breathed, adjusting his grip under your thigh.

“Y-yes,” you cried out.  

“How much?”

You forced yourself to look at his face, although your arching back made it difficult for you to do so. You were unable to put together a coherent thought; you were unable to speak it out loud. 

“Huh? How much?” he inquired. His face, too, revealed the near end; his mouth wasn't able to stay closed for more than a split second, and his nostrils flared, trying to provide as much precious air as possible. “Show me how much you missed me. Let me hear it, baby.”

You couldn't take it any longer; every bit of you had waited far too long. And once again, that shattering feeling came over you; this time it shot into every part of your body. You let out a few short, loud moans, and darkness spread before your eyes. Bucky came right after you – seeing the look on your face, the pleasure spreading all over it; hearing those sinful sounds leaving your mouth, his body couldn't act any differently. He went still, making a single, low growl, caught up with a series of heavy breaths as his body relaxed and pressed limply against yours. He still held your leg around his hip, and with the rest of the strength he had, he put his other hand on the wall right next to your shoulder, giving you both support. For the time you needed to recover.

Shortly after, Bucky turned off the water, and then you felt his hands on your body again; one somewhere on your back, the other under your thighs. You were exhausted and still dizzy, but you embraced his neck loosely for a better grip. And when you ended up in your husband's arms, your body was finally able to rest.

This time, the bedroom was pleasantly dim. You've had a nap once or twice since leaving the bathroom; although you slept through the whole night, there were several things that contributed to absorbing all your energy. 

You looked over your shoulder at Bucky lying next to you. Breathing slowly and quietly, he seemed to be asleep. You sat up carefully, and the mattress bending under your movements alarmed him. Not enough to wake him, but his fingers twitched nervously. If you had made another move, you would probably have snapped him out of this blissful state. So you waited for a moment, sitting still.

Finally, you lowered your feet to the floor, got up and moved silently to the bedroom door, mindlessly fixing Bucky's t-shirt – he gave it to you after the shower, since you needed something comfortable to put on. 

“Where are you sneaking off to?”

With your hand on the doorknob, you froze, then looked back slowly. Bucky's eyes stayed closed. 

“Nowhere,” you replied in a whisper; his not fully conscious state didn't require a louder tone. “Go back to sleep.”

Bucky let out a heavy sigh. You didn't want to give him a chance to say anything more, to get his mind going. So you left the room, quietly closing the door behind you. Having stepped into the kitchen, you involuntarily followed the routine you had developed over the past months – a thoughtless peek into the fridge, turning on the coffee maker, then back to the fridge, and only then did you consciously consider a meal. You reached for the eggs, and despite the coffee maker already working, you got yourself a glass of cold water. 

You stretched, then rested your palms on the countertop, your eyelids still heavy, a bit swollen. This time you didn't despise the sun, but happily exposed your face to it.

Something told you to open your eyes. Having turned your head, you rested your chin on your shoulder. Bucky was standing in the entrance to the kitchen – he was watching you, leaning against the doorframe, and when you finally noticed him, he took a seat in a high chair by the kitchen island.

“Can't sleep without me?” You raised your eyebrows.

“Looks like it,” Bucky bit back. “Actually…” he began, and his tone as well as his expression indicated that he was going to say something sincere; to break out a little from the unserious atmosphere of your conversation. “I can't remember the last time I slept so well. I guess in…” His mouth curved into a half-smile as he vaguely thought about it, “three years.” 

Your stomach knotted, forcing you to inhale deeply. 

“Did I say something wrong..?”

“No, of course not,” you protested right away. “I just didn't expect that…” you paused, unsure of what to actually respond.

“That you would work on me like that?” Bucky's calmness took away the seriousness of the situation, but that didn't mean your heart accepted this position; it pounded hard, almost painfully. “Neither did I. I get why my body acts like the body of a horny teenager around you, but I don’t get this.” 

You rolled your eyes, unable to hold back an indulgent, amused smile. 

Bucky slipped from his seat and reached for a cup to fill it with coffee. Watching him curiously, you leaned against the edge of the countertop. Until a while back, he was a stranger to you; you limited yourselves to brief glances and seemingly meaningless conversations, which in the end brought you closer together. Although you were still strangers to each other, in theory, Bucky was the closest person to you. Marriage didn't terrify you as much as it used to, because you ended up with him.

“What?” Bucky's voice brought you out of your thoughts. You must have been looking at him while drifting off.

“It’s… weird.” You squinted. He gave you a confused look. “You. Here,” you explained. “I’m not used to this. To having someone around,” you continued, coming to realize all this while making Bucky understand your thoughts. “We haven't- We haven’t really had the chance to... you know, live as a married couple.” 

“Yeah…” he agreed, looking away. 

You thought you were strangers to each other, yet you knew perfectly well that absent-minded gaze; the one combined with the thoughtless nibbling of the inside of his lower lip. You didn't want him to cast doubt on every decision that led him to this place.

“But we probably shouldn't think too much about it,” you suggested. “Do what you feel like doing. It's your home and…” You shrugged.

“My home and my wife?” Bucky tilted his head slightly, this time watching you with a somewhat challenging look.

You just smiled, considering it the only appropriate response to this gentle provocation, and turned around with the intention of continuing to prepare your meal. You managed to reach for the pan and set it on the stove when Bucky stood behind you. You heard his approaching footsteps, but rather thought he was going to put his cup in the sink. Instead, you felt his body almost against your back; he wasn't touching you, but his presence was nearly tangible.

“Is it okay if I hug you?” he asked in a low voice, and as your breath caught in your throat, his brushed your neck.

“I think so,” you didn't have to whisper, but your tone automatically matched his. 

Bucky moved as close to you as possible; his torso was in contact with your back so tightly that you could feel the quickened, uneasy beating of his heart. His arms wrapped around your body at rib height, and your hands reflexively rested on his forearms. Bucky leaned his chin on your shoulder. You didn't speak, absorbing this closeness in silence. For a moment, you forgot about the months of separation; about the fact that you weren't actually connected by true, deep affection – in that moment, it felt like you had known him forever.

He placed a light kiss on your neck, making you shiver; your shoulder lifted up to your ear, trying to cover that area.

“That’s scratchy.” You chuckled quietly. 

“I'll shave in a minute,” he muttered into your skin.

“You don't have to,” you protested right away. “I like how it feels. I don’t really mind. Besides…” You shrugged. “It suits you.”

You felt Bucky's lips, still on your neck, stretch in a smile. 

“Leave it,” he spoke after a while. “I'll get us some breakfast,” he added, and only then did you realize what he was actually talking about. 

“It's not like I was going to prepare a three course meal.” You raised your eyebrows. “Anyway…” you hesitated, letting out a deep breath. “I have to be at the gallery soon.”

Bucky groaned. “Today? Why?”

You turned around carefully enough not to break out of his embrace. You looked at his face – besides the obvious disappointment, from this distance you could see perfectly well how tired he was. You pressed your lips together, and as if that would make things better, you raised your hands to his cheeks. It appeared that you were right – the helpless displeasure in Bucky's eyes eased; he softened, relaxed under your touch.

“We are organizing a bigger exhibition. I started it while you were away, and I didn't know when you would return. I don't want to rush it,” you explained. Bucky looked at you carefully, as if to help himself process your words and come to terms with their meaning. “I also have a meeting scheduled with one investor today, so I need to be there.”

“Sure, I understand…” Bucky sighed. You were a little surprised by his stance – you thought he would appreciate a few hours to catch his breath; a few hours just for himself. Apparently, he liked you more than you assumed, and it honestly made you happy. “But I'll drive you there. And then I'll pick you up.” 

“Okay.” You beamed in a way that teenage girls used to give to boys waiting in the parking lot of the school after classes were over. “I'll go get dressed.”

When you moved away from him, Bucky imperceptibly pinched your ass, making you giggle and quicken your step towards the exit from the kitchen.

“Are you even listening to me?”

You looked directly at Adrian, saw his lips moving, but no, you weren't listening to him. At least not for the past few minutes, when the conversation began to gently drift away from the subject of the gallery. Instead of concentrating on what at some point turned into a monologue, you kept returning to your last moments with Bucky – to him showing up in the bedroom shortly after you; he had settled back on the bed, leaning on his elbow, unceremoniously watching you get dressed. Although, you didn't rid of his t-shirt until you'd put on your underwear, Bucky seemed satisfied with the view – focused almost to the point of forgetting the rest of the world, he observed you slipping into a short dress; short enough that he didn't have to put particularly much effort into getting to you when you were both filled with desire all over again.

So no, you weren't listening to Adrian. You were thinking about a quickie before work.

“Of course I am.” You smiled playfully.

“Yeah? So what did I say?”

Adrian wasn't really your investor – he didn't benefit financially. You met him through Connie, so you trusted that relationship to some extent. And at the very beginning you hoped that Adrian – as a young, fearless man – would not have hidden motivations. It quickly became clear that he was interested in you, and that you couldn't draw a hard line. His money was a comfortable addition to the gallery's business; paradoxically, it gave you more freedom. You were young and the gallery was a relatively fresh venture to say no to anyone who had shady intentions towards you.

“The usual. Y/N, go out with me. I'm begging,” you said, making Adrian laugh. Fortunately.

“So maybe you should actually consider it?” He tilted his head. “And what are you thinking about so hard anyway?”

“About my husband,” you responded without hesitation. “You know I have a husband, right? You saw the ring.”

“The thing is…” Adrian sighed. “The last time we saw each other was when? Two days ago? And you didn't have the ring. I'm sorry, but I don't believe you've managed to get married since then.” He raised his eyebrows. “I have a theory. Do you want to hear it?”

You rolled your eyes.

“I think there is actually no husband,” he continued. “You just don't want to be nagged by men. You are one of those women who are firmly convinced that they can live without one.” 

“Oh, Adrian…” you winced. “Such a pretty face, but what you just said... It ruined everything.”

“So you do like me.”

The buzz of the phone saved you from going any further on this topic. You glanced at the lit up screen.

I’m here.

You breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Is this some friend of yours? You asked her to pretend to be your ‘husband’ and get you off the hook?” Adrian almost burst out laughing. 

“Mhmm. Something like that…” you mumbled, at the same time replying to Bucky:

Can you come to my office?

You put the phone away, your gaze back on Adrian. “Do you want something to drink?” This suggestion was not only due to the fact that you preferred to treat your sponsor with appropriate courtesy; you didn't want to return to the subject of the husband he didn't believe in, and you couldn't bear to sit in silence and stare. “Because I do,” you confessed, mainly to get up from your seat and take at least a few steps away. 

“I’d love to.”

From the cabinet you kept alcohol in, you reached for a bottle of an expensive whisky. “The usual, right?” 

But Adrian had no chance to answer. He was overtaken by a knock and soon after, Bucky appeared in the entrance. Wearing the leather jacket you last saw that evening after your father's funeral, holding a helmet. Your attention, however, was caught by something else – the brief moment of confusion crossing his face. 

“Jamie,” you uttered softly. He didn't immediately shift his gaze to you. “Jamie,” you repeated after a moment – way more conscious than the first time – having remembered that you were not alone, “this is Adrian Lancy, my investor. Adrian, this is James Barnes-”

“The husband,” Bucky said, an insincere smile stretching his mouth as he shook Adrian's hand. That same smile stayed on his face when he approached you. Placing his hand on your hip, he planted a brief but tender kiss on your cheek. “Hi, babe.” He raised an eyebrow, and you stopped yourself from snorting a laugh. Bucky intended to be painfully obvious.

“Want something to drink, babe?”

Bucky glanced at your lips, then smirked. “No, I’m good.”

He put his helmet down on the desktop and took a seat in your chair. At that moment he looked stunning – very bossy; you could easily imagine him taking the throne of the Underworld; becoming the head of his Family. 

“So,” Adrian began, “you ride motorcycles, Mr. Barnes?”

“Among other things, yeah,” he confirmed without any desire to elaborate, therefore dropping the subject. “Aren't the working hours already over?” Bucky cleared his throat. “If I were insanely jealous I would think you are keeping my wife on purpose. To spend more time with her.” Again that fake, but not blatantly fake smile. 

“Are you insanely jealous?”

A short, dry laugh left Bucky's mouth. “Yeah, I guess I am.” 

Holding the drink prepared for you – a few ice cubes poured over a relatively small amount of gin and tonic – you handed the other glass of whiskey to Adrian, then perched on the edge of the desk. You needed your sponsor happy, so in an attempt to make amends for Bucky's behavior, you turned a blind eye to the fact that in this position your dress showed a little more of your body. 

“Well…” Having taken the bait, Adrian started again. “Y/N is not sitting here for free, so personally I don't see any problem. I pay for every hour.”

You didn't know if he intentionally used those exact words, but what you did know was that it took a really trivial reason for Bucky to stand up for you. And that ‘standing up’ was – in most cases – all about painful, harsh physicality. It wasn’t a problem, not for you, but it could be for your business. 

“You'd better pay her a lot, Mr. Lancy.”

You gave Adrian an apologetic look, though he didn't seem offended. But looking at that unsettling, indefinable expression on his face, you would have preferred him to be.

He emptied his glass with one tilt, then got up from his seat. “I'll get going.”

You slid off the desk, and as the men shook hands again, you walked Adrian to the door. Usually you would have accompanied him all the way to the exit of the gallery, but this time you both decided not to get under Bucky's skin any deeper.

Having closed the door, you leaned your back against its surface. Bucky was standing by the desk with his hands in his pockets. He was looking at you with a softness you didn't think you deserved, but there was something else to it.

“You didn’t punch him…” You squinted curiously. “Why?”

Taken aback, Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Did you want me to punch him? I can still catch up to him-”

“No, it's not necessary,” you said, ignoring the tease in his tone. You tilted your head to the side, folding your arms. “I'm just wondering why you spared him.”

“You almost showed him your pants,” he replied, shrugging indifferently. You parted your lips, ready to express offense, but Bucky was right – indeed, you almost showed Adrian your pants. “I gathered he must be important for you. That's why I didn't want to blow it.”

You smiled with affection.

“I'm not sure how to feel about all this,” Bucky continued, squinting slightly. “I'm not surprised. Jealous, yes, but not surprised.” 

“Meaning..?”

“I’m impressed by how you act on men. How you deal with them,” he said. “John Walker, now Adrian, and even... Even me. You wrap everyone you meet around your finger. But I knew that. I knew that from the very beginning,” he stated, frowning. “You're a fucking magnet.” He snorted quietly. 

“Are you mad..?” you asked, your voice so soft it surprised him.

“No, of course not,” he assured immediately. “It's… pretty amazing. But they think they can say and do whatever they want. And that's the part that worries me. That one of these men will go too far, and I won't be around to stop them.” 

You lowered your gaze. You didn't even realize when your fingers began to play nervously with the fabric of your dress. Bucky was right – you were able to deal with men in a way that would benefit you. But it wasn’t like that with him; you didn't want his money, you didn't want favors, you didn't care if he agreed to your every request. You just wanted to be liked by him. Tolerated by him.

“Do you need money, Y/N?” Bucky asked calmly. “Do you need Lancy’s money?”

Lifting your head so fast your neck almost snapped, you looked up at Bucky. A wave of unpleasant heat spread all over your body. You didn’t say a word about that, yet he knew everything. “No,” you lied. 

“Are you sure? Because I have money. And now it's your money, too.”

“Yes, I know,” you replied, giving him the most beaming grin you could afford – hoping to dissuade him from any possible doubts. “Can you take me home now?”

Bucky also smiled, so you got the impression that he believed you, and as a result, wouldn't return to the subject. He grabbed your purse, took his helmet off the desk and walked to you. He watched you with the same cocky smirk when you tried to take your purse from him, but at first he didn't want to let it go.

“Are you flirting with me, Mr. Barnes?” You raised your eyebrow.

“Maybe,” he said casually, shrugging, then reached behind your back to open the door. “Mrs. Barnes.” He nodded. Ignoring the butterflies in your stomach – without much effect – you gave him an indulgent look.

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

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[suntamer]

May we know more of the lore of miss enkha please 🥺👉👈

(I am a half orc appreciation blog and love your misses and must know more about her cause I love her 🧡)

owo, the opportunity to talk about my specialist girl in the whole world?? this makes me so incredibly happy because i've been dying to share more about her! before i get into it, though, i just wanna give a little content warning for forced sex work and mentions of assault. i don't wanna bother anyone by just diving in. her backstory is rough, but she isn't. ♡

for a very long time, there was much of enkha's life that she just did not remember. she knew that she was born into a family, as everyone was, but she could only recall bits and pieces of them rather than whole figures with names and faces and histories. she knew that at the center, there was a very sad woman, but she could never remember her face, only clammy hands and furious little whispers. what she remembered was the denmother of the fox hollow, taking her off of someone's hands with only generosity in her heart, giving her work rather than letting her starve on the streets or worse. after all, what is a half-orc child but a bloody risk? there was almost love there, sometimes, if you tilted your head and squinted. enkha wouldn't consider it such, not anymore, not now that she knows better. she spent her first fifteen years learning how to clean bedsheets and weathering the world around her. neverwinter wasn't unkind; it was oblivious, uncaring. she only ever left the hollow to follow behind the denmother -- who she was already taller than by thirteen. "when will she be on offer?" men and women asked the denmother. they teased, "you better be training her right." the training began shortly after her seventeenth birthday, once she began putting on genuine muscle, once she reached a steady 6'3. most of the other girls in the den had started when they were much younger, but not her, not when the denmother had a specific role in mind for her.

despite her gentle nature and her even gentler touch, she was hauled by the scruff of her neck into the typical female orc fantasy for patrons who didn't know better and didn't care. all they wanted was a tall, broad woman to throw them around, one with tusks that prodded sharply out from her soft lips, one with a deeper voice and a harsh nature, keen to put them in their place. enkha was miserable. the role clawed in under her skin over time, changing down to her bones how she saw herself. not as a girl, but as a conqueror, as a monster, as someone meant for only one thing. any thoughts of freedom or romance or a life worth more than a coin in her palm were smothered in their sleep. there would be none of that, not for someone like her. she would ever be punished for the sins of her father. until... until. at twenty-two, she received a paying customer who entered her room without a word, lifting a hand when she demanded that he remove his hood so that she might see his face. only once the door to her chamber was solidly shut and solidly locked did he slip back his hood, as she'd ordered of him. he was a golden-haired young man, no older than twenty, but his eyes were strikingly familiar. they were the same brown as her own. gran micov was his name – allegedly, the only child of livia micov and heir to his grandfather's underground empire. except, he claimed, he was not the only child born of her. she was half-mad by forty, and nothing could stop her from slipping in mentions and memories of what had come of what had happened to her farther north, nothing short of cutting out her tongue. not only did her mother have a name, but so did her grandfather. there were names and faces and truths, outside of the hollow, and gran gave them to her... along with her freedom from the denmother, which had proved to be no small expense. after all, devya micov owned her and her brothel, and enkha was his daughter's misbegotten mistake.

but, in the end, gold swayed even the denmother, and enkha was let loose by her young, foolish half-brother. gran micov taught her everything she knows of stealth, of assassination, of cloak and dagger and death. he taught her about what jobs to take and which to avoid like they were plagued. he taught her how to spend her money and how to keep it. but beyond that, he bought her a spool of pretty cream-colored ribbon and a dress of a green so rich, it made her skin look almost golden. he showed her what she was capable of. he showed her that she could be precisely what she wanted to be. and what she wanted to be was so far away from neverwinter and devya micov and the fox hollow that she couldn't even remember what the warm waters of neverwinter river looked like. so, she traveled south along the high road, keeping to herself for the most part but taking occasional bounty hunting work to keep herself fed, stopping for a moment in waterdeep to buy supplies as well as purchase passage on a trading vessel headed towards baldur's gate. that was how she crossed paths with an aspiring tailor who would later be called figaro pennygood, though they started off on something of a bad foot considering his immediate assumptions about her temperament. those did not last, and by the time they reached their destination, he'd offered her work. would he ever cross paths again with a woman willing to kill his competitors for something as simple as a dress? unlikely. and so began their short, but ultimately mutually beneficial partnership. it lasted for upwards of a year before they parted ways – enkha with a closet full of sumptuous gowns, and figaro with something akin to a monopoly on fashion in the upper city. not because she could not continue her career as a tailor's assassin or because he could no longer afford her, but because she feared the person she became while killing.

the bloodlust that overtook her was a terrifying one and something that she fought valiantly against each and every time she fought, every time she spilled blood.

so, rather than continuing to take up her daggers, she looked into work with the guild, hoping that she might be able to ply her work as a surprisingly adept thief rather than continuing the bloody work of a hired killer.

thieving was easier. thieving didn't leave her feeling sick to her stomach. thieving could put food on the table without making her feel as if she wasn't worthy of eating it. around this time is when she's snatched up by the nautolid. she's twenty-six and just making a name for herself and coming into her own, and she's slurped up onto this mindflayer vessel and tadpoled and thrown into this entirely new world of being a hero, something that she never knew she was capable of but wanted desperately her entire life. this is when she discovers that she's capable of being soft, too. that her dressing up and putting ribbons in her hair wasn't a masquerade, but who she was always meant to be. :>

[msjansaccountant]

Hey y'all!

Today I'm going to give an abridged review of a scene from a movie that is very near and dear to my heart. I'll be discussing the "where there's a whip, there's a way" scene from the 1980 animated adaptation of The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King.

Before we jump into it, I'll just say that this scene is a 10/10. Fucking brilliant. It is peerless, and nothing before or after will ever match its quality.

The scene starts with a relentlessly groovy synth bass line as we transition to a procession of singing orcs. For those of you weaned on the teat of Peter Jackson's trilogy, you might find singing orcs to be a bit befuddling. I did too, until I actually read the books and found out that they're chock-a-block with cunts singing about anything and everything.

Which brings me to a side tangent.

I hate the songs in The Lord of the Rings. Not that I'm against music, not at all, I'm just against songs in books. My issue is that I have to invent the melody I think best fits what I'm reading. And let me tell you, the melodies I invent are shit house. Everytime I have to read another one of Tolkien's songs I'm reminded by my own musical inadequacies.

Anyways, back to the regular scheduled programming

Skipping ahead a bit (the first minute and a half of this scene is just orcs whining about how they don't wanna go to war). We find our good pals, Frodo and Sam, sleeping on a rock. And boy oh boy are they fucked looking. Whoever designed the hobbits in these animated movies really went ham with these hobbits, creating some of the most foul creatures I've ever laid eyes upon.

I feel sick just looking at Bilbo. It's the eyes that really frighten me. Anyways, shock horror, the boys wake up to broad daylight and, oh no! The Lord of the lash thinks they're orcs and is getting them to march.

We're then treated to another solid 20 seconds of orcs singing the same shit. Then Samwise comes out with an absolute scathing remark, saying "I'd rather be singing a good old Hobbit song myself." Fuck yes Sam. Tell it like it is.

The orc army comes to a fork in the road at the same time as an army of Easterlings (I'm assuming they're Easterlings, I might be wrong). The Easterling general pushes over the Lord of the lash, telling him that men get to march before orcs. For some reason the Lord of the lash, instead of fighting back like orcs always do, gets all coy and submissive and is like "🥺👉👈 okay".

Then Sam, ever the shit stirrer, decides to take advantage of the racial tension between the orcs and men to goad the Lord of the lash into starting a fucking race war. He does this ostensibly to create a diversion so him and Frodo can slip away, but I can't shake the feeling that he did this out of some sick, sadistic desire to watch the world burn.

The scene ends with Sam and Frodo running away as we see glimpses of the devastation wrought by Sam play out in the background.

Well, that wasn't really a review so much as it was a retelling of what happened. I guess I'll give my actual review here.

I do really think the song is groovy as shit. It's catchy, the whip sound effect slaps, the choir sounds great. I think the mood of the song is a bit strange though; I never really thought of the orcs as resenting being sent to war. War kind of seemed like their favourite thing (to me at least). I'm also a fan of the voice acting for pretty much everyone, barring the Easterling general. Special credit goes to the whip master, fucking love that guy's voice. I do have to question why, in a movie so strapped for time, they decide to give this scene a full 4 and a half minutes to play out. I have to respect the choice, though, even if I think it's a weird one. Sam starting shit is always funny to see, so that's a big plus.

Once again, I give this scene a 10/10. I probably rewatch it about once a month, and I hope I've visible all of you to do the same.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

I think I know the answer but 👉👈 #39¿ #50¿¿

39. How often do you listen to music?

(If you think you know then I guess I talk too much about music haha)

C o n s t a n t l y

If it is possible for me to be listening to music, trust me, I am. Spotify crashed yesterday in my area and I, already having had a shitty day, was instantly like Oh No There Goes My Hundreds and Hundreds Of Hours Of Music- It Must Be Time To SoB If It Doesn't Come Back lol (because I do back up my music on other platforms but... like once a month, if that, so their would've been music lost).

50. What's your type?

Uhhh hard question, hard question. I mean a) I honestly don't know and b) whatever my type is would be so fucking broad because I like men, I like women, and I like people who identify otherwise either between or not one of the bindery ends of the spectrum, y’know? Like, its not as simple as brunettes for example. Although, chances are, if you have a passion for something and are really intelligent about that passion/really into that passion, I'd find you attractive. I like people that like things? I mean just look at my male celebrity crushes that actually stuck around: Patrick Stump (music extraordinaire), Spencer Reid (ridiculously, ridiculously intelligent), Chris Evans/Sebastian Stan (both incredibly skillful actors (although now I'm not so much crushing on them as wanting to direct them to each other lol)).

Hopefully that suffices lol!