#steve rovers
Note
in relation to this post, could we get some super nasty breeding kink sex when he comes home from a mission? i imagine him just feral and needing you so bad all rough and the nastiest words coming from him
Conception*
a/n: there’s no link or anything but I’m assuming you’re talking about the steve edit i posted LOLLLL
summary: Steve comes home from a high risk mission and decides he doesn’t want to wait any longer
warnings: smut, lil bit of angst, breeding kink, rough sex, dirty talk, creampie ofc, needy Steve, aftercare
word count: 2.6k
~
YN hums softly along to Video Games by Lana Del Ray, a look of concentration adorning her face as she puts the finishing touches on the dinner she’s prepared. She’s expecting Steve home sometime tomorrow morning so she fills a tupperware container full of half the delicious meal she made.
Her stomach grumbles in hunger as soon as she gets a whiff of the potatoes, steamed vegetables, and steak bites, her mouth practically watering in anticipation. Once she’s plated the other half for herself, she makes her way to the couch and sits down to enjoy.
A small smile forms on her face and she does a little happy dance as she quickly turns on her favorite show and digs in. She manages to finish almost the whole plate and sits it on the coffee table in front of her, pulling her legs up onto the couch to relax as she finishes up another episode.
When it’s over she finally forces herself up off the couch and to the kitchen to clean up the dishes she’s messed up, turning on some more music to keep her focused. Just as she’s finishing up, she hears the sound of her front door being opened and ultimately slammed shut. She apprehensively makes her way to the entrance of the kitchen and peeks her head out, relieved to see Steve standing in the living room, still in his uniform.
“You scared the shit out of me,” she chuckles, stepping into the room with him. Only then does she realize he’s literally panting as if he’d ran here from his mission, and she frowns as she begins to ask him what’s wrong.
Before she can even blink he’s got her pinned against their living room wall, his lips on hers. It takes her a moment but then she’s kissing him back with the same amount of aggression he gave her, and then he’s lifting her up until their hips are touching, immediately grinding against her.
The material of his suit is causing great friction, the fact that she’s wearing nothing but a pair of flimsy panties helping as well. They’re moaning into each other’s mouths, as they grind against one another, desperate to get off as quickly as possible.
They’re both lost in the bliss of their bodies on one another until Steve pulls away abruptly. “No,” he shakes his head. “Can’t take you right here, it’s not right. Have to go to the bed,” he says, but it’s more to himself than her, and she’s obliging and turning to leave. Until he grabs her arm and pulls her back to him, hoisting her up to his waist and pressing his lips to hers again. His hands move down to grip her ass cheeks as he begins the trek to their room, and he somehow manages to successfully tear the panties off of her with one hand, letting them fall to the floor as he walks.
As they finally make their way into the neat bedroom, he tosses YN onto the bed and she sees the literally feral look in his eyes, not concerned but curious as to what’s got him this way. Before she can ask him, he’s on her again, his hand reaching forward to palm her breasts, but she needs to make sure his head is in the right place before they move forward.
He’s a bit shocked when she rejects him, making him snap out of whatever daze he’d been in. “Steve. What’s going on with you?” she questions, a look of confusion on her face as she tries to think of what’s made him this way.
He looks at her for a beat as he reads her face, trying to figure out what the best way is to say this. A quick battle in his mind leads to him just coming right out and saying it. “I wanna have a baby,” he blurts, and YN’s eyes widen a fraction before going back to normal. For a moment it’s just silence, and he’s worried he’s done something wrong.
“Are you…sure about this?” she questions, choosing her words wisely. “I thought you weren’t ready,” she finishes. Her eyes wander over his face as she makes sure there’s nothing off with his demeanour, and sure enough, it’s the Steve she knows. But that doesn’t quell her confusion.
Steve is slightly offended by her question, his mood shifting just a bit. “What do you mean am I sure? Why else would I say this?” he scoffs, moving off of her to sit next to her. She sits up when he does, now a bit upset at his tone.
“Steve, just last month you told me you weren’t ready. You can’t be mad at me for wanting to be sure,” she reasons. Steve is confused for a moment until it all clicks.
~
One month earlier
YN and Steve both finally have a free day, deciding to spend it together. Instead of staying home, though, they opt for a day out on the town, hitting some shops and even stopping at a nearby bakery. In quiet bakery, they sit and indulge in their pastries and coffee as they make conversation about anything under the sun, until the sound of small cries catch their attention.
They both whip their heads over to the source and see a little baby boy no more than a few months old crying, and after a few moments of investigation they realize he’s dropped his binky out of the stroller. YN hops up and grabs it for the overwhelmed mother, tapping her on the shoulder as she’d been trying to console her son.
The woman is a little startled by YN’s presence but her eyes soften as she realizes what she’s holding, thanking YN for returning the binky back to her. “No problem, I couldn’t just leave it down there while you tried to find it or figure out where it was,” she explains, smiling softly. From there, the woman and YN go into a small conversation about her son, and YN’s heart just melts at how fondly the mother, whose name she found out was Harper, spoke of her son Jacob.
The two finish up their conversation with an exchange of numbers, and YN heads back to Steve with a pep in her step, sitting down with a smile. Almost immediately she goes into how cute Jacob was and everything she and the mother had talked about. In the midst of her rambling, she hadn’t noticed Steve had gotten quiet until now.
“I can’t wait to be a mom someday! Can you imagine a little me or a little you running around one day?” she asked, still smiling brightly. The smile was quickly wiped from her face when Steve didn’t answer her, but stood up and announced he was ready to go home. Her frown deepens at that, and she quietly gathers her things and they start the trek home, walking in silence beside one another as YN keeps herself from breaking down on the middle of the sidewalk.
They arrive home after what felt like an eternity to her, and she speeds to the bathroom and closes the door behind her, turning on the shower before letting herself begin to cry. She thought she’d been discreet with her sobs, but not long after she hears the bathroom door open and she silences herself. Through the foggy glass of the shower she can see Steve begin to strip down before he’s climbing in with her. Her back is to him but he already knows what’s happening so he turns her to him and pulls her into his chest.
The sobs start up again immediately, now with no restraint as she doesn’t need to hide from him anymore. He’s soothing her silently, rubbing his hand up and down her back and hasn’t stopped scolding himself for the way he reacted. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers once her cries quiet to small sniffles.
She shakes her head against him and he frowns, leaning back to get a good look at her face as she begins to speak. “No, I’m sorry,” she starts, and he’s about to say something but she stops him. “I jumped the gun, I shouldn’t have put so much pressure on you so early. I know we’ve only been married for two months and-,” she’s cut off by the feeling of his lips on hers, silencing her rambling.
“Baby,” he whispers, even more guilty now that she feels it’s her fault. “Stop that right now. This is not your fault, it’s mine. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did,” he firmly tells her, making sure she doesn’t believe she’s at fault. “You did nothing wrong. It’s just…I think I need a little bit more time. My life is so crazy and I want to be invested fully,” he explains.
“I should have expressed that, and I want you to know that as soon as I am ready you will be the first to know,” he finishes.
“I know and I’m sorry. We definitely need more time with just us,” she responds, her worries not completely leaving but staying in the back of her mind for the time being.
~
Now
“The mission I was just on…we were outnumbered,” he starts, taking her hands in his. “We almost died. And all I could think about as we were fighting as you. How you were here waiting for me to come home. I thought about coming home to you and our kids, the way I know you’d love them the way you love me, and I don’t want to die without getting to experience that with you,” he explains, and she’s listening intently as she takes in his words
“It’s just… I don’t want you to regret this later. I’d rather not be pregnant or a mother alone or have you resent me because I rushed you into this,” she explains to him, expressing her worries.
He was a little hurt by her words but he understands where she’s coming from, frowning as he sees the tears falling from her eyes. Reaching up he thumbs them away before speaking again. “I know, baby. And I’m so sorry I made you feel that way. I would never,” he starts, pausing to think over his next words.
“I’ve taken a break from saving the world for a bit. They’ve got it under control,” he smiles, pulling her in again as she cries harder at his revelation. “All I could think about while I was in there was us and our family, how happy we could be together. There’s nothing I want more,” he finishes, his little speech making her heart melt.
She scans his face for any sign of regret and when she finds none, she’s all in. He can see her eyes change almost immediately, and she’s taking her shirt off before throwing it somewhere in the room. “Well if you’re ready, why don’t we get to it?” she questions, and there’s no hesitation. He’s up and stripping so fast she has no time to comprehend it. The moment he’s naked he finally looks up at her to see her with her legs spread, a hand in between them.
Thinking back on that day now, he can’t believe he even thought like that. All he can imagine now is the fact that he’s about to get his own personal slice of heaven, manhandling YN until she’s on her hands and knees in front of him. To provide himself with even more access to his favourite place he just reaches forward and pushes on her back until her face is buried in the duvet.
Seeing her all dripping and clenching around nothing sends the last bit of his restraint practically bleeding from his body as he takes his cock in his hand and strokes it a few times. YN wants to look back and see what he’s doing but she knows better, staying where he’s placed her.
“Can’t believe this is all for me,” he chokes, rubbing his thumb over the leaking, throbbing tip of himself. It’s only a few more seconds of his filthy moans and grumbling under his breath about how beautiful she looks before she’s inhaling sharply at the feeling of him parting her lips with his thumb and spitting filthily right where she needs him, her weepy hole clenching around nothing in anticipation.
“Please,” she begs, and Steve, never being one to deny her when she looks and sounds so pretty for him, obliges almost instantly. Not even a seconds later he’s gently gripping the base of his aching cock and parts her lips with the head, running it through to lubricate himself before he’s got the tip nudged at her entrance.
The sound it makes when he finally sinks himself into her is nothing short of obscene, a wet squelching sound accompanying the both of their moans of relief. He can barely contain himself when he immediately begins to thrust in and out of her, his body seemingly moving on its own to take what they both need.
“Fuck, I can’t wait to see you pregnant,” he grunts, his thrusts getting harder as his thoughts get dirtier. “Gonna keep you so full of my cum at all times to make sure it sticks. God, I can imagine it now. How beautiful you’ll look round and full of our kids,” he continues, and the way he used it in plural form doesn’t get lost on YN, her loud moans of pleasure being muffled slightly by the sheets.
Steve, always being one to want to hear what he’s doing to her, reaches forward and grabs a fistful of her hair and pulls her up until he can hear her loud and clear. He can feel her legs start to shake and give out beneath her but he’s holding all of her weight up, fucking her as if his life depends on it, and to him it does. “You like the sound of that?” he asks, not slowing his punishing pace.
She can barely nod with the grip he has on her hair but she manages to, choking out a plea for him to do exactly that. “You wanna be so full of my cum at all times that you’re leaking down your legs, exhausted from how many times I work you on my cock?” he grits out through clenched teeth, trying to stave off his impending orgasm in an attempt to wait for hers.
No more words can leave her lips, just cries and sobs of pleasure as he’s drills so deep inside of her she can barely breathe. I mean he has to be puncturing her lungs at this point. Her orgasm is coming and it’s coming fast, but of course she can’t warn Steve, speechless. He knows her inside and out, though, and doesn’t need a warning to know what’s coming. (double pun is crazy)
“I know, don’t have to tell me. I can feel how tight you’re squeezing my cock. Go on, soak me, show me how much you want to be full of me and I’ll do just that,” he demands, and YN, always the obedient one, cums instantaneously. Her orgasm makes his hips stutter immediately as she locks down on him so tight, her body so tense that he can’t move. He lets go of her hair in a split decision, and he’s glad he did. He uses that same hand to reach around and rub at her clit quickly, making her tense up even tighter before relaxing entirely as she squirts all over the bed sheets below them, Steve praising her throughout the entire time.
Her orgasm sends him flying over the edge with a loud swear, his hips flush against hers as he floods her with his warm cum. It seems like it lasts for forever, his balls seeming to get fuller the more he cums. When he’s finally drained of all he has he stays buried inside of her for warmth for a while before he’s pulling out slowly and just sitting there and watching his cum start to drip from her.
He helps her fully lie down on her stomach before he’s getting off the bed, shushing her whines of protest. “Just gonna get you cleaned up, gonna be right back,” he coos, running a hand on her back to ground her a bit more so he can leave. She gives him a weak nod and then he’s hurrying out of the room to get a wet washcloth for her.
The process of cleaning her up is a bit rough with how sensitive she is but he makes it work, cleaning her up quickly and throughly before cleaning himself. He then helps her to the bathroom to pee, her body very weak but he knows she needs to do so.
When she’s all done they end up going into the guest room and sleeping there instead of sleeping on their soaked bed, Steve making a mental note to clean up first thing in the morning, he’s way too exhausted right now. When in the room, he helps her get all comfortable and tucked in before turning off the light and climbing in as well, pulling her into his embrace. The both of them start to doze immediately, and within a few minutes they’re both out, soft snores filling the room.
~
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#chris evans#chris evans fic#chris evans smut#chris evans fanfiction#chris evans fanfic#chris evans fandom#cevans#cevans smut#cevans fanfic#cevans fandom#cevansfanfiction#steve rovers#steve rogers fanfiction#steve rogers smut#steve rogers fic#captain america#captain america smut#avengers smut#marvel smut#chris evans fic rec#fic rec#smut fic#steve rogers fic rec#captain america fic rec#captain america fic#cevans fic#cevans fic rec
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#menswear#men's style#men's fashion#street style#street fashion#style#fashion#Land Rover#steve mcqueen
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Mean Steve gives the vibes that he loves spit. Spitting in your mouth? Sure. Drooling over your face while you squirm and shriek in that way he adores (the kind where you pretend you want to get away but get your face closer to his), he also loves licking your face while fucking you from behind, licking your tears away, drooling all over your tits, your tummy, just. everywhere
He also likes it when you’re so lost on him that you start drooling, often without realising, and once you were playfighting and you were feisty and spit on his face and honestly he thought about proposing right there and then
i fucking hate spit. but he can do this to me. as much as he wants.
#spitting on his face and him being like okay we will buy a house together the dog will be named rover my annual average salary is one milli#stevenose posts#ns/fw#steve x reader#mean!steve
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is it just me or do they look similar?
#this might just be me but as soon as i say the photo i was like that looks like steve rovers#iasip#it's always sunny in philadelphia#its always sunny#charlie day#steve rogers
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Two Gashead’s meet in Cyprus
By Richard Beale…
We have been planning this for a while a chance to meet another Gashead (nickname of a Bristol Rovers supporter), yes there are two Gashead’s in Cyprus!
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Oldham Athletic - Five Potential Replacements For David Unsworth - Opinion
It’s safe to say – after pre-season expectations that this year would be finally be the one that saw promotion back to the EFL – that not everything has quite gone to plan at Oldham nine matches into the new National League season.
Only one win in the league to date at the time of writing, which came in the second match of the campaign versus Aldershot, has seen the Latics sink to a lowly 22nd…
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#Bristol Rovers#crewe alexandra#darrell clarke#david artell#Leam Richardson#Micky Mellon#National League#New Manager#oldham athletic#potential managers#Stephen Clemence#Steve Bruce#Tranmere Rovers#Wigan athletic
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Part two of this story, where Robin discovers Steve’s type. A lot of people seemed interested in more, so here you go!
The conversation doesn’t go quite the way Robin is expecting it. She’s fully prepared for Steve to launch into saying how confused he is because he’s feeling weird pants feelings for Eddie, but how does that work because he likes girls? She’s been mentally preparing herself for that exact discussion since she watched Eddie Munson call her best friend ‘Big Boy’ in the middle of committing grand theft auto. So when Steve starts talking, curled up on the gross linoleum tile of Family Video, she’s taken by surprise. She doesn’t even get the chance to answer his question before he’s throwing her prepared speech out the metaphorical window.
“That’s stupid, you already told me that. Sharon Parker in the 5th grade, holding hands for Red Rover, blah blah blah, I know that. But like…Have you ever acted different around a girl, and then one day, you realize it’s because you like her? Like, you had a crush on a girl without even realizing it? Does that make any sense?”
It takes Robin a second to reboot, but the second she manages, Steve throws her even further off track.
“It’s just, Tommy H came by the other day, and he said some stuff that really has me thinking and-”
Robin can’t stop herself. As soon as she hears a name other than Eddie Munson, she has a hand out covering Steve’s mouth. He gives her a look, surprised and confused. Maybe a little annoyed. She valiantly ignores him because what he just said has her head spinning, and she needs to put a stop to it right now.
“Steve. My best friend in the whole universe. I’m here for whatever you need and whatever you might be figuring out about yourself. You know I’m going to support you 100% no matter what happens but…Please. PLEASE tell me that you didn’t just discover you have a crush on TOMMY H! He isn’t even your type, Steve! He isn’t even in the ballpark of your type! He’s so far off it’s honestly kind of laughable and-”
Now it’s Steve who puts a hand over her mouth.
“Jesus, Robin! First of all, gross. I’m not into Tommy, okay? Never gonna happen, not in a million years. And second, what the hell do you mean ‘my type?’ What the hell would you know about my type?”
Robin carefully removes his hand from her face and shakes her head. She has absolutely no clue where this conversation is going, but there’s still a chance it can work its way somewhere good. Somewhere Munson-related. And she owes it to Steve to listen to his crisis properly.
“Nevermind, forget that. What happened with Tommy?”
“Okay well, he came over, like I said. He was super wasted, and I guess he and Carol broke up? And he started talking about when we were friends, and how he always used to try and get closer to me. He said he almost asked me if I wanted to practice kissing once? And he talked about like, trying to touch me all the time, trying to make me laugh? Basically saying he had a crush on me, which was super weird.”
Robin nodded, because really, she had no idea what to say to that.
“And then he kissed me. Which was kind of gross because he tasted like whisky and he was being all sloppy, like he wanted to eat my face. But…”
“But?”
“It wasn’t as gross as I would have expected I guess.”
“I thought you said you didn’t like him!”
“I don’t! It just, wasn’t a totally horrible kiss okay? Only a little horrible.”
Robin sighed and let her head tip back against the wall.
“Okay, I’m not seeing your dilemma yet. Tommy liking you and kissing you is kind of weird sure, but it doesn’t change anything about you.”
Steve’s eyebrows furrowed, and he let out a puff of air. He looked small in this bathroom, scared in a way that Robin hated. They had faced down monsters, torture, long shifts with Keith. A conversation with his best friend should never have Steve looking that afraid, ever.
She reached out and took his hand in her, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Hey, it’s okay Steve. Tell me what’s going on in that head.”
“It’s just…Some of what Tommy said. About how he tried to get closer to me, to touch me and make me laugh and shit? I guess I realized that I’m doing that stuff. With somebody else. And if Tommy did it because he liked me then…”
“You think it might mean you like this person. This…guy?”
“Yeah. This guy.”
There it was, the Eddie Munson of it all. Because Robin only knew of one guy that Steve spent his time with and would be trying to be touchy and close with. She had watched it happen with her own eyes, the way Steve would look for reasons to lean past Eddie, to put a hand on his shoulder, his back, once getting brave and putting a hand on his waist. She’d watched Eddie do the exact same things around Steve, too.
Part of her almost just comes out and tells Steve, that she knows who he’s talking about. Except he still looks unsure. He looks like he wants to throw up a little, and Robin has to fix that.
“You know it’s okay right? For you to like this guy?”
“I know. It’s just weird, to realize I might like him that way. Normally I can figure out when I’m into someone.”
“Well, normally you aren’t friends with the people you’re into first. That makes it confusing.”
“And I’m normally into people with boobies.”
“That too.”
Steve lets out a tiny laugh, and it makes Robin beam. Something about Steve is lighter now, like somethings been lifted off his chest, something that’s been there for a really long time without him knowing. She wants to tell him how much she’s loves him. How much she cares about him and supports him. She wants to tell him about all her research, and fully explain to him her findings when it comes to ‘his type.’
She wants to tell him that she knows the guy he likes is Eddie. That she thinks Eddie might like him too.
The ‘ring for service’ bell ruins her chance at saying any of it.
She and Steve both clamber off the floor, adjusting their vests before exiting the bathroom to greet whoever keeps ringing the stupid bell over and over again. Robin can’t decide if it’s the best luck in the world, or the worst, when it’s Eddie Munson himself standing at the counter.
She leans towards best luck when she sees the way Steve’s cheeks go red.
A few people asked to be tagged if I did a part 2, so hopefully I do that right! I’ve got a few more parts planned, so if anybody else wants to be tagged let me know and I’ll do my best!
@kaiscove @wolfstarlights @awkwardgravity1 @anonymousbandgirl @f1ct1onwh0re
#steve harrington#Robin Buckley#Platonic Stobin#Wingman Robin Buckley#Steddie#Eddie Munson#stranger things 4#stranger things#steddie ficlet#stommy#one sided stommy#because I am a Tommy was in love with Steve Truther FIRST and a person never#Steve may have liked him once upon a time but that ship has sailed now
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All the Good Girls Go To Hell 20
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, power imbalance, injury, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You come home for the summer but your break is not as relaxing as you expect.
Character: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers
Note: Friday! (again)
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)
Love you all. Take care. 💖
It takes until noon to get yourself together. The world around you feels disconnected and hazy, beyond your reach. You just want to hide from the chaos your life has become, but you know you can't do that. Bucky says as much, telling you to take it all in small steps. The first; get your car.
You slump in the passenger seat of Bucky's range rover, arms folded over your fraught stomach. Never again. It's never worth it, even if it lets you forget. You just have to remember it all the next day, all while feeling shitty as hell.
He pulls up in front of Harry's house and you slowly sit forward to look around him. You gulp and fish out your keys, the jingle making you wince. You blow out a breath and undo your seat belt.
"Should I come with you, doll?" He offers, one hand on the wheel.
You look at him. His long hair is draw back into a ponytail at the back of his head, a few strands dangle loose to his chin. His square jaw is speckled with dark stubble and few patches of silver. His steely blue eyes shine as his plain white tee and blue jeans offer a perfect canvas for his easy allure. The way he looks at you makes it hard not to notice how handsome he is.
"No, no, I'll just go get my car and follow you back to your place. Should be easy."
You pull the door handle before you can lose your nerve. You're grateful for Bucky's help but you need to do this on your own. He can't coddle you and you can't expect everything from him. You don't want to be in this situation ever again; cast out and lost.
You get out and gently shut the door. You round the front of the tall rover and push your glasses up your nose. You cross the street, tucking your hands in your pockets as you keep your shoulders curled and head down. You cross the pavement and head up the tarmac, stopping short as you catch sight of your car.
Your mouth falls open as you gape at the mess strewn across it. Shaving cream streaks the hood and roof, toilet paper draped over it in tangled strips, and eggs smashed into the worn paint. As you get closer, you notice the only blank patch is keyed with the words 'dumb bitch'. You stare stunned at the desecration of your only possession.
You shake your head and don't look up at the house. You can guess it was probably Harry and his friends. This is the type of stuff the got up to in high school and these people made it clear that you're an outsider.
You near the car and grab a few strips of toilet paper, pulling them off and wadding them up as you try to wipe off the yolk and half-melted cream. Some of it's caked on after sitting for at least half the night. You sigh and focus on just tearing the tissue off. You can hit a car wash but you don't know what you'll do about the scratches.
As you scrape off what you can, you hear a door and sense a shadow. Harry's laughter rattles in the afternoon sun and you ignore him as you toss clumps of cream and toilet paper onto the ground. You unlock the door and he catches it from the outside, holding it in place.
"Do you get the hint now?" He asks darkly.
"Leave me alone," you tug on the door and it doesn't budge.
"Naomi is better than you. You're just some stupid nerd who doesn't know her place. The only reason Peter was interested is because he wants to make MJ jealous--"
"I don't care--"
"You're too boring for her," he sneers, "so better go off back to your corner and cry, little girl."
"Frig off," you spit at him, "and let go!"
You try to jerk the door away and he just snickers again. You bear your teeth in frustration and roll your eyes. If he wants you gone, why won't he let you go?
"She helped. The eggs were her idea," he taunts. You don't care if she did or not, her loyalties are clear enough. You saw them last night.
"Hey," Bucky's voice rips through your standoff and you turn as he storms up the driveway. "Back up, jackass."
"Jesus Christ, not this geezer," Harry snarls.
"Yes, this geezer," Bucky barks, "go inside before I show you what an old man can do."
"Whatever, bro."
"Whatever," Bucky stomps past you and stops only inches from Harry, looming over him, "I'm up for whatever you choose, boy."
Harry huffs and curls his lip. He raises his hands and takes a step back, "you're not worth the trouble."
"Sure," Bucky keeps his shoulder in front of you, blocking you in, "go on and run back to your posse of dumbasses."
Harry waves him off and turns on his heel, slides flopping under him as he tramps like a toddler back to the house. You shudder and look at Bucky as he turns to you. He rests his hand on the top of the door.
"You alright, doll?" He softens his tone.
"Yeah, fine, he's just dumb."
"Mm," he looks past you, "assholes. Let's get this thing cleaned up and--" He pauses and shifts away, bending to examine the message etched into the paint, "hmmmmm," he growls, "good thing I know how to buff this stuff out." He stands straight, hands on his hips, his pose accentuating his chest and biceps, "you want me to drive this thing till we get it washed or--"
"No, no, it's okay," you murmur, "I just wanna get out off here."
"Sure thing," he tries to smile but his cheek ticks as his eyes drift angrily to the house, "don't let appearances fool you, there people are trash."
🌞
When you get back to Bucky's, he unfolds a lawn chair and points you to it. There's little argument to be had as his anger has you tongue-tied. You know it's not directed at you but you can feel it steaming off of him. You've never been good at handling that sort of emotion, especially from others.
It's probably for the better. Your head is pounding, even in the shadow of the awning, and you stomach is still wobbly with uncertainty. You rest your chin in your hand as you watch him spraying your car with the nozzle of the hose. As he does, the splash back dampens the front of his tee, the fabric clinging to his stomach as he sneers at his task.
He shut the hose off and grabs the sponge from the bucket, scrubbing at the harder to get patches until has has it mostly clean. He gives it another rinse with hose and rolls it up, dumping the bucket in the grass and dropping the sponge inside. He puts the pail down and sits on the steps, only a foot away from you.
"Sure made a mess of myself," he looks down at his wet shirt, wiping his hands on it before tugging it upwards. He strips it off and shakes it out as you avert your wiley gaze. "I'll buff the side later and it should be fine. Probably have to find somewhere to fix the paint properly, though."
"Thanks, uh, you've really done... enough."
"Shitty," he mutters clutching the shirt in his hand. As he leans an elbow on his knee, your eyes stray to the trim of hair across his broad chest. You hide your wandering gaze and focus on your hands, "I'm sorry she dragged you into all this. Really... and I know I've probably not made it any easier."
"I guess I'm just confused. I don't know what to do with myself. I guess I should keep looking for a job but at this rate, I won't have one until I have to head back to campus. If I even get to go." You exhale shakily, "my parents split tuition but if my mom cuts me off... I don't know what to do."
He nods and gives a thoughtful hum. He sits back and props his elbow on the step behind him, his muscled stomach tugging at your gaze. No, stop.
"I never had kids. Obviously. Always knew I couldn't give them everything I would want to, you know? But if I did, I'd give them everything I could. I just don't get it. I really don't, you're a good girl and they just don't see what's right in front of them," he sucks his teeth, "well, how about..." he stops himself and lets his leg sway one way then the other, "I could offer you a job. You could do some work around the shop. Sweeping up sawdust and stuff but the pay is good."
You nod and chew your lip. It's a nice idea. More than you deserve.
"What... what about..."
"Steve? You let me handle him. Really, he's just a dumbass. Gets carried away. Besides, sounds like he has his hands full with your mom and his wife," he scoffs, "you'll be working with me, not him."
You wiggle your foot, "I don't know..."
"It's your choice but it'll keep you busy and it could help with money problems," he puts his hand flat, "all you have to do is say yes. Oh, and obviously, whatever you decide, you got a place to stay."
You glance up at the house and frown, "I don't... what about Naomi?"
"What about her? If she comes back, same thing for her. She has a room here. I made promises and I don't break those. However she feels about me, I wasn't the one who hit the self-destruct button."
You drop your head, holding it tight as it feels ready to splinter. It's not just your hangover, it's everything else. You squeak and rub your temples with your thumbs.
"You okay?" Bucky leans forward and touches your elbow.
You lift your head gently, "yeah. I just feel awful. That I ever thought you were... bad. After everything, you won't even turn her away."
"She's lost. She's careless but she's young. I only ever wanted to help her, I was just selfish about how," he shrugs and retracts his hand, "but anyway," he stands and touches his lower back, "I think you should go inside, chill out on the couch, and watch some Netflix. I'll get you something nice and greasy to eat for that hangover."
You whimper and give a pathetic smile, "I'm sorry about that," you stand with some effort, "I don't usually drink like that--"
He laughs, "don't apologise," he waves you up the steps ahead of him, "I'm going to start being honest with you so I do need to tell you that it was really cute."
You giggle and shake your head as you reach for the front door. He's fast and extends his arm past you, opening it around you, close, so close you can feel the heat roiling off of him.
"No, it wasn't," you insist.
"It really was," he snorts as he follows you inside, "you get this pout and it's just..." he's quiet as you slip your shoes off, a lull as he weighs his words, "gorgeous."
You chuckle nervously and rub your neck. He clears his throat and toes off his sneakers. He moves around you cautiously, as if fighting not to get any closer.
"I'll go grab my phone and we'll figure out what to order," he mutters, his tone uneven, "you just make yourself at home."
🌞
You feel a bit more stable once you have a good meal in your stomach. Good being a relative term. The greasy cheeseburger and onions rings are hardly nutritious but they are satisfying.
You slurp on your diet coke as you lay with your head up against the armrest and lose yourself in the shallow drama of the reality show personalities. An argument about a dress really is compelling theatre. You put the cup down and hug the cushion to your chest, laughing as a woman storms out, tossing her wine in the process. Wow, and you thought your life was ridiculous.
You yawn and close your eyes. It's getting late. You should probably go to the guest room and try to sleep off the last of your alcoholic regret.
The end of the couch dips and your eyes snap open. Bucky sits just below your feet, tilting his head at the screen. He arches his brow as his eyes search the television. His mouth slants as he looks at you.
"So, why are these women screaming at each other?" He asks.
"Oh, uh, you can change it," you go to sit up but he firmly puts his hand on your ankle.
"No, I'm curious. Genuinely."
"Really, it's just a stupid show--"
"I want to know," he smiles and glances back at the TV, "they are really angry."
"Well, the blonde one borrowed a dress from the brunette and never gave it back but the blonde claims she did and the other woman is lying. And the other blonde is saying she saw the dress in the brunette's closet," you explain and end with a chortle, "it really is nonsense."
He keeps his hand on your ankle, his thumb rubbing through the cotton of your sock. He nods and squints, "the brunette is lying."
"Hmm? How do you know?"
"You can tell," he points with his other hand, his other slipping down your foot. "She keeps looking left."
"Oh?" You look between him and the television, overly aware of his hand. He pushes his thumb into your sole and you groan at the delightful pressure.
"You ticklish?" He wonders as he drags his thumb along your arch, "huh?"
"A little," you confess, "what are you--"
"Just... being nice," he grips your foot as you try to pull away once more, "just lay back. Everyone loves a good foot massage, don't they?"
"I... I wouldn't know," you push yourself up on your elbows and watch him knead your foot, barely withholding a moan. He knows what he's doing. "Never had one before."
"Really? Well, you got a lot of tension right... here," he poke his thumb into you and your squeal. It sends a zing up your leg. "See? I told you, you need to relax. I'm just helping." He grabs your ankle higher up and yanks, just hard enough to have you flat on your back, "sit back and enjoy, doll. You deserve it."
#bucky barnes#dark bucky barnes#dark!bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#au#steve rogers#dark steve rogers#dark!steve rogers#steve rogers x reader#series#mcu#marvel#avengers#captain america#winter soldier#all the good girls go to hell
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Sweet
A/n: You know how sometimes when you’re having a breakdown and nothing is helping but then something completely unrelated and stupid just does it for no reason. This is that. With pot brownies and kissing. Bucky is recovering and reader is an moron with a heart of gold.
Angst, hurt/comfort, humor. Reader/Bucky. 3k words
Warnings: Marijuana use; conversations about trauma, particularly food-related; language.
-
The path leading away from the cabin is littered with wet patches of morning. Rime colors of miserable winter in sludge grey are starting to be overtaken by sprouts of green, yellow, and brisk dew, springtime optimism come to life.
Pepper’s got the front of her house looking like a farmer’s market flower stand. Pots of tulips and daffodils explode up the steps and tri-color ribbons connecting porch-light to porch-light. The magnolia tree is soon to bud, and she’s hung hummingbird feeders and birdhouses all around.
When the cars start rolling in for the quarter-yearly potluck, you hang out near the garden, rocking back and forth on your feet. You'd shown up early but didn’t know what to do around a toddler, so outside it was.
The familiar Range Rover halts to a stop, Sam’s door opening as he makes his way out, holding ceramic handles of an enormous crockpot.
You call, “Bring your famous chili?”
“Damn right, I did,” he beams, “you bring your appetite?”
You waggle your eyebrows before looking to the SUV he hopped out of, Steve lingering by the back door with a brown paper box tucked beneath his arm, knocking on the heavily tinted windows with a long-suffering sigh. “C’mon, Buck. Up and at ‘em.”
A loud, decisive knock thumps back at him and Steve rolls his big, pitiful, puppy dog eyes in your direction. Beneath the blue of his left orbital is what looks suspiciously like the fading ochre stain of either an almost healed bruise or a newly forming one, which only makes Steve’s silent call for aid more pathetic and urgent.
Damn, okay. Since you’re kind of on thin ice already, this could go one of two ways.
Sliding up, you crack your knuckles.
“Barnes,” you call, “I got something illegal for you. Wanna see?”
“Dead body.” He responds from behind the still shut door, and you’re not sure if that’s a question. Steve glares at you accusatory, as if you’d actually bring a dead body to a potluck, good grief.
“Uh, no.”
“Knife.”
Steve shoots you another look—which is just ridiculous at this point, the both of them.
“Knives aren’t illegal.”
“Depends.”
Steve shifts the box of what looks to be cherry turnovers and mouths phrase day, which means that Barnes decided to stop talking in complete sentences sometime between when he woke up and probably when Steve over-crowded him and is now reducing all communication to two or three words as both a method of punishment for Steve and self-preservation for Barnes.
“It’ll make you feel better,” you urge, “Loads better.”
“Sex.” He rolls down the window just enough for you to get a glimpse of his eyes, narrowed and steely. “Drugs?”
You mouth bingo, outrightly ignoring the fact that it feels like Bucky Barnes nearly solicited you for sex, and Steve puts his hand over his own face, about to quip until he realizes that he’s probably said too much already—which is what got him in this predicament to begin with—and simply drags himself toward the house.
Barnes watches him go wordlessly before he opens the door and steps out, looking down at you, lightly shivering in the cold, and says, still one-worded, “Okay.”
-
He pops three brownies into his mouth and chews, opening just enough to get out a muffled, “too sweet” before returning to grinding down like he’s cracking pecan shells in there.
“I know you have like,” you make panicked motions with your fingers, snapping the red Tupperware lid back down frantically, “hella metabolism, but pump the brakes or you’re going to flip.”
“Flip,” he concludes, determined. He squirrels about two more in before you can do anything about it.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! I was going to let you take those home later—oh my god, I’m going to get into so much trouble.”
The two of you are stopped at one of those cutesy stone birdbaths around the perimeter, leaning on the lip as Barnes licks remaining chocolate off his fingers, looking as pleased as punch. As much as he can look, anyway, you think, since you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him smile at anything other than the time Steve stubbed his toe bad enough on Tony’s kitchen island that he doubled over.
“Did you say sex earlier?” You suddenly remember the flash of silver from the darkness of the SUV. “Wait, actually, I wanna go back even before that—did you really think I’d have a dead body?”
He shrugs.
“Cool,” you reply, “cool, cool, cool, cool. I think I should be more concerned, but you know what, I like it. Feels like a vote of confidence.”
A wide grin stretches across your face and you temporarily forget that Bucky fucking Barnes has eaten about half a pan of brownies with 25 grams of pot baked into them, that in about 15 minutes you’re both expected to sit down like normal people and have a nice dinner without anyone doing… whatever it is that he might do when he’s blazed to high heaven.
You shake the thought of Steve’s disappointment out of your head. Maybe it’d be best to keep acting natural, get him into some kind of headspace.
“So,” you whistle, “what’d you bring to the potluck?”
He gives you a sidelong stare and if there were Olympics for how someone can convey eat shit and die without moving anything but their eyes, he’d win every 8 years for the rest of his unnaturally long life.
“Well, I brought myself,” you curtsy, starting back down the trail again, figuring that you’ve got five minutes walking forward before it’d be time to turn back to the house, “and your present,” to which he gives you a short nod, “and an empty stomach. You excited for Sam’s chili?”
“Spicy.”
“Spicy?” you recoil, suddenly finding the prospect of a man who gave Captain America a black eye last week or possibly this morning—the monster who ate half of your most lethal bake—panting and sweating over a bowl of chili astoundingly inconceivable.
“Oh wait, you live with Rogers. What’s he feeding you at home? Steamed chicken?”
“Baked.”
You sigh, “God, you’re fucked. Nat brought something with Carolina Reaper infused honey glaze. Barnes... we’ll have to do a prayer circle for your ass.”
His face twists into a look of disgust before he starts to notice his lips, pressing them together, pulling them apart. After a few more motions like he’s discovering his body, bit by bit, he turns to you, and announces, “Feeling it.”
You laugh, jealous, because although you had a bite about 30 minutes before he even arrived, the brownie hasn’t hit you yet. “Good,” you say anyway, “that’s good, right?”
He only apathetically regards a sparrow flying past. You suppress a chortle when Barnes repeatedly licks his lips and rubs at the sleeves of his sweater.
“Have you ever been high before?” You correct, “In the fun, recreational, consensual way?”
Another listless shrug before he turns his head. You push yourself off a nearby log and make a show of stomping through haphazard piles of sticks and dead leaves, curling your fingers in a come along motion.
He follows, boots crunching, steps short and patternless, making a racket behind your back. He looks like a kid, fingers tucked up into his long sleeves, bouncy knees as he attempts to splash into every puddle as he possibly can before catching up. He’s almost got a grin when he looks at you, remembering where he is again, and there’s a light brush of color along the tops of his cheeks from the chill.
Around a small bend in the path, you duck under a branch, hop over a stone, and when you land back on both feet, the ground wobbles just enough to notice.
The air smells nice. Your eyelids feel heavy in a good way.
“Steve really piss you off this morning, didn’t he?”
Barnes lands a couple of feet away, his face dropping into an exhausted expression at the question, which you can’t fault him for because Steve’s a lot of things. Simple things, on the surface, but Barnes has known him longer than most anyone else and you imagine all of his noble qualities—his longstanding patience and willpower and belief in the goodness in everything and everyone—you imagine that shit gets old.
Hell, it gets at you on occasion, and you’re not even the brainwashed best friend who’s probably hearing a hundred voices in his head and is too tired to hear one more no matter how well-intentioned it might be.
Sometimes, being inundated by language just breaks it all back into foreign, incomprehensible script. And sometimes, being exceedingly plied with something you can’t make any sense of makes you turn inward, makes you bare your teeth in self-defense.
Which makes you realize you probably should ease up, too, talk less, but then he takes a long step with his ridiculous legs and is by your side, walking as if you two do this all the time.
“He’s a fixer.” Bucky’s brows are scrunched together, hands buried in his pockets. You nod quickly, not wanting him to go into any more detail than that because it’s not news that the entire population is still wary of Bucky Barnes’ re-emergence as a United States citizen when he was, up until very recently, a—uh, Russian one.
This, obviously, puts many things at odds with each other, including Steve, who is Mr. United States himself. The Avengers, too, who are mostly Team United States, considering the location and overwhelming population. But most of all, Bucky, who is still cobbling together bits and pieces of his life each day, is faced with the knowledge that everyone in the world knows more about him than he does.
You rub the back of your neck sympathetically because that shit would kill your heart so fast.
“You know what.” You shake the Tupperware at him, “Have the rest of these. You deserve it. And like, a million hugs.”
He barks a laugh, gladly gulps down the rest, and there’s a dapple of fudge on his chin looking so silly and sweet as he chews.
Ah, shoot. You avert your gaze, feeling very bad ideas break out up your arms and neck, and the shudder that is about to overtake you seems less about Barnes’ sweet face and more about Steve’s disappointed one. Like, he’s going to read your mind and know you’re having ideas about his best friend. And he’s going to do that thing where his eyebrows drop and his lips press together as he attempts to hold back a few choice words. Until later, probably, when he corners you somewhere and unleashes them anyway.
What were you thinking?, he’ll hiss. Are you capable of thinking rationally?
“What?” Barnes prods. “What is it?”
“Nothin’” you take a leap forward, herding the both of you back. The closer you are to the cabin the more you’ll remember that you’re at a family event, with friends, who should all stay in the friend territory.
But you blurt anyway, “You said sex earlier!” Because you’re a whole ass idiot.
He makes a small noise, says, “Yeah,” like that’s any help.
“Are you…” what the fuck, your head is spinning, “like, in… need of some?” Your face feels hot.
“Maybe. My body is…” he frowns, so weirdly open right now, and then he looks at you with half is face in a weary grin, the other half lost and confused. “Responding to stimuli in ways I haven’t— responded to in... Trying to fix it. Steve wants me to be fixed.”
He tilts his face to the sky, glaring at it. “Can’t get it out.”
You’re trying to force your rabbiting heart down to a manageable pace. You’ve never had any in-depth discussions with him about anything, much less his sex drive. The most interaction the two of you get is the occasional mission or get-together where you crack jokes and get shitfaced when the job’s done. You’ve been told you’re sort of a pain and haven’t given a fuck too much to change that.
You’re sort of in trouble right now, having been “irrational” during the last mission, running across the iced lake instead of taking the planned route and falling in. It ended up working out, since you got to the enemy helicopter before the enemies, but then there was the stabbing because you were sort of outnumbered and the pneumonia afterwards because you fell into the fucking lake…
There was a massive chewing out. Steve and his many, disappointed words.
Something about motor-mouths and low-object permanence but sure, good on the inside when it counts.
You hope this is one of those times where it counts.
“Listen,” you start. “Take as long as you need, there’s no rush on recovery and pushing yourself too hard is detrimental to your health. It’s not a straight line.”
“I hit him.”
Your wheeling brain is making a sharp left, trying to figure out where Barnes is driving toward. Oh. The black eye.
“Aw, Steve?” You wave your hand, swatting nothing. “He’s a big boy.”
“I’m hungry. Then I’m not.”
“I mean, that sounds normal—“
“No, a lot. Fast. Cyclical. Endless.”
It must be his metabolism adjusting. The realization of his relationship with food comes fast, almost visceral. Scarce when he was young, then rationed during the war before it was taken from him altogether. He was given the bare minimum with Hydra—protein slurry, tube-fed—then purged—stomach pumped—before being put on ice.
For decades.
Starvation must have truly felt endless.
And now with food being a surplus, with his body readjusting to it, yet his mind still struggling with habits—it must be so confusing. Another seemingly natural function to be confused about.
“Ah,” you manage, a lump in your throat like a blockade.
“I get nightmares.” He’s glaring at his hands, one flesh, one metal, opening and closing his fist like trying to get a grip on himself, and his voice is so small and pained. “These thoughts. All sorts. Can’t sleep.”
You extend your hands, shake off the dry sob that wants to erupt from your chest, and declare with flourish, “On the fourth day, God made Purple Kush, and it was good. So, we can—we can fix that.”
He takes another one of those long looks, through his lashes, lips quirked in quiet humor.
“You’re not really a fixer.”
He shakes the container of crumbs in your face.
You gasp, snatching it back in offense. “I can fix… some things! I replaced the utility light in the kitchen yesterday!“
Your cheeks are hot, face twitching like a broken screen because all you can think about is how handsome he is, out here like this, nose blushing, eyes lazy and crescent shaped, the heavy creases beneath them less pained and more relaxed.
And how he’s teasing you—- and he’s kind of a little shit.
“You fucker,” you say.
He grins—all big and silent, and for a second you count your blessings that he’s not going to say anything else shitty until he quips, “Not unless you’re offering.”
He’s staring at you intently, a curious expression winding its way up his face. His eyes are huge and blue and the most alert, glazed-over, pair of bloodshot, redder-than-the-devil’s-dick eyes you’ve ever seen on anyone stoned halfway to the moon.
His tongue darts out, sweeps a slow, careful line over the width of his bottom lip, practically asking, and you’re just the simple idiot who openly gawks at him.
“Ah,” you nod. “Yeah you’re definitely right. I’m—“ you gulp, “more of a fuck-up.”
Because what’s another fuck up to add onto the long-running list of fuck ups you’ve had recently, anyway? Kissing Barnes might count as a really serious one, sure, but at least it’s not pneumonia.
It’d make him feel better, probably, it’d make him feel something, at least. Steve would appreciate that, if Barnes came to the dinner table verbal, maybe even laughing. No one has to tell Steve that his best pal kissed your face off in the woods.
The idea of your face being kissed off is doing a number on you. The idea of Bucky Barnes, this gorgeous, miserable, godly, tragic contradiction, your at-arm’s-length teammate, your quickly-becoming friend, kissing your face off because he needs to feel something soft in the midst of the rest of the horrible, jagged things he already feels every second of his life—and he can get it from you.
You’re stupid and simple and how could anyone say no to that? So you take one last second to steel your heart, push forward, and lean in.
It’s, frankly, bizarre.
He kisses you gently, fantastically, inconsistently, wavering from assured one second to apprehensive the next, like he remembers how but can’t quite execute.
You meet him where you can, respond to the parting of his lips with your own, adjust to his tension with grace, and when he starts feeling like he’s getting the hang of it, like muscle memory has finally settled into his body, you let him lead.
One hand finds the base of your skull, the other placing itself on your waist. His kisses grow greedy, like he remembers desire is a thing that occurs to him. He tilts his head down, kisses up like he wants to swallow every sigh between your lips, like he’s hungry for the sounds you make—and you’re making, embarrassingly, a lot of them. He’s good—dominant but kind, mouth wide, lips full, tongue cocoa-sweet and clever as it strokes yours again and again.
When he backs you up into a tree, you barely register it. His hand has moved to cushion your head, and he’s urging his entire body forward into yours, grip tight at your hipbone, moving his mouth to your jaw, then your neck, and you stutter a string of letters that refuse to make words.
Barnes is expertly sucking marks beneath your collar, right beneath the neckline, his breath hot and coming out in a near snarl and when he scrapes his teeth down, sinking them into the soft skin of your chest, you yelp loud enough to send a few birds scattering from the trees.
He jumps off like he’s burned you, eyes frantic, afraid.
“No—” you clear your throat, hands out, “Hold on.”
He’s blinking, head clearing, head trying to assess what he’s done, the situation, the pulled loose neckline, the wet shine of his spit up your throat.
“S-sorry—”
“No, don’t be sorry.” You give him his distance but take a small step forward. “That was hot. But,”
He blinks, confused, and this whole thing could easily go pear-shaped, your well-intentioned explanation might turn into unintelligible speech at any moment, but you have to try or else he’ll tailspin into catastrophe, and you suddenly feel so sorry for Steve, the poor fuck who’s doing this every day, clinging onto the hope that what he’s saying doesn’t set Bucky off, doesn’t push his boulder back downhill.
He's still stuttering sorry, starting to pace.
“Listen,” you say firmly, clipping your own panic, “that was wow, let me tell you. But if you don’t stop, I’m going to like— hotwire a car.”
Somehow this stops him in his tracks, “What?”
“Well, I didn’t drive here. Because you know, I was going to like, get really shitfaced.”
“What?”
“Yeah, and like, take you to a hotel or something.”
He frowns, obviously completely lost. “Why?”
It’s your turn to be lost. Both of you open-mouthed and panting at each other like two dumb dogs chasing each others’ tail in an ouroboros of idiocy.
“Huh? What do you mean why? You just tongue-fucked me, do you think I’m immune to getting on my knees for that?”
Now you can see it happening—the incomprehensible speech like a marquee as it runs across Barnes’ brain. Tongue-fuck, immune to getting on my knees. He doesn’t understand any of that, and god bless any soul who can. What language are you even speaking right now other than hot-brained, hot-skinned, hot-hearted to him, who’s still struggling to defrost?
“Never mind,” you redact, “ignore that.” You put your hands on his shoulders to ground yourself, vaguely thinking that maybe you shouldn’t touch him but the firm slap of your palms seems to break him out of his new trance. “Can we kiss again, later?”
He blinks, staring at you, at your hands on him, at your lips all swollen up.
“Yes.”
You sigh, relieved and thankful that other than you, no one’s freaking out, that your plan to get Bucky Barnes high worked out after all, and that he has agreed to make out later because he’s really, really good at it.
“Wonderful. Let’s go back now? Are you ready?”
He mulls it over and shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. “Sure, but I’m not eating chili.”
“Well, you’re in luck, there’s plenty of chicken.”
He grimaces, cuts a sharp look up to you before a twinkle settles in his blue, blue eyes. “Okay,” he agrees, “guess we should do a prayer circle for my ass.”
You clap your hands together and recite Our Father.
-
“It was sex, wasn’t it?”
Sam’s got one hand over his belly, snickering. Everyone else looks your way, gullible, scandalized, and you can’t blame them since the two of you were gone an awfully long time and came back extremely disheveled.
Bucky had walked in dutifully behind you, wiped off his boots, sat down at the dinner table, and asked for seconds saying please and thank you and he even threw in a that was delicious just to watch Steve’s head explode.
And Bucky, who you’ve come to realize is genuinely a shit— still one-worded and knowing full well the repercussions of his one word— only shrugs and responds, “Yes.”
The room erupts into shouting as you throw a buttered roll at his head. He catches it easily and brings it up to his grinning mouth, shimmer of spit glossy and fantastic on his lips.
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Not for the first time, you realize just how badly you need to escape from Steve. You have to, before he decides to turn a passing comment into reality and you’ll be trapped with him forever.
The Cure & The Cause
Mafia!Steve x Captive!Reader
Word Count: ~2k
Notes/warning(s): some sexual content, coercion, Steve is sweet but a little psycho, no plot just vibes. Reader’s been kidnapped by Steve and is being held captive for a bit before story begins. Part of the same universe that Failed Bargaining belongs to.
If you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging or leaving some feedback, thanks! ❤
When the car rolls up to the curb and a member of Steve’s unit opens the door, Sharon exits first before it’s your turn. You’ve barely stepped out of the black Range Rover before several bodyguards usher you towards the entrance of the multi-storied boutique, but the small stretch of sidewalk you cross is simply not enough for you to attempt an escape. Figures.
You’ve only ever gone shopping for a wedding dress once, when you had accompanied your best friend in search of hers. But with the costs of her traditional wedding adding up quickly, Lisa had been forced to make some concessions where her dress was concerned. Her final choice was still lovely, in the end, though admittedly it wasn’t perfect in every capacity that she’d envisioned.
As soon as you step foot into the bridal boutique, you realize right away that whatever financial concerns Lisa had during her own wedding planning, Sharon will not have. Money is, quite frankly, the least of her worries. For starters, Sharon is one of Steve’s highest-ranking, and she’s getting married to Sam, so it’s no surprise that all the stops have been pulled out. This upscale boutique is apparently one of many salons she has in mind to visit, but already it’s proving to be the most impressive.
“We have the whole place to ourselves,” Sharon mentions with uncharacteristic giddiness, just as you and the rest of the group settle into plush white sofas. You thought that that in itself spoke to Steve’s influence and wealth, but when the senior manager in her stylish black dress and six-inch heels pops open a bottle of Dom Perignon circa 1996, you’re left wondering how much of Steve’s largesse these people are truly hoping for.
Together with the champagne, the store’s personnel offer you and the others an assortment of French pastries while Sharon gets into her first dress. A collection of them has already been set aside for her based on previous consultations, but today is when she gets to try them on. You’re already reaching for your second flute when you think that for just a second, you want to imagine that this is all a normal picture, that these women you’re here with—Sharon, Nat, Wanda and Sarah—are in fact your girlfriends, rather than accomplices to your captivity. That without him present, you might just be able to subscribe to the illusion. Combined with the right amount of ridiculously expensive champagne, it’s more than possible.
This scares you more than you want to admit. Mostly because you’re stuck realizing how lonely you’ve been up to this point, even before Steve decided to take you, but also how your perception of your captivity is beginning to morph into something less depraved, a jagged picture where the edges are becoming dulled.
You swallow down another bit of champagne in response, and then a little bit more; the next thing you know, time is flying by and your reaction at every dress Sharon steps out in gets more expressive, louder. Somewhere along the way you even end up in Nat’s lap, arms flung over her shoulder, the both of you choking on laughter at a snide comment Sharon’s made about the gown that Wanda—yes, her—has chosen to try on. It’s the very portrait of idealized friendship, of closeness and devotion and support. Of course you want to believe all this, even if only for a minute.
“It looks like you ladies have gone through most of the champagne I sent,” says a low, timbrous voice that slices through the racket of laughter and loud talk.
You, together with everyone else, process Steve’s sudden presence in the salon at the same moment, only your reaction is nowhere near as positive. Amongst the wild cheers and drunken shrieks that the other women let out, you merely stare at him with your mouth agape, blinking at the sight of him in the doorway, Bucky lingering not so far behind. Rather than disappointment, your brain can only process how fucking handsome this man is, how the top of his head nearly grazes the lintel as he enters, every step full of confidence. You’re completely out of his league, your brain foggily reminds you, though you know that—just like you know what’s beneath the gray suit he’s wearing, the one tailored to perfection.
More treacherous thoughts, you realize, just like most of them today.
“It feels like I’ve stepped into a party,” Steve says, rounding a sofa to enter the fray. His blue eyes cut to you, take in your place on Nat’s lap and the way you’re holding on to her, but he says nothing.
“That’s because it is a party,” Sharon insists, a little too loudly, the tendrils of her hair dancing along the sides of her face. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“We were driving through the district and I thought I’d drop in,” he says, still hovering over them. Bucky’s leaning against the doorway with his arms folded across his body and a look of mild amusement on his face, but he doesn’t attempt to intrude any further.
With his hands poised on his hips, Steve looks over at Wanda standing before the wall-to-wall mirrors. “Last time I checked, you’re not getting married. What’s happening here?”
“Nobody says you have to be a bride to try on a pretty dress,” Nat explains beneath you, one arm still loosely wrapped around your waist. “Sharon needed a breather, actually, so we’ve decided to take turns modeling now. Right, babe?”
She knocks a shoulder against one of yours.
When Steve swivels his head to look down at the both of you, there’s a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. “In that case, it’s your turn,” he commands, eyes fixed squarely on you. “Now that I think about it, I'm curious to know how you’d look in a wedding dress. And you want to please me, don’t you?”
You blink at him, letting his words wash over you. You remain sitting on Nat’s lap, even though you’re still not sure how you ended up there in the first place, and you can’t quite believe that Steve’s here too, but reality is starting to sink back in, your little fantasy cracking at the edges. These women around you aren’t your friends, and this isn’t some typical shopping excursion at a designer bridal house.
When you respond, you’re only vaguely aware how much the champagne you’ve been knocking back has emboldened you. His champagne, no less.
“Forget it,” you say, shaking your head. “I don’t want to.”
You think you may be imagining it, but the room suddenly feels quieter. Steve, though, is still looking down at you, his face still set in a calm expression.
“Find a dress, sweetheart, or I’ll choose one and get you into it myself.” He sinks into the plush sofa adjacent to yours, the sole occupant. “Knowing your tastes, you won’t like what I have in mind for you.”
You know that Steve’s not messing around, because he’s made good on a similar threat before. Worst of all, none of the women around you dissent on your behalf, not even Nat, sitting so close to you. You should feel betrayed by their silence, but it’s partly your fault you helped craft the illusion you so badly wanted to believe in.
“Come on beautiful, let’s go find you something,” Nat says gently, nudging you to stand. Maybe it’s the hurt you’re feeling, but this time around you don’t object as you follow a sales consultant, Nat trailing close behind. You pass by Bucky as you leave the private room; he throws you a look akin to mild sympathy before he joins the rest.
“My god, look at you,” he breathes, slowly rising from the plush white sofa. “My sweet, sweet girl, all dressed up to get married.”
You’d chosen a dress that made you think of a suit of armor. But by the way Steve studies you, his gaze sharp enough to pierce through any material, you just feel vulnerable. Exposed. Ironic, because your first and final choice felt the most conservative compared to all the dresses that Sharon and the others had come out in. Nat had coaxed you into wearing a veil, too, completing the whole look.
The champagne keeps your fiery spirit afloat, your tongue looser than normal. “I'm never getting married,” you say.
Steve lifts an eyebrow, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Never?"
"Never," you parrot.
“Well that's too bad, 'cause that won't be a decision you get to make. Now come here.”
You think about ignoring him for a second, just turn right back where you’d shuffled from as your own quiet brand of fuck you. But there’s a look of expectancy on his face, and at his full height, Steve isn’t one to spar with.
His hands are already on your waist when you turn to the expanse of mirrors. You weren’t wrong when you deemed this dress less eye-catching than the others, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less lovely.
“What do you think?” he asks. You can feel his fingers playing with the veil that waterfalls behind you, the way his knuckles ghost along your back.
“It's . . . fine, I guess,” you say, staring at yourself in the mirror.
“Oh, I think it’s more than fine,” he insists. “Stunning, in fact. Should I buy it?”
He doesn’t mean it, you convince yourself, but it’s not enough to clamp down on the panic rising within you. Didn’t he just hear what you’d said a second earlier?
Until now, Steve has never mentioned marriage or anything of the like. But since when did you know how his mind worked? You wouldn’t be here if you did.
“Well?”
You shake your head. “Don’t. I can’t wear white to another bride’s wedding,”
Steve chuckles as he gently draws back the veil and your hair away, sweeping both over your left shoulder. “In that case, you can wear it at home, just for me. And you’ll make sure not to wear anything underneath, won’t you?”
Goosebumps dance along your skin. His hands on your waist have you trapped in place, body pressed against his. To your alarm, you feel him hardening against your back, a threat and a promise.
" I liked it more when it was on the rack," you say hastily, trying to ignore his growing desire, "now that I'm in it, I'm having second thoughts."
In the mirror, you can see Steve shaking his head. "No, you're absolutely radiant in this. It's perfect . . . and it's just so you."
He acts without warning. You inhale sharply as his tongue trails up your neck, slow and hot. Steve was licking you—licking you—in front of everyone, without an ounce of shame. It reminds you all too well of the other night, when he had spread you out across his desk and eaten you out while he'd taken a call on speaker. He'd taken his damned time too, keeping you on the very precipice while the caller spewed all this babel your mind couldn't comprehend, all thanks to the desperate state you were in. And when he finally let you come, it had been with his hand shoved against your mouth.
Not for the first time, you realize just how badly you need to escape from Steve. You have to, before he decides to turn a passing comment into reality and you’ll be trapped with him forever.
Yeah I have no idea what this is lol; it was such a basic and simple premise that really didn’t need to be 2k plus words long, but here we are I guess. Graphics by me.
#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers x y/n#steve rogers x you#steve rogers fanfiction#mafia!steve rogers x reader#mafia!steve rogers#dark!steve rogers#chris evans x reader#chris evans x you#chris evans x y/n#steve rogers au
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Captain America: Civil War
Summary: When on a mission in Lagos things don't go as you expected, Secretary Ross offers the team a solution.
Pairing: Platonic!Avengers x F!Reader
Warnings: Descriptions of violence. Language. My poor attempts at being funny.
Word Count: 3K
A/N: It's only half of January and I've already been sick, great! Anyway, basically all the other parts of this story were queued and ready to go, so I got some time to rest but now I'm here writing with a fever! So, if anything doesn't make sense or I missed some mistakes, that's why. Enjoy!
Masterlist | Series Masterlist
After months of tracking down Rumlow, you finally have a chance to get him once and for all.
You’re in Lagos, sitting at a cafe.
“All right, what do you see?” Steve’s voice comes in your ear. You know he’s talking to Wanda, she’s still learning how to be an Avenger.
“Standard beat cops,” she looks around her. “Small station. Quiet street. It’s a good target.”
“There’s an ATM in the south corner, which means��” he trails off letting Wanda finish his sentence.
“Cameras.” she promptly says.
“Both cross streets are one way.” Steve keeps going.
“So compromised escape routes.” Wanda reasons.
“Means our guy doesn't care about being seen, he isn't afraid to make a mess on the way out.” Steve says, “You see that Range Rover halfway up the block?”
“Yeah, the red one?” she asks “It’s cute.”
“It's also bulletproof,” you discreetly point out ”which means private security, which means more guns, which means more headaches for somebody. Probably us.”
“You guys know I can move things with my mind, right?” she says and you smirk.
“Looking over your shoulder needs to become second nature.” Natasha answers from a few tables away.
“Anybody ever tell you you're a little paranoid?” you hear Sam ask and try hard to contain your laughter.
“Not to my face. Why? Did you hear something?” Natasha says and you can see her smirking.
“Eyes on target, folks. This is the best lead we've had on Rumlow in six months. I don't want to lose him.” Steve says in our comms.
“If he sees us coming that won't be a problem.” Sam says.
“Yeah, he kind of hates us.” you add.
There’s a minute of silence as you all keep an eye on your surroundings, then you hear Steve’s voice again. “Sam, see that garbage truck? Tag it.”
You turn around just in time to see Redwing flying under it to scan the truck.
“Give me X-ray.” Sam orders the drone. “That truck’s loaded for max weight. And the driver’s armed.”
“It’s a battering ram.” Natasha says and your eyes widen a little.
“Go now!” Steve says and before the words are even out of his mouth you’re moving.
“What?” Wanda asks confused.
“He’s not hitting the police.” you say and then you’re all running in the truck’s direction.
Steve and his supersoldier ass get there first, then Sam and Wanda who can fly, while you and Nat are stuck driving your motorcycles as fast as you can, but can still hear the conversation through the comms.
“Body armor, AR-15's.” Steve says “I make seven hostiles.”
You hear some gun fire and then Sam “I make five.”
“Sam.”- Wanda says and, after a few seconds, Sam again “Four.”
“Rumlow’s on the third floor.” Sam says, then Steve says in his Captain voice “Wanda, just like we practiced.”
“What about the gas?”-you hear her ask.
“Get it out.” he orders. You can see the green and red whirlpool from the street.
“Rumlow has a biological weapon.” Steve after a few minutes, just as you and Natasha get there.
“We’re on it.” she says and basically jumps off her motorcycle and it skids into an agent.
You make a sharp turn and come to a sudden stop in front of an agent on your right side, so you push your left leg off the bike and, twisting your body, you kick the guy hard on the stomach while also dismounting the motorcycle.
When you turn around Nat cocks her eyebrow at you and you shrug. “What? I’m not throwing my bike at these assholes.” she rolls her eyes at you as you two keep taking out soldiers.
You can see Nat getting dragged by Rumlow, but you’re too busy fighting off some agents to help her. You vaguely hear him saying ‘I don't work like that no more’ and frown, you manage to take out the last one around you and, just as you turn, you see Rumlow launch a grenade into the truck and say “Fire in the hole.”
You run towards it, knowing Natasha’s probably in it, but it explodes before you can get close and do anything, the door flying and Natasha falling out of it coughing.
Once you’re sure she’s okay, you turn around but Rumlow’s already gone.
“Sam. He's in an AFV heading north.” you hear Steve say and, sharing a nod with Natasha, you get back onto your bikes and run to catch up with the truck.
“I got six, they're splitting up.” Sam says just as you and Natasha get to where they ditched the truck.
Natasha jumps onto a car and then another and you follow her. “I got the two on the left.” she says.
“I got the middle!” you say and start your pursuit.
“They ditched their gear. It's a shell game now.” you hear Steve say as you run after your two guys. “One of them has the payload.”
Just as you manage to catch up to your guys and knock one of them out, you can hear Sam saying “He doesn't have it. I’m empty.”
You quickly take down the other guy and search through them. “I struck out, too.”
Then you hear Natasha say “Payload secure.” and you allow yourself to relax.
“Thanks, Sam.” She adds.
“Don't thank me.” he answers and you frown, confused as you start making your way back.
“I’m… not thanking that thing.” is all Natasha needs to say for you to understand, and you roll your eyes.
“His name is Redwing.” Sam corrects her.
“I'm still not thanking it.” she says.
“He's cute. Go ahead, pet him.” he says and you can’t help but laugh.
Your amusement is cut short as you hear Steve’s grunts, clearly still in a fight and you try to move faster to make your way to him.
You catch up right after Wanda, just as Rumlow says “And you're coming with me.” and activates the bomb vest he’s wearing.
You don’t have time to even try and cover yourself as Wanda keeps the blast contained in a ball around Rumlow, his screams the only thing that can be heard.
She launches him in the air and the ball of energy explodes too close to the building next to it, setting a couple of floors on fire.
As you all watch in horror, you barely register Steve asking Sam for Fire and Rescue as you put your hands on Wanda’s shoulders and turn her away from the building. You let her rest her head on your shoulder as she starts crying, your own shocked attention still on the building.
This is not good.
-
It’s been a rough couple of days for the team after the mission in Lagos.
You’re all back at the compound now, and you’re on your way to the conference room to wait there for Tony when you pass Wanda’s room and hear her talking to Steve.
“Rumlow said ‘Bucky’ and… all of a sudden I was a 16-year-old kid again, in Brooklyn.” Steve pauses “And people died. It's on me.”
“It's on both of us.” Wanda counters.
“This job…” Steve starts “we try to save as many people as we can. Sometimes that doesn't mean everybody. But if we can't find a way to live with that, next time… maybe nobody gets saved.”
You see Vision approach and keep walking to make your way to the conference room, exchanging a knowing nod with him.
When you get there you’re a little startled to see The Secretary of State, but you sit down at the table in silence.
Once everyone gets there, Steve sits at the head of table, to his left Sam, then Vision and then Wanda, to his right you then Natasha, then Rhodey and Tony is sitting in a chair by himself to the right of the table.
Secretary Ross is on his feet in front of the table and, once everyone takes a seat, he starts talking.
“Five years ago, I had a heart attack. I dropped right in the middle of my back-swing. Turned out it was the best round of my life, because after 13 hours of surgery and a triple bypass… I found something 40 years in the Army had never taught me: Perspective. The world owes the Avengers an unpayable debt. You have fought for us, protected us, risked your lives… but while a great many people see you as heroes, there are some… who would prefer the word ‘vigilantes’”
“And what word would you use, Mr. Secretary?” Natasha asks.
“How about ‘dangerous’?” Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Definitely not the word you were expecting “What would you call a group of US-based, enhanced individuals who routinely ignore sovereign borders and inflict their will wherever they choose and who, frankly, seem unconcerned about what they leave behind?”
Ross activates a screen behind him and News footage from past Avengers and SHIELD matters flash on the screen as he speaks.
“New York.” A Chitauri leviathan. Terrified citizens. A soldier firing a gun. The Hulk smashes into a building and sends a dust cloud that engulfs the camera. Rhodey looks regretful and he glances behind him at Natasha.
“Washington DC.” The three Insight helicarriers, firing on each other. The destroyed Triskelion. A helicarrier crashing into the Potomac and throwing up a massive wave, engulfing citizens and the camera. You and Sam look at each other, then down.
“Sokovia.” Terrified citizens, running. The city rising. A building falling over. Everyone’s eyes are glued to the screen.
“Lagos.” The burning building. Paramedics moving a body. A dead girl. Wanda is particularly affected by the footage from Lagos. Steve sees this and intervenes.
“Okay. That's enough.” Steve says, looking at Wanda.
Secretary Ross nods to his aide and the images disappear, then he starts talking again.
“For the past four years, you've operated with unlimited power and no supervision. That's an arrangement the governments of the world can no longer tolerate. But I think we have a solution.” he places a thick document on the desk and passes it to Wanda. She looks at it and then slides it over to Rhodey. “The Sokovia Accords. Approved by 117 countries… it states that the Avengers shall no longer be a private organization. Instead, they'll operate under the supervision of a United Nations panel, only when and if that panel deems it necessary.”
“The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place.” Steve points out. “I feel we've done that.”
“Tell me, Captain, do you know where Thor and Banner are right now?” Steve looks up and meets Ross's eyes. “If I misplaced a couple of 30 megaton nukes… you can bet there'd be consequences.”
You narrow your eyes at him. They’re people, not weapons. Before you can voice your thoughts he goes on. “Compromise. Reassurance. That's how the world works. Believe me, this is the middle ground.” He points at the Accords.
“So, there are contingencies.” Rhodey says, familiar with the politics by now.
“Three days from now, the UN meets in Vienna to ratify the Accords.” Steve glances at Tony “Talk it over.”
He starts to walk away when you speak up for the first time. “And if we come to a decision you don't like?”
Ross stops and looks back at you. “Then you retire.” he deadpans.
You simply nod, trying to stifle a grin and, when you look at Natasha, you can see she’s doing the same.
He leaves with his aide and there’s a moment of silence before you all get up and walk quietly to the common room. Some sitting, some standing and Tony laying down on a chair. And then the discussion starts.
-
“Secretary Ross has a Congressional Medal of Honor, which is one more than you have.” Rhodey says to sam. You’ve lost track of how long the team has been discussing.
“So let's say we agree to this thing. How long is it gonna be before they LoJack us like a bunch of common criminals?”
“117 countries want to sign this. 117, Sam,” He leans in to look at Sam since you’re currently between the two men. “and you're just like, ‘No, that's cool. We got it.’”
“Why am I always in the middle of this?” you say, a little exasperated at the two that are almost glaring at each other now, you make eye contact with Nat and she clearly feels the same way you do.
“How long are you going to play both sides?” Sam says, ignoring your comment.
“I have an equation.” Vision jumps in and everyone looks at him.
“Oh, this will clear it up.” you say sarcastically and cross your arms in front of your chest.
“In the eight years since Mr. Stark announced himself as Iron Man, the number of known enhanced persons has grown exponentially. And during the same period, the number of potentially world-ending events has risen at a commensurate rate.” Vision explains.
“Are you saying it's our fault?” Steve asks.
“I'm saying there may be a causality.” Vision clarifies, before going on “Our very strength invites challenge. Challenge incites conflict. And conflict… breeds catastrophe. Oversight… oversight is not an idea that can be dismissed out of hand.”
“Boom.” Rhodey says and you roll your eyes while Sam glares at him.
“Tony. You are being uncharacteristically non-hyper-verbal.” Natasha points out.
“It's because he's already made up his mind.” Steve says.
“Boy, you know me so well.” Tony says sarcastically and gets up, rubbing his head. “Actually, I'm nursing an electromagnetic headache.”
He walks to the kitchen and grabs a mug before continuing. “That's what's going on, Cap. It's just pain. It's discomfort- Who's putting coffee grounds in the disposal? Am I running a bed and breakfast for a biker gang?”
He puts his phone in a basket and taps it, the phone projects an image of a smiling young man. He looks down, then back up, and pretends to notice the picture for the first time. “Oh, that's Charles Spencer, by the way. He's a great kid. Computer engineering degree, 3.6 GPA. Had a floor level gig at Intel planned for the fall. But first, he wanted to put a few miles on his soul, before he parked it behind a desk. See the world. Maybe be of service. Charlie didn't want to go to Vegas or Fort Lauderdale, which is what I would do. He didn't go to Paris or Amsterdam, which sounds fun. He decided to spend his summer building sustainable housing for the poor. Guess where, Sokovia.” Everyone is listening to him intently as he seems to be having a little meltdown, but his words are clearly affecting the whole team.
“He wanted to make a difference, I suppose. I mean, we won't know because we dropped a building on him while we were kicking ass.” He pauses and takes a pill with some coffee, then faces you all. “There's no decision-making process here. We need to be put in check! Whatever form that takes, I'm game. If we can't accept limitations, if we're boundary-less, we're no better than the bad guys.”
“Tony, someone dies on your watch, you don't give up.” Steve says.
“Who said we're giving up?” Tony promptly answers.
“We are if we're not taking responsibility for our actions.” Steve counters. “This document just shifts the blame.”
“I'm sorry. Steve. That- that is dangerously arrogant.” Rhodey says. “This is the United Nations we're talking about. It's not the World Security Council, it's not SHIELD, it's not HYDRA.”
“No, but it's run by people with agendas, and agendas change.” you interject, seeing Steve’s point.
“That's good. That's why I'm here.” Tony says, pointing at you. “When I realized what my weapons were capable of in the wrong hands, I shut it down and stopped manufacturing.”
“Tony, you chose to do that.” you tell him, then Steve talks, nodding at you.
“She’s right. If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose. What if this panel sends us somewhere we don't think we should go? What if there is somewhere we need to go, and they don't let us? We may not be perfect, but the safest hands are still our own.” Steve says.
“If we don't do this now, it's gonna be done to us later.” Tony reasons. “That's the fact. That won't be pretty.”
“You're saying they'll come for me.” Wanda speaks up for the first time since this discussion started.
“We would protect you.” Vision says confidently.
“Could we?” you say and everyone looks at you, so you elaborate. “If we don’t sign this we’re criminals for even trying to keep her safe. If we do sign, it’ll be our job to come for her if we get ordered to.”
There’s a moment of silence while you all think about this, before Natasha speaks up. “Maybe Tony's right.”
You all look at her, surprised. “If we have one hand on the wheel, we can still steer. If we take it off-” she gets interrupted by Sam.
“Aren't you the same woman who told the government to kiss her ass a few years ago?”
“He’s not wrong, Tasha.” You add.
“I'm just… I'm reading the terrain.” She explains. “We have made… some very public mistakes. We need to win their trust back.”
“Focus up.” Tony says and looks at Natasha, clearly amused. “I'm sorry, did I just mishear you or did you agree with me?” you roll your eyes.
“Oh, I want to take it back now.”
“No, no, no. You can't retract it. Thank you. Unprecedented. Okay, case closed--I win.”
They all start to talk over each other, but you’re focused on Steve’s phone that you can see over his shoulder since you’re standing right behind him. He gets a text that says ‘She’s gone. In her sleep.’ and you frown, watching Steve quickly get up.
“I have to go.” is all he says while dropping the Accords on the coffee table and, when he exits the room, you exchange a worried glance with Sam.
Requested taglist: @sapphirebarnes @aki-ham
#bucky barnes#avengers x reader#bucky barnes x you#sam wilson#steve rogers#clint barton#tony stark#peter parker#natasha romanoff#scott lang#tchalla#avengers x platonic!reader#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky x you#black panther#marvel fanfiction#rhodey#james rhodes#james bucky barnes#captain america civil war#team cap#mcu
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Sad girl - fifteen
summary: James has an interesting new business proposal and one hell of a condition to deal with.
pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader
warnings: cursing, Bucky’s smartass, the feelings, Walker has decided that he wants to be Joe Goldberg, blood
word count: 2.5k
a/n: I’m evil and I’m not at all sorry.
part 14 | series masterlist
Taglist: @missvelvetsstuff @angelsincident @spencerreidisagorgman @goldensunflowe-r @i-have-no-life-charlie @esposadomd @iateall-yourcookies @alana4610 @kandis-mom @beware-my-thorns @ozwriterchick @littlelizardlizzie @unaxv @reader-without-a-story @wh0reforbucknasty @cjand10 @katymae12344 @vickie5446
disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/Pinterest
Ping.
Ping.
Ping.
The sound of her phone going off three times in a row is enough to make her want to throw it across the room. Having gotten back late from the party and being exhausted due to prior activities, the sound of her phone is the last thing she wanted to hear. The man next to her is fast asleep, not even budging when she shifts her weight to grab the iridescent rectangle on the side table. The overwhelming brightness of it doesn’t allow her to see the sender until she’s already unlocked it and looking at the horrifying pictures.
The first photo contained her mother shopping in a grocery store, the boundaries of the photo blurred as if taken from behind something. The second photo is her mother getting into a black Range Rover from the same angle but the third is the most terrifying; her mother lying asleep in a bed. As she stared at the photos, another message came through, one that read:
“You’re both mine.”
“Bucky, Bucky,” she says quietly as she reaches behind her to shake him awake.
“Bucky, wake up, wake up,” her voice is starting to tremble as she shakes him even more, growing desperate.
Groaning as he pushes onto his forearms, “what is it?”
“It’s my mom, he’s going to hurt her. Oh my god, we have to get her out.”
The sound of her cries and pleading raises him fully from his sleep. He takes the phone from her hand to look at the messages himself while hauling her into him as she sobs. These types of photos are ones that he sees often himself but is usually in the context of his next mission. Seeing them on the phone of the woman he promised to protect and care for stung differently and he began to feel the hot bubble of anger grow in him.
“Doll, I’ll see what I can do to protect her.”
“You have to get her out,” she pleads to him as she pushes against him.
“Doll,” his fingers brush the hair from her forehead, “I’ll see what Steve can do but I can’t promise anything. We already know John is a loose cannon and I don’t want to push him too far. He’ll come after you again and I can’t have that.”
“Again? Because you’ve done so much to keep me safe since then. You haven’t done anything. You’ve even fucking left me alone while you galavant around like a toy with your puppet masters, the senators. If you really wanted to protect me then you would’ve killed him that day!”
“Hey, hey, these things take time,” his hand slides to grasp the back of her neck, “I’m doing everything I can to make sure he can’t get to you, and going after your mom will only push him closer to you.”
She swats at him, creating a gap between the two of them. Betrayal is written all across her face as she stares at him.
“So you’re willing to let her get hurt? You’re willing to let my mother stay with a man who already threatened to kill me for what? Because you’re too much of a coward to do anything about it?”
“That’s not what I said and you know that. My job is protect you and only you. Your mother isn’t included in that but I will do what I can within my means,” his anger has taken over his form, turning the concern he had moments again into a hardened and cold stare.
She didn’t respond, only scoffing at him before turning over on the bed so she didn’t have to face him or his unwillingness to help. The bed shifts as he gets up and leaves the room, her quiet sobs and sniffles are the only evidence that she’s listening to him walk away.
_______________________________________________
Voices filter into the cold room as she stirs awake.
“Do we know how he got to Marianne?” Bucky’s voice asks.
“From what I can tell, he found her after she showed up at Anthony’s,” Steve’s voice answers back.
“Any indication that she’s there against her will?”
She can’t hear an answer but she can only assume that Steve is shaking his head no.
“Goddamnit,” she can imagine Bucky rubbing his hand down his face in frustration, “We can’t go in. It’s not safe for her if we do it and her safety is my main concern here.”
“She’s not going to like that answer. You’re going to have to figure out a way to get to Marianne.”
“Let me just call her real quick,” the sarcasm drips from his voice as he tries to not take his anger out on his friend.
“Don’t shoot the messenger. I can only tell you the circumstances but you’re more than welcome to go in if that’s what you think is best.”
Bucky goes to make a smart-ass comment back but the sound of the bedroom door opening pauses them both and they wait with bated breath to see if she will emerge. She does clad in her trusty college sweatshirt and running shorts, however, she ignores Bucky when she joins the men in the living room, sitting on the couch next to Steve. He offers her a good morning as she buries herself in the corner and sends a muffled ‘morning’ back.
“How’d you sleep?” Bucky asks, hoping that the simple question will be seen as a peace offering.
“Fantastic. I wasn’t at all worried about my mother’s safety considering she’s with an absolutely psychopath. And when I finally did fall asleep, I was woken up two assholes who started talking really loud.”
The men grimace at her response and give her half-hearted apologies for waking her up. The couch moves as Steve stands up, bidding them both a ‘see you guys in New York’ as he disappears into his own room. Bucky moves from his chair to take Steve’s place next to her.
“How much did you hear?”
“Enough to know that your hands are tied but that doesn’t mean I’m not mad anymore.”
A gentle hand rests on her hip, “I know. I’ll see what Sam can find out. I might be able to get you a way to talk to her but that’s not a guarantee.”
“At this point, I just want to make sure she’s okay.”
“I want that too. The good news is that Steve made it seem like she’s not being hurt.”
She moves from the corner to lay on his shoulder, arms going around his middle in a side hug, “She’s just being stalked by a wannabe Joe Goldberg.”
“That is very true,” he laughs slightly, his own arms hugging her closer.
A few minutes of silence pass before she speaks again, “I’m sorry for what I said last night. The whole situation is shitty but it’s not your fault and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. ”
“Doll, everything you said was justified. Marianne is not exactly safe and I don’t have a way of getting to her without putting you in jeopardy. You don’t have to apologize either. If anyone is going to, it’s me. I’m sorry, I just don’t know what to do and it’s terrifying to not know how this is all going to play out.”
He feels her nod against his side and grips him tighter.
“Do you think it’s safe for me to have my own room anymore?”
“Are you asking if we should share a room?” his heart begins to hammer against his chest as he awaits her response.
“I mean if John has access to Stark Towers and my mom, it wouldn’t be a stretch to suggest that he could get to me at our house. Wouldn’t it be safer if we shared a bedroom so that I’m not alone if he does try something?”
“He won’t be able to get that close but if it would make you feel safer, we can move you into my room.”
“Yeah I think that would make we feel better,” her own heart wanting to pound right out of her chest.
“We can do that then,” he kisses the top of her head as they settle back into silence and into each other.
_______________________________________________
“How many books do you have?” Steve is panting from carrying the millionth box of books from her room to Bucky’s.
“You have a damn library here,” Sam is the next one to come into the room with another book box.
“I like to read, so what?” She says, shrugging her shoulders and going back to putting the books on the shelf Bucky had installed.
The moment they had landed back in New York, he’d invited everyone over under the guise of dinner but it was really to help move her into his room. Of course, there would be food afterward but that didn’t stop the men from complaining about the task at hand. He’d also been quick to have shelves installed for her books rather than putting them in his office.
“It’ll make it feel more like our room,” was his reasoning.
It did make the room feel more shared and comfortable than her previous room. She really hadn’t brought that much from her father’s house. A few pictures, her library as Sam put it, and mostly her clothes which were now taking over his massive walk-in closet. That was a feat in itself considering the number of suits, shoes, and gear he had. Regardless he welcomed all of the changes, content that she had decided that she wanted to share a room and start an actual relationship.
“Yeah, but who reads this many books?” Sam had her favorite book, Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo, in his hand as he questioned her.
“Someone smart and well-read,” Bucky answers for her, taking the book back and kissing Doll.
Steve and Sam both roll their eyes as they head back to her room to make sure it’s clear.
“Finally admitting I’m smarter than you?”
“There was never doubt about that,” he says as he hands her more books to put away.
She hums in agreement and takes the books from him.
“Hey Buck, Vance just sent a file,,” Steve calls from the door as he and Sam head to the office.
Bucky gives her an apologetic look as he kisses her forehead, “I promise to help after.”
“No, you won’t.”
He laughs as he’s heading out the door, “it’s the thought that counts.”
_______________________________________________
Being left alone allowed her to put on her own music and continue to put away her belongings. The obvious choice is Lana Del Rey so that’s what is playing in the room a few hours after the boys had left. When Bucky finished his meeting, he finds her sitting on the bed reading a book and hunched over in a position that’ll definitely lead her to have a sore back.
“What book did you pick?” the sudden sound of his voice startles her as he leans against the door frame.
“Oh um,” she turns the book over to look at the cover, “Our Violent Ends by Chloe Gong. It’s the sequel to the book I was reading when I moved in.”
“Hmm I see, what’s it about?”
“It’s a retelling of Romeo and Juliet but in the 1920s Shanghai and the families are rival gangs.”
“Really?” he laughs as he approaches the bed.
“Don’t laugh. It’s a good book!”
He drops onto the bed next to her, “I’m not laughing at the book, I’m laughing at how ironic it is that you’re reading about mobs.”
Leaning over the side, she puts her book on the nightstand as she says, “I know, I know. Don’t I get enough in real life? But this is different; it’s a love story.”
“And this isn't?” He waves a hand around to gesture at their situation.
“That would require us to be in love,” teasing him, she comes shoulder to shoulder with him.
“Who says we’re not?”
“Who says we are? Neither of us have said those three words.”
“Just because we haven’t said it doesn’t mean it’s not true,” his hand takes a hold of her thigh, drawing her focus to that sight.
“What are you trying to say?” She places her hand on top of his and looks over at him.
He flips his hand over to hold hers, “What do you want me to say?”
She looks at him blankly, trying to find the words or anything at all to answer his question. Deep down she knows what she wants him to say but she can’t tell him that. Their struggle for control and power stalls her heart and refuses to let her give in first. Saying it first would be submission and she can’t do that. With their marriage being arranged, everything that comes with it feels stiff and arranged as well. They had no choice but to go into this and now they struggle to regain any morsel of control over their life. However no matter how controlled their marriage may be, this moment has to come naturally. There cannot be a power struggle, a fight to stay on top; this moment has to come when they’re equals.
He takes a deep breath and changes the subject, “I hate to ruin the moment but I have a new mission that starts tomorrow. It’s supposed to be pretty simple, quick in and out so the boys and I should be back in a couple of days.”
“Oh,” is the only thing that comes to her mind as she rubs her thumb over the back of his hand.
“I know we just got back yesterday but I promise I’ll make up to you.”
“Dinner,” the confused look on his face causes her to giggle and her mood to lighten, “You owe me dinner.”
“I can do that. Dinner at the finest restaurant, just you and me, I promise,” he kisses her cheek as he lets go of her hand and heads to the closet to start packing.
______________________________________________
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” the string of curses leaves Sam’s mouth as he races over to Steve who is kneeling beside Bucky’s stilling body.
“Fuck! Where the fuck is the first aid kit?” Sam is moving as fast as he can as he dumps his backpack on the ground and throws the contents aside to find the kit in question.
The blood from Bucky’s left side is pooling around them, streaming from his ripped shirt as Steve puts as much pressure as he can on the wound. The world is spinning and closing in on Bucky from the loss of blood and pain, his skin paling and chest moving in shallow motions.
“Sam hurry the fuck up!” the shouts from Steve are distorted as Sam finally finds the first aid kit and rips it open. The clatter of various medical tools and supplies is softened by the grass and the wet blood.
“Buck, hey Bucky, how are you feeling?” Sam is tapping the side of his face to regain his attention but it’s lost on the man. Through his lashes, he can see his two friends but can barely hear them or feel the pressure and pain radiating from his left side.
“No no no no fuck! Bucky come on man! Come on stay with us! Shit,” are the last words he hears before it all goes black.
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes imagine#mob au#mob!bucky#mob!bucky barnes imagine#mob!bucky barnes x reader#sad girl - bucky barnes#mob!bucky barnes and reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you
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One day I'll be dancing on your grave...
Summary:
Lucien “Luci” Greco, you’re piece of shit ex, has come to NY looking for you. He's the reason you had to leave everything behind in the first place. Didn't stop him from searching for you though. The long lost mafia princess. He needs you if he is ever to rightfully take over the family from your father Declan.
Little does he know you're doing mercenary work for the highest bidder. He still thinks you're some wilting damsel, a spoiled little princess. Your daddy didn't raise you that way though. You've been primed to take over since birth. Too bad he beat the shit out of you so badly you had to run for your safety.
Somehow, even trying to stay under the radar you've befriended the damn Avengers family. A misfit mafia if you’ve ever seen one. You’re all after the same enemy afterall. Maybe, it's time to finally let someone or several someones in, so you can live life without constantly looking over your shoulder.
Question is, do you even want the crown anymore?
Warnings:
Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blood and Violence, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Past Violence, Mafia Avengers, Mafia AU, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Woman on Top
Notes:
Hello Heathens!
Welcome to this dark little mafia world I've created. Please be aware there are dark themes throughout this story so be sure to check the tags with each new chapter just in case there may be something that triggers you.
Happy reading!
Banner @cafekitsune
Divider @firefly-graphics
“Well if it isn't the White Wolf and his Captain.” You deadpan as you enter your living room.
“Jinx.” Bucky speaks from his place on the couch.
“To what do I owe the displeasure of finding you in my home?”
“We came to return this.” Steve places a dagger on the coffee table. “Seems you left it behind.”
“Oh Steven. I don't ‘leave’ anything behind. Every blade has a purpose. You should know that by now. That one was left as a reminder of what happens when people underestimate me.” You start to clean the dirt from under your blood soaked hands with another dagger.
“Now if you're done posturing or whatever it is you came here to do. You can kindly show yourselves out. I have a date with my clawfoot tub, a bottle of 151 and season 2 of the Witcher to get to.”
You turn on your heels and head down the hallway towards your bedroom, undressing and leaving a trail of bloody clothes behind you along the way. You're faithful Doberman Hades on your heels. The pair of enforcers sat on your couch are fixated on the sway of your hips until your form leaves their line of sight.
Bucky runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back. “What do you want to do about this? I’ve never known her to kill just for fun. Clearly someone with deep pockets hired her to take out Sitwell. Not that I’m complaining. That Hydra piece of trash deserved it.”
“Tony is going to want answers. Answers that only she can give.” Steve shrugs.
“If she’s willing. She’s not the biggest fan of Tony.”
“Thankfully she loves Pepper. Let’s see if she’ll come to the compound with us voluntarily first.”
Arching his brow and giving Steve a sly grin. “Afraid to get your hands dirty Stevie.”
“More like I’d prefer to have her tied up in my bed than in the back of my Range Rover.”
“Don’t we all Stevie. Don’t we all?”
You’re staring at yourself in the mirror as your phone begins to vibrate along the counter. You glance down and upon seeing the name flashing across the screen you take a calming breath and answer.
“It’s done. There was no need for you to check in on me.”
“That any way for you to talk to your Da? I know it’s done. I had 100% faith in ya to finish the task. I did raise ya after all. So what if I wanted to check in on ya. You’re so damn far away now. I’m not allowed to call my daughter?” Declan proclaims.
“Da. What do you need? You never call to just check in. We don’t work that way. If you wanted to see how I was doing, you’d fly a goon of yours out and stalk me for a week before deciding if it was worth it to come out here to see me. So what is it? I can’t re kill Sitwell for you.”
“Alright. Alright. I get it." He sighs into the phone. "I have some info I feel ya need to know.”
“And that is?”
“Lucien has been gone for a week. Said he had some business to attend to out of town. I just came to find out from one of his little lackeys that said business seems to be in your neck of the woods. Be careful, petal. Keep your eyes open. He very well may be there for some reason other than to hunt you down and drag you back, but I won't risk it.”
You freeze at the mention of your toxic, waste of space, abusive ex. The reason you had to run away to NY in the first place. You swallow and test the water for your bath.
“Thanks for the heads up. I’ll stay vigilant, as always. Now leave me be so I can enjoy my post kill ritual.”
“Never one to waste words.”
“I got it from you. Night Old Man.”
“Night Petal.”
Placing your phone on the tray next to the tub you proceed to submerge yourself in the steamy water. You tilt your head back and exhale as tortured memories bring themselves to the surface.
“Sunshine” His voice is getting closer to the darkened corner you’re hiding in. “Come out, come out wherever you are.” He throws one of the dining room chairs away from the table. “Come on baby, I won’t hurt you. I promise. I didn't mean to scare you. You know how I get when I have a shit day and your dad calls attention to my fuck ups in front of everyone.”
His steps get closer and the next thing you know his hand is in your hair and he’s pulling you out into the living room. Tossing you harshly on to the coffee table. You barely get your hands out in front of you before your face can connect with the solid wood.
“You know better than to hide from me, Sunshine. For that, I’m gonna deny you the use of my tongue to open you up. Hopefully you’re wet enough cause I’ve got a lot of pent up anger that I need to get rid of. Don’t move if you know what’s good for you and take this dicking I’m so graciously giving you.”
You brace yourself as he slams himself inside you, grabbing a fistful of your hair and craning your neck back so he can wrap his other hand around it. He’s squeezing so tight you know there will be finger shaped bruises left behind.
You find yourself zoning out as you try to preserve your precious air and he continues his brutal pace. It’s the only way to get through it with your mind intact. Your body will heal. It’s the emotional trauma you're most afraid of. Before you get too lost in your head, he speeds up, hips moving erratically until he stills and you feel him empty inside you. Thank the goddess is stamina is so shitty.
“Much better.” He kisses the back of your head. “See how easy that was Sunshine. Go get yourself cleaned up so we can have dinner. I don’t feel like staying in so wear something that’ll help cover those bruises. Don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.”
You numbly nod your head and limp off to your ensuite bathroom where you stare at the mottled mess of purple around your neck. You heave a sigh and get to work covering up his handiwork.
Hades emitting a low growl, snaps you out of your daydream when the pair of Super Soldier enforcers saunter into the ensuite to see if they can persuade you to come to the compound of your own freewill. You decide then and there to have a little fun with them first. A sort of quid pro quo if you will. You're keyed up from your kill and want to drown out the memories of your past that seem to want to flood back tonight. What better way than with some orgasms.
“Can I help you? As you can see I’m trying to relax.” You announce to the steam filled room.
“Tony would like to see you. He has some questions pertaining to your last kill.” Steve states.
“And before you give some snarky ass comment, we’re asking if you wouldn’t mind coming in with us of your own accord. Although I’m more than okay tying you up and dragging you in myself.” Bucky wiggles his eyebrows and shoots you wink.
“Okay.” You casually declare.
“What?!” The soldiers stare at each other in shock over how easy that was. Too easy.
“What’s the catch?” Steve asks.
“It’s simple, really. It’s a win/win all around. I’ll go if Bucky uses those metal fingers of his and gets me off, then lets me ride him while I suck on that golden dick of yours Captain.”
“Deal!” Bucky blurts out, making his way over to the tub as he rolls up his left shirt sleeve.
He wastes no time submerging his hand in the hot water and seeking out your folds. He lightly runs his fingers along them and up to your clit where he makes a couple light circles, eliciting a moan from you.
“Fucking soaking and it aint even from the bath water. You’ve thought about this before, haven't you Doll.”
“Wh-what can I say? The metal is sexy. Oh Fuck!” He slides two thick digits knuckle deep inside you and curls them upward. “Yes. Yes. Right there. Right fucking there Wolfie.”
Your head is thrown back in complete pleasure as you give in to the manipulation of Bucky’s metal digits. Steve is off to the side, all of his blood having run to his cock, making his pants extremely uncomfortable, watching you writhe and make the most delicious sounds.
“That’s it. Come on babygirl. I can feel how close you are. Give it to me and then you can take me for a ride. I know you want to be stuffed full.”
His words have the desired effect and your pussy squeezes down on his fingers as you detonate and ride the wave of your orgasm.
Before you fully can come down from your high, you're pulled from the water and impaled on Bucky’s thick girth as he sits on the edge of the tub. The stretch and feeling of being so full almost sets you off once again. You take a moment to let your body accommodate him.
“Thought you wanted to ride me, Doll? So ride. Before I change my mind and bend you over this tub instead.”
Your hips move of their own accord at his threat. Undulating and bouncing to a sensuous rhythm. Losing yourself in the moment.
That is until Steve strolls over and teases your lips with his precome coated tip. “Open up, Doll. Gotta make good on that deal.”
You gaze up at the Golden Adonis standing to your right and give him one sweet kitten lick before you take him down to the root. Hollowing your cheeks, you begin to bob your head along his length, sucking the life out of him. He can’t help the moans and groans slipping out of his mouth as you suck his dick like no one ever has before.
Knowing your mouth is setting the Captain's world upside down, you pick up the pace, grinding and bouncing on the dick splitting you open. You set a tempo that has the room filled with nothing but the wet sounds of skin against skin, moans and language that would make a nun blush.
Bucky has a firm grip on your hips as he pulls you down one final time and erupts inside you, triggering your own orgasm. You come screaming around Steve’s length, setting him off as well. Rope after rope of his hot white seed coats your tongue and throat as you swallow every precious drop.
Releasing him from your mouth you lick any run away drops off your lips and proceed to lift yourself off of Bucky’s lap. “Fuck that was even better than I imagined it’d be. We most certainly need to do that again. Many many times.” You grin devilishly. You are a glutton for sin after all.
You grab a washcloth, dip it into the hot bath and begin to clean up the mess Bucky left behind. Satisfied with the level of cleanliness, you turn towards the out of breath enforcers. “I’m nothing, if not a woman of my word. Grab yourselves a drink and recoup while I throw something presentable on for the big boss man. What are we riding in by the way? Will I need my leathers or are we in a cage tonight?”
“As much as I would love to see you in your leathers, straddling me on the back of my bike.” Bucky bites his lip at the image presented in his mind. “Stevie here, brought his Range. So cage it is tonight, Doll. Gonna have to save that ride for another time.”
“No problem. You’ll just have to enjoy that sight when you're watching me from behind as I sped past you on my Ducati.” You tease.
“You won't be ahead for long, sweetheart. And once I catch you, I’ll gladly bend you over it and fuck you til cant stand, let alone handle you bike and are stuck riding bitch with me.” He cockily proclaims.
“Promises. Promises.” You smugly smile back.
Steve interrupts your moment before it escalates further. “Okay. Enough you two. Although I would love to watch that transpire, we do have somewhere to be. Come on Buck, let our little murder queen get dressed. We’ll be ready when you are Jinx.”
You walk up to Steve and plant a kiss on his cheek. “Always so polite. Even after you just had your massive dick shoved down my throat. Oh you're the best kind of dangerous. I can’t wait to see you unhinged.”
With a whistle to Hades you head back into your room and your walk-in closest to throw on some clothes and be on your way to the Avengers compound.
"There's the woman of the hour. I thought you'd put up more of a fight with the Super Soldiers. Guess I was wrong this time. We were just talking about you." Tony gets up from his chair, grinning.
"We?" You question.
"He'd be talking about me." You gaze down to a blonde head of slick back hair and a voice that haunts your nightmares sitting in front of Tony.
"Jinx, I'd like you to meet…"
"Lucien Greco." You deadpan.
He stands from his seat and turns in your direction. His blue eyes scan you from top to bottom. Cocky smirk plastered on his face. "Hello Sunshine. I was hoping I'd find you here."
"No one calls me that anymore." Another emotionless response from you.
"So I've heard. Jinx. Fitting if I do say so." You barely restrain the growl that wants to emit from your chest.
"You know him?" Bucky asks.
"Yeah. He's the asshole who gave me this.” You lift your shirt and pull up the center of your bralette, showing off the jagged scar in the middle of your sternum. “Right before he left me for dead on the side of the road."
“I didn't leave ya for dead darlin’. I was always coming back. Just needed to teach ya a lesson first.” Lucien imparts.
Before he gets a chance to even take a step, you have him pinned against Tony’s desk. Your favorite dagger, precariously placed under his chin. Blade pressed so close against his throat, a deep breath would break the skin.
“Tony. Please get on with whatever it is you need to discuss with me. Every second that passes I’m one step closer to slitting his throat and that’s just too quick of a death for him in my book. So make it quick and I’ll be out of your hair.”
Tony lets out a sigh. “Unfortunately you’re going to have to deal with him for this discussion. Says he knows who hired you for the hit on Sitwell and that we’re all after the same thing. Revenge.”
“Of course he knows who would have hired me for this hit. He’s been working for him since he was a teenager. Been around him his whole life actually. He is correct about revenge though.” You state a little too calmly.
“Are you implying Declan Scott paid you for killing Sitwell?” Tony questions.
“Never said I got paid for the job.” You shrug your shoulder.
“Why didn't you get paid?” Steve utters.
With a smug little grin Lucien answers for you. “That’s an easy one, boys. He killed her mother. In fact he was the reason she went into labor. Little Sunshine here was born in blood. Taking her first breath as her mother took her last.”
“You’re extra chatty tonight Luci? It’s a pity those words just might be your last.” You look him dead in the eyes, a look of murder in yours.
“Wait. Wasn’t Declan’s wife murdered while pregnant? He has a daughter right? She’s been MIA for the last 3 years.” Bucky adds in.
“That would be, correct gentleman. Although I wouldn't classify her as MIA any longer now would I darlin’.” Lucien chuckles.
You press the dagger in a fraction harder and watch as a trickle of blood begins to slide down his neck.
“Alright. Enough with being vague. Just tell us what you're trying to say, Greco.” Steve growls out.
Smug as ever he lets them know what’s going on. “Alright. Alright. I’ll lay it all out. You’re little Jinx here, is Declan Scott’s one and only daughter. The rightful heir to the Bay Area Mafia. I’ve come to drag her back home where she belongs before Hydra makes good on their threat and ends her fathers life.”
“I’ll be going nowhere with you.” You say through gritted teeth. “You seem to have left out the part where you only want me home so you can lock me up and throw away the key. That way you can run things solo. Not happening. I’d rather bleed out in a ditch again than see you take over for my father. Whatever deal you thought you’d strike here it’s over. Your word is as good as a knife in the back. Your mouth is full of nothing but slick words and a poisonous tongue.”
“You used to love my wicked tongue Sunshine.” You press the dagger in a bit further once again. The tiny river of crimson soothing your raging emotions.
Not wanting to have to clean blood out of the carpets Tony takes charge of the tense situation. “As sexy as it is watching her hold you at knife point, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Seems you are no longer needed for this conversation.”
He presses a button on his desk. “Happy. Would you mind escorting our guest off the premises please. Take him wherever he wants to go, as long as it’s far from here.”
“Will do, Sir.” Happy replies.
“Thanks. Now Jinx. I’m gonna need you to step back from the deadbeat ex so Happy can remove him.”
Bucky comes up behind you and places his flesh hand on your hip and his metal one around the wrist holding the dagger. He whispers in your ear so only can hear. “Let’s make him wish he never stepped foot in here thinking he could get one over on you.” He kisses along your neck as he lowers your hand away from the lowlife's, guiding it down to your thigh, where he helps you return it to its sheath.
“That’s my girl. Head on over to Tony now. Steve and I will be right behind you.” He places a final kiss on your lips and turns you toward is awaiting boss.
You walk over to Tony and he grabs your hand, kissing your knuckles. “We have a lot to discuss, little one. Seems you’ve been holding back on us.”
You laugh. “Don’t say I didn't warn you.”
#poc reader#avengers x reader#avengers smut#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes x reader#mafia au#steve rogers x reader
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Joey Barton Lashes Out Following Shrewsbury Defeat
Joey Barton Lashes Out Following Shrewsbury Defeat
✍️ @Chris0Brien
Joey Barton has hit out at former Bristol Rovers captain Luke Leahy, citing his celebrations as disrespectful during Tuesday’s loss to Shrewsbury Town, speaking to the Bristol Post.
Leahy opened the scoring for the Shrews against his former club inside three minutes, he immediately ran over to celebrate in front of the 748 Rovers fans who had made the journey to Shropshire for the midweek…
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Steve Evans
Physique: Husky/chubby Build
Height: 5′ 7″ (1.70 m)
Steve Evans (born 30 October 1962-) is a Scottish professional football manager and former player who is the manager of EFL League One club Stevenage. Evans played professional football for Bolton Wanderers, Clyde, Albion Rovers, Ayr United, Hamilton Academical and St Johnstone until a knee ligament injury ended his playing career at 24. After his retirement he became a manager.
As some may know, I do like chubs and Steve is a particularly nice one. Plus, he looks kinda like Jack McGee which instantly puts me in lust with him.
He’s married with two children. Anyway, I have imagined boning him many a time. Slowly milking him, dropping loads on his chest and belly.
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