#SARGE HE CALLED HER SARGE | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sergeantbarnessdoll · 18 days

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ok… 1940s Bucky Barnes (who is currently in the army) meets the pinup girl he has on the wall in his bunk(aka the reader)and he immediately tries to get with her but so do all the other soldiers and he gets all sulky about it but little does he know she really likes him

(you can include smit if you want but I don’t mind; all your fics are fantastic anyway ☺️✌️)

Make Me Yours » 40s Bucky Barnes

Pairings: 40s Bucky Barnes x Pinup Girl!Reader

Summary: When bucky meets his favorite pinup girl, he tries to get with her and he notices other soldiers trying to get with her too which he doesn’t like at all, but little does he know that she likes him.

Warnings: mix of Fluff and Smut (18+), language, alcohol, flirting, little bit of jealousy, kissing, hickeys, fingering, female receiving, unprotected sex, praise kink, size kink, Bucky’s dog tags, pet names

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anonymous person who requested this🩵

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators. I found it on Pinterest.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

Bucky’s jaw dropped when he seen you, his favorite pinup girl, when him and Steve walked in the bar. Steve was telling Bucky something, but Bucky wasn’t listening. All he was doing was staring at you.

“Bucky, are you listening to anything I’m saying?” Steve asks.

Bucky didn’t say anything. He just continued to stare at you. Steve followed Bucky’s gaze to you.

“Isn’t she the pinup girl on the poster you have in your bunk?” Steve asks.

“Yes.” Bucky answers. “I’m going to go talk to her. Wish me luck.” He says, walking away.

Steve sat down at a table and decided to watch. Bucky walked up to the bar counter and ordered a beer before talking to you. He couldn’t help but admire your beauty. You felt his gaze on you and looked at him.

“You know, it’s rude to stare.” You jokingly say, taking a sip of your drink.

“I’m not staring. I’m simply admiring your beauty.” He says, taking a sip of his beer.

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N.” You introduced yourself, holding out your hand.

“Sergeant James Barnes. Everyone calls me Bucky.” He introduces himself, shaking your hand.

“Sergeant, huh?” You say, admiring the way he looks in his Army uniform.

“Would you like to hangout with me and my friend?” He asks curiously.

“I would love that.” You say with a smile.

You two ordered more drinks before going over to the table where Steve is.

“Steve, this is Y/N.” Bucky tells him.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” Steve shakes your hand. “Captain Steve Rogers.” He introduces himself.

“You’re a Captain and Bucky’s a Sergeant. It looks like the three of us are going to get along just fine.” You say, looking at Bucky.

Bucky grins as he took a sip of his beer. He pulled your chair closer to him and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. You spent the whole night talking to Bucky and Steve.

“I wish I could stay longer, but I have things to do tomorrow.” You say, standing up.

“I’ll walk you home.” Bucky says, standing up.

“What a gentleman.” You complimented. “Most of the soldiers I met just want me for one thing.” You say.

“I’m not like most soldiers, doll.” He says.

You said goodbye to Steve and left the bar with Bucky. Bucky wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him.

“What’re you doing, Sarge?” You asked.

“Just protecting you, doll face.” Bucky says, smiling down at you.

As you two were walking, you two started a conversation. Before you two knew it, you were on your doorstep.

“Thank you for walking me home, Sergeant.” You say with a smile.

“Anytime, babydoll.” Bucky says, smiling.

Before you knew it, Bucky’s lips were on yours. You were caught by surprise, but kissed him back.

“That was one hell of a kiss, Sarge.” You say, biting your bottom lip.

“That’s just a little preview for what’s to come, doll.” He says in a flirty tone.

Over the next few weeks, you and Bucky got to know each other more and gotten closer. His flirty nature and pickup lines are growing on you. Bucky is just having fun with it.

Bucky walked in the bar, smiling when he seen you. His smile slowly faded away when he seen you talking to a soldier who isn’t him at a table on the other side of the bar. He couldn’t help but feel jealous. He tried to not let it show when he walked over to you.

“Bucky!” You say with a smile.

“Hey, doll.” Bucky says, smiling as you two hugged.

Bucky sat down in the chair next to you and put his arm around your shoulder.

“Are you and Barnes a thing?” The soldier asks.

You opened your mouth to answer him, but Bucky beat you to it.

“Not yet, but we will be.” Bucky says, answering for you.

The soldier scoffed and downed the rest of his drink before standing up.

“When you’re done with him, you know where to find me.” The soldier says with a wink before leaving.

Bucky watched as the soldier walked out of the bar. He wanted nothing more than to beat his ass for talking to you.

“Are you ok, Bucky?” You asked with concern in your voice.

“I’m fine.” He says, taking a sip of his drink.

You didn’t think much of it so you didn’t press on about it. Bucky’s jealousy never left. He felt jealousy bubbling up inside of him anytime a soldier was talking to you. Later that week, you noticed Bucky’s mood was different from when you first met him. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but you were going to find out one way or another.

“Bucky, what’s wrong? Talk to me.” You say, putting a comforting hand on his arm.

Bucky sighs and took a sip of his beer before saying anything.

“I don’t like you talking to other soldiers.” He says.

You could hear the jealousy in his voice.

“I don’t want them. I want you.” You tell him.

“What?” He asks, making sure he heard you right.

“I like you, Bucky. I have for a while.” You admitted.

You leaned in and kissed his lips. He immediately kissed you back.

“How about you take me to your bunk and I’ll prove it to you.” You say seductively.

Bucky didn’t have to think twice about that. He downed the rest of his drink and put some money on the bar counter before grabbing your hand and left the bar. The second you two got to his bunk. He pinned you against the closed door, kissing you hungrily. You moaned against his lips. His hands found the bottom of your dress and pulled it over your head, dropping it on the floor. He practically moan at what you were wearing under your dress. It’s the same outfit as the one you wore in the picture on his wall. He felt his cock get hard.

“Fuck…” Bucky is speechless. “You look sexier in this in person.” He says, continuing to admire the way your body looks in it.

“You should see me without it.” You say seductively.

Bucky watched as you reached your arms behind your back to unclasp your bra and dropped it on the floor. You took your panties off and stepped out of them. Bucky’s eyes were clouded with lust. His cock became uncomfortably hard in his pants. He led you to his bed and laid you down on it. You sat up on your elbows as you watched him undress. He spread your legs and got in between them. He kissed down your body, stopping at your pussy. He looked up at you, waiting for permission which you gave him. Bucky’s tongue licked in between your wet folds, moaning at your taste. His tongue circled your clit before he latched his lips on it and started sucking on it. He began eating you out like his life depends on it.

“Oh fuck!” You moaned, tilting your head back.

One of your hands found its way to his head, running your fingers through his hair before tugging on it while your other hand was clutching the sheet beneath you. His tongue moved up and down in between your folds, teasing your entrance with the tip of his tongue. His tongue went back to your clit, licking it in a flicking motion. A moan fell from your lips when Bucky unexpectedly slid one of his fingers in your pussy, moving it in and out of you at a slow pace.

“You’re so good at this!” You moaned.

You looked down, watching as Bucky ate you out. His eyes flickered up at you, making eye contact with you. He slid another finger inside of you and increased his movements. Your arms gave out and you laid on your back and laid your head on the pillow. Bucky’s free hand snaked up your body, stopping at your breasts. His thumb rubbed over your nipple before pinching it, making you gasp and send a new sensation through your body. Bucky repeated his actions on your other breast, earning the same reaction from you. You arched your back, pressing your breasts more into his hand. Bucky gave both of your breasts a squeeze. Your cunt squeezed around his fingers.

“Oh Bucky!” You moaned loudly.

Your moans were like music to Bucky’s ears. His movements got faster, helping your orgasm build up. Your lower stomach tightened, feeling your orgasm coming closer and closer.

“I’m so close!” You moaned more in a whimper.

Bucky didn’t let up on his movements with his tongue and fingers. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you came. Bucky’s movements came to a slow stop and he pulled his fingers out of your pussy and sat up.

“Fuck…” Bucky moans as he licked your release off of his fingers.

He leaned down and kissed you hungrily. Your hands roamed his body. One of your hands went down to his hard cock. You wrapped your hand around it and began pumping it in your hand. You rubbed your thumb over his tip, using his precum as a lubricant. Bucky moaned against your lips. He looked down at his cock in your hand. Both of you watched as you guided his cock to your pussy, rubbing in between your folds and covering it in your slick. His hand replaced yours, lining his cock at your entrance. He slowly slid his cock inside of you, inch by inch. Your jaw dropped, moaning when you felt every vein of his cock rubbing along your walls.

“Holy shit…” You gasped. “You’re big!” You moaned, feeling his cock stretch your pussy.

Bucky spread your legs wider, looking down at where the two of you are connected, watching as his cock filled your pussy. He gave you a moment to adjust to his size before thrusting. You nodded, letting him know that he can start thrusting. He pulled almost all the way out, only leaving his tip inside of you and thrusted back inside of you.

“Oh Bucky!” You moaned loudly.

Bucky leaned over you and placed his arms on either side of his head, caging you between his strong arms. You were mesmerized by his Army dog tags swinging every time he thrusted into you. You couldn’t help but grab the chain and yank on them to kiss him sloppily. You two moaned against each other’s lips. Bucky moaned his lips down to your neck, his teeth nipping on your skin hard enough for a hickey. You couldn’t help but give him a hickey too.

“You look so gorgeous right now.” Bucky says huskily.

Your hands roamed his body, reaching around to his back. You felt his muscles flexing with every thrust. Your nails dug in his skin, making him hiss at the feeling.

“You know…” He breathes. “I’ve been dreaming of this.” He admits.

“Oh yea?” You say, tilting your head back against the pillow.

Bucky took the opportunity to kiss along the column of your throat. One of his hands roamed your body, stopping on your thigh. He lifted your leg and placed it on his hip. That created a new angle for his cock to go deeper. A loud moan left your lips when his cock hit your sweet spot.

“Oh fuck yes!” You moaned. “Right there!” You tell him.

“Did I find your sweet spot, babydoll?” He asks, smirking.

“Yes!” You gasped. “Please don’t stop!” You say.

“I fucking won’t.” He practically growls.

His thrusts sped up. His other hand found its way down to your clit and began rubbing it in circles. Your pussy squeezed around his cock at the feeling.

“I’m never letting you go after this.” He says panting.

“Then don’t.” You say. “Make me yours, Sarge.” You moaned in his ear.

Bucky nearly came on the spot when you said that. It’s like a flip switched inside of him. His thrust sped up more if it’s even possible. His cock hit your sweet spot repeatedly, along with his fingers rubbing your clit faster to help you build up your second orgasm.

“I’m close again!” You whimpered, digging your nails more in his back.

“Cum for me, doll face.” Bucky says huskily.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and a loud moan of his name left your lips. Bucky gave your clit one last rub before chasing his own high. His thrusts became sloppy for a moment, but he quickly regained rhythm.

“Fuck…” He pants. “Can I cum inside of you, babydoll?” He asks.

“Yes!” You say more in a moan.

Your name left his lips as he came inside of you, painting your walls. His thrusts came to a slow stop. He pulled out and laid down next to you. He covered the two of you up with a blanket and pulled you closer to him. You laid your head on his chest while he wrapped his arm around you.

“You’re definitely coming home with me after the war.” Bucky says after a few minutes.

“I’m completely fine with that.” You say with a smile, your fingers playing with his dog tags.

🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖🪖

-Bucky’s Doll

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captainfern · 1 year

Text

Lithium

Captain John Price x fem!reader

["Lithium" by Nirvana]

[18+]

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• summary - a new recruit has taken a liking to you. price has to remind you who you belong too lol. • rating - 18+ [mdni] • wordcount - 4.6k • warnings - fem!reader, angry sex fr, unprotected piv, jealous!price, possessive!price, slight dom!price, breeding kink [blushes like a slut], praise kink, alludes to age gap, superiority kink? idk most likely, orgasm denial, MAD dirty talk, strong language

the gif AAAAHHHHH he’s so FINE STOP

i have something inappropriate to say !!!!!!!! i’ll just have to write it instead 😈

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

You thought the new recruit was really nice! For a rookie, he was good at his job: handled a gun well, and safely; did as he was told and followed all kinds of instructions; he even called Ghost and Price, higher ranking members, sir.

He was referred to as Rex. And, for the past few weeks, you and him had been spending almost every waking day with each other. You’d spend watch together, clean the tents together, do the inventory on the armoury together. He seemed like a genuinely kind person.

Price would disagree.

He didn’t like Rex. At all. Laswell had asked the captain why he hated the rookie so much. Price didn’t really have an answer, but broiled it down to the fact that he was too much of an over-achiever. Laswell just rolled her eyes.

But Rex treated you kindly and fairly and would come to your aid when the other boys decided to have fun annoying you— a common occurrence on (and off) base.

“Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, sergeant?” Soap would chide, noticing your disgruntled appearance after taking up the last watch.

“You wouldn’t exactly be a ray of sunshine if you were running on two hours of sleep, would you, Soap?” Rex then responded.

You had smiled gratefully at him.

Now, however, after nearly a month of working alongside each other, his demeanour towards you changed. He was cheekier, offering you flirty remarks on missions. He was persistant in spending watch with you, or training with you. Any opportunity to get closer to you? Yeah, he took it.

Price hated it.

You didn’t notice, of course, that your captain had grown to detest the new recruit. Making him run an extra mile during training; stationing him on watch alone in the early hours of the morning; even confiscating contraband that Price knew everyone else had.

You assumed that the rookie was just being put through his paces.

The assumption didn’t last long.

It was a rainy night on base. The sun had set behind the horizon, covered in heavy grey clouds, bursting with water. The rain was falling thick and fast, churning the dirt around the barracks into mud.

In the main room of the barracks, you and your taskforce were playing a game of pool, enjoying each other’s company with a bottle of beer in hand.

You leaned against your pool cue, half-empty bottle of your go-to alcohol in your hand. You watched as Gaz lined up his shot and sunk a ball, before proceeding to miss his second shot by just a margin, the white ball balancing precariously near one of the holes.

“You’re up, sarge.” Gaz mock-saluted at you, grabbing his beer from off the edge of the pool table.

Next to you, Rex offered you some words of encouragement. “You’ve got this.”

You smiled at him, handing him your drink before you wandered over to the other side of the table. You leaned carefully over the edge, lining up your shot and sinking your last remaining ball— a yellow one. You moved around the table, your last ball— the black one— sitting, tauntingly, in the middle of the table. The white ball was close by.

“Come on, sarge,” Gaz smirked from the opposite end of the table. “You miss this, you lose.”

You rolled your eyes, bending yourself over the table as you drew your cue nearer to the white ball, angling it with one eye closed. Rex was right behind you, his gaze flicking downwards for just a millisecond as your arse brushed up against his front.

That millisecond probably cost him his life.

Across the room, Price saw it. Of course he fucking saw it. He sat on the couch, Ghost beside him, a cigar in one hand and a crystal glass of scotch in the other. His grip on the glass grew white-knuckled as he watched Rex, again, rake his eyes up the expanse of your back.

“Something the matter, captain?” Ghost asked, arm stretched atop the back of the couch.

Price took a deep breath, shaking his head. “No.”

Back at the pool table, you finally took the shot: sinking the black ball and allowing the white one to bounce harmlessly against the edge of the table, rolling to a stop in the middle of the green.

You jumped in excitement, dropping your pool cue and automatically wrapping your arms around Rex’s waist. He lifted his arms, avoiding spilling both your drinks as you laughed against him.

“Take that, Garrick!”

“Lucky shot.” He mused, before turning to Soap. “Fancy a game, mate?”

You handed Soap your pool cue, taking your drink from Rex. You excused yourself, heading outside to take in some of the damp, but fresh air as the rain fell hard before you. You sheltered beneath the overhang of the building, only small splatters of icy water hitting lightly against your bare arms.

You heard the door behind you open and close, footsteps approaching you, echoing against the cold concrete.

“You alright?” Rex asked, sidling up beside you, hands in his pockets.

Your bottle now empty, you placed it on the ground with a clink. When you stood back up, leaning against the building, you wrapped your arms around yourself. “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you alright?”

“I’m great.” He said, eyes dropping down to your face. You felt him looking at you, even when you were staring out into the blur of the rain, admiring the pulsing shadows stretching outwards, for miles.

You offered him a small smile as you returned his gaze.

“I like you a lot.” He suddenly said, a light blush on his cheeks as you raised your eyebrows at him.

You pat him fondly on the arm. “I like you too, Rex.”

“No, I mean…” He got closer to you, the warmth of his body radiating onto yours. His chest brushed lightly against your arm. “I really like you. You’re… god… you’re so beautiful.”

You snapped your head up to look at him, your shock evident on your face. “You like me, Rex? Like a crush, eh?”

He laughed. “I guess so. Look, I think you’re an absolutely gorgeous person, inside and out. I was wondering, if you’re comfortable with it, of course, if you’d want to go to dinner some time?”

You gave him a soft smile. “You’re asking me on a date?”

Rex averted his eyes, smiling bashfully with reddening cheeks, before he locked eyes with you again, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Yeah, I am. But you don’t have to make a decision now! There’s no rush, I swear.”

You hid a chuckle at his rambling, placing a gentle hand on his forearm. “I’d love to go to dinner with you, Rex.”

He beamed, a lopsided smile spreading across his face. He looked down at you, moving a hand up to cup your cheek, thumb running along your cheekbone. His eyes darted all around your face, settling on your lips one too many times for you not to take notice of.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, voice soft.

You nodded, and allowed the rookie to carefully place his lips to yours; one hand on your cheek, the other on your waist. You had your arms around his neck as he kissed you— gentle, guiding.

It didn’t last long.

“What the fuck are you two doing out here?” Price’s voice cut through the night like a knife, and you and Rex jolted apart.

Rex saluted Price as the captain stood in the doorway, arms folded across his broad chest. His cigar hung from his lips, but he tossed it out into the rain as he stared daggers at Rex.

“Price, we were just—” You went to speak, but Price silenced you with a sharp glare.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Price said sternly. “You, get to bed. I’ll deal with you in the morning.” He pointed to Rex.

Rex sighed, glancing at you once more time over his shoulder before doing what he was told and entering the base, heading to bed. Price then looked over at you, his large arms still framing the muscular expanse of his chest.

You stared back at him. “What?”

“My office. Now.” Then, he was gone, slamming the door behind him hard enough that the hinges rattled.

The loud music coming from inside synced with the erratic beating of your own heart.

You were fucked.

•°•

You wrapped your knuckles on the door of Price’s office, shifting your weight nervously as you heard him bark out a come in.

You entered the room, dimly lit with a large wooden desk in the middle. Price sat at his desk, a fresh cigar resting in a crystal ashtray, a coil of smoke curling upwards. He looked up at you, leaning back in his chair with his arms across his chest.

You sighed inwardly. “Captain—”

“Shut the door.”

You did so, leaning your back against it. You cleared your throat. “Look, I—”

“Lock it.”

You blinked at him, but did as you were told: twisting the lock shut. When it clicked, Price beckoned you to take a seat on the opposite side of his desk.

You approached warily, the alcohol you had been drinking suddenly dispersing from your veins. You slowly sank down onto a chair across from him, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach as he stared you down.

“You and the rookie, eh?”

Your eyes darted to his. “What?”

“You and the rookie,” he grunted, picking up his cigar and taking a drag. “Getting a bit cosy.”

You slowly shook your head. “Price, look, he asked me to dinner, and I said yes. If you’re worried about us doing stuff on base, we would never—”

“I don’t care if you do stuff on base,” he emphasised stuff with a furrow of his brow. “I care about who you do it with.”

You scoffed. “What’s the matter with Rex, then? He’s a great recruit—”

“He’s overzealous.”

“He has great potential—”

“He’s inexperienced.”

“He’s genuinely kind—”

“He’s not good enough for you.”

You stopped. You looked at Price, confused. He dropped his cigar back onto the ashtray, unfolding his arms and getting to his feet. You watched him curiously as he rounded the desk and came to stand before you, resting his backside against the edge of the desk.

He looked down at you, arms holding the side of his desk. You looked up at him, hands fidgeting in your lap. The silence would have been palpable if not for the distant thrum of music, blasting from the main room of the barracks.

“He’s not good enough for you, end of story.” Price said, voice low.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re not my dad. Who are you to dictate who is or isn’t good enough for me?”

His eyes darkened. “I am your captain, your superior.”

You stared at him for a moment. “If I knew any better, captain, I’d say you were jealous.”

His expression shifted. “You think I’m jealous of him? Of that kid?” His voice was low and thick and you were feeling nervous. “Stand up.” He ordered.

You did.

He closed the gap between the two of you, his lips near your ear, his strong chest brushing against yours.

“Do you want me to show you jealous, sergeant?”

You swallowed thickly, a heartbeat beginning to form in your cunt. What the hell?!, you thought.

Despite the conflicting emotions raging through your head, you nodded. Damn it, you nodded. And a tiny smirk flitted across his face, before he whirled you around and picked you up, sitting you on the edge of his desk.

His mouth slammed against yours, knocking the breath out of you. You struggled to keep up as the kiss progressed, all teeth and tongue and spit. He had one hand in your hair, angling your head to shove his tongue further into your mouth. The other hand was on the small of your back, pressing your pelvis against his.

You wrapped your legs around his middle, your hands flying up to steady yourself, holding onto his back. He pushed you closer to him, his hardening cock pressing into your clothed core and making you whine into the kiss.

He tasted of scotch and smoke and sin. His tongue delved into your mouth, smoothing against yours, tasting you. He grunted, tugging on your hair and ripping your mouth away from his, a string of saliva connecting the two of you. He gazed down at you, pupils expanded. You returned the gaze with watery eyes.

“That was a fucking kiss, not like what he gave you outside,” he growled, grinding you harder into his clothed cock. You mewled at the sensations, cunt aching in your underwear. He still had a hold on your hair as he began to kiss down your neck, across your pulse point. “He could never make you feel like this.”

Price sucked hickeys across your neck, where they wouldn’t be covered by your uniform. As he skimmed his teeth and laved his tongue, his hand travelled from your hair, down your front, skimming across your breasts and down to the hem of your shirt.

“Take it off.” He said, pulling away, lips shining.

You did. You yanked it over your head and tossed it away. He hummed, pleased, before closing the gap again. This time, he pressed his lips to the underside of your jaw as he unclasped your bra, pulling it off of you. You cradled his head as he dragged his mouth downwards, skimming over the soft flesh of your chest and onto your tits.

“Price—!” You whined out as he sucked bruises across the flesh of your breasts.

He grunted, switching between the two, before he pulled back and slammed his mouth to yours again. You responded as best you could, mind cloudy, meeting his tongue with your own, whimpering into his mouth.

“He could never make you feel this good, love.” He grunted, pushing himself closer to you.

Then, his hands were on your pants— unbuttoning, unzipping, and after a couple of seconds, they were discarded across the room. You immediately keened as he raked his eyes down your mostly-naked form. His gaze stopped on your underwear.

“You wore these for him, huh?” He questioned darkly, running a finger along the waistband.

They were your favourite pair, nice and pretty. All you “work” underwear were being washed.

You shook your head adamantly. “No, no, captain—”

“Then who’d you wear them for?” He interrupted you, running his finger over your clothed slit. The fabric was damp with your arousal, and he tutted softly at you. “Who’re you getting all pretty for? Who gets to see you in these?”

You were panting like a dog. His finger, running up and down your clothed slit, unfurled sensations within you that made you whine. The friction was a godsend, your aching cunt leaking into the fabric with every stroke of his thick finger.

“Answer me.”

You yelped as he hooked a finger along the edge and lifted it, letting it go with a snap against your inner thigh.

“You wanted the rookie to see you in these, huh?”

“No,” you whined, gripping at his shirt. “You, Price, you.”

“Me?” He chuckled beneath his breath. “You wore these pretty things for me?”

You nodded frantically, his finger resting over your clothed clit, pushing heavier and heavier against it as he spoke.

“You wore these for your captain? Then you went off flirting with another man? Naughty girl you are, sergeant.”

You shook your head, tears in your eyes as he began to draw tight, firm circles against your throbbing clit, the friction of your underwear making you whimper.

“Wasn’t flirting,” you sobbed, desperate. “Was just— ah— was just being nice.”

Price hummed above you, still rubbing your clit slowly. “Just being nice? So letting him kiss you was just you being nice?”

You whined, body warming. You were scrambling for purchase, hands groping up and down his torso, tugging at his tee. With his other hand, he grabbed both your wrists, holding them between your bodies. His other hand still stroked you, moving faster now.

“You want to get fucked? Want this wet fucking cunt stuffed with cock, huh?”

You whined and panted and let tears slip down your cheeks. Your body was hot, mind hazy, cunt throbbing beneath the pressure of his finger. You nodded blindly, looking up at him with tears of pleasure in your vision.

“Please—!”

“Who do you want to fuck you?” Price growled, shoving his finger beneath the fabric of your underwear and finally making direct contact with your swollen clit. “Want the rookie to fuck this cunt? Want the rookie’s cock, do you?”

He dragged two fingers down your slit, collecting your arousal. Then, he pushed them into your sopping hole, right up to the knuckle. You moaned, breathy and desperate, still sat upright on his desk. Price held your wrists, grounding you to the sleek wood.

“No, no, no,” you babbled, his fingers starting to move in and out, quicker and quicker. “Want you, Price. Want your cock— ah, ah— please. Want you to fuck me—” you cut yourself off with a whiney moan.

“That’s fucking right,” Price said, letting go of your wrists and moving his hand to your lower back, holding you steady. “This cunt’s all wet for me. Gonna fuck you so good, love. Gonna mould this pretty cunt to the shape of my cock.”

Abruptly, he pulled his fingers out of you. Before you could complain, he was tearing your underwear off your body, flinging them across the room. You gasped, and he took the opportunity to press his mouth to yours.

The kiss was hot and full of emotion. Simultaneously, he pushed his fingers back into your dripping cunt. Your arousal was leaking down your thighs, onto the smooth expanse of his desk. Your arse was cold against the surface.

“Price,” you said, syllables stretching together in pleasure. “Clothes… off…” You were tugging at his shirt as he broke the kiss.

He didn’t say anything as he pulled his shirt off, allowing you to run your hands up and down the hard planes of his chest and abdomen. Your hands trailed down to his pants, popping the button and pulling the zip down. You palmed the hard imprint of him over his boxers, and he huffed gruffly, fingers stuttering inside you.

“So desperate for it…” he hummed, pulling his fingers out of you and leaving you achingly empty. He moved back and stepped out of his pants, pulling his boxers down with them.

You moaned as he gripped the base of his cock, moving towards you. Breathing hard, he pressed his forehead to yours and the both of you looked down as he slowly began to run his reddened, leaking tip up and down your sensitive folds.

You whined, and he shushed you gently. The head of his cock collected your arousal, smearing it up your slit.

“Turn around for me, love.” He whispered in your ear. You followed his directions, hopping off the desk and turning around. He was already bending you over it before you got the chance too.

He kicked your legs apart, settling in between them, hard cock heavy in the curve of your arse. Beneath you, you could feel the small puddle of arousal you had made earlier, wet against your navel.

“Naughty girl, letting your captain bend you over his desk,” he mused behind you, voice thick with lust. “What would the rookie say if he could see how wet you are for your captain?”

You moaned in response.

Price leaned in close, cock heavy against your aching core, his front pressed against your back. “He’s never going to feel this needy cunt, is he, sergeant? Never going to see how pretty and wet it is, is he?

You shook your head deliriously.

Price chuckled, rubbing his cock against your hole. “Who does this cunt belong too, huh, love? Who gets to fuck you all nice and dumb?”

You choked on a sob. “You!”

“That’s fucking right.” He grunted, thrusting all the way to the hilt, cockhead slamming against your cervix.

You released a warbled moan as he gripped your hips, slamming into you with no remorse. His heavy cock dragged along your walls, hitting that spot inside you, making you gush around him. You were whimpering under your breath, pleasure building in your bloodstream as he fucked you over his desk.

Price’s pace was bruising, possessive. His hands gripped your hips, pushing your arse back onto his pelvis with each rut of his hips.

“This cunt is mine,” he seethed behind you. “You’re mine. Hear that, sergeant? Only I get to fill this pretty cunt. No one else, understood?”

“Yes, sir—!” You moaned into the desk, rocking against it as Price fucked you harder and harder.

Your cunt throbbed and squeezed around him, making him moan as he pressed kisses along the line of your spine. He was breathing hard, panting, watching the way his cock entered you over and over again. He would also look up your body, marvelling in the way you arched for him, chest flush with his desk.

“Who’s making you feel good?” He muttered, squeezing your hips.

“You— ah— Price, fuck.” You responded almost incoherently, brain fogged with pleasure as he bullied his cock into you.

He hummed, satisfied. “A boy isn’t going to treat you right, love. A boy can’t make you feel like this. You need a man to look after you. Need a man to stuff this desperate fucking cunt.”

“Price.” You whined, stomach tightening and legs beginning to shake. Your orgasm was approaching quickly as your heart thrummed faster, in time with the base of the music down the hall.

Price groaned behind you, cock kissing your cervix and hips slapping against your arse. He could feel the way you were squeezing him.

“Gonna cum.” You drawled, mouth falling open, nipples pressed against the cold surface of the desk. Your cunt was fluttering around your captain’s cock, drawing tighter and tighter as your climax neared.

And right as it was about to hit you—

He stopped.

“Fuck—!” You cried, breathing erratically as you felt his cock pulsing, still, inside you. “Price.” You whined, turning your head to look over your shoulder.

Price stared down at you, breathing hard, hands still bruising on your hips. “You think you deserve to cum?”

Your eyes widened. “Yes, yes, please.”

“You want to cum on your captain’s cock? You want to be my good girl?”

“Yes, please, sir—”

“Then tell me you won’t go to dinner with Rex,” he breathed. “Tell me you’re mine. Tell me and I’ll let you cum all over my cock.”

You moaned, strung so tight that you thought you might snap. The weight of his cock inside you made you even wetter.

“Tell me, love. Be my good girl and tell me.”

“I won’t go!” You yelped hurriedly. “I won’t, I won’t, I promise. I’m yours, Price, yours.”

“Yeah?” He smiled, eyes flashing.

“Yes, Price, fuck, just let me—”

He resumed his pace— pulling out and thrusting all the way in with no abandon, abusing your cervix with each strong thrust of his cock.

“That’s my good girl,” he rutted into you. “That’s my good fucking girl. All mine. All fucking mine.”

The air was stripped from your lungs as he slammed into you with force. His movements were possessive, angry. But his words were surprisingly soothing, applying a balm to your racing heart.

“My good girl, making me so proud. Always so good for me,” he mumbled, pressing his chest against your back, kissing along your shoulder blade. “My perfect girl. Mine.”

It didn’t take more than a couple of beats of your pounding heart to reach your peak again. You writhed against the desk, hot, sweat beading along your neck and back where Price was pressed to you.

“Price, can I…?”

“‘Course you can, love. ‘Course you can,” Price said softly. “Cum for me, come on. Let go.”

With a shaky moan, you tipped over the edge of your climax— legs shaking, back arching, eyes rolling. Price kept you bent over the desk as you fizzled down from your high, stomach pulsing in tandem with your soaked cunt.

“There you go, there you go. Good girl.” He uttered lowly as you took several deep breaths, finding it difficult to regain control of your oxygen intake with his cock ramming into you.

Behind you, you could feel his heavy breathing on your skin, his chest moving harshly against your back. His grip on your hips tightened, indents appearing on the plush skin. His thrusts were losing consistency, switching now to desperate ruts, chasing a high that had been looming over him since he first kissed you.

“Ah, ah— fuck,” he panted into your skin. “‘M gonna cum, love. Gonna cum deep inside this cunt,” he placed a couple of messy kisses across the top of your spine. “‘M gonna cum so deep in this cunt that you’ll feel me for days. Just—ah, shit— d-dripping with me for days, love.”

You moaned beneath him, dizzy. Your sensitive cunt was being abused and overwhelmed, but the feeling of Price overtop of you was keeping you grounded.

“Wanna see you full of me— fuck, ah—” Price cut himself off with a low moan. “Fuck you full of me… put a fucking baby in you— Jesus, hngh— get you all nice and fat with my kid. You’d look so fucking pretty, love, so pretty—”

His nonsensical rambling was swimming around your head like a dream. Never, in your life, did you expect Captain Price to sound like this.

“Get you swollen with my kid so everyone knows you’re mine,” he growled, voice dark and hoarse from the back of his throat. “I’m the only one that fucks this wet cunt. I’m— oh, fuck— I’m the only one who gets to fuck you,” he was close, voice straining. “My good girl, my pretty girl— fuck—”

He came with a quiet moan of your name, directly in your ear. His cock was so deep inside you when he came, that bursts of white dribbled down his cock and down the front of his desk.

He peppered your back in kisses, holding you gently now as his cock slowly, slowly began to soften inside you. He pulled out, twisting you around as you whined, wrapping you in his arms. He moved you with him, rounding the desk to sit on his leather seat, resting you in his lap.

You could feel his cum leaking out of you, rolling in pearls down the soft flesh of your inner thighs. He moved his hand to collect the droplets, gently caressing his fingers back up your thighs, pushing his cum back into your swollen cunt. You whimpered softly, and he placed a deep kiss to your bitten lips.

He let two of his fingers rest inside you, holding in his seed, with your walls fluttering lightly around the thick digits.

“My good girl,” he whispered softly, other hand holding you to him. “Did so well. You feeling alright?”

You nodded blearily. “Mhm.”

He exhaled a laugh, pressing his mouth to the pulse on your neck, kissing it.

“All mine.”

•°•

And you never did end up going to dinner with Rex. The next day, for some very peculiar reason, he was transferred to a different faction entirely.

Price insisted that he moved on his own accord.

“A change of scenery.” Price simply stated at a briefing two days later.

You and Laswell exchanged a look.

Sure, cap. Sure.

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

my inbox is open atm for asks if you have any requests ! otherwise, thank you all for your support on my works <3 i’m glad we’re all just so normal about our beloved captain price !!

#call of duty #captain john price #captain john price x female reader #captain price #captain price smut #fem reader #price x reader #call of duty mw2 #captain john price x you #captain price x reader #captain john price smut #cod smut #captainfern #captain’snirvana

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malum-forev · 1 year

Text

jealousy, jealousy

Summary: You're usually someone who preaches love but there's something about a new recruit that makes your blood boil.

Jealousy isn’t part of your vocabulary, it never has. So when you started dating Bucky you assumed it wouldn’t be a problem. Of course you noticed the widened eyes and hushed words people- men and women alike, Buck’s got game left and right- whenever the two of you would walk into restaurants. When you started pointing it out to him, he would always say: “It’s not cause they like my looks sweets, they’re afraid of me.”

Maybe at first that was the case but definitely not now, the public’s perception of Bucky turned positive. From terrifying Winter Soldier close all your doors to I’ll set my house on fire just to get a look at Daddy Sarge.

And there wasn’t anyone who loved teasing him about it more than you. Some nights, whenever he’s been especially annoying you would search his tag on twitter and read what people post about him. His cheeks would burst red and he would bring the comforter up to his face.

“Could you please stop with that!” He groaned but a smile tugged at his lips. “You know it gives me a weird feeling!”

“I would love to see the Eiffel Tower, they say Paris is beautiful this time of year. @BuckyBarnes @SamWilson.” You giggled as you brought your phone closer to your boyfriend.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Do I even want to know what that means?”

“It’s-well- kind of when you-“ You pursed your lips and made a triangle shape with your hands. Maybe a visual aid would help?

Bucky grabbed both of your hands and brought them to his lips. “Can you please put me out of my misery?”

But today was very different, it had been for a few weeks now. There was something about the new brunette agent that rubbed you the wrong way. Maybe it was that she was currently rubbing Bucky’s bicep.

Jealousy does not exist in my world. My happiness comes from within me. There is no jealousy in true love.

You repeated this over and over in your head, raising the speed on the treadmill and focusing on the windows in front of you. You were not going to focus on the fact that there was a hot pink nail polish wearing agent openly flirting with your boyfriend. Definitely not focusing on that.

Your heartbeat started to rush as you kept on running, seeing red. No mantra was enough, you wanted problems. You were going to go up to her and pin her down on the floor until she was patting on the mat, taking her last brea-

“You okay?” Natasha asked, placing her hand on your lower back to stabilize your body as she lowered the speed on the treadmill. “It looks like you’re trying to challenge the speed of light over here.”

You took a deep breath to calm your anger and looked at the redhead with a smile. “I’m trying to get rid of all my- you can call it extra energy.”

Natasha threw her head back with a laugh. “Bucky training the new recruits?”

“This hasn’t happened before, I’m usually very chill about everything. But there’s something about this one.” You said, forcing your eyes onto Natasha’s instead of behind you. Where they were now about to start sparring.

Natasha’s eyes traveled from yours to behind you. “If that’s the problem then I strongly suggest you don’t look now.”

You turned your head just enough to see the young recruit asking for your boyfriends hand to stand up, putting her other hand on his shoulder as she came up. You heard her giggle as she draped her arm over his shoulder and started complimenting his new shorter haircut. But the thing that threw you over the edge was how she placed her palm against the back of his neck.

“Excuse me.” You said to Natasha, ripping open the pocket on the left side of her tactical suit and taking out one of the small knives you knew she hid. “I just need to borrow this for a second.”

Before Natasha could even get a word out you planted both of your feet on the gym floor and sent the knife flying in between Bucky and the new agent’s face and landed on the wall behind them. Bucky leaned back a little as he felt the air rushing when the knife passed him, turning to face you with a stupid smug smile. The recruit on the other hand, fell to the floor and clutched her chest.

Nat tried and failed to swallow her laugh.

You brushed past Bucky and the agent, who was still on the floor. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“You should really work on your aim. Someone could have gotten hurt.” She shot you an annoyed look as you un-stabbed the wall.

You turned on your heel and debated your answer.

Actions speak louder than words. You thought.

Without breaking eye contact with the woman, you sent the knife flying right to the spot next to her head. With no effort the blade stuck to the foam flooring.

“I have perfect aim.” You smiled walking past Bucky who was biting the inside of his cheek to suppress his smile.

“Are we still on for dinner Sweets?” Bucky asked, the sides of his lips curving upwards.

“7:30, don’t be late.” You said without turning to him.

---------

Part 2: jealousy, turning saints into the sea

Wanna read more like this? Here’s my latest post. 💖

Author's Note: Kinda short but I hope you guys liked it! As always my requests are always open!! Be sure to comment, like and reblog if you like!!💖💖🦾

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navybrat817 · 1 year

Text

A Little Push

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky doesn't think he deserves to be with you, but gets a little push to speak up when he sees your ex. Word Count: Over 5.1k Warnings: E.S.C, unprotected (v)aginal (s)ex (wrap it before you tap it), shower (s)ex, jealousy, (f)lirting, insecurities, slight feels (it's me), idiotic Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?) and an ex. A/N: For @drabblewithfrannybarnes and the gym prompt. I hope you like it! ❤️ Beta read by the wonderful @whisperlullaby, but any and all mistakes are my own. Moodboard by yours truly, banner by the lovely @sgt-seabass (and thank you!), and divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky wondered some days if he made the right choice by working for S.H.I.E.L.D.. While he didn’t consider himself to be completely standoffish as he recovered, no matter how much Sam tried to joke about that, he still had a difficult time getting along with some of the agents. It wasn’t for lack of trying. He attempted to strike up conversations with a few, but that only led to forced interactions and awkward silences.

He didn’t try much after that.

Maybe they didn’t trust him because of his past, even with the work he had done with the Avengers, even though he had no choice in his past actions. He wouldn’t hold that against them. He was even ready to accept that his circle of friends would remain small, which he didn’t mind.

But he hadn’t expected you to come along.

“You can sit with me if you’d like.”

At first, he thought you were talking to someone else until he realized your gaze was on him. He didn’t recognize you, but he remembered Steve saying that they were getting a transfer from another division. He hoped he wasn’t glaring or giving you an awkward stare, but your beautiful smile threw him for a loop. Unless he was with Steve and the others, no one asked him to sit with them.

But you did.

It took another moment for him to respond, but he took you up on your offer and joined you. He also picked up on the stares right away from the other agents, like they were jealous that he managed to get your attention. He didn’t blame them for wanting it.

Especially since the next smile you gave him made him fall in love a little more.

Maybe love at first sight does exist.

“Do you go by Bucky or James? I can call you Sarge if you want, Sergeant.”

You explained over breakfast that you transferred because you needed a change and were excited to take on some new tasks. He didn’t pick up on any bad intentions as you spoke with him. He found it easy to talk to you. You even got a couple of smiles out of him.

“Thanks for sitting with me. Do you want to have breakfast with me again tomorrow?”

Bucky accepted.

As the two of you grew closer, it became routine to grab breakfast together in the breakroom and chat quietly between reps when you worked out. He even shifted his schedule around so the two of you could exercise together. He looked forward to it.

And naturally on his path to continue making amends, he had to punish himself by thinking he wasn’t good enough for you. Because why would he be? You became an agent to help others and how many had he destroyed? Not by choice, never his choice, but he was still waging that war in his mind and heart.

“Will today finally be the day, Barnes?” Natasha asked as she finished her stretches.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky grumbled, his eyes flickering to the clock on the wall as he waited for you to enter the onsite gym.

“Yes, you do and let it be today, please. I can’t have Rogers winning the pool.”

“You’re taking bets, Romanoff?” he asked with a cold stare, as if the Black Widow would cower under his gaze. “Un-fucking-believable.”

He told Steve in confidence that he liked being around you. So, naturally, Sam and Natasha found out not long after that. Steve said more than once that Bucky wouldn’t be breaking any bylaws by dating you. Natasha added in passing that mixing business with pleasure didn’t seem to bother you as you had dated another agent sometime back before your transfer. An amicable breakup from what Sam heard.

For living in a world of spies and soldiers, no one could seem to keep their mouths shut.

“I’ll split the winnings with you,” she offered unapologetically. “You can use it to take her on a date. You do have something nice to wear that isn’t a Henley, right?”

The smartass remark he had on the tip of his tongue died when you walked through the door. Clad in your normal black tank top and leggings with your bag on your shoulder, he found himself staring the way he always did as you glided along the floor with confidence and a smile. A few heads turned to get a glimpse as you walked by.

But you directed your gaze at him.

“Hey, handsome,” you smiled, setting your bag and water down. You didn’t call anyone handsome or any other sort of nickname, except for him.

“Hi?”

Why did that come out as a question?

“Hopeless,” Natasha muttered softly enough for him to hear. “Hey.”

“Hey, Nat. How’s it going?”

His cheeks warmed as you began your stretches and chatted with the redhead, wanting nothing more than to put his hands on your hips and guide your body. He wanted to believe that you liked him enough for him to make a move. Why else would you keep getting breakfast with him?

And why else were you bending over right in front of him in a pair of leggings that looked like a second skin?

Fuck.

“Oh, I have your book in my bag,” you said, looking at him from between your legs. “Thanks for lending it to me.”

Thank fuck I’m upside down from your angle so you don’t see me staring at your ass.

Guilt crept in as he blinked. You were nothing but kind and accepting and here he was oogling over you. Why couldn’t he get it through his head that he was your friend and nothing more?

On the other hand, why couldn’t he get it through his head that he had the right to be happy?

“Don’t mention it,” he said.

“Do you mind spotting me?” you asked once you finished warming up. “Unless you plan to help Nat. I can wait.”

“Oh, no. I’m just here for entertainment,” she joked.

“Thanks,” you smiled, heading to the first machine with Bucky in tow. “Any plans this weekend?” you asked, checking the weight on the bar before you took a seat.

“No plans,” he said, taking his spot at the end of the bench so he could spot you. “Kind of a boring old man.”

“You’re not boring,” you said, winking as you laid back. “But I’ll give you old.”

“Rude,” he smiled as you giggled. “What about you?”

“Nope. No plans,” you answered, giving him a glance as you set your hands on the bar. “No plans at all.”

Are you giving me an opening?

“That’s too bad,” is what he said.

“Yeah, I guess it is,” you said with quiet disappointment.

Sorry, Nat. Not winning the pool today because I’m a fucking idiot.

Bucky kept stealing glances at you as the two of you went through your normal workout routine, unable to figure out how you managed to look beautiful while lifting weights. The fact of the matter is you looked beautiful to him no matter what you did. He fluctuated between his heart stopping and losing his breath whenever he saw you. Especially when you smiled at him.

And he wouldn’t take that leap.

“You know what sounds really nice? A massage,” you said, setting the weight down to grab your water. He focused on your mouth as you brought the bottle to your lips, his fingers flexing as you swallowed once. Twice.

Are you giving me another opening?

Before Bucky could think of a suave reply, the door opened. A tall, dark haired agent he didn’t recognize walked in and did a slow sweep of the gym. From the quick assessment, he gathered that the guy was in shape. He didn’t necessarily walk through like he owned the place, but it bordered on cockiness.

I don’t even know him, so why do I want to punch his face in?

“Wait. Is that Nate?” you asked, your gaze following the man as Natasha silently walked over to join you. “What’s he doing here?”

Nate?

“You know him?” Bucky asked as the guy, Nate apparently, stopped to chat with someone by the mirrors.

“Uh, yeah,” you said, setting your water down and wiping your hands on your thighs as you avoided his gaze. “He’s my ex-boyfriend.”

Ex-boyfriend?

“You two worked in the same division, didn’t you? Before you transferred?” Natasha asked. You nodded in reply. “It didn’t work out with you two, huh?”

“No, but it wasn’t a dramatic breakup or anything. No hard feelings,” you explained.

Bucky remembered Sam saying it was amicable, but he still felt the need to shield you away from your ex. Even if he hadn’t spotted you yet. Maybe he was ignoring you. That couldn’t be it. No one could ignore you.

Did you want him to notice you?

“That’s a shame,” Natasha said, swinging her gaze toward Bucky. “He’s cute.”

Traitor. Thought you were my friend.

“Yeah, he is,” you agreed.

Bucky grabbed the nearest barbell to get his head back into why he was in the gym in the first place, gritting his teeth so hard he was shocked they didn’t crack.

“And there’s this thing he used to do with his tongue that just…” you trailed off with a sigh.

The metal hand gripped the barbell tighter. Nate was an ex, not a current boyfriend. It didn’t work out for a reason.

“You need a moment?” the redhead asked.

“No, I just need to get laid,” you said, glancing at Bucky out of the corner of your eye.

If you need to get laid, I can help you with that. Not Nate or some other prick. They’re not worthy of touching you. Neither am I, but that’s not the fucking point. I can do things with my tongue that’ll make you see stars.

“Bucky?” you asked gently. “Are you okay?”

Far fucking from it.

“Yeah, I’m good. Why?”

You pointed to the barbell in his hands. “Because you just bent that in half.”

Glancing down at his hands, he saw that the stainless steel was indeed bent in half and ignored Natasha’s snort as he tried to fix it. “I was just testing the durability. It’s terrible. A health and safety hazard, really.”

“I didn’t realize your job involved quality assurance,” you teased as he set the piece of equipment down.

“It’s kind of a new hobby,” he said, a weird look crossing his face.

A new hobby? Really?

“Okay, Sarge,” you giggled.

Your laughter seemed to catch Nate’s attention since he immediately looked behind him. A look of realization crossed his features before he smiled. The look on his face made Bucky’s heart drop as he excused himself from the agent he was speaking to and made a beeline toward you. The man may not be your boyfriend anymore, but he still felt something for you.

Either that or the look of longing was easily faked.

“Hey!" Nate smiled as he stopped in front of you, opening his arms as he leaned in. "Good to see you."

“You, too. And you don’t want to do that,” you said, gesturing to yourself. “I’m all sweaty.”

“Never bothered me before,” he said, wrapping his arms around you. He met Bucky’s gaze over your shoulder with the smallest of smirks. “Smell just as good as I remember.”

“Don’t,” Natasha whispered to Bucky when the hug lingered for a few more seconds.

Bucky wasn’t planning on doing anything. Not right now, at least. Committing murder wasn’t on his “to do” list when he woke up today, but he was seconds away from snapping. Would you forgive him if he broke one of Nate’s bones?

“You must be Bucky,” Nate said once he released you.

He had to stop himself from shoving you behind his back. “You must be the ex,” he said, not bothering with any attempt to be friendly. “Why are you here?”

Nate either didn’t intimidate easily or he didn’t care. “You talked about me?” he teased, nudging you with his elbow.

“No, not really,” you smiled a little, raising an eyebrow at Bucky.

He tried to keep a straight face because he wasn’t jealous. He had no reason to be jealous. That certainly wasn’t the reason why his fingers began to twitch. Wasn’t the reason he wanted to knock Nate’s teeth in.

Not at all.

“To anwer your question, I accepted a transfer and was getting a look around the place. I was also here to exercise, but now I think I want to catch up,” he smiled, turning his attention back to you.

“You transferred here?” you asked in disbelief.

You don’t sound thrilled, which is a good sign, right?

“Yeah, I got promoted,” he explained, angling his body to put distance between you and Bucky. “You doing anything after this?”

“Me,” Bucky said before his brain caught up with his mouth.

Maybe you didn't hear me.

Your eyebrows shot up as you leaned around Nate to stare at Bucky. "I'm doing you?" you asked.

Fuck, you heard me.

"Yeah, Barnes. Is she doing you?" Natasha asked without a hint of humor in her tone as Nate glared over his shoulder.

"I mean," he cleared his throat as he tried to think of an excuse, which wasn't easy with three pairs of eyes on him. "She's hanging out with me. Movie night."

"It's not even nighttime," Nate said skeptically.

"It's an early movie night," he grumbled.

"Yeah, an early movie night," you agreed slowly. Bucky almost sighed in relief before you looked at Nate. "But we can catch up later, okay? Think my workout is over for now."

Bucky's mouth fell open when you went to grab your things. "But-"

"Movie night. I know. Thanks for your help," you smiled, but it seemed forced. "I'll see you later, Nat. And Nate."

"Later," Nate said, his gaze lingering as you headed toward the locker room. "She really is something, isn't she?"

"Yeah, she is," Bucky agreed, staring after you, too. He couldn't argue with that.

"It's really nice that you two are friends," Nate smiled, clapping Bucky on the shoulder as his blood boiled. "Enjoy your movie night."

Natasha stepped in front of Bucky before he could go after the prick. "Do not," she said as Nate headed toward another machine.

"I have to do something," Bucky said because he was close to losing it.

"You really want to do something?" she asked, tilting her head toward the locker room. "Go talk to her. Please."

"Fine. I will," Bucky said, stepping around Natasha as he made up his mind.

"I meant when she was done!" she called after him.

Bucky stalked toward the locker room and pushed the double doors open. He took a breath as he walked through the first row of lockers and spotted you sitting on the bench. Was he making a big mistake?

"You lost?" you asked, removing one of your shoes.

He crossed his arms and shook his head as you took off the other shoe. "You didn't do a cool down."

You met his eyes and smiled. "That's why you came in here?"

"Did you know Nate would be here?" he blurted out.

Smooth.

You blinked slowly at him before you removed your socks. "Nope. And why would it matter if I did? He still works for this organization. Besides, we broke up and moved on."

"If he moved on, why was he smiling at you like that?" he accused.

You stood up with a shrug. "Because we get along? He's a friendly guy. That's just how he is."

"I know how guys smile at girls they like," he said. He knew because he smiled at you that way. "He's still into you."

The frown you gave him made him want to kiss it away before you giggled. "He is not into me anymore."

"Are you two going to date again?" he asked, taking two steps forward. You were still out of his reach. "I know I don't have the right to ask, but I have to know."

Because you're not my girl.

“No, you don't," you confirmed, your gaze softening as you shook your head. "But no, I’m not going to date him again. He's my ex for a reason and that's that."

Bucky inhaled and exhaled slowly, able to breathe a little easier.

"Why? Would it bother you if I did? Because if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were jealous. Bending the bar? Your not-so-subtle excuse for me not to hang out with him? Following me in here?"

The words got stuck in his throat as you waited for an answer, an expectant look on your face. Why was it so hard to say that it would bother him? It shouldn't because if that made you happy, he'd respect that.

Was it wrong that he wanted you to be happy with him and not some other guy?

You hung your head for a split second before you turned back to your locker. "Look, are you done grilling me or are you sticking around?" you asked, pulling your top over your head. "Because I have to shower."

"You think I won't follow you and finish this conversation?"

Your bra came off next. He knew that because you tossed the garment at his face and he was too stunned to catch it. It took him a moment to realize that you were facing him again, your breasts on display as you placed your hands on your hips.

A gentleman would have looked away. A good man would have left. But he was something else entirely and he couldn't stop staring at the vision of perfection in front of him.

"You're free to do whatever you want," you said casually as you spun around and shimmied out of your leggings. His eyes followed the curves as your underwear came off next and it took everything in him not to throw you across the bench and fuck you until you screamed his name. "But I told you. I have to shower."

Bucky didn't speak as you grabbed your towel and shower bag. You didn't bother covering up as you sauntered away from him, like being naked around him was a perfectly normal thing. He wanted it to be a normal thing.

Was that an invitation? Should he take it? Or was it a test?

"Fuck it," he mumbled as he kicked off his shoes and stripped, leaving his clothes next to yours as he searched for you again. If you ended up screaming or punching him, he'd accept that punishment and beg your forgiveness later. He let this go on long enough.

He froze when he saw you under the spray of the water, his cock twitching with interest as he watched the droplets slide from your chest to the vee between your legs. You had your eyes closed and he wasn't sure if he should call out to get your attention. He didn't want to frighten you and make you fall.

You gasped when you opened your eyes, but didn't make a move to cover yourself. He imagined this is what some men saw when a siren lured them out to sea. Beauty that they weren't worthy of looking upon, but too far gone to care as the tide swept them away.

"I guess you really want to finish that conversation?" you asked, your gaze dropping from his face to his chest and a bit lower.

Under your gaze, he wasn't afraid of you looking upon his scars. "I was jealous. I am jealous. I hated seeing him touch you," he admitted.

He wanted to replace Nate's touch with his own.

"There's nothing to be jealous of," you said, swallowing as he moved forward.

"Can't help it," he said, not blinking as he moved closer. "You also said I could do whatever I wanted."

"I did," you nodded.

His wide shoulders blocked some of the spray as he stepped into the shower and backed you against the wall. "What if I said I wanted to do you?"

Very fucking eloquent.

"I'd say it's about fucking time since I've been trying to get your attention and it better not be a joke," you said, placing your hands on his shoulders as your gaze went to his chest again.

You actually want me. Fuck.

He grasped your chin and lifted your head. The corner of his mouth twitched like he wanted to smile and his heart raced as his lips ghosted over yours. "You like me? And you want me to fuck you?"

He needed to hear you say it.

"I was hinting for you to ask me out this weekend. I thought it was obvious?" you asked, a small, vulnerable crack in your voice. "I like you, okay? I'm crazy about you. I have been since you sat down and had breakfast with me that first day and I-"

"I'm a fucking idiot," he whispered before his lips met yours.

His head spun as he kissed you unashamedly, unleashing the want he kept pent up for too long and showing no mercy as he swallowed down the moan you let out. His hands slid down to grip your ass, capturing another small sound in his mouth as he slipped his thigh between your legs. Now that it was out in the open, that you wanted him, he couldn't stop himself.

Unless you told him to.

"So, you like me, too?" you breathed out as he pressed kisses along your neck, your nails digging into his shoulders as he thrust his knee against your wetness.

Gonna lose my fucking mind when I'm inside you.

"So much that I wanted to break Nate's fingers. Or his face," he told you, nipping over your pulse, but careful not to leave a mark. "Want you to forget all about that thing he does with his fucking tongue."

"You up for the challenge?" you teased before he growled.

"Up for it?" he asked as he slid a hand up to your chest, his thumb brushing over your nipple as you whimpered for him. "I'm gonna ruin you. That's a fucking promise."

"Do it. Please," you begged, bringing a hand down to brush your fingers along his thick cock. "Ruin me."

You already looked overwhelmed with pleasure, your eyes half lidded and mouth parted as Bucky moved his knee away and brought one of your legs around his hip. He wanted to fall to his knees and get a taste, but he'd claim you later with his tongue. "Not letting you go if I have you," he warned you, helping you stroke him.

"You better not," you said.

Bucky could've put his fingers under the water, but he brought them to his mouth to wet them before he slipped it between your legs. "You'll be mine," he said as he teased your hole.

"I'm already yours," you gasped as he carefully pushed a finger in and thrust slowly.

"Are you?" he asked, brushing his lips against your jaw as he slid a second finger in. "Fuck, you're tight. You may kill me."

"Yes, I'm yours. And I won't kill you, but I'll make you sorry if you don't fuck me," you huffed impatiently.

He chuckled as he removed his fingers, missing the heat of your body. He understood not wanting to wait any longer. He fucked his own hand enough nights as he thought of you to know that it wasn't enough.

"What if someone walks in?" he questioned, sucking his fingers clean with an obscene groan.

I can convince you to take a day off just to eat you out, right?

"I don't care!" you cried, your voice echoing in the stall as he moved the tip of his cock along your folds. You canted your hips as you tried to take him in and, fuck, if that didn't feed his ego. "If you don't fuck me, I swear I'll- AHH!"

He groaned as he slid home in one thrust, his eyes fluttering shut as your velvety walls gripped him like your life depended on it. He took a deep breath so he didn't lose it on the second thrust. Your perfect pussy was his new home. He never wanted to leave.

"Fuck, baby, you're so needy. I think you want everyone to see that you're mine now," he groaned as he caressed your thigh and drove in deep. Your cunt welcomed each slide as he kept your hips still with his other hand. "Gonna fuck you so hard you won't walk for a week. The way I should've from the start."

"Don't hold back," you moaned, clenching lightly around him. "I can take it."

Bucky couldn't remember ever fucking someone so possessively. "Pussy's even better than I imagined. Made for me. Made for me to wreck."

"Fuck, yes," you cried in response. "Touched myself thinking of you fucking me."

"You fucked your perfect pussy thinking of me?" he asked, imagining your fingers deep inside you. "Moaned my name?"

"Yes," you replied, biting your lip. "Fingers aren't as big as you."

Fuck. There's only so much a man can take.

"Look so beautiful taking my cock. Gonna be so good to you," he grunted, his wet hair falling in front of his eyes. If he had to guess, he probably looked unhinged. Feral. Out of control. "Not letting you go."

Instead of looking afraid, you reached up and lightly threaded your fingers through his hair as your leg shook against his hip. "I won't let you."

He kissed you, almost delirious as the rush of pleasure began to take over. You took his hard, fast thrusts, the symphony of your cries and his moans adding to the sound of wet, slapping skin. Later, he'd make love to you, kiss over every square inch of your beautiful body. He'd tell how crazy he is about you. How you made him happy again.

For now, he needed you to scream his name for the whole gym to hear.

"I'm close, Bucky," you panted into his mouth. "Please."

He doubled his efforts, thrusting so hard he lost his breath with each snap of his hips. "If you're really mine, come. Come for me."

You nearly sobbed his name as you quivered around him, a wave of wetness coating his cock as he kept up his pace and fucked you through your orgasm. "Good girl," he praised as you went limp in his hold.

It was a beautiful sight. Your dazed expression, your cunt clenching with a fresh wave of wetness as you whined. A fucking vision.

"I'm gonna…" he warned, his muscles tensing up as he got closer to the edge.

"Come in me," you begged, tightening around him again. "Please, I need it."

Fuck.

Bucky spilled hot and thick inside you with a guttural moan as he let the ecstasy within him explode, relieved that you didn't make him leave the haven of your body. He was careful not to crush you against the wall as he tried to catch his breath and process that what just happened was real. It wasn't a dream or fantasy. He had you in his arms under the warm water.

Could've had this ages ago if I spoke up.

His lips found yours, his kiss softer than the previous ones. He wasn't sure how long he held you like that, but it was everything he dreamt of and everything he denied himself. He wouldn't do that again.

"You okay? Did I hurt you?"

"No," you smiled, your breathing still a bit tagged. "And I think I can still walk."

He growled playfully as he rolled his hips, thankful that he had the strength to keep holding you up. His stamina was good for some things. "Come to movie night and I'll make sure you don't walk. You did say you needed to get laid."

"I did say that," you smiled, nipping his bottom lip. "I'll do a movie night if you take me out on a real date."

"This weekend since neither of us have plans. I'd be a bad boyfriend if I didn't take care of you, right?" he asked, kissing the corner of your mouth to avoid your surprised gaze.

Pushed my luck this far. I can go a bit further.

"It's a date," you smiled.

Bucky smiled back as he reached over to shut the water off, wishing he could blame the warmth for the blush in his cheeks. "Sorry it took me so long to get my head out of my ass."

"I forgive you," you said, your nose nudging his.

"I just wanted you to have better," he whispered.

You deserve the best.

You blinked away the leftover pleasure that lingered in your eyes. "What? You're already the best guy I know, handsome. No one is better than you," you said, the sincerity in your eyes making his heart twist. "I know you'll be the best boyfriend for me."

Thank you.

"Well, as the best boyfriend, I think I owe you one more orgasm before we go," he smirked, his hands roaming your body. "If you're up for it."

"I'll take whatever you give me," you said before you smirked back. "But maybe I should thank Nate since he's the one who got your head out of your ass."

"Don't you fucking dare," he said, kissing you breathless before you could say his name again.

Bucky was your boyfriend now and the only name he wanted to tumble from your beautiful lips was his own. He'd do whatever he could to make that happen. And be the man you deserve.

Natasha watched from the corner of the gym as you and Bucky emerged from the locker room minutes later. You had stars in your eyes and Bucky looked over the moon. Your legs wobbled slightly and the soldier easily slid an arm around your waist to steady you and walk you out. He even threw Nate a smirk and a wink when he got a glimpse of the two of you.

The redhead messaged the group chat for the bet once the two of you were out of sight. "Locker room. I won."

"What? I was so close!" Steve messaged back.

"Cheater!" Sam sent. "I know you got her ex transferred here. Don't deny it."

"I did not get him transferred. I just knew and didn't tell them he'd be here today. I expect my payment at dinner tonight."

The redhead put her phone away as she tried not to smile. Bucky just needed a push and she wasn't afraid to play a little dirty. But she'd keep her word and split the winnings.

The two of you deserved a nice date, after all.

Oh, Bucky. Whatever will we do with you? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x you #beefy!bucky barnes

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thestarrynightslover · 10 months

Text

Whatever Comes

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Word count: 2,147

Warnings: A lot of angst. Mentions of blood, life-threatening injuries, hit-and-run, fracture wounds, and miscarriage.

Summary: Doctor (y/n) (y/l/n) and Jay Halstead are secretly dating when there is a terrible accident involving (y/n) and a lot comes to light.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the One Chicago shows, or its characters, also not associated with it in any way, or know anyone involved with it.

A/N: Okay, so this is my first fic in a long while and I don't think it's all that good but I had to restart somewhere, so I hope you like it anyway!

(y/n) = (your name) (y/l/n) = (your last name) (y/n/n) = (your nickname)

| masterlist |

You had just gotten out of your car across the street from the side of Med and, as you were making your way through the bit of road that led to the hospital, a car comes into the driveway — screeching tires, in full speed — and runs you over long before you could even see anything and, there, in the matter of a few seconds, everything goes black and you’re left bleeding out in the street.

Almost an hour later, after you had regained consciousness and had begun dragging yourself, very slowly, towards the hospital, Will and Ethan, about to go inside Med, spot you and run your way eager to help you out — even if they hadn’t known it was you at first.

“Oh man, it’s Dr. (y/n) (y/l/n)!” Ethan exclaimed.

“(y/n), can you hear me?!?” You sort of heard Will ask through your dizziness haze.

“Wow, you’re actually shorter this up close than I had imagined at first.” You attempted a joke with your friend, momentarily gaining some clarity.

Ignoring you, Will just asked no one specifically, “oh Lord, how long has she been bleeding out here?”

Decisive as always, you heard as Dr. Choi commanded, “I don’t know but, come on, Will, let’s carry her to the ED!”

As soon as your friends get inside the hospital with you, everybody stays in shock for a moment until Maggie yells: "get her in treatment 4, now!"

Following her lead, Will and Ethan get started on treating you, who has a few broken ribs, and free fluid in your belly besides from a punctured spleen. Having done their best in the ED, they decide to send your upstairs for surgery with Crocket.

Once you're going to surgery, Miss Goodwin tells Maggie and the doctors to call PD and specifically ask for Intelligence, since you were friends with the unit. As the cops get there, one stands out: Jay Halstead. He's frantic, devastated-looking, just completely lost, and desperate to hear more news about your condition. No one really understands why he is reacting like that, but all of them do share the fear of losing a great friend. Voight's giving out assignments to the team, so Jay knows that that's when he needs to speak up.

"Um, sarge?" All eyes are on him. "If you and the team don't mind running one man short today... I was hoping that I could, um, stay here with- with her?" Hank just stares at him, unlike everyone else — who are shocked — the older man's focus is on his detective's eyes, on the way he was so distraught from the moment they got the call about (y/l/n). That was the behavior, the look, of a terrified man. And, as everyone there knew, Jay Halstead — the freaking war vet — wasn't one to get scared easily. "(y/n) and I-"

"It's fine. No need to explain. You should stay here, Jay. Let us know, in case anything changes. And we'll catch the son of a bitch." He said firmly, making Jay feel as appreciative as ever, and, also, sending an implicit message to all the other members of the unit, one that said: we work this with all we got right now, for (y/n), and for Jay, no questions asked.

After the officers left the hospital, there was still a big commotion from everyone who stayed, because it was one of their own up there in the or. But, surpassing everyone else's, was Will's surprise by how distraught Jay looked, especially considering how his little brother wanted to stay at the hospital, instead of going to find who hurt you. So he comes to confront the detective about it. "So... You and (y/n) are a thing?" Will asked, trying to understand. Since Jay just nodded his head, he decided to push a little further: "And... Were you ever planning to tell me? What the hell, man?"

"Will, I-"

"She's one of my best friends, Jay! Not to mention the fact that I'm the doctor who oversees her work here!"

"Will you put it down?" Jay pleaded with his brother, motioning him to a more reserved corner of the waiting room. "I know, okay? I know. And I'm sorry if it upsets you, man, I really am. But this could've blown her career. That's why we hadn't told you yet." It was clear that Will didn't exactly like his brother's explanation, but he knew it was true.

"Just... How long?"

"Um, about six months?"

"Six months?!" The doctor yelled in shock, then repeated it in a lower tone. "But, six months?"

"Yeah, I know it's a lot of time keeping you in the dark, Will. But, trust me, we weren't thrilled about it. And we were hoping to tell you soon. I swear." Jay said, and his brother could, once again, see it was the truth.

"So, that means that when you started seeing each other she was still finishing med school?"

"Yeah, that's right. Which was, like, the main reason for us to keep it under wraps. An intern dating the attending doctor's little brother? Wouldn't look good."

"That's true..." At that point, Will took another look at his brother. Jay looked so worried and scared, even while trying to hide it. "So, uh, you guys are serious?" That question got a little smile out of the detective.

"Yes, we are. I know that it is new for you... But, I love her, Will. I really do." He took a moment to breathe, not being able to hold back some tears this time. “And, I can’t lose her. I just can’t.”

“Jay…” Will started saying but didn’t quite know how to continue. What could he possibly say to comfort his brother right now? “We just… We just gotta stay hopeful, okay? (y/n) is a really tough person and Dr. Marcel is a great surgeon, you know it. She is gonna pull through.”

A lot of disquieting hours later Crocket finally comes out of the surgery, just to be met by a very worried hospital staff and an on-edge Jay Halstead.

"Where is sh- How is she? Is (y/n) okay? Can I see her?" The detective hovers, not even taking a breath.

"Wow! Uh, you gotta calm down a little, buddy."

"Don't give me that crap! Just- just tell me how she is!" Jay shouts again, not giving a damn about what anyone was thinking. You were the only thing on his mind right now.

"Alright. But try to keep breathing, okay?" To that, the other man didn't even bother to answer. "Okay, um, it was a very complicated surgery, I had to do a lot of cleaning and moving around to get to the worst parts and-"

"Can you please just cut to the part where you tell me if she's okay? No offense, but you can fill me in on the details later." Jay stated nervously. It wasn't just that he wanted to know what was the result of all those hours in the or, but, also, because Jay knew he wouldn't understand half of what Connor was saying, even with the simplified language. You would. But not him.

"Right. Okay. She's, um, she's okay for now. We'll need to monitor her on an hourly basis, though." By that point, the surgeon could already see the relief on both Halsteads' faces, so he went on. "We controlled the bleeding, but, with all the blood loss," he stopped to take another look at the detective, "I'm afraid," another pause, because, sure he had delivered this kind of news before, but this time it was a lot harder, because those people were his friends. And, what they had just lost, he had just lost too, in a way, "we couldn't save the baby."

"The baby?" This time he got an answer from both brothers.

"Uh, uh... You, uh, you didn't know she was pregnant?" Crocket asked, kind of already guessing the answer while sharing a look with Will.

"Oh my God..." It was all the youngest Halstead managed to let out. Seeing how his brother was unable to react any further, Will decided to step up and ask the tough questions.

"So, um, if everything goes well from now on, you think that (y/n/n) will make a full recovery?"

"Ahhh, yes, actually. She was in great health, so, after making it through, uh, through the night, she shouldn't have any major issues." At that point, Marcel himself was trying to be as objective and as doctorish as possible, in order not to make things worse for the man who had just heard that he lost a child he didn't even have a chance to wait for.

"So, is it, um- is it possible that she didn't know about the pregnancy yet?" But, damn it, Will just kept asking all the impossible questions.

"Uh... It is, actually. Very possible." Hearing that, the detective immediately glued his eyes on him. "We estimate that the fetus was about seven weeks. It's very common that women on birth control haven't found out about it at that point." As neither Halstead said anything, Marcel continued, "well, she's up in the ICU now and in and out of consciousness but, if you want, you can see her for a few minutes."

Hearing that, the detective came out of his haze and said: "Yeah, I wanna see her!"

A few hours later, as Will Halstead gathered his things after finishing his shift, he decided to go check on you but got surprised when he realized that his brother was still there, in the waiting room. "Jay, what are you still doing here?"

"I'm waiting," he said simply.

"Jay." Will called again, "you can't do this, you need to go home, get some sleep, eat…"

"I'm not leaving her alone."

"She's not gonna be alone, Jay." Not getting any response, Will decided to lead with something else. "You know, Voight called Goodwin and said that they're hitting a lot of walls in the (y/l/n) investigation…" Measuring his brother's reaction, Will continued: "Maybe they'd have better luck working with the whole team…"

"Yeah, you're probably right. Tomorrow I'll tell Voight that I want in on the investigation." Jay said, not making any sign of wanting to leave.

"Jay, you can't work tomorrow after staying here the whole night!" Seeing his little brother still not intending to leave, he threatened, "if you don't go home right now, I'll call Voight myself and tell him that you're in no shape to work-"

"Oh, c'mon! You're gonna do that!"

"I wouldn't be so sure if I were you," Will said, looking as serious as they get. "Look, Jay, you know she's in good hands here. And, whatever happens, you'll be the first to know, I've made sure of it."

"But-"

"But nothing, Jay! It's time to go, come on!" Will pressed so much that Jay resigned himself to do as his brother told him.

For almost a week, you stayed in the ICU. For almost a week, Jay Halstead passed by Med on his way to work and on his way home from work.

Once you were moved to a room, Jay started feeling like he could finally breathe again, even though there was now the baby that someone had still to tell you. And, after chatting with Will and Crockett, Jay had already decided he was gonna be the one to deliver the news to you. So, one day, after Intelligence had already caught the drug dealers that were running away when they hit you, Jay asked Voight for the afternoon off to take you home from the hospital.

When you were at your place, you asked Jay what was going on: "Hey, you didn't say a word on the way here, is anything besides the fact that I just spent almost two weeks in the hospital and that everyone found out about us wrong?"

"Let's sit down for a minute, babe."

The minute he said that, you knew there was something really wrong.

"Okay, you're scaring me…" You said while sitting down on the couch.

"I just- I have something important to tell you," and, like that, Jay proceeded to tell you the worst thing you ever heard. It's not like you'd been planning on becoming a mother or anything like that anytime soon but it was still a possibility that was brutally taken away… You and Jay cried together for the first time and, consoling each other, you felt your relationship growing stronger.

So much so that after some time you could start talking about the future that both of you foresaw with one another and, even though nothing was completely decided, there was one thing you knew for sure: as long as you were together, you could face anything.

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vivwritesfics · 3 days

Text

Slow Down, You're Gonna Crash

Chapter Eight

Summary: Being a Verstappen means realising that you'll never be as good as her brother. She knew it. That was why she ran away to California. Of course, she's gonna fall for the older, naval aviator. And, of course, it pisses her family off.

Bradley Bradshaw x F1!Driver Reader

1.7K

Warnings: Smut, P in V

Series Masterlist

Bradley Bradshaw couldn't believe that nobody had ever had goodbye sex with her. With the sweet, slightly annoying girl below him.

Her nails clawed at his back as he tipped her over the edge. She cried out as she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, shoving her head against his neck. "Roo," she whispered over and over again.

"I got you, princess," he whispered at the feeling of her teeth against his skin. "Almost there."

He spilled inside of the condom and pulled out of her, pulling away from her body. A whine left her lips when he stepped away from her and deposited the condom into the bin. "I'm here," he mumbled as he crawled back onto the bed and pulled her into his chest.

"'m gonna miss you when you're in Miami."

She looked up at him and kissed his chest. "Could come with me," she said quietly as she settled her head against his chest and shut her eyes. God, he was so comfy, If she never left his arms, she would have been so happy. Part of her was so tempted to stay here instead of going to Miami.

But she couldn't do that when she'd already promised Logan that she'd be there.

Again, Bradley pulled away. "Where the hell are you going?" She groaned and reached towards him, trying to pull him back.

"Calm down, Chicken!" He called as he disappeared into the hall. "Just gonna get something to clean you up!"

She huffed as she laid back on the bed and folded her arms over her chest. But this level of care had her feeling so fucking warm inside. And it was all because of Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw.

He drove her to the airport the next day. "Call me when you land?" He asked, sunglasses covering his eyes.

"'course, Roo," she whispered and climbed out of the Bronco.

For just a second, Bradley sat there, watching as she grabbed her bag from the back of the Bronco. For a second longer, he watched her as she turned away.

No, this wasn't a proper goodbye.

It was a split second decision that had Bradley climbing out of the Bronco. "Chicken!" He shouted, and she turned back around.

Within a second she was running towards him and jumping into his arms. Bradley caught her and held her still as he kissed her. This. This was a proper goodbye. "Holy shit, I'll miss you," he whispered against her lips. "But you're gonna have the best time."

"Three days," she said as she held his jaw, thumb moving across his scar. "I'll be back in three days."

"That's three days too long."

He let her go, waited until she was in the airport and gone from his sight before he climbed back into the Bronco. Fuck, he was going to miss her, more than she could ever know.

***

Logan Sargeant was her best friend, hands down. There he was, waiting for her outside of the airport. He didn't look like himself, and she knew she wouldn't have recognised him without the picture he'd sent just before she'd gotten on the plane.

Her running towards him might have given him away. She ran towards him and threw her arms around his neck, her bag hitting his back.

"Holy fuck, it's good to see you," she said as she squeezed him.

"Good to see you, too, Verstappen."

Logan took her bag from her, placed it into the back of his car and climbed in as she climbed into the passenger seat. The car was so low compared to the Bronco, it felt so strange. "So, what's kept you in the States?" He asked with a sly smile.

She couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes as she leaned her head against the window. "Why does something have to keep me here, Sarge? Can't I just want to be here?"

Logan spared her a quick glance, eyebrow quirked up and a grin on her lips. "No, no you can't."

The rest of the journey was filled with them just talking, updating each other on their lives. She didn't tell him about Bradley. No, he was just for her.

Now, don't get it wrong. If Bradley had come with her, she would have been happy to introduce him to Logan. But he wasn't there, and he was just for her.

It transported her back to her childhood, staying with Logan and his family before the Grand Prix. They stayed for the Thursday night, before heading to the track and their nearby hotel together. It was just like old times, something she had missed so much over the years.

On the Friday, she headed to the track. It was just an hour before the first practice session, the rest of the morning having been spent on the phone with Bradley.

She missed him, more than she should have. He wasn't her boyfriend, so why did she miss him so much?

She didn't see Max on the Friday, but that was no bad thing. But she did see some of her friends. She threw her arms around Fernando Alonso and cracked jokes with Alex Albon. Every driver she saw that day expressed how much they missed her, missed racing against her.

When she arrived at the track on the Saturday, she wasn't Logan's only guest.

"Moon?!" She shouted as she walked towards her best friend. By his feet was an animal on a leash. It wasn't a dog, or a cat, or any other typical sort of pet. No, the raccoon grabbed her finger like a baby the minute she held it towards him.

(if you haven't read my Moon The Raccoon Series/ if you're not usually an F1 fan, i feel i must point out that no drivers own raccoons and it's just a silly little fic I did that i wanted to incorporate into this one for funsies)

Moon the raccoon being at the Miami Grand Prix really was a treat. She couldn't stop herself from pulling her phone from the back pocket of her jeans, fingers furiously swiping through the apps before she managed to video call Bradley.

There was a moment before he could pick up. "Chicken, you okay?" He asked as he walked outside of the Hard Deck. The Formula One had been playing on the screen, all of the daggers hoping to catch a glimpse of their new friend.

"Roo, I need you to meet my friend, Moon."

"Is that a fucking raccoon?"

She turned the camera away from Moon to look at Bradley's face. "You can't be using that sort of language around my nephew, Roo," she said as she sat on the floor and placed Moon in her lap. "Besides, you're just meant to look at how cute he is."

She watched as Bradley rolled his eyes, but he couldn't hide the fond smile beneath his moustache. "He's very cute, Chicken. Wanna tell me where you found him?"

"I'm friends with his dad," she said and removed Moon from her lap. Logan offered her his hand and pulled her to her feet, all while she kept her attention on Bradley. "If I agree to stick around in San Diego, can we get one?"

With the pout she wore, how could he say no, she figured. Instead, Bradley laughed. "Chicken, I love you, but we're not getting a raccoon."

I love you.

Fuck, why did he have to go ahead and say that. She tried to keep her expression neutral, but she wasn't doing a very good job. "I have to go, speak to you later?" She asked quickly.

Before Bradley could answer, she hung up on him.

"What was that about?" Asked Logan as she followed him and Moon to the William's hospitality. "Who is Roo?"

She let out a shuddering breath and shook her head. "Leave it alone, Sarge," she mumbled as she shoved her hands into her pockets.

"Was that the reason you've been staying in the States?"

"I said leave it, Logan."

***

Bradley stared at his phone, her picture gone. Fuck, he knew he shouldn't have said anything. I would be a wonder at all if she ever came back to San Diego at all.

"You okay, kid?" Maverick asked as he walked back into The Hard Deck, shoving his phone into his pocket.

Bradley sat beside him and Penny placed a beer on the bar top. Bradley gave her an appreciative nod as he took it and sipped. On the screen across from him was the race, put on at his request.

He wasn't so sure he wanted to watch it now. "It's fine, Mav," he said as he finished his drink. "It's nothing," he grumbled.

Maybe it was the old man in him, but Bradley couldn't stop himself from pulling out his phone and texting her. I'm sorry, Chicken, he texted. I shouldn't have said it.

It's fine, Bradley.

Bradley. Not Rooster or Roo. Just Bradley. His heart hurt.

Mav pushed his elbow against Bradley's arm and pointed towards the screen across them them. Bradley stopped staring at his phone, just to see his girl, if she was still his girl, standing by a man in a white suit and American themed helmet, holding a raccoon.

Moon the Raccoon, he knew.

He and Maverick watched as a taller man tapped her on the shoulder. She spun, readjusted Moon in her arms and hugged the taller man.

But then the screen stopped showing her, instead showing the qualifying. Without her there to explain everything to him, Bradley was downright lost, and had to rely on Maverick.

As the qualifying happened, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Bradley pulled it out and checked it quickly, while Penny wasn't looking. But the bar wasn't too quickly at this time on a Saturday, and having to buy a round for everyone wouldn't have been the end of the world.

Can we pretend this never happened?

He let out a shuddering breath. If that was what she wanted, if that was what it would take to have her back in her arms, he'd do it. Of course, Chicken

Thank you, Roo. I miss you

Miss you too, Chicken. I'll see you tomorrow night

Can't wait

If you enjoyed this, please feel free to buy me a coffee

Taglist: @not-nyasa

@boiohboii

@thehufflepuffavenger1

@sweate-r-weathe-r

@hiireadstuff

@spideybv28

@skepvids

@spookystitchery

@jolixtreesunn

@nikfigueiredo

@primroseluna

@jpg3

@charlesgirl16

@mavies-stuff

@siannaplmn

@justmexfranzi

@marvelfangirl04

@customsbyjcg-blog

@esquivelbianca

@thatgirlthatreadswattpad

@hnm-mika

@fangirlvibez

@sol-emers

@callsignwidow

@elliotts1one

@woozarts

@inky-sun

TGM Taglist: @biancathecool

@finnydraws

@writtingrose

@afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff

@mp0625

@xoxabs88xox

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definitelynotstable · 10 months

Text

Trouble [Ghost x fem!Reader]

AN: hurt/comfort will ALWAYS be my fave.

Synopsis: You find yourself caught in an explosion during a mission. Ghost looks after you. Words: 1.2k Warnings: swearing, injuries Ghost x fem!reader (callsign Fern): Not explicitly romantic but there’s certainly a spark. SOFT GHOST <3 Slight hurt - lots of comfort.

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

You knew something felt off about this mission. But you weren’t gonna sit this one out based on a mere hunch. Maybe you should’ve. Because now you were buried under a heap of rubble, ears ringing and head heavy.

“Fern?” A voice called from somewhere in the distance. You didn’t know what was up and what was down. Gun shots echoed nearby.

You swallowed, coughing as dust clogged your mouth and nose. “Y-yeah?” You rasped as loud as you could. Comms were useless.

“What’s your status, soldier?” Ghost.

You wriggled slightly, stopping as a flash of pain radiated up your leg.

“Leg’s fucked, might be broken and a concussion.”

“Can you move?”

You bit your lip as you tried again, nothing budged. “No, sir. Something’s got me pinned.”

“Alright,” his voice called back, calm and stoic as usual. “Price? We need backup, Fern was caught in the blast, need some extra hands to move rubble.”

You couldn’t hear the reply. Your comms hissed with static in your ear. Blood dribble from your temple, down your cheek and into your mouth. The sounds around you were fading. Everything ached. You could rest, right? Just for a moment?

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

You woke to a searing pain with a cry. Someone was moving the beam which compressed your leg.

“Fern?” A Scottish accent called out from somewhere behind you, “we found what’s got you pinned. Try not to move while we shift it.”

You groan as it shifts again. “Couldn’t even if I wanted to, Sarge.”

The scot huffs, chucking a chunk of concrete into the pile behind him. “Humour me, Fern.”

You cough again as a cloud of dust forms from the moving rubble. “Where’s LT?”

There’s a heavy thump and Soap groans with effort, finally uncovering your twisted form. He squats in front of you with a grin, patting your head lightly. “Getting a spinal-board - you sure are trouble.”

You squint up at the man and mirror his grin. “So I’ve been told.”

“Soap!”

The man in front of you turns to the side and you see Ghost running, gun across his back and a spinal-board tucked under his arm. Soap gestures to where you lie amongst the debris.

“Hey LT, look who I found!”

Ghost doesn’t laugh, pushing past the scotsman and coming to kneel beside you. He pulls his glove off, tossing it to side. His scarred hand brushes your hair from your eyes.

“Always gettin’ yourself into messes, aren’t ya?” He murmurs, fingertips ghosting the laceration on your temple. You wince but your lips quirk up. His hand lingers on your cheek for a moment, cobalt eyes intense as they meet yours.

He stands, hand dropping away as he turns to Soap.

“We need to get to EXFIL now, I’ll need your help to move her.”

Soap nods, shifting his gun to sling it over his back and out of the way. “What do you need me to do, LT?”

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

They manage to roll you onto the stretcher, Soap mumbling apologies while Ghost swears lightly under his breath at each noise of discomfort you make.

They manage to get you to the truck waiting at the extraction point. Gaz is behind the wheel, engine running, while Price squats behind the open side door, his gun poised.

You make to get of the stretcher, Ghost holds you down, eyes stern. “We’ve gotta rule out a spinal injury, Fern. Stay down.”

There isn’t room for argument in his eyes, Soap helps the Lieutenant slide the stretcher into the bed of the pickup. Ghost settling in beside you, his gun now in his lap as he surveys the area behind you. Soap joins the Captain and Gaz in front and the vehicle spurs forward.

It doesn’t take long to get to the safehouse but everything feels bruised twice over by the time the truck comes to a rolling stop.

“Please tell me I can get off this fucking slab of plastic, LT. Everything hurts.”

Ghost looks down at you, eyes softening slightly. “Just let Gaz look you over first. Then I’m sure we can find you a bed or a couch to settle on.”

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

There’s a bang as someone lowers the side of the pickup bed.

“Let’s see the wounded soldier then,” Price’s voice barks, his hat and beard coming into view, smiling but his eyes worried, “what’ve you done this time, love?”

Soap and Ghost slide the stretcher off the pickup and make for the safehouse. You look up at the Captain with a sheepish expression.

“Picked a fight with a wall.”

“Oh yeah? Who won?” Price inquired, holding open the door for you, looking down with a grin.

“The wall.” Ghost interrupts as him and Soap lower you to the floor, Gaz brushing past with a med kit.

You scoff as the younger sergeant wraps a cuff around your upper arm, taking your blood pressure.

“Put up one hell of a fight by the looks of it,” Gaz quips, moving your neck gently from side to side and getting you to squeeze his fingers and wriggle your toes. He cleans and wraps you leg quickly, a scarred and pale hand squeezes your shoulder as the antiseptic burns. Ghost.

“Thank you Gaz,” you huff, letting him ease you up as he gives the ok. Ghost silently moves forward to wrap an arm around your waist and helps Gaz deposit you onto the rugged couch against the wall.

Price and Soap’s laughs echo from the makeshift kitchen, cupboards opening and closing as they look for food. Ghost settles on the arm of the couch and you slump against him, too tired and sore to sit up straight. He stiffens slightly before relaxing, moving to shift you over and slides off the arm of the chair to settle next to you.

Gaz rustles around in the med-kit before popping a few pills into his hand, offering them to you as Soap appears next to him with a glass of water.

“Take these, I’ll give you more in a few hours. They should tide you over till RTB.”

You swallow them, sculling the water. Ghost takes the empty glass from your hands, handing it to Gaz who returns to the kitchen with Soap where Price has managed to turn on a radio that looks older than you.

Jazz crackles through the cabin and the hiss of a kettle sings as dishes clink. You sigh, sinking deeper into the couch and the warm body beside you.

Ghost clears his throat. You look up, pulling back.

“Oh shit, sorry, LT.”

“’S’alright,” his chest rumbles, an arm pulling you back into his side. “Rest, Fern. You did good.”

You don’t have the energy to refuse. He is so warm and safe. You feel yourself drifting off, the murmur of voices in the background lulling you into a peaceful haze. You feel him shift beside you and your limp arms are threaded out of your vest. Someone tosses a blanket into your lap and Ghost whispers harshly at them to fuck off. Probably Soap. The lieutenant shakes it out before tucking it around you.

A hand brushes through your hair.

You sigh.

Everything fades to black.

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

Masterlist

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sergeantbarnessdoll · 27 days

Note

I have a small idea and I think your writing is always amazing. So y/n has a crush on Bucky but he doesn't know. He opens up about having nightmares one time in conversation and she says she has lots of ideas (yoga, meditation, music, dancing, massage, reading the hobbit to bucky, doing skin care etc) and begins this whole ordeal of trying to get rid of buckys nightmares. She places a huge teddy bear outside his door one night as she knows he sometimes leaves his room after having nightmares. Sometimes she'll leave her perfume on things and he begins to get attached. Eventually it's suggested they cuddle and bucky confesses his feelings?? I don't know.. It's just a thought.

Ways To Help » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Female Reader

Summary: You come up with ways to help Bucky with his nightmares.

Warnings: Fluff, language, cuddling, kissing, use of pet names

A/N: Thank you for requesting @teddybearbucky 🩵

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators. I found it on Pinterest.

“Good morning, Sarge!” You chirped with a smile.

“Morning.” Bucky mumbles loud enough for you to hear.

He sat down at the table in the kitchen in the Avengers Compound and put his head in his hands, sighing loudly. You looked at him and frowned.

“Are you ok?” You asked with concern in your voice.

“I didn’t sleep well last night.” He says.

“This might help.” You say, putting a cup of coffee in front of him.

“Thanks.” He sighs, taking a sip of it.

You sat down next to him with your own cup of coffee. You could see the dark circles under Bucky’s eyes.

“Did you have a bad dream last night?” You asked.

“That’s one way to put it.” Bucky looks down at the coffee in the cup. “I don’t want to unload my problems onto you.” He says.

“I know I’m new here, but you’re more than welcome to tell me anything. I’m a good listener.” You say.

Bucky thought about it for a moment before looking at you.

“I have nightmares.” He starts. “Nightmares from what I done as the Winter Soldier. The blood, the screams, it’s still there.” He says.

“That wasn’t you, Bucky.” You put a comforting hand on his arm. “Nothing was in your control then. You don’t need to feel guilty for something you didn’t do.” You say softly.

“I know, but it’s still there and it won’t go away.” He says.

“If you want, I can come up with ways to help you.” You suggested.

“You’d do that for me?” He asks.

“Of course I would!” You smiled. “I consider us friends. Friends help each other out, don’t they?” You say.

“I suppose they do.” He says with a smile.

You smiled and kissed his stubbly cheek before going to the gym and train. Bucky sat at the table in curiosity, curious to know what you’re going to come up with to help him with his nightmares. Later that day at night, you knocked on Bucky’s bedroom door and he opened it, stepping aside to let you in.

“What’d you come up with?” Bucky asks curiously as he closed the door.

“I thought we’d start off with something easy. Like reading. Do you have any books?” You asked.

Bucky went in his closet and dug around in a box, finding what he was looking for. He walked out of the closet and handed you the book.

“Feel free to call me a nerd, but this is all I have.” He says, handing you the book.

You read the title of the book, The Hobbit. You continued to look at the book, admiring how old it is.

“I read it in 1937 when it first came out.” He says.

His cheeks turned red in embarrassment, thinking that you would think he’s a nerd for reading something like that.

“I don’t think you’re a nerd.” You looked at him. “I think it’s cute.” You say, smiling at him.

You and Bucky got on his bed and got under the blanket. Bucky listened to every word you read, loving the sound of your voice. It soothed him. About halfway through the book, he fell asleep. You bookmarked the page you left off on and put it on his nightstand. You kissed his forehead and carefully got out of bed, trying your best to not wake him up and went to your own bedroom and went to sleep. Around 3am, you woke up to the sound of someone knocking on your bedroom door. You got out of bed and opened it to see Bucky on the other side. You stepped aside to let him in your room.

“Bucky, are you ok?” You asked.

Bucky shook his head no. You took in his appearance and noticed that he was shirtless, sweaty, his hair was messy, and his breathing was heavy.

“Breath.” You say softly.

Bucky watched as you took a deep breath in and exhaled. He copied your breathing pattern till his breathing was back to normal.

“Nightmare?” You asked, sitting down on your bed.

“Yea.” Bucky sighs, sitting down next to you. “Reading didn’t work.” He says, his voice laced with disappointment.

You two sat in silence for a moment when something came to your mind. Something that helped you when you were a kid.

“Come with me.” You say, standing up.

“Where are we going?” Bucky asks, following you down the hall.

“To the kitchen.” You say, pushing the button.

The elevator dinged and you two got on it. You pushed the button to the kitchen. The elevator dinged again and you two got off of it. Bucky watched curiously as you rummaged through the cabinets for something.

“What are you looking for?” He asks.

“Hot chocolate.” You say.

“Why?” He asks.

“It’s something that my mom you give me when I was a kid when I had bad dreams.” You explained.

You found the hot chocolate and grabbed two packets, along with two mugs. You made the hot chocolate and gave Bucky one of them and sat down at the kitchen table.

“Ok, so reading didn’t work…” You start, taking a sip of your hot chocolate. “How do you feel about yoga?” You asked, looking at him.

“It’s too girly to me.” He says.

“Ok. Umm…” You continued to think. “What about meditation?” You asked.

“Not my thing.” He says, taking a sip of his hot chocolate.

“Alright. What about…” You thought harder. “Music?” You asked.

“Sounds interesting to me. Let’s do it.” He says.

You and Bucky drank your hot chocolates before going back to his bedroom.

“I don’t have anything for music.” He says.

“That’s ok. We can use my phone.” You went to the music app on your phone. “What kind of music do you like?” You asked.

“I like 40s music.” He tells you.

You looked up 40s music and played the first song that popped up. You placed your phone on Bucky’s nightstand and sat down on his bed. You looked up to see Bucky holding his right hand out to you.

“Let’s dance.” Bucky says.

“I don’t know how to dance.” You say, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“That’s ok. I’ll teach you.” He says with a smile.

You smiled and put your hand in his and stood up. Bucky wrapped his vibranium arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him, making your breath hitch in your throat. Your heart fluttered in your chest.

“Just move with me and you’ll be fine.” Bucky says softly.

You and Bucky swayed to the music. Your stomach erupted with butterflies when you felt Bucky’s vibranium hand gently rub up and down your back.

“You know…” Bucky breaks the silence. “You’re a really amazing friend.” He tells you. “You’re definitely my most gorgeous friend.” He says in a flirty tone.

“Y-You think I’m gorgeous?” You asked, stuttering.

“Yes.” He says with a smile.

You couldn’t help but blush uncontrollably. Your eyes began to droop and you laid your head on his chest. Bucky sensed it and shut off the music.

“Let’s get you to bed, doll.” He says softly.

Bucky picked you up bridal style and carried you to your bedroom, gently laying you down on your bed.

“Shouldn’t I be the one helping you sleep, not the other way around?” You asked, giggling.

“I’m just returning the favor.” He says with a smile.

Bucky shut your bedroom light off before walking out of your room and went back to his own room. Over the next few weeks, you and Bucky have gotten closer. You two know each other better than you guys did a few weeks ago. Saying you two are best friends now is a statement. Plus, Bucky hasn’t been having nightmares as much as he used to.

You placed a big teddy bear in front of Bucky’s closed bedroom door and sprayed your perfume on it. The elevator dinged and you quickly were to your bedroom and closed the door before he seen you. Bucky stopped in his tracks when he seen the teddy bear. He slowly approached it, slightly suspicious. He dropped his suspicions when he got a whiff of perfume. He automatically knew the scent of perfume. It’s the scent you wear on a daily. He picked the teddy bear up and opened his bedroom door, placing it on the floor against the wall.

“Hey, Bucky!” You say, smiling widely.

“Hey, doll.” Bucky says, not as enthusiastic as you.

You frowned as you watched his vibranium hand rub his right shoulder.

“Did something happen to your shoulder?” You asked with concern in your voice.

“I think I pulled a muscle or something while training earlier.” He says, slightly wincing in pain.

“I can give you a massage if you want.” You suggested.

“Would you?” He asks.

“Of course I would!” You smiled. “Like I said, friends help friends out.” You say.

“You really are a doll.” Bucky kisses your cheek. “I’m going to take a shower before that massage.” He says before walking away.

You stood there frozen with butterflies fluttering in your stomach and blush creeping up on your cheeks. After a few seconds, you closed your eyes and shook your head before going to your room. A little bit later, Bucky knocked on your bedroom door and you gave him permission to come in.

“Take a seat.” You say, patting the bed in front of you.

Bucky sat down on your bed while you sat on your knees behind him. You rubbed his right shoulder, applying pressure. Bucky quickly relaxed with your touch.

“You give amazing massages.” Bucky sighs. “You have really soft hands.” He compliments.

“Thank you.” You say, smiling.

Bucky couldn’t see your face, but you’re blushing uncontrollably behind him. The compliments he gives you and the kisses on the cheeks he been giving you lately has been making you blush more than you normally do.

“You know…” He speaks up. “I know you’re the one who put that teddy bear outside of my bedroom.” He says.

“How- How do you know it’s me and not Natasha or Wanda?” You asked, stuttering.

“Natasha and Wanda don’t wear floral scented perfume.” He says.

You went quiet and felt your cheeks heat up. Bucky turned around to face you, seeing that your face is red.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you have a crush on me, doll?” He asks, looking deep in your eyes.

“We were getting to know each other so well that I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.” You say, looking down at your lap.

His vibranium hand caressed your cheek, his thumb gently rubbing against your skin, making you shiver. What Bucky did next surprised you. He leaned in, placing his lips on yours and kissed you passionately and sweetly. His lips felt soft against yours. It felt like everything around you guys was in slow motion and sparks were flying. It was everything you imagined. When Bucky pulled away, you were left breathless.

“Holy shit…” You say breathlessly.

Bucky couldn’t help but lightly laugh at your cuteness.

“How about we cuddle for the rest of the night.” Bucky suggests.

“I like the sound of that.” You say softly, smiling at him.

You and Bucky laid back on your bed and covered yourselves up with a blanket. You turned your TV on and put a movie on. You laid your head on Bucky’s chest. Your fingers played with Bucky’s dog tags while his vibranium hand rubbed your back soothingly.

“Just so you know…” Bucky breaks the silence. “I have a crush on you.” He says.

“You like me?” You asked, looking up at him.

“I thought I was making it pretty obvious for you when I complimented you and gave you cheek kisses.” He says.

“I thought you were just being friendly.” You say.

“Do friends do this?” He asks, kissing you again.

“No.” You giggled against his lips.

“Then that makes us more than friends.” He says.

“I’m completely fine with that.” You say.

“Me too.” He says, softly pecking your lips.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

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gentlyweeps-world · 5 months

Text

Waiting

summary: Maybe things would work out in a different universe.

pairing: logan sarge x reader

warnings: alcohol consumption, mentions of cheating/toxic relationship, angst [If you can’t tell I love angst]

LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO

You couldn’t count how many years you’ve liked- loved Logan, maybe it was when Oscar introduced you two? Or maybe when Logan showed up when your boyfriend didn’t.

You couldn’t or really shouldn’t say anything to him, after all he does have a girlfriend- not a very good girlfriend, but a girlfriend nonetheless.

Your smaller friend group knew she wasn’t good for him, only really there since he’s a Formula One driver and for his good looks. Not the true Logan- the one with horrible dad jokes and his awkward shyness.

You hated her, absolutely hated her. She was a plain bitch- a gold digger. She would go off and cheat on Logan, and she would play it off somehow and still end up with him by her side.

It wasn’t fair, you were clearly the better option, how could Logan not see that? He even had feelings towards you! Well he used to at least.

“You’ve got to say something to him”

You roll your eyes at Oscar’s text, knowing you’ll have to tell him eventually.

“No”

“Y/n he literally got P3 today, it’s the perfect opportunity!”

“You need to grow up and mature”

You let out a scoff at his text.

“I do not!”

“Be honest to yourself”

“Fuck off Oscar”

“See you at 7”

So now here you are, at a crowded and very busy club in Miami, celebrating Logan’s P3.

“Logan! Hey!” You shout over the music, moving past people to get to your friend. You tap his shoulder a few times, trying to get his attention.

“Hey Y/n! Thanks for coming..” Logan says, completely forgetting about the person he was talking to before and turning to face you.

“Of course, congrats on P3..” You say with a smile, moving a bit closer to him so he would hear you clearly.

“Thanks! It feelings amazing, especially after last year with my rookie season..” He says with a smile, leaning down to you so you could hear him better.

Just before you’re about to reply, someone accidentally shoves into you, Logan reacts almost instantly, he wraps an arm around your waist making sure you’re stable.

“W-well live it up!” You say, placing a hand on his chest, only innocently. “Is Scarlet here?” You ask, bringing up his girlfriend.

Logan scoffs at the mention of his girlfriend. “Yeah, of course she is, this is one of her favorite places, she always comes here.” When suddenly Scarlet comes up between both of you, her arms wrapping around Logan’s neck. “There you are! I was looking for you.” She says sweetly, kissing him on the cheek.

“Right well- I’ll see you two around!” You say with an awkward smile, heart dropping at the sight of Scarlet all up on Logan.

You let out a sigh and walk away from the two, opting to get a drink- and maybe talk up a random person.

After a few minutes, Logan shows up next to you, a little irritated. “Sorry about that.” He shrugs. “Scarlet is really clingy, she hates when I talk to any other girl.” He shrugs again. “Even if it’s just a friend.”

“Well y’know- some girls are like that..” You say with a dry chuckle, drinking some of the RB vodka you ordered.

"Yeah, she's a little much honestly, but she gets jealous really easily too, but hey, can't complain that she's hot." He shrugs.

“She’s kind of got me trapped. Honestly, I’d rather break up but then I’d be the bad guy, you know?” He shrugs again, drinking his own shot.

You roll your eyes as he calls her hot, “Well I mean you could break up with her, I’m sure she’ll find some guy to fuck so..” You say with a sigh.

“And you wouldn’t be the bad guy Logan..” You add on, glancing at him.

"I know but still it'd create a whole media mess, and I'm not looking forward to another media storm right now. So I guess we'll just stay together." He shrugs. "I mean I wish things were the same as before we were dating, you know? It was so easy then." He sips his drink.

“Yeah it was, wasn’t it..?” You say with a bittersweet smile, thinking back to a year ago when Logan and you were closer- maybe even flirty, with the longing glances and soft, hesitant touches.

He blushes slightly when you mentioned that. "Yeah, it was. It was fun just being friends, we were really close, and now all of a sudden I suddenly have this girlfriend who follows me around and gets mad whenever I’m next to another girl." He frowns. "I don't even feel that same connection with her anymore, like we used to have before."

“Really?” You ask, feeling a spark of hope, that maybe Logan will still have some sort of feelings left for you.

He sighs. "Yeah, I don’t feel like we have that same connection anymore, it’s like things changed after we started dating. Everything is so complicated now." He sips his drink, looking at you.

“Just take some time to think about it- but don’t forget to have fun tonight, yeah?” You say with a smile, placing your hand on his bicep and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

His face immediately brightened up, and he looked over to you, his breath hitched. "Yeah, I'll try." He smiles back, putting his hand over yours. "And hey, I hope you have fun tonight too."

“I’ll try” You say with a smile, walking away from him to the dance floor in the club, wanting to distract yourself from that entire conversation.

———

You didn’t know how many hours had passed- or how many drinks you had, all you knew was that you a hot hookup all over you as you both stumble out of the bar, the cold air sobering you up.

You giggle and laugh with the person, until you spot Logan sitting on the curb, head in his hands. “Logan..?” You ask out softly, forgetting about the person, you were pretty sure their name was Quinn, next to you.

Logan heard you call for him and looks up. "Y/n..." He stumbles to his feet, but before he starts walking towards you, he stops.

Your hookup, Quinn, looks between you and Logan, recognizing the look you gave Logan, they quietly walk back into the club. "Y/n...." Logan calls out to you again, the look on his face one of frustration and sadness.

“Hey- hey what’s wrong?” You ask, instantly rushing to Logan with worried eyes. You could make out his red eyes, and tear stained cheeks in the dark. “What did she do..?” You softly ask.

Logan pulls you into a hug, he sniffles. "She was cheating again... I don't know why I'm even surprised at this point I'm just stupid..." His voice was muffled as he cried against your shoulder.

“Oh Logan..” You coo out, wrapping your arms around him. “You aren’t stupid, you were in a bad situation and didn’t know what to do..” You reassure softly.

Logan holds you tightly, his head buried into your shoulder as he cried. For a minute, it seems like he doesn't care to notice anything around him as he lets out tears of relief.

After a while his sobbing calms down slightly, and he pulls away slightly, but he's still holding you. "Sorry for all this... you didn't need to deal with all of this..."

“No..no it’s okay Logan, that’s why I’m here, I’m your..friend..” You say with a pained smile, hating to see him in so much pain because of that- that bitch.

He finally pulls away, still looking upset. He clears his throat a couple of times. "Thanks, really." He stares at the ground for a second, thinking over whether or not he wants to say this. "Hey, can I ask something?" He looks up at you.

“Sure, what is it?” You ask, looking at him. He looks over his shoulder to make sure no one is around. "Can I ask, do you, ever feel like we're more than just friends?" He asks, his voice soft, his eyes gentle and caring.

“Sometimes yeah..I do..” You say with a soft smile, knowing that even if Logan feels the same, you can’t be together, Scarlet wouldn’t let that.

He doesn’t look away, and a slow, soft smile spreads across his face. “Really?” There's almost a sigh of relief from him, he’s almost happy that you admitted feeling the same. Maybe things will be fine after all, if you and Logan find some way to make it work.

“I don’t know how any of this will play out, and I know Scartlet is my girlfriend, but you Y/n..” He says taking a pause, “You are my love, my first love, you are my best friend, my everything, just know that..”

You feel your heart slowly break at his words, emotions building up inside you. You give him a bittersweet smile, “Just know I’ll be here waiting..” You say.

"I'll find a way to make something work... just promise me one thing Y/n?" He stares deep into your eyes, waiting for a response.

“Hmm?” You mumble out, looking up at him, admiring him for a moment.

"Just promise me you'll wait for me... because no matter how, I'll always come back to you." Holding your hand in his.

“Of course”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

radio 🪩: I’m sorry I keep writing angst, I just love it so much 💙 I’m not sorry

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ladyelissarose · 1 year

Text

‘Your Touch’

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x female solider reader

- Callsign; Taryn (meaning Thunder)

Summary; Who knew that the soldier with the callsign Taryn was actually afraid of the thunder? Maybe it’s loud claps shook her to her core instead of speaking to her? Ghost notices this, and decides to make a move on it.

Warnings: it’s really short but it’s lovely believe me. I’m terrified of thunderstorms so I thought I’d do something about it as I’m going through one right now! It’s mostly fluffy.. enjoy ;)🌻

‘CLAP!!.. BOOM!!’

You lost your breath while your brain short circuited, causing you to almost drop your heavy rifle to the ground. You unfortunately got jump-scared by nature’s screams; Thunder. Loud, screaming thunder, the one that could kill you and wake up the dead at once. It made your heart beat faster and your bones tremble deep in your core. The clouds cried rivers as you did your best to lift every foot completely off the ground as your stepped deeper into her puddles of tears. Thinking about the sun or sunshine didn’t help take your mind off of what scared you the most. Thunderstorms. Yeah, perhaps you were part of the most lethal group in the world as known as the 141 Task Force, but you still had fears. But you didn’t fear what others did, like chains, blood, needles, or even death.

No no... what terrified you to the point of tears and wrecking sobs begging to be released from the cages in your throat, was the sound of thunderstorms. It sounded like screams of a mourning mother and worse than the earth-shaking bombs of the military. Ever sense you were a little girl they scared you, it’s sound terrified your little heart until your mother came to embrace you through the night to sleep. But now without your mother and out in the field as a tough soldier, you did your very best to cover it up and handle it like a champ, though there were occasions that the tears would slip, and your lips would quiver, but you blamed it on the cold-chilly rain to be the reason to your reactions.

So no one in your teamed didn’t know about this this fear of yours... plus, your call-sign or nickname per say was ‘Taryn’, meaning ‘thunder’. But that was only because you had a loud presence, a voice that spoke over others with reason and power. There had never been one to shut you up for they feared being swallowed by your thunderous words. (And those that did- well let’s just say they never did it again:)

Anyways, you’re on night watch with Ghost, he was your sniper, you were his eyes. In complete stillness almost being unseen as the ghost he was, Lieutenant Ghost laid on his tummy beside you as you stood next to him with your special night binoculars, looking for any sight of unwanted intruders. Your eyes kept strong and open, making sure you saw past the rain to catch lingering figures, Ghost’s hands rested on the handle on the rifle as his finger laid delicately on the trigger, he was in position to be ready to aim where you told him too, then he’d snipe them out on your call.

But as your were busy you didn’t realize that Ghost had caught onto you almost dropping you gun seconds ago and how your legs were trembling beside his head, but he knew it was not from the cold- no no no... from fear. He had felt and trembled to that fear before, when he was beat by his father, witnessed the sight of his family’s dead bodies, being tortured closely to death and even buried alive- so yes... he knew fear.

Ghost knew you had a fear, but thunderstorms? Who would of thought? So to keep you calm and steady, as he wished you to be, he tried to call you back to reality. After clearing his throat and noticing the way his balaclava stuck to his skin, he asked softly but still with that deep, British voice,

“Sarge? You good?”

You snapped for a second and stayed still as you replied as calmly as you could, not wanting to give off how on the edge of fall apart you were,

“Yes sir. All good.”

“Hmm... don’t let the rain make you drop your weapon, you could damage a piece then it won’t work properly.”

“Oh. Yes sir. Apologies.”

“No need, just be careful eh?”

“Affirmative.”

“Hmm.. Hmm...”

‘Oh boy...’

Ghost’s ‘hmm hmm’s’ were sounding a little off today, they didn’t sound like of approval or satisfaction, but more like he didn’t believe you.

*bright ass lightning*

It was so bright you could see Ghost so clearly that you even saw the way his black paint around his coffee colored eyes was wearing off. Nonetheless you still thought of the future,

‘Oh fuck no... incoming bitch-‘

‘CLAP!!...’

‘no no no-‘

‘BOOOOM!!!’

“Shit!”

Your whole body jolted like if you had been electrocuted. Now streaks of warm tears fell down your face and blended with the cold ones from the rain, even a soft and small sob left your lips, Jesus it was really getting to you now. But you believed your cries were all blocked off or blended well by the sound of the raging storm. Oh it all just ripped you apart from the insides, your inner child was screaming for mama to embrace you and keep you close, away from all the danger. You didn’t feel like a brave, combat soldier who was like the thunderstorm herself... you felt like kid, a kid who needed a hug, and saving. Your hands trembled slightly as you lifted the binoculars to scan again, and thankfully nothing was out, so you put them back down for now, that’s when you felt a soft tug on your pant leg. Your heart skipped a beat with panic of who it was considering you were already traumatized, but your mind reminded you that it was Simon Riley by your leg, seeking your attention. You blinked away the tears and looked down, as you unintentionally whimpered,

“yeah Simon?”

“C’mere.”

“m?”

“down here. come.”

You right away knelt to the ground and felt the cold rain quickly soak your pants on the knees, but weren’t bothered by it as Simon’s words clouded those thoughts,

“Want to hide under my cape?”

You frowned and pointed at his large Grim Reaper cape cover him nicely, signifying that if that was what he was talking about. He leaned onto one elbow to look up at you as he nodded and repeated,

“So you’re going to come?”

‘Oh ok I’m not crazy he actually wants to share his cape!!’

“oh! You sure-“

He grunted and got back on his tummy,

“Don’t make me change my mind pussy-“

“Ok ok!”

With a short giggle at his choice of words which were usually saved for Soap, you then found refuge on your tummy too but with security under Ghost’s large cape, almost feeling untouchable by what’s out there as you huddled close to him and held your binoculars tightly. You left an inch between him and yourself for respect of course, though you wish that didn’t exist so you could be almost glued to him. Ghost was such a strong, bulky man, a human bear that was both cuddly and deadly, and Damn you were addicted to that combination. Simon then nudge your arm with his elbow as he suggested,

“Come closer Tar.. I don’t bite dove.”

‘No fucking way!! Sweet!’

Of course, you didn’t have to be told twice, in milliseconds you were pressed up against him, propped on your elbows mirroring his position, but what warmed and exploded your heart with awe, love, warmth and lust- ehem.. well what really got your broken and scared to death heart was the feeling of Simon’s hand wrapping around yours tightly. You gasp lowly at his action but nonetheless acted upon it when you cuddled his hand closer to you, relishing in the comfort of the smallest touch he could ever give. You always believed that under all of Simon’s deadly facade as Ghost, he had a soft spot... somewhere inside where he tried to be soulless like a Ghost.. he was still human with a good heart... and this just proved you right as he warned you,

“Never tell a soul about this or I’ll tell them your fear and give them the right to haunt you with it. Understood?”

You nodded quickly and leaned your cheek on your clasped hands as you promised,

“I won’t... thank you Si.”

“It feels nice.”

“It does... should we-“

He locked eyes with you and finished your suggestion with his words,

“Every time. When we feel scared. We can hold one another’s hands dove. If we’re together nothing can touch us. that’s what my mum used to do...”

He ended the last part with sadness in his tone, which you caught and squeezed his hand for extra comfort as you smiled sweetly, but it faded quickly when you saw it,

*deadly ass lightning strike*

Instinctively Simon pulled you practically under his chest with your ear pressed against him where his heart would be. He then covered the side that was opened, but not before saying into them kindly,

“It can’t touch you remember? I got you.”

*.... thump.. thump.. thump.. thump..*

The beyond, calming heart of Simon soothed your troubled soul, and also joyed you when you didn’t hear the terrifying sound of Mother Nature but instead the gift of life in Simon’s body. When it had passed Simon kissed your head through his mask and let you go to get back in position, which you did but still found his hand again without skipping a beat.

“Mm mmm.”

Now that, sounded like the delightful humming of Simon, he was pleased, and peaceful... you too were now. You took a quick glance at him but saw how his eyes were on yours first before he looked away shyly. You blushed a little and looked ahead feeling better, and so secure with him. It was probably the beginning of the best night watches and life you were going to have.. as long as you had Simon Ghost Riley by you.... and Simon believed the same thing, when he felt his heart beat differently but nicely at the touch of your hand in his, and also how you reminded him of his loving mother, who with just touch... he was a healed and protected kid. You both healed your inner child at one another’s touch.

#Heal me Ghost I can’t take thunderstorms!!#ghost simon riley #cod simon riley #glen powe #ghost call of duty #cod ghost #ghost mw2 #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley imagine #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley fluff #ghost fluff #cod fluff #call of duty

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rookthorne · 7 months

Text

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥

You had always had the biggest Halloween and spooky spirit — every fall was a haven for you, and this year, you had the opportunity to harness the ultimate joy of surprising James when he came home after a long day. His reaction, however, left you speechless and stunned; wishing for every season to become fall.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ☘︎ Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ☘︎ 1.0k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ☘︎ Tooth rotting fluff, Bucky is passionate

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ☘︎ I died from the cuteness, ngl.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ☘︎ @rookthorne's Fright Night — Masterlist

𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐲 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐬, 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The air was warm and filled with the aromas of a freshly cooked dinner. Wood cracked and burned in the fireplace as you sat on the couch, legs tucked under you with a blanket on your lap. It was late in the afternoon and Bucky was due home any minute now – Sam had called him on site for just a favour that ended up taking up the whole of his day.

You weren’t mad, though. In the time that Bucky had spent on site, you had elected to have some Halloween fun with Sarge and Koda – both of which were cuddled on the couch next to you. Sarge’s head rested on your thigh, and Koda’s head was propped up on Sarge’s back.

It would have been peaceful. No different than any other night that you spent reading or relaxing, if it weren’t for your stifled giggles.

Sarge – looking as broody as he always did – was indifferent to the small hat that had black horns sticking up and out from between his ears. Or the red vest with two wings sprouting from his shoulders. A red, pointed tail was sewn onto the end of it and it laid curled next to his own fluffy (and still) tail.

Behind Sarge, Koda stirred, blinking and huffing as she woke up from her nap. The orange hat she wore had a green stump, perfectly resembling a pumpkin top. Her brown, fluffy body was covered in an orange vest, striped with a darker hued orange to give the illusion of a round pumpkin. She stared at you with her soft, dark eyes, and you smiled. “You’re so adorable, baby girl.”

Tires crunched over gravel outside and then light flooded the living room of the cabin – Bucky’s truck had just pulled in. Your heart skipped a beat as you struggled to move under the weight of a still slumbering Sarge. “He’s home–daddy’s home, wake up, Sarge.”

Both dogs sprung to life and ambled to the front door just as the engine of the truck cut out, and the thud of the driver’s door closing sounded. It was music to your ears after such a long day. The dogs yipped and jumped over one another in their excitement. “Down, down, settle–here,” you said, rushing to open the door. “Go on.”

“Hey, love,” Bucky called from the stone path to the front door, but he was looking towards his truck as the alarm chirped. He was still wearing his red plaid jacket and light denim jeans, though they were covered in wood dust, and the bun he had thrown his hair up in that morning before he left was gone, instead, his long hair flowed down his neck and over the collar of his shirt.

You sighed softly as you watched him shove his truck keys in his back pocket. “I’m so sorry I was gone so long, sweetheart. I tried gettin’ away but you know Sam. And then fuckin’ Steve, I swear to- What the–?” He stopped by the flower bed, his widening eyes downcast towards the dogs that were jumping up at him for attention.

“Welcome home, babe,” you said, cocking out a hip to lean against the porch rail. “I made dinner–you hungry?”

Bucky stared up at you, slack jawed. “What did you do to them?”

“The dogs?” you asked, arching a brow. “I got them ready for Halloween, James.”

“Halloween,” he repeated as he glanced back down again. “You- When did you get these coats? And the hats?”

“Wands helped me.” The wood beneath your feet creaked as you stepped down onto the path. Sarge and Koda paid no mind to you as you neared – their attention entirely captivated by Bucky. “Aren’t they adorable?”

Slowly, Bucky looked back up at you, then back at the dogs that jumped up his legs. Suddenly, he dropped his work bag and fell to his knees, a wide smile on his face that made his nose scrunch and eyes squint. “They are more than adorable,” he cooed, holding Koda’s face in his callused hands. He kissed her nose then hugged Sarge. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner, baby? I would’a picked up some pumpkins or somethin’!”

You watched, amused, when Bucky’s bright eyes widened just as they always did when he had an idea, or a plan. “We need a photoshoot–get your camera!”

“Babe, wait,” you called, laughing as Bucky sprang to his feet and ran inside, presumably to look for your camera. “I can go get some pumpkins tomorrow.”

“No!” Bucky’s yell was muffled, like he was on the other side of the cabin. “We gotta do it now, just look at ‘em.” He popped his head around the door and you laughed – he looked just like his dogs when they were excited about something, a treat or a toy. “What?”

“Nothing, you’re just adorable.” Bucky blushed and bounded down the steps. “Do you want to take photos now, or wait for tomorrow–when I get the pumpkins?”

“Both.” He shrugged and looked down at his dogs. “They deserve that–do it every day, if you could. You’re so good at it, sweetheart.”

“Flattery will get you somewhere,” you teased, and you grabbed the camera from his hands. “Alright, you’ve convinced me. Let’s take some before it gets too dark and then you can help me plan tomorrow’s shoot.”

Bucky grinned, a beautiful sight, and before he could change his expression, you snapped a photo. “For my personal collection.”

“You can take as many as you want, Clover,” he promised earnestly. “So long as I get to see your pretty face light up while you do it. Fuck, I love you.” You blinked at his words, unable to take them in, and then Bucky kissed you on the cheek before he ran off with the two costumed pooches in tow. “C’mon, let’s go!”

Your fingers brushed where his lips had connected, and your heart bloomed with warmth. If you got to experience his joy just from taking photographs – you decided then and there that you would never put your camera down. “Coming!”

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fluff #rookthorne's works

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precious-little-scoundrel · 7 months

Text

Sarge & lil Mama: Wouldn’t it be Nice?

Fully co-authored with: @ab4eva 🤍

Summary: In between shooting movies and topping charts, Elvis Presley takes his young family to the California beach for some hard earned frolicking, nothing extraordinary occurs, but then again, extra and ordinary are words redefined since Elaine gave him five children under the age of five.

Date: 1962, Summertime

Word Count: 9k

Warnings: PG13- The accidental destruction of a child’s sandcastle, breastfeeding toddler, talk of being uncircumcised (including by children + children being aware of it), use of several nicknames for a man’s member, someone’s hair accidentally being set fire to, language, a minor injury involving sand in the foreskin + lots of talk about it (including by children) + treatment of the injury by uncommon methods while children are present (but not directly involved), Elvis being a big baby, Rosalee being distraught about her daddy’s injury, a child willfully acquiring a knife and threatening to cut off fathers member (more wholesome than it sounds) but has it taken away before anything can happen, parents kissing while children are present.

Jerry thought the day had been going quite well. Beach days were supposed to be carefree and rollicking and generally a time to let loose and soak up salt spray tranquility, and today had been correspondingly mellow. Or at least, everyone tried their best, a break from those back to back Wallis pictures doing wonders for EP and giving him a chance to take the kids to see the ocean for the first time, or the first time that some of them can remember .

It gave the day both a heavy amount of purpose and a giddy sense of long sought freedom. Away from the hustle and bustle of Hollywood, nestled between the Santa Monica Mountains and the cliffs of Pacific Palisades, sits a beach so serene and beautiful you’d think you were a thousand miles from nowhere instead of a stone’s throw away from the City of Angels. Miles of smooth, sandy shoreline and calm ocean waves, not to mention the virtually non-existent crowd, made it the ideal spot for their getaway. They would have space, and privacy, away from the prying eyes and curious shutterbugs that seemed to follow their little gang wherever they went.

They had a good little headquarters set up on the sand, a sandpit and bonfire beginning to be used for the evening’s meal of s’mores and hot dogs, a half a dozen umbrellas erected and a carpet of towels. Often they held a dozing child, nestled in a nest of cotton stripes when their little bodies couldn’t keep up with the games so vigorously played on at the water's edge. An hour ago Elvis had been there himself, laid out and snoozing next to Rosalee, his face in the shade but the entire rest of him in the sun’s full glare, clad in a wispy muslin shirt that had a penchant for riding up his belly with each gust of wind and tiny red shorts that he’d swiped from Edith Head’s costuming department after the latest film had wrapped.

“Those’ll make for some crazy tan lines.” Billy had remarked about it to Elaine while grabbing a beer from the cooler.

She’d just hummed dreamily while watching the way her man and their baby’s breath synced up, the little girl not even a third as long as his lanky frame, positioned in a L, her pasty baby skin in full shadow from the summer sun.

The cat nap had revived Elvis immensely and he was back at it within an hour, playing football with the boys while Elaine floated between her children, one minute collecting shells with Ella and Rosalee, the next inspecting a tiny crab Jackson had found. Jack, as his family called him, was intrigued by sea creatures and creatures in general, so he happily set about running from one thing to the next, crouching down to study a jellyfish that had washed ashore or gently returning a live sand dollar back to the water. At the ripe age of four years old, Jesse considered himself one of the guys, and was allowed, begrudgingly by some, to take part in the football game. Elvis had taught him how to throw a football almost as soon as he could walk, he’d been obsessed with any sort of ball since before he could talk and so was a natural. And Daisy Mae? For once she was sat quietly by herself, plastic buckets and pails all lined up in a row, diligently building a sandcastle..

It had three turrets so far, and an outer courtyard like the real life castle mama had driven them all to see when in Germany. Jesse had insisted that Daisy only recalled it from pictures and not memory, as she had been “just a baby” but she insisted she did. And to prove her point she was creating its layout with painstaking accuracy. Unless Elaine was greatly mistaken, Daisy’s little sand edifice bore a more striking resemblance to an illustration in Scribner’s edition of Grimm’s Fairy Tales, but she would be the first and staunchest defender if asked that the wet mounds resembled Lichtenstein Castle.

It made what happened next even worse as Elaine and Aunt Betsy watched as if in slow motion horror as a cataclysmic catastrophe of toddler sized proportions unfolded as the ball game spread and spread across the white sands. It wasn’t that Uncle Rex was trying to trample on Daisy’s masterpiece, but Elvis threw a Hail Mary pass, farther than even he thought possible, and the next thing anyone knew Rex was skidding to a stop with one foot in the moat and the other on a turret, his team cheering with wild abandon because he’d caught the ball. A high-pitched wail pierced the air, drowning out the gulls and the waves, startling them all.

Uncle Rex’s kindly and sun tanned face turned a little sickly pale upon looking down and noticing that while little Daisy Mae did not look to be in any mortal danger, she was glaring at his foot through a cascade of tears as if it were the cause of all human woe. Then he noticed the turret, the moat, what was probably a stable for horsies in back and the stack of plastic shovels and molds beside it that all bore witness to the four year old’s painstaking efforts. All of it demolished with a misplaced foot and when Rex looked up and saw Elvis running over to ascertain the cause of his child’s grief, Rex coulda swore his wide-receiver days were over.

In an instant, Elvis had scooped Daisy Mae up in his arms, her tears soaking the shoulder of his thin shirt as he patted her back soothingly, swaying gently from side to side and murmuring softly in her ear. Being a father was second nature to him at this point, he had perfected all of the little rituals and responsibilities that came with having so many children all under the age of five. At the same time, he was holding her close and checking to make sure she wasn’t hurt, smoothing the fine hair that floated in a halo around her head and running his hands over her tiny limbs.

“Aww now darlin’ it’s alright, it’s alright, Uncle Rex is awfully sorry,” he soothed her the best he could once hearing her bawling complaint, “he’s awfully sorry, didn’t mean to, such a pretty castle ya got here. So pretty, he’d never mean to do it and he feels sick about it.”

“Just sick.” Rex agreed vehemently, dropping to his knees on the sand beside Elvis and his child, careful to choose an undeveloped patch of sand from which to properly apologize, “I’m ever so sorry, Daisy dear.”

It was typical Daisy fashion for words to be cheap and the devastation of her afternoon’s work a soul scarring affair, and while her daddy’s arms and sweet words were soothing, at least a little, there remained a bitterly painful sense of loss in her little chest that nothing was ever again going to remedy or fill that void.

That is untill Jesse piped up softly at her side after surveying the damage, “Daisy, was this goin’ to be where they keep the wolves?”

Lichtenstein Castle had an large menagerie in back where it’s first Saxon overlord kept the native beasts for gruesome purposes Elaine did not expound to the children about. Seemingly forgetting his insistence that Daisy did not recall the place from memory alone, Jesse was intrigued by the design and after asking her she finally pulled her face out of her daddy’s shoulder to give her big brother a sniffling nod and very pointedly emphasized:

“S’posed to be.” For it would never be now and never could be again, for all her mortal dreams had been dashed by Uncle Rex’s foot.

“We can help finish it!” Jesse insisted. “Look here, Daisy, this shovel is the perfect thing to fix the wolf pen, just needs a bit of sand scooped out is all and it’ll be good as new!” He dropped to his hands and knees and got to work, carefully scooping out sand and water, shoring up the walls as he went. Daisy observed him watchfully from the safety of her father’s arms, hiccuping a little every now and then. Elvis gently swiped the tears from her reddened cheeks, kissing her forehead gently and whispering to her, “Whatdya reckon, Daisy Maisey? Think we can get this ol’ castle fixed up? Uncle Rex and I know a thing or two ‘bout buildin’ things, don’t we now, Rex?” He nodded knowingly to Rex above Daisy’s head, giving him the go ahead to speak up.

“Oh sure we do, I’ve been known to build a sandcastle as tall as your daddy before, ain’t that right, Elvis?” He hunched down beside the duo, eye to eye with Daisy to plead his case. “I’ll even make ya some pretty vines to hang down the side outta seaweed, would ya like that?” Daisy eyed him warily before nodding her head slowly and stating with a great deal of gravity, “Lick-en-stine Castle doesn’t have vines that hang down…but it has trees that grow on the side.” Her small concession was all the affirmation Rex needed to plop himself down properly, grabbing a pail and filling it with sand, talking to the little girl the whole while, regaling her with his favorite parts of the castle he had visited while in Germany.

“What’s going on down there?” Up at Beach HQ under the umbrellas, Elaine asked Aunt Betsy for an update on the toddler crises as she tried to discreetly nurse a rather lanky Jack under a towel he was insistent on throwing off.

He was perhaps getting too old for this, Elaine had to admit, but her milk hadn’t stopped, and she didn’t have another baby yet. “They’re all over the place.” She snickered at the sight of them, as much of them as she could make out which was mostly when they went to the water's edge and scurried back again with refilled buckets.

They weren’t that far off down the beach but Betsy was always nearsighted and so she held the binoculars Rex had brought for whale watching and trained it on the group of men down there hovering and packing and molding sand and fetching water like a great army of ants. Anywhere Daisy beckoned was attended to by a member of the Mafia, with Jesse as her most dedicated foremen, while it appeared that Rex had been entrusted with wreathing the front pillars with garlands of seaweed that he received from further up in the assembly line where Elvis was braiding the slimy stuff with dedicated perseverance and the help of Rosalee’s tiny fingers. Rex and Betsy’s son, Sam, happy and carefree and practically one of the Presley kids himself, plopped down beside Rosalee, far more interested in watching her work than doing any work himself.

“Your man has got the boys rebuilding it.” Betsy summarized with an amused smirk. “Only Elvis could wrangle a group of grown men into building a sandcastle for a three year old…and with such authority. He really did learn a thing or two in the army, didn’t he?”

Elaine smiled softly to herself and held out a hand for the binoculars to better see the little group at the water’s edge. She wasn’t at all prepared for the sight of her husband, tiny red swim shorts and wind-blown hair, breath-taking in his command of an army all his own, pointing and inspecting and generally being an adorable menace for the benefit of his girl. Her darling children were running to and fro with buckets and shovels, laughing and screaming, while Daisy sat like a queen in the midst of them all, the real commanding officer and Elvis only her obedient second. That girl had had her daddy at her command ever since the day she was born.

Jack was roused from his cozy stupor at Elaine’s breast by all of the noise, letting her nipple go with a soft pop and turning his head to the commotion. A lackadaisical learner, Jack’s favored vocabulary consisted mostly of “mama” and food items at this point in his life and having stuffed himself with milk, he proved he was his father’s son by looking away from the sand architects down at the beach and asking her hopefully,

“Cat’sup?”

By that he meant the hotdogs intended for the bonfire but his favorite ingredient in them was ketchup and so they were referred to by it accordingly.

“You can’t possibly be hungry, little man.” She laughed, poking his distended, milk full belly and making him laugh until he hiccuped and that dimple of his dug deep.

“Cat’sup.” Jack persisted, cheeks in full grin and he bonked his soft button nose to Elaine's, holding their faces together with clammy little hands. “Caaaat’suuup.”

“Well, ya heard him,” she giggled to Betsy. “The man of the place says he’s hungry.”

“I don’t blame him one bit. I’m a little hungry myself,” Betsy said, rubbing her pregnant belly and winking at Jack. “What do ya think, Jacky boy, should we get lunch ready?”

Elaine and Betsy set about preparing lunch, knowing the troops would be ready to feast when they finished with all their hard work. There wasn’t much to do, as roasted hotdogs and potato chips were the beginning and end of it, with s’mores for dessert, but they laid everything out on the card table that Betsy had brought, stacking skewers and buns, stoking the burn pit to a good blaze.

The sandcastle crew were just about done shoring up their renovations, much to Daisy’s satisfaction and glee, when the smell of the bonfire wafted down shore, making their tummies suddenly grumble, the promise of sustenance close at hand. The whole gaggle of them made their way towards Beach HQ, and chattering excitedly, descended upon the food like a pack of hungry wolves set free from Lichtenstein Castle.

After the hot dogs had been roasted and consumed, the s’mores fixins were brought out, much to the gathered children’s delight. With the concentration and patience befitting a much older child, Jesse slowly turned his marshmallow over the low flames, just like his daddy taught him. Slow and steady, until it starts to grow and puff up, turning a lovely golden color. It was almost there, almost ready to be popped onto a graham cracker and smooshed with chocolate, a melty, delicious, sugary mess. But then the inevitable happened, because no matter how careful and how meticulous you are when roasting marshmallows, at least one or two, three or four even, are bound to catch fire. It happens in a flash, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Waving it back and forth, though, that will surely put the flame out, right?

This is Jesse’s thinking at least, as his eyes grow big and he inhales a breath, intending to blow out the flaming marshmallow that is too far gone to save. He waves it back and forth, frantically, the tiny blaze only growing bigger by the second. Those gathered around the campfire watch almost in slow motion as the mallow launches off of Jesse’s stick, flying through the air with the greatest of ease, and lands with a plop on poor Jerry’s beautiful blonde mop of hair.

“Holy shi-“

“Uhem!”

“Somebody put it out!”

“No, no, not the marshmallow, forget the marshmallow, his hair! Get his hair put out!”

It’s absolute pandemonium then as Jerry tries to pat out the flames but only succeeds in yelping as the fire singes his hands, the same goes for Charlie and Billy as they try to bat it out and Elaine and Betsy are no help at all, lost to giggles and trying to make sure no more marshmallows get catapulted off sticks.

“Dunk him in the ocean!” Elaine suggests the obvious and suddenly Jerry is resistant to all help.

“No, no, just, just hand me some water or somethin-“ he backs away from the encouraging hands of his friends.

“There’s a giant body of water right behind ya.” Elvis laughs the same hiccuping laugh that Jack has.

“The salt will ruin my flow, man!” Jerry begs for him to understand and Elaine watches as her peacock of a husband has a compassionate epiphany for him.

It’s no time for vanity, the smoldering sticky bomb in his hair is singeing and casting a nauseating stench over the dessert.

“Jerry, just stick your dumb head in God’s teacup, man.” Charlie coaxes him towards the ocean.

“You’re gonna lose more than your flow if ya don’t.” Elaine predicts as she watches those blonde locks begin to frazzle.

She can tell it spooks him but it’s not enough and in the end they have some free entertainment with their s’mores, watching Billy and Rex dunk their unwilling buddy into the waves. Before Elaine can remind him to swallow his last bite, Jesse is off down the beach and into the waves himself, body surfing like his daddy taught him with an alarming lack of caution. It makes even Elvis nervous and with a sticky peck to her lips in thanks for the meal, her husband discards his shirt and jogs after their son.

The diaspora affects all and soon the bonfire occupants have dispersed, each to their own little endeavors again as the sun begins to dip towards the westerly horizon. There’s frisbee’s being thrown now, higher up the beach and well away from any sandcastles, and it gets quite competitive as the kids are happily intent on burying Betsy and Elaine. The mermaid tails requested by each take additional time to craft and part way through Jesse becomes too restless to mold sand any longer and with tentative steps makes his way back to the towel fort under the umbrella and pulls the family’s famed new Polaroid camera from inside Elaine’s diaper bag.

“Mama, can I?” he hollers, careful to wipe his sandy fingers off on the towel after he notices them near the lens.

“Sure, darlin,” she grins from her sand casement, “Rosa baby, can ya pull my hair back a little for mama? It’s gettin’ in my mouth, thank ya baby.”

“Alright,” Jesse appears before them all knobby knees and tanned little legs beneath his shorts, looking for all the world like a collectible sized Elvis doll, “gimme your best smile ladies!” he imitates his father’s tone so well that Betsy let’s out an ungainly snort alongside her shocked laugh.

“I want a mermaid tail!” Ella, usually so very selfless for so young a child, lets slip her needs with a wobbly lip and yearning eyes.

“Of course you do!” Elaine murmurs, nodding her head to the side, “Lay down beside mama, sweetie. Y’all got enough muscles for one more, right?” she eggs on her boys and Jesse springs to action for his twin maybe a little too fast: “No, Jesse, the camera -don’t, not on the sand! -oh well.”

It’s just money, Elaine realizes, as Jesse’s guilty face waits for her verdict on the Polaroid camera face first in the sand. Luckily her husband makes a whole lotta the yummy green stuff.

“It’s fine, darling,” she insists and the colony of worker bees sets in motion again until Ella has a tiny little tail to match mama’s.

After an hour in this full body cast Elaine ventures with an unassuming tone, “Do y’all need me to get you anything? Y’all hungry again?”

“Yeah, I think there are more graham crackers left over?” Betsy adds to it, a terrible itch on her shin hardly able to be tolerated any longer as her hands are pinned to her sides.

“No, we’re good,” Daisy replies serenely.

“Ya sure?” Betsy’s face shows alarm at the prospect of not being released.

“Yeah.”

Elaine smirks and leans into the sandy hair petting Jack is lavishing on her, “How long do you reckon mermaids last after they get tossed ashore?” she asks Betsy.

“With those men as the sailors?” She rejoins, wryly nodding at the group of full grown men body smashing each other in pursuit of the frisbee, “An hour max.”

Elaine snickers and settles for waiting until someone wants to be carried into the waves before breaking out of her meticulously crafted tail. She doesn’t have to wait long before unforeseen circumstances arise that require her attention. With that sixth sense that motherhood has given her, she senses an injury in the frisbee players even before the concerning hush alerts her to a downed man.

“Ow goddamnit! Ow, ow, owww!” The last thing anyone had seen was Elvis diving for the frisbee with ease, his long and tan athletic form sure in its ability. And now here he was, rolling around in the sand, clutching his groin through his tiny, red shorts and moaning like he’d been shot.

“What is it Daddy? What’s wrong?” Little Jesse is at his father’s side in an instant, dropping to his knees on the sand next to Elvis, his sharp, intuitive eyes assessing the situation like a triage doctor on the battlefield. He takes in Elvis’s hands covering his privates and understands what’s happened, in the way that men always understand when that delicate part of them has been injured, like a sixth sense. “Is it your nozzle, papa? Is it hurt?”

“I think I’ve got sand in my…” Elvis grits out, before blushing deeply and coughing, too embarrassed to go on. Jesse stares at him, eyebrows drawn together, a puzzled look on his little boy face, trying to decipher his father’s unspoken meaning. He looks from Elvis’s face down to where his hands are pressing at his shorts and back up again, a look of recognition dawning.

“In your scarf, papa?” Jesse whispers loudly, the way a little child thinks they’re being discreet but really they’re just announcing your business for the whole world to hear.

Elvis hears the snickers of the gathered men at this and through his pain manages to give them a hard stare, withering in its ability to shut them up immediately, their eyes pointedly looking anywhere but at the situation unfolding before them, though they can’t help their drifting gazes that settle back on the man himself. Jesse’s little boy fascination with his father’s “nozzle” that wore a “little scarf” came from the fact that he himself didn’t have one. There had been no way in hell that Elvis Presley would let any sons of his grow up being teased and tormented in every locker or shower room they found themselves in for the rest of their lives. He had been through so much hazing and shame in his lifetime due to his uncut self that he was insistent with Elaine when Jesse was born that he be circumcised.

Elaine had been torn, and a little bit saddened, by this decision. She had wanted her boys to resemble their father in this aspect, had wanted them to be able to see themselves in Elvis in this most intimate way. But she knew there would be no arguing her point with him, this was one concession she had no choice in. She understood his shame, his embarrassment, but that didn’t mean she had to agree with it. Her man was perfect in every way, this one included. So she had merely tilted her head to the side and given him a gentle, searching look, her brown eyes meeting his scared blue ones, before nodding once and agreeing to his decree.

And so it was that when Elvis taught his little sons how to aim just so in the toilet, or when they went camping and had to use the bathroom in the woods, or when they saw him getting out of the shower every now and again, they were sorely disappointed that their “little men” didn’t have a scarf like their daddy’s did.

Such was Jesse’s preoccupation with making sure that Elvis and his little scarf were ok. Elvis hisses as he shifts his position in the sand, trying to sit up, every move he makes jostling more sand to fall out of his tiny shorts.

Jerry rolls his eyes behind his aviator shades and drawls, “Want me to carry ya to mama, EP?”

“Help me up, dammit, and wipe that look off your face, Schilling. Do you have a nozzle with a little scarf? No? Then I don’t wanna hear it,” Elvis spits out venomously, hissing again as Jerry pulls him up by the hand, throwing Elvis’s arm around him as Jesse rather comically supports him on the other side, his daddy’s hand resting heavily on the little boy’s shoulder. A truly absurd amount of sand falls out of Elvis’s tiny shorts as he stands and Jerry has to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. Distracted by all the commotion, Jack leaves the seashells he’d been collecting, running over to see what all the commotion was about.

“Elbis’ wocket owie?” Jack asks his daddy who he refuses to call by his proper title, taking a sandy thumb out of his mouth as he casually observes the trio making their way delicately across the beach to headquarters. Ever their curious child, by talking age Jack was obsessed with NASA and everything to do with space. He had settled on calling his little man “rocket,” a decision his father was sure he would come to regret in a couple of decades. But as he could tell that Jack wouldn’t be persuaded against it, he had sighed with fondness, ruffling the little rascal’s hair and saying, “Ok, my boy. I see I ain’t gonna change your mind on this one.” Elaine had watched all of this from the darkened hallway in Graceland, biting her lip and trying not to smile, as her three men stood in the bathroom, discussing men things. Jesse was already making blast-off jokes about it, something he would no doubt continue to do for the rest of their lives.

“Oh now, what’s all the fuss about, hmm?” Elaine, having broken out of her mermaid tail at the first sign of distress down the beach, looks over her cat-eye sunglasses at the group slowly making their way towards her. Her motherly instincts kick in as she evaluates the situation with sharp eyes, taking in her husband’s disheveled and slightly embarrassed state - noting with some concern the pained grimace running from his furrowed brow to his twisted mouth, the look of pure concern on her son’s face as he peers up at his father and the barely concealed amusement that Jerry’s trying hard to reign in. Elvis is limping like his leg’s been shot clean off, and she can’t quite make out where the injury lies. There’s no blood, no bruise, no showing bone…she runs through all of these possibilities in a matter of seconds, still puzzled by the time she meets them halfway down the beach.

“Elvis, what’s wrong?” she asks again as she meets them up the beach and takes in Schilling's straight face but bouncing shoulders and Elvis’ teeth gritted glare at his friend. “What’s broken?” Elaine throws her hands up in encouraging exasperation at the mute trio and it’s Jesse who has the composure to break the dire news to his mother in grave, childish tones,

“Daddy’s nozzle is broken.” Jesse tells her and for a split second Elvis can see the identical expression on both Elaine and Jesse’s faces, that alarmed and incredulous mix that makes the beginning third of their eyebrows point upwards briefly in a way that blows out of the water any theories about Jesse being his daddy’s copy. He’s a pure blend of both parents and Elvis thinks that the boy having his mama’s expressions makes him somehow fonder for the almost womanish amounts of fretting his young son already indulges in.

“Broken?” Elaine repeats and she’s already gathered enough comfort for Schilling’s mirth to figure that this isn’t life threatening, pulling down her shades again she ducks to meet Elvis’ eyes and mutters for only him to hear, “Really, honey? We’ve talked about you runnin’ round with a stiffy.”

“It ain’t broke or stiff!” Elvis replies with vehemence driven by pain, “There’s a beach worth of sand down my drawers and all up in my…business!”

“Oh.” Elaine’s mouth trembles in a way that closely resembles Jerry’s suppressed attempts and that’s just great, Elvis thinks, Elaine finds him and his scarf full of sand funny and maybe he will too in a few months when this gets to be a bonfire story but right now it feels like fire in his drawers.

“Woman, I’m in agony over here!” Elvis cries and his wife composes her face with credible ease and looks down to the offending red shorts with eyes intent to solve the issue.

“Do somethin’ mama!” Jesse urges, mimicking his father’s faith that Elaine can work miracles on big or little men.

“Umm ok, yeah of course I-“ she starts to fret herself as she looks around at their entourage, most of whom are starting to take notice of the boss being injured. “Can’t you just -wade out there and rinse the sand out?” She misunderstands exactly how intricate the issue is. “Just pull the legs out a little and…shimmy in the water..”

“I could barely walk to you!” Elvis eyes are wide as saucers and he looks like a hurt child for all that his masculine body is on full display to dissuade her gut instincts.

“Yeah, uh, Boss Lady, it’s like -up, UP his …scarf.” Jerry helps out in his staple, sardonic drawl.

“And it hurts?!” Elaine looks flabbergasted and Elvis gives her one last pained and withering look of incredulity before she shapes up into the doting little caregiver Elvis has molded her into, “Oh Mopey, no, oh dear, I’ll fix it, I-I’ll find a way. We need these folks distracted -Jerry?”

“What am I supposed to do about a dick injury?” Jerry asks, offended at the notion he’d know anything about dicks.

Elaine’s eyebrow quirks in appreciation for Jerry and his staunch idiocy. “I need to rinse the poor thing!” she hisses, “And I need some privacy from our folks while I’m at it.”

“Yeah, she needs to rinse it!” Elvis repeats in a small voice that’s very hopeful and very needy and Elaine slips her hand around his bronzed wrist to keep her husband from fully floating away.

“Elvis, come on honey, just a little further to the blanket fort,” she urges him and he throws his arm around her sun kissed shoulders and hobbles to HQ with unsuppressed little whines at each step that Elaine shouldn’t find so cute but she can’t help it when he turns into a big baby for her.

“What’s wrong with daddy?” Rosalee demands with terror in her eyes and predictably Sam Harrison and Daisy Mae are right on her heels.

“He’s got a boo boo and I’ve gotta rinse it out.” Elaine hushes the brewing hysteria as gently as she can, and even Elvis gives his girl a weak thumbs up of assurance as he drops to his knees on the sand and tugs at the tight pant leg of his shorts. “Like how we gotta rinse your cuts with antiseptic when you scrape your knees, ya know?” Elaine explains patiently while thinking up a plan, “But daddy’s owie is higher up. And I need your help, Rosa sweets. I need y’all to make a blanket wall for me, can ya do that? Get your brother and sisters and hold hands with your towels?”

The words are barely out of Elaine’s mouth before little Sam Harrison seizes his chance and grabs hold of Rosalee’s hand, the essential towel forgotten. The little chestnut haired cutie stares at his forwardness with typical childish surprise before looking to her daddy to see if he’s gonna kill Sam for such an assumption. Elvis is staring at the wide blue sky with gritted teeth and so he missed both the interaction and the way Sam’s mother Betsy comes over and asks after the plan -which Elaine relays with unapologetic diction but pink cheeks. Soon they’ve got a fine little semi circle made with the kids facing outwards and their towels held between them, giggling like it’s a competition of who can keep the most soldierly posture, the felled umbrella doing the work of three in the gap.

Somewhat sheltered for her delicate work, Elaine crawls over her prostate husband and takes in his puckered eyebrows and the trusting set of his blue eyes as he waits for her to fix him. Fix him, oh it’s so silly, she thinks, he’s so silly and she loves him so much and can’t believe she’s humoring a grown man in this stupid fit of whimpishness. Then again, maybe it does hurt.

“I shoulda made ya walk to the ocean like we did Jerry and his hair,” she sighs over him and his eyebrows knit together, further aggrieved at the mere suggestion of him putting in such effort when he’s so dreadfully wounded.

“Mama I’s hurtin,” Elvis objects and his sad glare is the same as Jack’s and somehow she’s gone from angel to being in deep trouble with a grown brat -and Elaine never got taught how to deal with such a phenom, in her own experience it’s best to just kiss it better.

But Elaine was always one to be been torn between doing what’s best and doing what’s asked of her. “My poor pretty baby.” she coos to him and places a wet peck to his plump lips and Elvis pitifully puckers them to receive it as he is still petulant, the praise has him only slightly pacified. “Lemme just grab-“ Elaine ignores the nearby canteen, it’s empty anyway, and instead sneakily reaches into the cooler and snags a Coke bottle. It’s chilled even though the ice has melted throughout the day.

“Here Butnin, open up,” she murmurs and Elvis unscrews his eyes enough to see her lighting a cigar for him and drawing on it with the faded paint of her lips before pressing it to his. The familiar taste and warm rush of the nicotine soothes him and he lays his head back on the towel, expecting her to present that Coke she’s grabbed for him to taste as soon as she uncaps it.

The sky is impossibly blue above him without a cloud in sight and at the edges of the horizon it’s turning violet as the sun wanes, and if he holds very still the burning down south calms enough for Elvis to appreciate the breeze and the feel of Tink fussing over him. Jack’s been getting more than his fair share of doting from her and while Elvis would never fake an injury or embellish it’s severity, when God fells a man it’s his due for a woman to fuss over him.

Drawing on his cigar, Elvis feels her hands stretching out the leg hole of his shorts and gingerly Elaine’s hands creep up his thigh and beyond those golden tan lines. She finds him where he’s tucked himself to the side, soft and floppy in its silliest state, and takes greater care with her hold in him when Elvis hisses,

“Careful woman, it’s burnin’ like hellfire, don’t need your maulin’ on top of it.”

“Sowwy, so sowwy baby,” she simpers as she tries to carefully pull the floppy worm that is a man’s flaccid penis out of his very elastic leg hole. There’s nothing quite as absurdly unimpressive or cute as a soft cock when it’s in repose. A cock with a tan little scarf tugged round its pink head like a nugget bundled freshly in a towel after a bath is doubly so, and Elaine can’t help the grin splitting her face as the comedic aspect of her duty comes to the fore. “We’re gonna fix hims up, Butnin, yes we is,” she whispers as the cigar smoke burns her nose and she gives a furtive glance the sunburned backs of the kids who are still busy competing at being dutiful with the shield wall while the adults pack up the condiments and leftovers at a distance.

Letting his cock lay heavily on his thigh, Elaine deftly pops the top off the Coke and wedges it between her thighs at the ready before gently cradling little Elvis in her palm. She is quite certain she hears her strapping young husband sniffle as she does so. It’s more of a production than one might think, to pull back the foreskin on a soft cock, but Elaine has played enough with her man in every stage of arousal that she is able to uncover the tip with some ease, and the next little bit with only some trouble.

“Goddamn it, Tink, that hurts!” Elvis pleads as he bites at his lip, gripping handfuls of sand, and she pets his bare belly soothingly, knowing he might be childish but the poor man is sensitive.

“I’s gotta gets to him, Naughty,” she says, loath to make it worse but now she’s looking, the dear, chubby little thing really does look a bit raw. “Let mamas take care of ya, hold still an’ it’ll be over soon, pretty baby.”

“Hurts worse t-than breaking a bone, o-o-r a virgin f-or-” her pretty baby informs her of this in a growl that’s not aimed at her but at the situation, nonetheless Elaine doesn’t appreciate the cadence or the subject matter so near her children and picks up the bottle as he goes on pouring out his woes to the sky, “-hell I’d wager a couple grand it’s worse than childbirth! -WHAT THE HELL TINK?”

Elaine tips the Coke and spills it onto his unsuspecting member, thumbing back the foreskin with practiced ease as the bubbles fizz in a caramel dance on top of his little head and pool in his slit before running down to his thigh.

“Hellfire woman that’s ice cold!” Elvis screeches around his cigar with his voice gone up two octaves at least and the harmless appendage in her hand shrinks like a miracle lab specimen. It makes her giggle.

“You said it was burnin’?” she reminds questioningly and she looks so earnestly confused at her wrong doing when Elvis goes to give her the stink eye that he can’t quite manage it, it’s an honest mistake a silly little gal without a cock would easily make. What he doesn’t so easily condone is the way she’s still dribbling the soda over him and trying to swish the sand off with her thumb like it’s a wiper on a windshield.

“Y-yeah I did,” he accepts and crunches partway up to watch and correct her ministrations, his lean belly crumpling up like a washboard and shimmering from the Coke, Elaine licks her lips in longing that can’t be indulged in with a crowd of kids nearby. “But in no world does that mean Coke on a pecker, Laney.”

“Is daddy gonna live?” Rosalee asks tentatively from her distance away and Sam squeezes her hand in either solidarity or hopes she’ll stop being preoccupied during this, their historic first handhold.

Jack takes a peek behind him to ascertain whether his midnight rival for his mama’s snuggles is indeed still alive and after Elaine snaps her fingers at him to turn back around, he reports morosely, “Elbis still alive, Woslaee.”

“But-but he’s crying, he’s crying like you do!” Rosalee protests in a whimper and Elvis’ head jerks up at the comparison to Jack.

“I’m fine, Schnucki, just a little hurt and your mama’s bein’ silly.” Elvis hollers, using her German acquired nickname for emphasis.

“Elaine, enough with the Coke,” Elvis insists, pulled out of transient toddlerhood by the need to control his own nursing and calm his most suggestible child.

“But look -it works!” she eagerly defends her choice and before he can prevent it there's a Coke bottle rim being wedged under the extra length of his foreskin and she’s tipping it back again and watching his hood swell with fizz.

“You ain’t got the brains of a lil bird,” he realizes aloud while watching his wife use cola for antiseptic.

“You say the sweetest things, E,” Elaine titters and looks around at the restless kids before pulling him straight up with the bottle wedged atop, seamless from the foreskin still wrapped around the rim. “Someone oughta call Ed Sullivan and tell ‘em he was spot on. See look, it’s workin’, the sand’s coming out.” She sounds pleased.

“No thanks to you!” Elvis says a little loudly and it causes little Ella to whimper as her own nursing skills are denied their proper outlet this time. She was always the one to patch daddy up, bandaids or dab his cuts with mercurochrome and she finds her sidelining for this injury particularly offensive. The more her father whimpers behind her the more obvious it is that Mama’s care ain’t cutting it.

“Hold still while I rinse this last bit out!” Tink hisses back at her husband in a low tone, actually sounding a little impatient and Elvis realizes maybe she’s right.

“Why’s it takin’ so long? Is daddy gonna bleed out? Mama?” Rosalee starts up again and Elvis swears that child’s nightmares are as bad as his, only she has them when conscious.

“You can’t bweed oudda yer wocket,” Jack helpfully informs where the trouble lies (daddy’s rocket), while rolling his baby blue eyes in disdain for female stupidity. “But a wocket can snap off.”

“Why’d his rocket snap off?” Rosalee wails in concern for any limb of her fathers being snapped and little Sam let’s go of his edge of the towel wall to thumb a tear track away from her chubby cheek.

“‘Cause God doesn’t lub Elbis.” Jack clarifies.

“We should just snap it off all the way, then it’ll stop hurtin,” Daisy surmises in hopes of comforting her now sobbing twin.

“I can’t lose him, I can’t lose daddy! We jus’ got him back!” Rosalee’s grief brings Betsy over who tries to comfort the girl while watching as the thin barrier of privacy for Elaine’s work starts to waver like a Roman shield wall when met with the War Elephants of Carthage.

“Then we should snap the wocket clean off,” Jack insists gravely with a dimple creating a cavern in his milk fat cheek.

“Pete’s sake! It’s not his rocket doin’ this, it’s his scarf!” Jesse chimes in with authoritative four year old sensibility and not in a million years did Elvis dream that filling up sweet Elaine Phipps with children would get him five toddlers discussing his package.

“I hate Daddy’s scarf!” Rosalee screams about something she doesn’t even understand, straight into Betsy’s red and soothing face.

Elvis gives pause from hissing at Elaine’s ministrations of tying his foreskin off like a balloon end and shaking the soda up in it in order to reach and tickle the back of his disconsolate Rosalee’s neck.

“Schnucki, my Schnucki I’m gonna be fine!” he coos and Elaine rolls her eyes fondly at his picking and choosing moments to be tough. Elaine lets out the soda and retracts the foreskin back as far as she can manage it.

“I don’t want ya to die!” Rosalee wails, informing him of the obvious and not even Elvis’ tickles on her back can soothe her. Little Sam Harrison leaves off petting her wet cheeks and looks back, giving Elvis a hard stare that’s firm and straight outta left field as far as a clueless Elvis is concerned.

“What ya lookin’ at boy?” Elvis growls only to yelp as Elaine flicks his cock -in hopes of jostling the last bits of sand out.

The yelp breaks Ella’s resolve and the usually dutiful little eldest daughter drops her towel and scurries over to help her obviously insufficient mama. “Mama, where’s it hurt?” she demands to know with all the matronly surety of Elaine herself and Elvis launches upwards onto his knees in an attempt to cover himself. Laney and her Coke have done about all that’s gonna get done without a bath and some q-tips maybe-

-yeah, they’re done here. It's an effort to smash his cock back up his tight shorts lightening fast, when he put the article of clothing on he hadn't been sticky with coke. Elaine catches a flying Ella as she hurtles forward and keeps her spun away as Elvis modestly tugs on his leghole, mouthing to her husband with a vibrant smile,

“I’ll clean ya up at home!” Elaine fortifys him with a wink.

This sweet promise gets quickly smacked down with Jack having abandoned his post and coming up to Elvis on his chubby little toddler legs and asking with a bizarre amount of hope, “Does it hurt ya bery badly, Elbis?”

Never in a million years would Elvis give this imp the satisfaction of knowing it hurt like hell, besides, Elvis is now cradling a clinging Rosalee who keeps sniffling into his neck in a rain of snot that she’s gonna have Daisy “chop off his rocket” so it never happens again. “No, Trouble, I’m all better ‘cause mama loves me and fixed me up” Elvis goads with an ethereally content smile that Elaine catches and savors as she herself is in the middle of calming a spurned little Nurse Ella.

Jesse, peeved at his siblings lack of order, comes up and makes fussy noises in Jack’s ear as his baby brother swats at him like his mouth is a mosquito. “Ya ok, daddy?” he asks, the first selfless inquiry of this whole ordeal -alright Ella did too.

Elvis gives him a sober nod that the scarf will live to see another day. “Scarf’s fine and gonna make it.”

“No i’s not! We gonna chop it off!” Rosalee insists and Elvis would laugh that off except Daisy is up the beach bartering her juice box for Rex’s k-bar.

“Oh, honey now, that won’t solve nothin,” Elvis begs as he wraps his arms fully around her and smushes Rosalee till both their ribs are liable to crack.

Rosalee pulls her head out of his neck and cradles his cheeks in her hands and says while looking earnestly into his eyes with blues the same shade as his own, “Is’ better this way, daddy, s’never gonna hurt ya again. Promise.”

“It’s for de bestest, Elbis,” Jack agrees right at his shoulder like a tiny little devil and Elvis begins to panic slightly as his children’s wild terror cools into calculated anarchy. “Wosalee knows it’s gonna wot off odderwise,” he adds gravely as if this is common knowledge.

This induces a fresh bout of tears from Rosalee who may be resigned to the need to chop off a limb to save her father’s entire life -or at least have Daisy do her bidding- but it doesn’t mean that she’s immune to the grief the prospect causes them both. Elvis feels close to crying himself as Daisy rushes back towards them over the sand with the sheathed k-bar in hand.

“Rex why the hell did ya give my kid a knife!” he yells.

“She said you wanted it and would fire me if I refused!” Rex shoots back from where he and Charlie and Red are collecting all the beach paraphernalia, the evening truly setting in.

“Rex!” Betsy scolds, echoing Elvis in exasperation with her husband.

“Be a man about it, Daddy!” A breathless Daisy charges him as she skids to a stop nearby only for Elaine to grip her by the back of her swimsuit and haul her away from Elvis where he’s pinned and helpless under the mournful embrace of Rosalee and Jesse and a gleeful Jack.

“Nope, no Daisy, no, give it to me, now!” Elaine wrestles her most wiry and vicious daughter until the army knife is safely in her possession. “Nobody is gonna chop off anythin’,” she declares, winded from the chaos and yet utterly glutted from being in her element and Elvis thinks she looks gorgeous all keyed up and holding a child or two and a knife so effortlessly. Thinks he made the right choice when he married Elaine Phipps and filled her up with all those children.

“But what about it wotting?” Jack protests, as if he really gives a damn about Elvis ever peeing ever again.

“It won’t rot,” Elaine sighs, “It’s not that badly hurt at all.” And she adds that for Rosalee’s benefit as the girl’s cheeks are so smashed to Elvis’ own that there’s no discernible edge to the flub.

“But we wanna be careful,” Rosalee protests, “This can neber happen again.” And she sounds like Mr. Truman did after the great war ended, swearing that the universe wouldn’t make it in a nuclear age.

“Lil Elvis is my little friend, I don’t want him hurt either!” Elaine insists and between his children’s misguided concern for him and his wife making a court case for his assets, Elvis has never felt more loved.

“Daddy’s my best friend too, but I gotta help him,” Rosalee insists.

“But darling -I did help him!” Elaine mutturs.

“Didn’t sound like it got better,” Ella speaks up and Elaine glares at Elvis for being such a baby during his first aid.

“Billy says men can still pee without them,” Sam Harrison adds in support of Rosalee’s ambition and Daisy gives him a proud look for his display of spine.

“How do ya-“ Elaine looks flustered for the first time and Elvis winces in anticipation for what she’ll defend him with next, “-peeing would hurt, Sammy! Hurt worse than sand up scarves!” Elaine reasons.

“Sounds like it.” Jesse sides with mama.

“But if he don’t have a rocket it won’t hurt to pee-pee!” Daisy vehemently enunciates. “And Rosalee’ll stop cryin.”

It’s that simple for the twin.

Elaine looks up to her friend Besty who’s still standing near the group, helpless in a fit of laughter and holding half wadded up towels. “We aren’t cutting off my lil friend,” Elaine declares staunchly, standing up herself in the sand and wincing as a struggling Daisy elbows her in the ribs.

“Why don’t ya care that daddy’s hurt?” Rosalee asks with grief in her eyes.

“It’s gonna wot off.” There goes Jack again.

Elvis snorts and rolls his eyes heavenward, pinching the bridge of his nose and praying for a sliver of patience.“Hush up, Trouble. I’ve had just about enough outta you.”

“Do y’all want more siblings or not?” Elaine finally asks and even Elvis is a little jolted by it. “Cause without that nozzle there ain’t any peeing or babies or all sorts of important things. Y’all could manage without your noses far easier.”

Jack rallies to declare, “I’m baby, don’t want more sibwings,” and is summarily ignored by all in favor of pondering nozzles and their newly learned miraculous necessity.

“Elaine!” Elvis hisses at her indiscreet lesson.

“It’s true!” she cries, throwing up her hands in exasperation, and he’s maybe to blame for the fact she’s got no filter, he taught her without any precaution and now she’s half savage about these things.

“Rockets don’t rot off when they get enough care. Just like any other boo boo,” Elvis assures his group of concerned progeny as Elaine pulls Jack away from his father by the arm not occupied with Daisy.

“I can’t wait to play thirty questions with Sam tonight,” Betsy drawls sarcastically and Elaine huffs.

“Serves ya right, much help you were, Blue Eyes.” Elaine rolls her eyes at her friend and both women laugh. “Consider it payment for Rex’s K-Bar,” she adds and watches as Betsy’s face pales again at the recollection of her husband’s stupidity.

“That man…” she grumbles fondly while taking a squawking Jack off Elaine’s hip to free her friend up for more child wrangling. Elaine mouths a weary “thank you” and kneels next to Elvis, gently prying Rosalee out of his arms where she still clings to his neck. She lets out a small whine of protest which is quickly overtaken by a big yawn, her little fists rubbing her eyes sleepily.

“Come on baby, let’s get you dressed, hmm? It’s time to go home,” she murmurs, pulling a sundress over Roselee’s tiny frame before turning to help Daisy into her matching one, kissing her forehead tenderly and smoothing her hair down. Betsy and Rex start the slow procession of herding the gaggle of children towards the car, making sure everyone has a hand to hold. Elaine can still hear them chattering loudly about rockets and nozzles as she flops down in the sand, catching her breath a moment, trying to find the willpower to stand, to move. It’s been such a lovely day, but suddenly she’s bone tired, the exhaustion hitting her like a wave and threatening to pull her under.

Jerry ambles over as the guys start to gather everyone’s scattered belongings - beach umbrellas and chairs and coolers, remnants of a day well spent. He stares down at Elvis over the top of his aviator shades, the amusement on his face still threatening to spill over. He holds out a hand, “Help you up, Boss?”

Elvis scowls, swatting his hand away indignantly, “Don’t need no help, Jerrah, it’s just a scratch. Actin’ like I’m too wounded to stand on my own. I’m not an invalid, goddamnit! Git outta here and help those boys clean up this mess. God almighty, think I was a child, need some hand-holding or some shit.” He continues his grumbling as Jerry holds up his hands placatingly, shrugging his shoulders good-naturedly before jogging over to help the clean up crew.

Elvis watches him go, making sure he’s well out of sight before gingerly standing up, shaking a leg and adjusting his swim shorts, hopping from foot to foot a few times, hissing quietly. It snaps Elaine out of her reverie and she blinks slowly as a face-splitting yawn hits her out of nowhere. Elvis chuckles and pats her head, gently tugging on the chocolate curls that have become bouncy spirals in the salty ocean air.

“Ok Laney, let’s get you home. Had enough excitement today to last us the whole year,” Elvis chuckles, winking as he offers her a hand.

Elaine smiles up at him, shading her eyes with a red manicured hand, the setting sun casting a warm orange glow over the beach and making her movie star husband look even more like a bronzed Adonis, if that’s possible. She places her small and delicate hands into his larger ones as he hauls her up easily, wrapping her in his arms and resting his chin on the top of her head. She sighs dreamily, shivering a little in his embrace as his body heat warms her against the chilly sea breeze.

“Thank you, baby,” he whispers, rubbing slow circles on her back. She shifts a little, resting her head on his shoulder and looking up at him quizzically.

“For what, E?”

“Whatcha mean, ‘for what?’ For-for always takin’ such good care o’ me. Even when I’m a grumpy sonuvabitch about it.” Elvis smiles down at her, planting a little kiss on her button nose. She wrinkles it and arches up on her tippy toes, rubbing her nose against his in a bunny kiss, her hand cupping his jaw lightly.

“Oh Mopey, I’ll always take care of you. Sweet man.” Elaine runs a thumb across his lips, pulling down his plump bottom one before slotting her lips against his, her hands twining through his mussed hair, moving his head just so, like her own personal puppet on a string. Elvis groans, moving his hands to cup her bottom, pulling her tightly to him. Just then he hears a shuffling of sand behind them, someone discreetly clearing their throat. He sighs, like the most put upon man on the planet and pulls away, gritting his teeth, “What now, Jerrah?”

“Sorry boss, but everyone’s all packed up and ready to go. Just waiting on you and Mrs. Boss.”

Elaine smiles at Elvis’s look of utter hurt and disappointment at being interrupted just when things were getting good, like a little boy who’s just had his favorite toy taken away. She knocks him on the chin playfully, swatting his butt for good measure. “Oh now, don’t look so blue, mister. To be continued at home, yeah? In the meantime, how bout I buy you a milkshake. Swing by Mel’s Drive In on the way home?”

Elvis’s face brightens at that. “Can I have strawberry?” Suddenly the little boy look is back, and he practically skips across the sand, dragging Elaine by the hand to their car full of waiting children. Elaine gives Betsy a peck on the cheek and a sweet belly rub to the little bean inside before hopping in the driver’s side and waiting for Elvis to finish his goodbyes. She turns around to address her children only to find that all but two of them are fast asleep. Jesse and Jack are still discussing the events of the day, with Jack holding a sandy handful of shells and beach glass he collected, carefully explaining each piece to a patient Jesse. By the time they reach the drive in diner, all of the kids are snoozing, and the weary parents breathe a sigh of relief.

“Just us then,” Elaine whispers, looking over her shoulder at their brood. “Just like old times. Almost.” She turns off the car and scoots to the middle of the bench seat, and Elvis does the same, careful not to wake little Rosalee snuggled between them. He drops his arm over Elaine’s shoulders and twists the knob on radio dial until he finds a doo wop station.

“Now it really is like old times. ‘Member when I crashed your date with Billy at the drive in movie? Scared that poor boy half to death,” he chuckles gleefully. Elaine’s eyes grow wide and she starts to titter, her hand flying to her mouth at the recollection.

“Oh goodness. Elvis! I’d completely forgotten about that. You came barging in with your flashlight and ill or good intentions, I never could figure out which,” she muses.

“Then I drove ya home, real proper like,” he breathes quietly, placing a hand on her thigh, an echo of a memory. “And then,” he murmurs, tilting her head back, exposing her long, white throat, “I kissed ya, right…here…” His soft lips meet the pulse on her neck, pounding in time with her heartbeat.

Elaine shivers and swallows. “Naughty,” she whispers.

The magic spell is broken abruptly by a gum-chewing teenage waitress, knocking on their window. “Hi there! Can I take your order?” Her chipper cheerfulness is a stark contrast to their soft reminiscence. Elvis clears his throat and sits up, coloring slightly at being caught by this stranger as Elaine winks at him, leaning over to roll down the window to order their milkshakes. They settle in again, snuggling back together and regaling each other with stories from their beach day. Before long the milkshakes arrive, and they tuck in, enjoying the sweet sugar rush of the milky treat.

“God, how long has it been since I’ve had a milkshake?” Elvis wonders, sipping his strawberry concoction happily. Elaine doesn’t have the heart to tell him it’s been a good long while, that the Colonel doesn’t allow such simple pleasures these days. But she doesn’t want to spoil the moment so she settles for humming in response, squeezing Elvis’s knee as she slurps her chocolate one.

Elvis scoots a little closer to Elaine, forgetting about Rosalee squished between them. She startles in her sleep, her tiny arm flailing in the neon lights of the diner, inadvertently knocking Elvis’s shake from his hands. In a flash everything is covered in pink - it dribbles slowly down the dashboard and soaks into Elvis’s thin shirt, it’s even in his hair and a small blob drips down his right eyebrow. Elaine’s face is a mixture of horror and mirth, her perfect mouth a round o as she struggles to keep a straight face, staring at her husband who is frozen in place, covered in cold strawberry milkshake.

“Oh! Elvis…baby! I…” she starts, struggling to keep her voice steady, her hands fluttering around him, unsure of where they should try and help first. She bites her lip and an unladylike snort escapes as her shoulders start to tremble with held-in laughter. She starts to giggle, slapping her hand hastily over her mouth, her body shaking with silent laughter as she tries to keep quiet, not wanting to wake the children. Elvis’s blue eyes blink rapidly as the concoction runs down his cheek now, his mouth still hanging open in surprise. He starts to laugh, doubling over in his seat as Elaine reaches over and swipes a finger across his eyebrow and brings it to her mouth, sucking the sugary sweetness off her fingertip.

“You taste good, honey,” she wheezes as their laughter starts to die down and he remembers Rosalee between them, checking to make sure she’s ok and by some miracle she’s untouched by the ice cream bath she accidentally gave her father, still sleeping peacefully.

“Aw hell! My leather seats!” Elvis swears through hiccups, looking around for something to clean the car, and himself, up with.

“Shawbewies?” A little voice from the backseat whispers, followed by a blonde head sleepily popping up over the backseat. “I want some.” Jack opens and closes his tiny hands in a gimme motion, and Elvis and Elaine start to crack up again.

“Just perfect. Here Trouble, here’s some for ya,” Elvis says as he sweeps some shake off the dashboard with his fingers and leans back towards Jack, shoulder almost dislocating in an effort to feed the kid a taste. Jack happily laps it off his fingers like a kitten, licking them clean. His sleepy little face breaks into a happy grin and Elvis ruffles his hair. “That’s enough sugar for today, boy.”

Elvis looks at Elaine. She stares back at him a moment before another fit of giggles threatens to overtake them again. “Why’re we never alone in a car, baby?” Elvis whispers aloud, a comically pleading hint to his voice. Elaine reaches behind her, into the backseat, and snags a forgotten beach towel tossed aside by one of the children. She gently wipes his face clean before moving on to his hair, rubbing as much of the ice cream out as she can. It sticks up on end, making him look much like their cat Whiskers did whenever he got a bath.

“You’re the one who wanted to fill up my little house, remember?” she teases softly, her eyes drifting over their brood before returning to meet Elvis’s gaze. He raises an eyebrow, cheeks puffing out in droll amusement as he whistles lowly.

“Yeah, with somethin’ besides strawberry milkshake, I did.”

Hope y’all enjoyed!

If you’d like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. Xoxo 💋

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#elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis #fic #elvis presley x reader #elvis and me #elvis presley fic #welcome home elvis #elvis presley fan fic #elvis fans

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callsignmarz · 5 months

Text

‼️MDNI‼️ - Keegan P. Russ x Y/N | Fem

“Claim Me.”

"Just grow a pair and go talk to him." Keegan insisted, slamming the door to a humvee, clearly checked out from the conversation.

"That's not how nature works, Keegan." You riposted, turning your attention back to Logan, who was currently across the motor pool, chatting to a few other soldiers.

It was no secret that you had a little crush on Logan Walker.

Whenever he was in the area, you felt like a teenager again with her first school crush. Just the sight of him made your cheeks flush a light shade of pink and your knees ready to buckle. And If Keegan had to sit and listen to how fine of a man Logan was one more time, he swore to himself that he will end it all, right then and there.

"Besides, I'd rather just...you know, let things...happen..? Yeah. Let's just go with that."

Keegan raises an eyebrow, shaking his head, unconvinced by your sad attempted claim.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Keegan makes his way over to the mobile toolbox that you've been leaning on for the past half hour — instead of helping him like he asked you in the first place.

Sensing you needed a little help in the love department, out of the kindness of his cold grinch heart, he gives you some words of advice.

"Standing on the sidelines isn't going to get you far, y/n. A man likes it when a woman takes charge. It's hot as fuck, actually." Keegan galled, giving you a friendly wink. He obnoxiously clicks a pen that he had tucked behind his ear and retrieves the clipboard next to your elbow, scribbling down the required maintenance notes.

He had a point though.

But you would never admit that, especially with how vulgar he put it.

So, you just roll your eyes in protest. "Is that so? Then tell me this. Since when did you become such a 'Love Guru?' Last time I checked, you still had trouble finding yourself a girlfriend." You implored the 'notorious' ladies man.

He hands you the clipboard and you promptly grab ahold of it. You watch him lift up the hood of the truck with one arm as if it weighed nothing.

Why did anything he did always had to be so..?

"That's where you're wrong, Sweetheart. I'm not looking for a girlfriend. Just looking for a good time." He chuckles dryly.

"You're vile." Your face contorts in disgust, but he just shrugs off your jab.

"I've been called worst, Sweetheart."

The sound of a boot scuffling against the gravel, pulls your attention away for a moment and your heart flutters when you realize Logan was standing a few feet beside you.

Okay. Act normal, Y/N...what the fuck is normal!?

"What's up, kid?" Keegan greets cooly, snapping you out of your head.

Tearing himself away from the vehicle, Keegan and Logan clasps their hands together, briefly pulling each other in, bumping shoulders before releasing one another.

"Let me guess, causing trouble?" Keegan quipped as he folded his arms across his chest.

Logan gives a friendly smile, his voice came out a smooth baritone, "Always." He flicks his gaze to you, with eyes now wide and mouth agape with incredulity.

"Who's your friend, Russ?" Logan asks as he gives you a once-over look, intrigued and wondering why he hasn't seen you before.

"This is y/n. She more of a thorn in my ass than a friend." Keegan half-jokingly introduces while giving you a look that says 'Now's your chance.'

Clearing your throat of all the cobwebs that formed within the few minutes, you extend your right hand as you give him a quick run down, "Sergeant Y/N L/N, PCS'd from Fort Wainwright about a month or two ago." Logan listens intently, taking ahold your hand with a firm grip and a surge electricity to shoots through your body.

"Pleasure to meet you, Sarge. Alaska must've been one hell of an experience." He mused with his dark caramel eyes locked in on yours. Slowly, Logan lets go of your hand, but purposely allows his touch to linger.

"I'm surprised you didn't go AWOL." He chorkles.

Slightly shrugging your shoulder and batting your lashes, you pick up on his subtle cues.

"There were days where I was tempted to, but I'm pretty good at being on the straight and narrow." You say coy-like with a smile that matched your tone.

"Good, good. But, hey! I actually have to get going, but uh...You should stop by later tonight and we can finish up this conversation. What do you say?" Logan asks with a quizzical smile, his teeth were pearly white and straight, just the way you like them.

Your mouth gaps open slightly, surprised by how fast everything was moving. You almost pinch yourself to make sure you weren't in a dream but the look from Keegan was an obvious indication this was no dream. Far from, actually.

"Uh, y-yeah. I don't mind." You finally answered.

"Cool...See you then, y/n."

With that, Logan walks off with your eyes following him until he's no longer in sight. You then whip around, almost tripping over your own feet, turning to Keegan and exploding with screeches of excitement.

"Did that actually happen!?" You squeal, rushing over to vigorously shake Keegan's shoulder.

Swatting your hands away, Keegan keeps his eyes forward as he tick in his jaw serves as a seedling of jealously that grew and bloomed a vibrant sprig of green.

"Yes. Now can I get back to work?" He sneers in frustration, retreating his focus back to the engine of the truck.

⋆⁺₊⋆☾⋆⁺₊⋆

As painful as it was to your ego, you take Keegan's advice and with newfound determination eddied in your irises, you come up with an idea.

A man likes when a girl takes charge.

Keegan's voice resounds in your head. The heedful reminder causes your eyes to roll into the back of the your skull. Then your attention shifts back to your reflection. Surveying your outfit one last time as you twist and pose your body in the mirror making sure you were up to par.

Adjusting your black crop top so it flattered your boobs and the ripped up mom-jeans you wore were loose but they hugged you curves just enough to accentuate the roundness of your ass.

And underneath...a matching set of magenta laced lingerie.

There was no way you were not getting laid.

It was a quarter until midnight. The plan was you were going to sneak into Logan's room undetected and surprise him in his bed.

As crazy as it sounds — it was foolproof.

Like, what man wouldn't dream of a woman, as feral as you were, crawling into their bed in the middle of the night?

Right?

After applying the last layer of your clear lemon flavored lipgloss, you roll your plumped lips together followed by a loud suckered pop and you set out on your mission, making a swift exit out the door.

Approaching his quarters, you had to move quickly and quietly. You discreetly reach into your bra and redeemed a simple black bobby-pin.

Good ole reliable.

Throughout the years you've served in the military, you were taught a lot of different things. Tactical insertion being one of them. You knew how to breach any area. From battering rams to hacking security systems but, none that required something so mundane as a hair accessory.

While you expertly pick the lock, you kept your head on a swivel, making sure no one spots you committing this heinous act.

Once you hear the audible click, the corners of your mouth lifted into a confident smile.

Getting up to your feet, you casually make entry.

First thing you noticed was the overpowering smell of cedar wood. Coughing up a lung, you came to the conclusion that the air quality in here was 99.9 percent cologne and that last .1 being oxygen.

Getting past that, it was also rather dark.

Carefully waving your hand around, you try your best not to crash into anything. Eventually, you find yourself bumping into his bedpost, startling Logan out of his sleep and the same familiar baritone voice calls out in surprise, "What the fu—Y/n?"

"Wait! Shh...Just listen, please!" You say right away, hoping it'll calm him down.

"I know this is a bit crazy but just...listen. Okay? I've had a crush on you for a while now and I don't want to blend in with the other girls. So, I guess what I'm trying to say is," You swallow hard, your tone drops to barely a whisper, rolling your lips together as you crawled your way into his bed.

"Just let it happen."

In the dark, your lips find his, silencing any doubt or apprehension from leaving his mouth. A bolt of electricity shoots throughout your body, awakening the longing desire within you.

Not only was he surprised by your assertiveness but it came as a shock to you as well. Being an introvert, you wouldn't have guessed in a million years that you would've be the one to make the first move — all thanks to Keegan.

Logan's lips end up prying your lips apart, deepening the kiss with his tongue, ravishingly exploring your mouth and eliciting soft moans to muffle out as your mouth moves in sync with his.

His rough hands snake their way to your waist before hauling you over onto of him.

Your breath hitches when he breaks away from the kiss and his nose creeps up alongside your throat. Once he finds the most sensitive spot, his mouth latches onto your skin, nipping and sucking until little plum colored splotches decorate your neck.

The two of you wasted no time tearing the clothes off each other. The lingerie you wore for show, unfortunately went unnoticed as it was discarded just like the rest of your wardrobe.

You felt a firm grip on your left breast, before you were greeted by the warmth of his mouth. Not only did Logan have a pretty smile, but he knew what to do with it as his tongue swirled and his teeth gently gnawed on your erect nipple.

A symphony of orchestral moans filled the room.

The sexual connection and burning passion between you two was undeniable.

It was as if this moment was supposed to happen.

As if the two of you were meant to come together and become one.

A dream verging to come true.

Digging your nails into his back, you align him up against you seeping cunt, slowly slipping his swollen cock inside. A small whine of pleasure leaves your lips as you allow your slick walls to accommodate and adjust to his size.

"Ride me, beautiful." He rasped, his tone dripping with ascendancy and urgency.

Like flipping a switch, your back arches, rolling your hips and taking your time descending down only to spring back up when you couldn't fit any more of him.

His size was impeccable.

Your ex wasn't even close to the size and length that Logan held and from the one night stands you've had in the past, they could barely last two whole minutes.

You were in for one hell of a joy ride.

Logan's hand creeps its way from your navel, up and between your breasts to wrap around your throat accordingly.

Taking back control, he bucks his hips, crashing them underneath your thighs, barbarously driving himself deeper into your tight pussy. With your hands on his chest, you prop yourself to hover your ass over him as he kept his unwavering assault.

"Yes, yes, yes! God fuckin—Please don't stop." You whine breathlessly.

"Does the princess want to cum all over my cock?Mmm...such a needy little whore, you are..." He growls, his tone edging you closer to unraveling.

Your body felt as though God sent an angel down just to solemnly fulfill your sinful needs, relieving you of your last unholy act, right before your soul ascends to the heaven's gates.

Delirium intoxicates and overwhelms your senses, clenching your silky walls around his otherworldly cock, urging him to spill his load inside.

"Keep it coming and drown my cock. Fuck...I'm about to cum...Say my name, baby." He grits through his teeth, his thrust becoming more erratic by the second.

As your moans grow louder, your body quivers, riding the wave of your own insatiable orgasm.

"Oh God, Yes! Logan!" You screamed his name.

Your lips collided with his own as he lets out a deep groan. The heat of his load erupts and pulsated deep inside of you, filling you up to the brim. You slide off of him, allowing the contents to pour out of you. The two of you pant and gasp for air, coming down from the euphoric high of your releases while your bodies entangled together.

If you had to be honest, he was more than good, probably the best sex you've ever had.

Silence fills the void with the lingering scent of sex in the air.

Without saying a word, Logan sits up, detangling from your arms and walks out of the room then returns with a towel in hand.

Your eyes strain trying to make out his features as an unsettling tension builds between you two.

"Lo—" You say faintly, making an effort to comfort him.

However he sharply cuts you off, "Lemme stop you right there." His tone dripping with grimness.

Your face twists, utterly confused, watching his dark silhouette walk over to a drawer, pulling out a pair of sweats to slip in.

"I was bound to break it to you one way or another." He says sardonically, scuffling his way across the room, flicking on the light and blurring your vision temporarily until it steadily returns to adjust to your surroundings.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Sweetheart. But unfortunately I'm not your knight and shining armor." He says with a disdained sniff.

Your mouth flops open, struggling to form any sentence, but ultimately one phrase rolls off your tongue.

"What the fuck..."

The .1 percent of oxygen left in the air was sucked out the room completely, leaving you to suffocate on the distressed revelation.

The love story you'd hope for came crashing down hard. Once again, he was right about one thing...

He was no Prince Charming.

He was Keegan motherfucking Russ..

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