Fuck !!! You Need To Make Multiple Part For The Lioness I Fucking Love This Fic

@dilemmaontwolegs you know I love you but if you do that I might just die of sadness

Hi! Uh, could i request some grief prompts? Like uh, A just lost B? If thats too dark you could just do villain x hero prompts instead fkksjs

It’s not too dark at all! I might do villain x hero prompts further down the line.

Grief Prompts

Prompts

A and B were very close but B was never open or affectionate to A. After they died, A goes through B’s stuff and finds a box of trinkets. The box is full of pictures of A and B, momentoes that A gave B, and other things from their relationship.

After B’s death, everyone is gathered together, shocked with grief. A joins the room, chattering happily about something B did earlier, unsure why everyone else looks so upset.

When B was alive, A and B had casual rituals that they would follow without a fault; A would bring B coffee in the morning and leave it on their bedside table, B would make A a sandwich at lunchtime, A would drop a towel into B’s room at 6 because they know that B always showers at 6:30, and so on. After B dies, A can’t help but unconsciously keep doing the rituals.

After B dies, A has to tell B’s much younger sibling. Unsure how to gently break the news to a kid who doesn’t know much about death, A paints a fanciful image of the afterlife.

Everyone knows that B was writing a novel before they passed. A finds the unfinished story, in the process discovering hundreds of ideas and short stories by B (some of them not-so-subtly about A).

(Building off of 5) A takes it upons themselves to finish B’s story. They pour over their notes, go to B’s favourite brainstorming places, and try to figure out how B would end their novel.

Oneliners

“If I knew that those would be my last words to you, I would’ve said something sweeter”

“You son of a bitch, you promised me we’d grow old together. You promised me!”

“I don’t know for sure if angels exist, but if they do, B is one of them”

“Aren’t you supposed to pour out some drink when someone dies, as a sign of respect?” “At this point, I’ll take any excuse to get hammered”

“If you’re still somehow here . . . can you send a sign? Anything?”

This is perfect!!!

A Touch of Comfort

You’ve always been the touchy-feely sorts with people you’re comfortable around. So when you’re told your touching could be making Bucky uncomfortable, you stop.

But here’s the thing.. Bucky didn’t want you to stop.

Words: 2.6K Author’s Note: This had been requested ages ago and I finally had a little spark of inspiration to write it. Sorry @avada-kedavra-bitch-187​ for making it seem like I ignored you.

Keep reading

have you considered that perhaps people from the us/canada assume you are one of them because your posts are written in english that is indistinguishable from that of a native english speaker from the us/canada

I’m going to unionise with all non-native English speakers on tumblr and we’re going to start writing our posts with heavy cartoonish German or Russian or Portuguese or French accents and you will regret this message so much

Hello honey bunnies !!! I don’t know if you are comfortable writing it but I would really love to request some Mreader x Yelena I didn’t find any on Tumblr nor ao3🙃

Pairing: Yelena Belova x Male!reader

Warnings: character death mention, angst, mourning

Word count: 600

a/n: yes i made this angst i will do so whenever given the chance 👍

!-!-!-!-!-!

Opposing the classic stereotype, it didn't rain when Y/N and Yelena visited Nat's grave for the first time. In fact, it was as clear as a day could possibly get. Not a single cloud speckled the bright blue skies, and the gentle breeze was not too strong nor was it absent.

If not given the current circumstances, Y/N and Yelena would've taken advantage of the sunny day to go out for a run with their dog, Fanny, or gone out on a picnic date. But, of course, they could not.

The two walked, side-by-side and in silence up the path, treaded upon so many times it was clear to see and find in the somewhat tall grass. Y/N glanced at Yelena, fighting the sudden urge to grab ahold of her slightly trembling hand. She kept her gaze ahead, frown growing the closer they got to the two trees where her sister lay, tilted away from each other to form a 'V' shape.

Several other graves lay scattered around Nat's, but it was clear none had been as visited as hers. The grave, freshly embedded into the soil, was crowned by flowers and surrounded by more. A few teddy bears, candles, and pictures could be seen among it all, as well. Y/N's stomach clenched, and his gaze immediately snapped towards Yelena. Not to his surprise, she kept as straight a face as possible. Everything in her face, apart from a deep, pained frown, seemed emotionless.

They got to the grave and while Y/N sat down before it, Yelena crouched and got to tidying the clutter. Moving pictures and bouquets around, she revealed the words carved into the lower part of the stone.

Daughter - Sister - Avenger

Y/N's words got caught in his throat. If there had even been any, in the first place. So he watched wordlessly until she felt she was done and moved back to sit beside him.

Y/N searched for the right words, distantly wondering if he should even speak at all. Before he could decide, Yelena beat him to it.

"Two years," she said, voice wavering. She pressed her palm to the soil, eyebrows pinching in barely held-back anguish. "I had her back for two years."

Y/N sighed and finally decided to take her free hand into his own. She squeezed it tightly, head dipping. Definitely not for the first time, his pain for Yelena grew when he recalled she'd been blipped, taking from her five whole years to spend with her sister.

"Two years to make up for almost a lifetime," she said, frustration seeping into her tone. Her hand trembled in Y/N's.

"I know," he whispered, moving closer to her, shoulders pressed together. "I know."

"She didn't- She never got to retire. To live out the rest of her life without being an Avenger or worrying about saving the world or-" her voice gave out, and Y/N didn't need to see the tears building up in her eyes to know she was about to break.

He twisted around and pulled her against him. And although he was uncomfortable and his side was straining with the awkward position, he let her cling to him.

"I'm sorry," now it was Y/N's turn to tear up. It was so unfair. He could remember as if it were yesterday how thrilled Yelena had been after finding her sister again. And now she had lost her all over again. For good this time.

After a while, Yelena rested her head on his shoulder, gazing tiredly at the gravestone.

"She loved you so much, you know that, right?" Y/N murmured after pressing a gentle, long kiss on her temple.

"I know," she said. "I know."

---

a/n: fun fact i cried harder during the post-credit scene for this movie than i did watching marley and me 👍

Hi I had an idea and though I’d request it if you don’t mind. Asgard didn’t get destroyed, Thanos was defeated and Loki is alive. Thor is king and invites the avengers to Asgard for a ball and an announcement. During a tour the team sees Loki in the gardens and are like “wtf is he doing out of prison”. They see him laughing and whispering to a woman. Thor calms them and tells them that the special announcement is Lokis betrothal. They get introduced the the reader (princess whatever) and are shocked because she’s delicate and sweet where Loki is dark and mischievous. Loki and Thor share a smirk because they know what a fierce warrior she is on the battlefield yet can be dainty and ladylike in court.

This was cute! I essentially used your request as the background to this scene. I hope you enjoy! Warnings: small fight scene, mostly fluff WC: 1081

The Light to his Dark || l.l

You were everything he was not, perhaps that was why you were perfect for him. When you met Loki, something just clicked. You never feared him, despite the vicious stories that were spread among the Asgardian gossip circles, you found his presence calming and his mannerisms sweet.

“Why would he invite the avengers here?” Loki growled as he paced the gardens his mother used to tend.

“Maybe it is to show them that you were not the boy who made those mistakes but a man who is ready to take responsibility?” You offered as you carefully picked a ripe and glowing starfruit. “I would like to visit Midgard someday, it sounds like an awfully exciting place.”

“Awful is one way to put it.” He muttered as he dropped into one of the cane loungers and produced a book from his cloaks. “The only good thing they have is a decadent beverage called coffee.”

You skipped over to his spot, eager to hear his many tales, and nudged the book aside so you could take the space on his lap. “What is it?”

“The production of it is something of a mystery but it rejuvenates like nothing else I have tasted. I swear rest was far from my mind after imbibing the black solution.”

“That sounds like something that would be useful on our wedding night.” You teased as you trailed a hand down his leather clad chest.

“I hope you are not implying what I think you are implying, my love.” He quirked an eyebrow daringly. “You are my very own shot of coffee, the moment I taste you on my lips, sleep is far from my mind.”

He shifted his long legs so that you fell closer to him and took the opportunity to claim your lips as they parted with your surprised gasp. You could feel his triumphant smirk without even having to open your eyes but his kiss was evaporating all thoughts of reprimanding him for giving you a fright. You had come to know and love all of his traits and knew the mischievous streak was embedded in his nature and was just like breathing to him, you could hardly ask him not to.

“We need to go, I still need to prune Frigga’s roses.” You sighed as you pulled out of his embrace rising from the chair with him in tow.

Your stomach fluttered as you caught the glint in his green eyes and looked towards the rose gardens across the palace courtyard. “Race you.”

To anyone who saw you at a glance they would see the royal socialite, a goddess in her own right, dainty and precious as your movements flowed like water. You came from the lineage of spring personified and where you went life blossomed, flowers bloomed and fruit sweetened. But that was not all you were, you were trained by Frigga herself to protect the palace and the Asgardians who resided within it.

You hadn’t noticed that the Avengers had arrived with King Thor, stepping out of the grand palace and into the courtyard that was surrounded by the gardens and orchards. They were watching with curious eyes as you rose from the cane chaise and pulled Loki to his feet, tucking a wayward lock of dark hair behind his ears and a smile gracing your face. His lips trailed along your jaw as he locked eyes on the group watching and whispered something in your ear.

You spun away from him with excitement, the layers of your dress billowing out as you raced to exit the orchard first. It was only the feel of air shifting that had you ducking in time to see Loki’s blade bury itself in a tree trunk. Your laugh filled the air as you swiped it out of the tree, pressing a palm over the cut and healing it before throwing the dagger back.

“Playing dirty already, my love?” You teased as you turned and froze.

The Avengers had seen Loki attacking a maiden and taken no time in surrounding him with their primitive weapons. The grass seemed to swell beneath your feet, flowers sprouting as you pushed your way between them to place yourself firmly in the way.

“Thor!” You hissed as he stood alone, chuckling to himself. “Please kindly tell your guests to put their weapons away before I am forced to draw my own.”

“Um, excuse me, but didn’t he just try to kill you?” A man with a red iron suit said as he tipped his mask back. “You really want to protect him?”

“Please, if you think I could kill her then you are even more of a fool than I thought, Stark.” Loki scoffed and stepped closer behind you to rest his hands on your hips.

Thor grinned as he stepped over to the group. “My friends, let me introduce you to Lady y/n, Loki’s betrothed.”

You could almost feel the pride radiating off Loki as his thumbs drew small circles on your hips, leaving you to go through the introductions while they tried to ignore his presence. You could already feel them softening to you, the sense of calm that came from sitting next to a softly bubbling stream surrounded by open air and fragrant flowers in the breeze. Your light nature was as strong as Loki’s dark, balancing each other.

“Loki has changed, you’ll see.” Thor promised.

“Last time I saw you, you were trying to kill everyone, where are you at these days?” A seemingly nervous man asked as his hand wrung together.

“It varies from moment to moment.” You turned enough to slap Loki’s stomach and he huffed with a roll of his eyes before clearing his throat. “That was a joke. I no longer have the grandeur plans of decimating your cities and wielding my power over your rudimentary species.”

“I’m sorry about him, he doesn’t get out much, as you can tell.” You laughed to ease the tension. “I hope to see you at the ball this evening. Excuse us.”

You half dragged Loki away as he waved back at the others, his smile never wavering until you were back into your apartment in the palace.

“Well that was certainly entertaining.” He chuckled as he dropped onto the canopy bed.

“Loki.” You sighed, climbing in beside him. “Please play nice tonight, for me? This is our celebration.”

He answered with a kiss as he pulled you closer in his arms. “Anything for you.”

Good To You - 4.

Ex-boyfriend’s Dad!Mob!Bucky x Reader 

series masterlist 

Run-through: After kicking your exes out of your lives, you and Bucky are enjoying your happy ever after on his private island

Themes: smut, explicit language, age gap, possessive!bucky 

a/n: ah, we’ve reached the end of this totally unexpected series!! Thank you for all your support and love, always! I love you!! 

Looking at you, Bucky couldn’t help but smile. His life was so much better with you in it, and it would only get better and better from here on now. 

Keep reading

Olly, Olly, Oxen Free {Hotch x daughter!reader}

Warnings: PLEASE, be advised of the SEVERE mentions of gun violence, murder, death, etc. This is a heavy piece, so please, please, please, do not put yourself at risk to read this, if you would like to know the plot without reading let me know and I will accommodate as best as I can!

This is set in “100″, so, daughter!reader is currently trapped with foyet in her childhood home. Alright, enjoy. 

“Y/N.”

You sprung from your place on the floor, watching your brother retreat past the living room, his feet happily climbing the old route he used to take in the childhood home he was raised in. You  doubted he forgot it so soon, even with his young age. This was the house they had made home. Over the last year, you would’ve done anything to be back in this house, surrounded by the memories of your past life. The life in which you weren’t forced into the witness protection program, abandoning all of your friends due to a serial killer hellbent on destroying your father’s life.

Your hand reached out, gently grabbing the cellphone extending from the hands of your mother’s.

“Dad.”

You forced herself to sound calm, composed. Sitting only ten feet from you was a man who had previously shoved a blade into your father’s abdomen just to prove a point. You figured seeming weak wasn’t particularly a good idea.

There was the hum of an engine, one that you knew well. When you was younger- much younger- you used to wait up for you father to come home from cases. Most nights you fell asleep before he came back, but on the rare occasion you actually made it past midnight, you could hear that very same hum of his government issued SUV pulling into the driveway, subsequently causing you to dart out of  bed to jump into his waiting arms. It never mattered to you that you would receive a scolding from your mother for not going to bed at a proper time, not when you would see the smile that grew on her father’s face when you accomplished your goal.

That smile, so rare and so blinding, hardly even captured in pictures. Your father was a tired man, a hardworking man, a dedicated father, but all of his good qualities had hardened into stone from the heat of his job and sometimes you feared that eventually, even you might not be able to crack that tough exterior. It seemed silly, sure, but your mother used to be able to find the chinks in his armor, used to make him laugh and smile and love and then one day she couldn’t and who was to say that it wouldn’t happen to you too?

“Y/N/N, I love you, you know that?” He used the nickname Jack had accidentally given you. When he was just learning to talk, the boy was unable to fully pronounce your name and you had been stuck with it ever since. You used to hate it- or, at least pretend to, but you could never yell at Jack. The boy was too good at absolutely melting you.

Your father’s voice, which was typically strong and gruff, came out a bit cracked. It filled you with a sinking feeling. If your father wasn’t composed then how the hell were you supposed to be?

The man who hoisted you on his shoulders every Fourth of July to see the fireworks better, or grabbed every spider that made you scream for your life. The man who taught you how to swing a baseball bat and then immediately yelled because you whacked him right in the knee. A fearless, strong, admittedly taciturn man that was making abundantly clear the ambiguity of your future.

You swallowed down that fear, you couldn’t afford to be afraid right now. Y/E/C  eyes looked up to your mother. She was still beside you, looking at her daughter as if trying to engrain every single facet of your face in her mind, burning the image of her daughter into her memory.

“I know, I love you too.” You didn’t know how you managed to keep your voice so even but to anyone listening it sounded like a normal conversation. She could almost imagine they were sitting at a dinner table (something they hadn’t done in a year because of the Witness Protection Program).

Pass the salt. She would’ve said.

“I need you to listen to me carefully, Bug.” If you hadn’t been so worried that you might die soon you might’ve found yourself scolding the man not to use that nickname anymore. After your friends had slept over in seventh grade and heard your father use it you were teased relentlessly, but now you didn’t mind it. You didn’t mind your father using a nickname you hated. You didn’t mind a lot of things now that you were facing death, serial killer breathing the same air as you and your mother, standing in your living room, staring at you with cold, calculating eyes.  

It’s funny how little things matter when death enters the picture.

“Remember when I taught you to drive?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, and you glanced to your mother, trying to keep your face void of emotion.

You hadn’t learned to drive. You had begged your father, of course, but he had said no. You remembered the fight that had ensued, his words loud just to overpower your teenaged protests. “There’s no use learning to drive when your mother’s here, sometimes me, and the metro, it’s useless. It would do you better to learn something more useful, like shooting a gun.”

Oh.

The sinking feeling returned in the pit of your stomach. Or maybe it just never left. Your eyes hardened with resolve over what you knew her father was asking you to do, and you nodded.

“Yeah.”

A tiny breath of air left your parted lips, and even with the confusion laced on her mother’s features and the amusement playing on Foyet’s, your mind cleared a bit.

Frontside. Trigger press. Follow through.

“I’m a terrible driver.” You murmured to her father. Your hand began to sweat at what he was asking of you. You recalled the shooting lessons. It had been a year or so ago, the man wanting you to be prepared for anything and then he had been shot and you hadn’t seen him since. Even with the little practice, you hadn’t been too bad, but this was nothing like the shooting range. This was pointing a gun at a killer and hoping to anything that was good and holy that you didn’t miss. Even so, who said you could get to the gun before Foyet got to you?

“You’re good enough.”

Good enough. You wanted to scream.

Foyet rose from his spot on the floor, and Haley stiffened in her place.

“I think that’s good enough, right, Y/N?” The way he moved, eyes trained onto you, alight with a kind of…mischief? Yes, mischief. Like an adolescent boy who just found his father’s stash of fireworks. His body moved like a predator. Refined, sophisticated, and calculated.

And, as he moved closer, you could smell him. He didn’t smell like you thought a killer would smell. Though, to be fair, you hadn’t ever given much thought to the scent of a killer. Maybe you thought that someone capable of such dirty, heinous crimes would smell as such. Like the rotten core would seep through their pores and become a putrid scent recognizable to those surrounding him. Instead, he smelt clean. Like laundry detergent and freshly washed hair. The hand that didn’t hold the gun reached up, taking a strand of your hair into his fingers and running it through them deftly.

“Don’t touch me.” You pushed him back on instinct and, not seeming to expect such force, the man was shoved back two steps. Rather than cocking the gun right then and there, Foyet looked at you with interest and then, he did something you didn’t expect. He smiled.

A laugh fell through his lips. It bubbled and boiled and hit your ears like nails on a chalkboard.

“Wow, you’ve got a feisty one, Aaron. I think she gets that from you, the old ball and chain over here is a bit of a whiner.” He chuckled to himself like he said the world’s funniest joke, and you glared.

“Leave them alone.” Your father may as well have been on mute because the killer paid no mind to his orders.

He breathed in a deep sigh, looking at you with those same bright, calculated eyes. Then, as if coming to a consensus, tilted his head. “How about this, how about you go hide, I’ll give you a head start, and then I’ll come find you.”

You could feel her mother bristle from beside you, quiet whimpers coming from her mouth. The hum of the engine played in the background, and the wind chimes on the front porch sang a tune with the breeze. “No.” You said firmly.

Foyet pouted, going to stand closer to the two. With each step he took closer to the two of you, it felt like a nail going into her coffin. You could see the twitch in his hands, as if itching to plunge a blade into your mother’s flesh, yet, you couldn’t just leave your mother. You couldn’t leave her to die.

“Ah, come on. You’re a teenager- a teenage girl, no less, aren’t you guys supposed to be fun?” His tone was teasing and coupled with his non-imposing figure, he shouldn’t have been able to chill you with his words but the way his eyes bored into yours they did.

You felt a hand on your elbow, a nudge and you glanced back to your mother. Haley was smaller than you, it had been that way for about a year or so now. You had hit a growth spurt once you entered high school, inheriting your father’s height, and it caused you to be a couple inches taller than your mother. Her eyes were filled with tears that were streaming down her face without care. You had seen her mother cry more than most daughters should.

Haley liked to cry at night, after putting her children to bed. She didn’t think about how often you stayed up, listening to the sobbing on the other side of the wall.

A hand cupped your face, and you leaned into the warmth. How many fights had you two gotten in over the past year? You had always been a daddy’s girl. He was never home, and it left your mother to be the ‘bad guy’ in most situations. And then, you all had been forced to pack up your lives and vanish. That year had been filled with nights of yelling at each other. Fights about small things. Like, your music playing too loud, or drinking too much coffee. And big stuff too. Like, you confronting your mother about having an affair.

Your relationship had been rocky. But, she was still your mother. She still reminded you to wear a coat when it was cold out, or washed your sheets when you felt sick. She made your favorite meals when you were sad, and bought  nail polish that she thought you would like. She was your mother, and you didn’t think you would ever be able to ignore that.

“Y/N, go.” Her words were stern, and it reminded you of a scolding. But your mother’s lips were tugging at the corners, and she was caressing your cheek so softly that you thought you would collapse right there. Your heart clenched at the sight of your mother.

Would this be the last time you saw her? The thought made you want to scream, cry, and punch something all at once.

For the first time that afternoon, you let your mask slip. Your eyes welled with tears, lip trembling. “Mom, no.” it came out shaky, and you didn’t have to turn around to see Foyet smiling at the way he could make an entire family fear for their lives in a mere couple of minutes. You could simply feel it.

Haley nodded, both her hands cupping your face now, scanning it over and over again. Your eyes, a fierceness to them that mimicked her own. A button nose that sat above rosy pink lips. On your chin, a small scar. You were an adventurous child. You hadn’t been afraid to climb the monkey bars despite being far too small for them and when you had fallen off, you had busted the skin open. Haley remembered being panicked, seeing you covered in blood, rushing you to the hospital, to find that you were calmer than she was. That’s how you always were. You were never scared. You were brave and fearless and kind and even if you played awful, punk alternative music that made Haley’s ears want to bleed, you were such a sweet girl with a big heart. The mother stood on her tiptoes, kissing your forehead.

You let your eyes flutter shut for a moment, trying to burn the memory of her mother’s lips on your forehead in your mind. And when you opened them again, you tried to burn the image of your mother as well. Even now, red eyed and sniffling, your mother was beautiful. Everyone always told you, you looked just like your mother. Haley used to have blonde hair. It had passed her shoulders and you used to beg her to play hair salon because of it. She had cut it after the divorce and you had a suspicion that it was because she craved change. Her cheekbones were high and sharp, just like yours. It made her skin pull taut when she smiled. Her nose was soft and dainty- something you had always been jealous of.

What if you never saw your mother smile again?

Haley was nodding, nodding and patting the girl’s cheek and it took you a moment to realize she was speaking once more. “Go, baby. I’ll be okay.”

No, you won’t. You wanted to say. You wanted to let your body fall into your mother’s arms and have the woman hold you like she did when you were a child. You wanted to feel your mother’s hands run through your hair and hear the woman sing you to sleep. You didn’t care how childish it seemed, you just wanted your mother.

Your shoulders shook and you fought to keep your emotions from consuming you.

“I- I love you.” It was a desperate attempt at closure but it did nothing to make you feel better. It only made your mother smile.

“I love you too.” Haley gave one final pat before a light shove and you felt numb. You couldn’t feel yourself hand the phone to your mother, nor could you feel your feet move in the desired direction. Everything in you felt like it was simultaneously being doused in cold water and burned in hot flames. Your mind kept screaming at you to go back. Turn around, grab your mother and hope for the best but you could hear Foyet talking with your mother now and she knew that your father had told you what to do next.

It was weird.

All the nights you had spent in that stupid witness protection program, closing your eyes imagining you were back in your childhood home. You would pretend you were back in your room, waiting for your father to come home. You would pretend your mother was putting Jack to sleep and you would pretend that everything was normal. Now you were back and everything was wrong.

Focus.

After teaching you how to properly use a gun, Aaron had told you where one could be found in cases of dire emergencies. Your feet stepped lightly, moving as swiftly as you could. The laces on your converse slapped against the sides of the shoes and you silently pulled open your father’s nightstand. It hadn’t been touched since you all had moved out.  It was normal upon first glance. A couple of papers, reading glasses, sleeping pills. You knew better.

You pulled at the string on the bottom, the false top giving in immediately and revealing the silver .38. You grabbed for it, cocking it as quietly as you could. The weapon was heavy, yet, familiar in your hand. You thought that in a time like this you would be more shaky, but all you could focus on was your mother’s quiet sobs from the living room a whole story down.

The sound gave you hope. If she could cry, then she was alive. You pushed on with that thought in mind, rounding the corner. Just before you could head back downstairs and possibly take down Foyet, you heard it.

Gunshots.

Your mother cried out the first time, but it was completely silent after the second two. Just the light thud of a body hitting the floor.

You bit down on your cheek to keep herself from screaming. The taste of blood followed soon after. Your hand rose to your mouth, attempting to muffle the cries that attempted to escape.

“Y/N!” A sing song-y voice called out. There was a thumping sound on the stairs and after a sickening moment, you realized it was the sound of your mother’s body hitting the wood. He was dragging her up the stairs, wanting to display her just how he liked. Your eyes burned and you let the tears fall down your cheeks without care. They dripped off your chin, falling onto your shirt. It was a band t-shirt. Your mother hated it, said that the swords were too violent, but she allowed you to wear it anyways.

You darted into the closest door- Jack’s old room- eye’s scanning your surroundings for a plan. Whatever Foyet was doing, you knew you didn’t have much time until he was coming after you.

“I just wanna play, Y/N. Come out, come out wherever you are.” He sang out. He must’ve taken your mother- your mother’s body, you corrected yourself bitterly- to your parents bedroom. With a chilling realization, you remembered you had been there only moments before. He was close to you.

Your eyes landed on the closet, overflowing with toys, even months after not being in use. Jack tended to get whatever he asked for- not that he was spoiled, he was just hard to say no to. It wasn’t difficult to squeeze into it, leaving the door open a crack. The gun sat in your hands ready and waiting.

You steadied the sound of your breathing.

How was you going to tell Jack about mom? Well that was a bit optimistic, now, wasn’t it? Presumptuous of you to think you would live through the next five minutes to be able to tell your little brother that our mother was dead, You thought bitterly.

“I think I’ll lay your body right next to your Mom. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? So you can be together?” He was in the hallway, and even with the barrier of Jack’s door and the closet door, the sound of his voice made you shiver. It was smooth, charming, even. If you hadn’t known he was a complete psychopath you wouldn’t have given the man much thought. You wouldn’t have thought him capable of doing the heinous acts he had done.

There was a creak, the door opening to the room and your arms rose slightly. Your eyes were peaking through the crack, your heart racing. You could see the man moving into the room, searching for his next prey- and that’s what he thought you were. Prey. He thought you were an easy target. Everyone did.

Everyone thought you were just some stupid kid. Some people said it outright and others just assumed. You could tell when you first met your father’s team, some of them had stereotyped you as well. They had asked her about school and about boys and gossip, because they assumed that was all you were capable of speaking about and then you had surprised them by mentioning books and Neo-noir films. You were accustomed to being underestimated. And you were betting your life that George Foyet was doing the same.

As soon as you saw the man move into the middle of the room, you sprung. The door flew open and before you could hesitate, you pulled the trigger. Pure shock could’ve been the reason, you were able to get out of the room. Or perhaps you had managed to shoot him in the head and end your family’s suffering once and for all. You weren’t sure because you were moving purely on instinct. Your feet carried you through the house, jumping over toys and broken chairs and bloodstains that weren’t there before.

“You bitch!”

Okay, so he was alive. He was chasing after you but you didn’t look back. You jumped into the linen closet, out of breath but not allowing yourself to pant as you wanted to. You could hear the slight groans of the man as he made his way through the house, though it was farther, as if he was walking in the wrong direction. You had slowed him down, that’s for sure. The gun in your hand felt warm, like a pat on the back, but the thought of your mother’s dead body lying somewhere in the house sat in the back of your mind.

Where was Jack? You thought briefly. You had to trust that he was safe. Trust and pray that whatever their dad had said to him had made sense. You hoped he couldn’t hear anything that was going on. That he didn’t hear the sound of your mother being murdered and you shooting the killer.

You  felt the towel shelf press into your back, but you didn’t dare move anymore. You were sure Foyet hadn’t died now. If anything, you might’ve made him more angry.

It smelled like fresh laundry in the small space and it reminded you of Sunday nights. Your father was usually home, cases typically being taken during the week and coming home Saturday nights. That’s why you liked Sundays so much. You liked waking up to the smell of pancakes while your father played a Beatles album. He would sing into a spatula and twirl your mother around the kitchen. And Haley would laugh and tell him to stop, but she never actually meant it. And, when he noticed you coming down the stairs, he would take you in his arms- no matter how big and tall you had gotten, he never stopped doing it. He would spin you around as well and when you was little you would dance on his feet, but when you were older, your bare feet would touch the cold hardwood floor.

Your mother would do crossword and pretend not to notice that your father was giving not-so-subtle hints every so often. Your father would have you catch him up on what you had been up to that week, and you would have to help Jack read through the comics because he didn’t really understand the jokes. Sundays were your favorite days because instead of being a separate family like they were every other day, they were all together and it felt normal.

You closed her eyes, trying to imagine it was Sunday.

A large clatter rang out, effectively snapping you from your thoughts. You could hear footsteps, fighting, yelling. It was hard to tell how long you waited in the closet, gun pressed to your chest. You could hear someone outside the door, light footsteps against hardwood.

The light on the bottom was obscured from a large shadow and you tried to prepare yourself. What would death feel like? Maybe you was selfish, or maybe you were a coward, but you didn’t want to know. You wanted to stomp your foot and say that it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that your mother was dead. It wasn’t fair that you were about to die. The door was ripped open and you extended your arms, about to shoot blindly, when you saw who was before you.

“Woah, hey, Y/N. Y/N, look at me.”

You had stopped crying long ago, but your entire body was shaking. There was so much tension in your shoulders, it felt like somebody had tied you up entirely, slowly but surely squeezing the life out of you. You hadn’t realized it before, much too focused in getting as far away from the serial killer in your house as possible, but when you had shot Foyet, some of his blood had splattered onto you. You could see it now that the light was on it. It sat on your hands, partially dried and partially wet. And you could feel some of it on your cheeks.

You wondered what you looked like.

Derek stared at you. Your eyes were wild, darting between the gun in your hands and the gun in Derek’s. Your cheeks, flushed as they were, were painted lightly with splattered blood. The only evidence of previous tears were puffy eyes, but you hardly seemed weak right now. You seemed…feral.

“Y'N, it’s me. You’re safe. it’s me, it’s Derek. Put that gun down.” It was strange. It was like you could see his lips moving, you could see that he was speaking but you couldn’t hear the words. All you could hear was the sound of your mother’s body hitting the stairs one at a time.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

“He’s dead. Y/N, he’s dead.” The sound came back all at once. Everything came back all at once.

You could see people behind Derek. There were cops and medical examiners, flooding in and out of your childhood home. They all seemed to be moving toward the same place, all in the direction where you had fled. They were heading toward the body, you realized. The body of your dead mother. There was the faint sound of sirens, and there was chatter. You wanted to yell at them, scream for them to be quiet. And then you saw someone else.

Your father was coming toward you. He was covered in blood. Who’s blood was that? Was that your mother’s? Was that Foyet’s? Movement caught your eye.

JJ was holding someone in her arms, he looked confused, pointing at his sister, eyes alarmed at the weapon in her hands and the Jaraeu woman seemed to be trying to turn him away. He was asking for you.

'Y/N/N?’ He said.

Your shoulders dropped, the weapon falling into the Morgan man’s waiting hands. You stepped forward. Despite your sudden awareness, everything felt like it was in slow motion. The world was moving with resistance, and you opened her arms, almost crumpling in relief when Jack squirmed away from the blonde agent and ran into your waiting arms. You scooped him into your arms, sitting him on your hip.

“Y/N!” Despite all the chaos around you two, you let yourself focus on your brother. He seemed fine. Confused, surely. He had looped his arms around your neck but his eyes squinted at the blood on your cheeks that hadn’t been there before. His little eyebrows furrowed, and he reached one hand to poke your cheek. “Are you okay, Y/N?”

Jack loved you. Before you two were put into witness protection program, he didn’t see you all too much. You were so busy with school and hanging out with your friends, that you hadn’t even been home very often. Then, you didn’t have much of a choice.

You  liked showing Jack your music- the clean versions, of course. He would scrunch his nose at certain metal heavy bands, but you assumed he liked most of them just because you did. He liked to play cards with you, and have your draw him funny sketches. And when he would have bad dreams, you never hesitated to let him sleep with you.

You felt multiple sets of eyes on you, your father pulling you into a hug. They all pretended not to notice you flinch. You kept your eyes on Jack.

“I’m fine.” You took a hand, running it through the boy’s ruffled hair from hiding god knows where. He giggled at the action, and you let your hand rest on his cheek for a moment. Your mother was dead somewhere in this house, her body laid across the floor, slaughtered. You swallowed down the rising bile in your throat.

“Let’s get you checked out, yeah?”

Oh I am such a slut for Bucky Barnes fuck

                     𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝

summary ─ in this underground bar, you didn’t imagine you’d find a lover. you never imagined you’d find yourself a demon lover. 

pairing ─ demon!mobboss!bucky barnes x reader

warnings ─ smut, +18, kissing, biting, rough sex, pet names, dirty talk, oral sex, drinking, sort of fwb relationship, everything that happens in this fic is consented, supernatural creatures

a/n ─ this fic happened bc of a mf called sebastian stan. that flaunt magazine photos are so *drooling emoji*. i’m so sorry. i’m shit at endings lmao. i hope you like it! please leave a comment if you do! thank youu <3333 

moodboard for this fic courtesy of @bonky-n-steeb​

You were dragged into the Underworld with the excuse of Wanda’s birthday. Your friends had said that they found a way to get in Underworld without a big name pitching in for you and that they wanted to throw a little party for Wanda there. Everyone had agreed because it was the perfect timing. She had been wanting to Underworld, but you couldn’t find a way to do so until now.

Keep reading

Almost as if he could sense you hadn’t thought beyond getting it off his face, he took hold of your wrist and raised it back to his mouth, tongue leisurely swiping along your thumb until it was clean. “Breathe, y/n.”

How can you fucking do this and then have the audacity to say breathe BUCKY FUCKING BARNES

The Surrogate [pt.2]

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: Your regular visits to Bucky have you growing closer but you hold back from letting yourself feel anything more than friendship until a visit from Nat changes that. Warnings: 18+ only, pregnancy, oral (both receiving) WC: 3182 Set after Civil War, just before Infinity War and after End Game.

|| Main Masterlist || Drabbles Masterlist || Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 ||

Wakanda, early 2018

Dainty hands came to rest on your growing belly and you smiled as you woke to Nat knelt beside your bed, wearing your hoodie she must have stolen at some point.

“You’re back.” You hummed sleepily before making space for her to climb in the big bed. “How did it go?”

“Oh, you know, same old same old.”

She masterfully evaded giving you any real answer but you knew it must have gone fairly smoothly as she didn’t have the haunted look in her eyes she got when things went bad. She pressed her front to yours and you let your arm come to rest on her waist and let her imagine the bump was in her stomach and not yours.

“I heard what Bucky did for you two.” She said with a sniffle and dropped her forehead to yours. “I don’t know what I would do if I lost either of you.”

Your lips tipped up at the mention of his name before you sighed. “I should have been paying more attention. I'm sorry.”

“So, you and Bucky huh?” She asked as she pushed your shirt up and felt the stretching skin beneath her palm, waiting for some movement but so far only you could feel the flutters.

“Gross, I’m pregnant.” You laughed with a shake of your head. “It would be weird.”

“I haven’t seen you interested in anyone since I met you, if you like him you should tell him. Do you like him?”

“I like his company.” You answered, praying the baby would make a proper kick so its mother would be distracted. “He’s pretty funny in a surly, sarcastic kind of way.”

A small laugh was already trying to sneak its way past your lips as you remembered your visit the other day.

“You do like him!” She grinned. “Look, I know you don’t need it but if it's something you need to hear, you have my permission.”

“Permission for what exactly?” You quirked your eyebrow and watched a sly smile grow on her face.

“Do you want the answer in graphic terms or euphemisms? Because I will happily do either. Just be careful, I don’t need his super soldier dick breaking your waters because he’s so strong.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Nat!” You gasped and sat up. “I don’t even know what to say to that…”

“What? Sex is natural, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” She smirked. “I used to go to these private clubs when I went too long without any-”

“Ok, thank you, Nat, I appreciate the thought.” You managed to say as your face heated up and you felt the need to pull the sheets back up over your face.

“He may only have one arm but I’m sure he knows exactly how to use it.”

She laughed at the strangled sound that fell from your lips before getting out of your bed.

“I have to go but I’ll be back for the 20 week scan.” She promised, leaning in long enough to press a kiss to your forehead then whisper foreign words to your bump before disappearing as fast as she arrived.

═══════☆═══════

Every time you saw Bucky now you couldn’t help but be reminded of Natasha’s words, they had been playing on your mind for weeks as you traipsed your way to his place, especially when he was expanding his garden and uprooting entire trees one handed.His bicep muscles bulged as his large hand wrapped around the trunks and toppled them down and all you could imagine was how else he used that hand. Goddammit Nat, as if my hormones were not already messed up enough. You shook the thought from your head and followed the path Bucky had scythed out of the grass for you since the snake incident.

“I think you have earned a break.” You said as you held up the bag of food you had brought.

You were treated to a smile that you hadn’t seen him give anyone else and felt the warm fluttering of butterflies in your belly as he went to the water's edge and washed the sweat from his face. He took the bag from your hand even though it wasn’t very heavy and led the way inside his hut. You looked around the room and noticed small changes that brought a fresh smile to your lips, especially the addition of a second cushion at the table.

“Smells amazing.” He said before he opened the bag. “I haven’t had a scone since my mom made them for Steve and I.”

“Your sense of smell is that sensitive?” You asked with a pitchy voice, suddenly hyper aware of the long walk you had taken to get there.

“Don’t worry, you smell good.” He chuckled before clearing his throat as he realised his words and returning to focus on opening the jar of jam with his fingers.

He was so self reliant that he would struggle through a task rather than asking for help but you didn’t think it was entirely due to stubbornness but born from being alone for so long. Placing your jacket on the hook screwed into the clay, you went to his side and held the jar so he could twist the lid off.

“I could’ve done it myself.” He frowned as he looked at you holding it.

“I know, but you don’t have to.” You said, reaching out to tuck back the long strands of hair that fell over his face.

His face was so close to yours that you couldn’t breathe and you wished he would close the distance and just kiss you. The baby had other plans as you felt the first real kick that sent your eyes wide and your jaw dropping.

“Are you alright?” Bucky asked with a sharp stab of concern as he saw you hand shoot to your stomach.

You didn’t even think, you just grabbed his arm and pressed his hand to your stomach and laughed as the kicks registered in his eyes. His eyebrows shot up his forehead and his lips broke apart with a wide, toothy smile as he felt the bumps prodding into his hand.

“Woah, never felt that before.”

The somersaults in your stomach were not entirely due to the kicks you were getting but mostly because Bucky’s hand was still resting on your skin, having brushed your shirt up to get even closer, and his calloused thumb was drawing small circles. You swallowed down the words that tempted you to break the silence but you didn’t want anything to disturb this moment as you looked into his fiercely blue eyes.

“Ay, white wolf.” Usso, a local man called from outside.

Your eyes shut with annoyance at the world and a huff that was echoed by Bucky as his hand fell away from your skin.

“Can’t catch a break.” Bucky muttered under his breath as he stepped back and went to see what his neighbour wanted.

You followed them outside and found the rainy season had stuck Usso’s cart in mud, Bucky giving you an apologetic look before setting off down the path to help pull it out. You took the disappearance of your biggest distraction to lay out two plates and prepared the scones that you had been craving. Curses announced Bucky’s arrival back and you frowned when his voice disappeared again, curious, you went outside to look for him.

Your breath caught in your lungs as you watched Bucky drop his shuka to the grassy bank and step into the water to wash the mud that practically covered him head to toe. You couldn’t look away if you tried and when he turned around to face you, you could do nothing but stare back. His hand gathered the water, cupping it and dropping it across his bare chest so it ran in streaks down his abs and over his thighs and you cursed that he still wore modern boxer briefs.

Your eyes burned as you reached the second minute without blinking and you desperately wished you were out there in the water with him, running your hands over his body and washing him clean. Your legs clenched together as another wave of desire left a pool gathering in your panties and you reminded yourself that oxygen was necessary to survive as he stepped out of the water and straight towards you.

“You’re staring, doll.” He said as he stopped in front of you, dirty shuka held beneath his white knuckled fist.

“Sorry.” You managed to whip back as you licked your dry lips. “That’s your thing.”

His lips teased you with a smirk and you felt the cool drips of water run down your arm as he leant forward, his wet hair falling over your shoulder.

“I don’t mind.”

He was already walking back to his hut before your baby brain could connect what he had said and what you thought he meant by it, what you hoped he meant by it. Disappointment hit you as you entered his home and found he had already draped a fresh shuka over his body, a look you couldn’t quite hide in time before he caught it. Any hope of what you thought might happen was doused as he took a seat on the cushion and patted the one he had made for you.

You were absolutely stuffed after two scones, with the room in your stomach being slowly encroached by a little human, and you sat back against the clay wall to rest as Bucky scarfed back almost all of the rest. You couldn’t stop the small giggle bubbling from your lips as the cream you had whipped caught on the short hairs above his lips, his tongue flicking out to try to gather it up.

“Here.” You smiled as you leant forward and caught the cream on your thumb.

Almost as if he could sense you hadn’t thought beyond getting it off his face, he took hold of your wrist and raised it back to his mouth, tongue leisurely swiping along your thumb until it was clean. “Breathe, y/n.”

Your chest shuddered as you took a shaky breath and laughed as he broke the intense stare, the familiar heat rising up your neck as you looked away. You busied your hands by gathering the empty plates and wrapping up the few remaining scones for Bucky to have later when you felt his presence behind you. You weren’t sure how long you could keep visiting when you could barely function in his presence but the thought of not seeing him sent nausea rolling in your stomach.

“Thank you.” He said quietly as he placed his hand low on your back and you automatically leant into the touch after complaining about the sciatica pain. “Is it still sore?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice as his hand began to massage your back, his super strength applying the pressure you couldn’t do yourself when you tried to ease the pain. A deep moan fell from your parted lips as you felt the pain ease for the first time since it appeared weeks earlier. It felt so good that you gripped the bench that held his kitchen supplies and pushed your hips back against his touch, feeling the hard press of his erection across your ass.

“Bucky?” You asked breathlessly and waited for his soft groan to let you know he was listening as neither of you moved. “Would it make things weird if I said my hormones have made me really…needy?”

“You need me?” He asked, sounding a little startled as his hand stopped massaging your back.

“Like really bad.” You nodded as you looked over your shoulder shyly. “Please?”

You practically whined as he pulled away and the absence left a heaviness in your chest you hadn’t expected to feel so soon. As quick as the sound left your lips you were spun around and his lips were on yours, soft and full beyond imagination and you moaned as his tongue slipped across your lips begging access. You opened to him completely as his arm curled around your back and his hand came to rest on your nape, controlling the kiss as your mind went blank to everything but him.

“How long have you been wanting this?” He asked as he began the tantalisingly slow path back up your neck.

You couldn’t lie when his tongue left your thoughts scrambled and you buried your fingers in his hair like you had been having the urge to do since the moment you met him. “Since Germany.”

A growl rumbled in his throat, sending a bolt of lightning straight to your core, and he pulled your body flush to his, his single arm able to easily support you as he walked back to the mattress on the floor. Your fingers were already working to untie the knot of his shuka when he reached his bed and you raised your arms as he tugged your shirt over your head. There wasn’t any time to feel self conscious about your changing body but you didn’t need to worry as his blue eyes bled to black and his lip was pulled between his teeth.

“So beautiful.” He murmured sweetly in your ear as he kissed the sweet spot beneath it and pushed your bra down so he could roll a stiff peak in his fingers.

“Ahh!” You cried out as you realised just how sensitive they were now and swore you almost came from the touch alone. “Oh, god, that feels so good.”

He reached back to unclip your bra as his tongue took over the delicious assault on your nipple and your knees grew weak as your pussy painfully clenched around nothing. Needing to feel more of him, your hands trailed down his chest until you reached the band of his boxers and you hooked in your fingers to push them down his hips. His mouth pulled away from your breasts panting as you stroked his hard length and felt the silken beads of pre-cum rolling down the veins that lined his cock.

“Fuck, y/n, harder.” He guided as he wrapped his hand around yours and showed you how tight he wanted your grip.

He dropped your hand as you squeezed him and his deep moan filled your ear before you dropped to your knees. His eyes fluttered open as he saw you knelt below him and he shook his head and stopped your strokes.

“Ladies first.” He said as he watched the confusion spread across your face. “Lay down, doll.”

You did as you were told, greedy for the orgasm that awaited you, and laid down on his thin, hard mattress that felt surprisingly good on your sore back. His hand popped the button on your jeans and you raised your hips so he could pull them off your legs, discarding them across the room with your drenched panties following. You could already see the look of appreciation radiating from his face as he took in every inch of your body laid before him and he brushed your legs apart so he could see your glistening core.

“So fucking wet for me.” He grinned as he settled himself between your legs, balanced on his elbow so he could slip in his fingers inside your dripping folds and curl them within you. “Oh, god, you are perfec-”

His words were lost as his lips pressed sloppy kisses to your clit and his tongue teased salacious circles around the bundle of nerves. Your legs were threatening to close around him as he started to curl his fingers over your g-spot and in time with his kitten licks on your clit, cries of pleasure filling the small room as he brought you closer to the edge of bliss. You needed something to hold and you reached for his hair, holding it tight and out of the way of his face so you could see his blue orbs roll up to look at you as he pushed you over the edge.

“Fuck, Bucky, that’s so fucking good, don’t stop, I’m gonna cum.”

You fell back into his pillow as waves of pleasure crashed over you and your pussy gripped his fingers tight, hips rolling as you rode out every lick and suck he was willing to give you. Over sensitive and completely sated you released your hold on his hair and collapsed as your head spun. His proud chuckle sent a fresh shiver across your skin and you watched his beard drip with your cum as he rose between your legs.

“I love hearing my name fall from those pretty lips.” He said as he knelt between your legs, stroking his cock that was dripping big beads out of the swollen tip.

“I can do other things with these lips too.” You said as you sat up and began to push him back into the mattress. “My turn.”

He mirrored your place just moments earlier and you knelt between his legs, gravity sending the warm pool of moisture between your legs running down your thighs. His back arched as soon as your lips pressed to his tip and the moan that followed spurred you to waste no time as you took him in your mouth. The heady scent of the cum that had escaped sent you wild and you just had to taste more of him.

“Christ, never felt anything so good.” He purred as he laced his hand in your hair and guided you up and down his cock.

You pressed your tongue flat across his shaft as you hallowed your cheeks and his hips bucked and jerked at the suction.

“Fuck, gonna cum.” He groaned as you felt his cock swell even more before the hot ropes of his cum filled your mouth.

You swallowed him down as you continued to milk him into a twitching mess and pulled away to wipe the spit that was running down your chin. His chest was heaving as he lay with his arm cast aside and his cock resting long between his legs. There wasn’t a more perfect sight you had ever seen.

“C’mere, doll.” He said as he nodded to his arm and you crawled into the narrow space left on his mattress, wondering if like with the cushions and the plates, whether he would now get a bigger bed.

“This isn’t going to be weird now, is it?” You asked as you curled into his side, draping a leg over his and your palm resting on his chest.

“Do you regret it?” He asked apprehensively as his fingers stopped tracing your spine.

“No, god no.” You hurried to respond before he worried. “Wish we did this weeks ago.”

“Good.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead so you looked up at him, then he kissed your lips until you forgot what you were talking about. “It isn’t weird.”

═══════☆═══════

Click here for next part.

A/N: so I'm guessing this will be either 3 or 4 parts, we will seen what happens as I write it lol

Born In Flames || Chapter Three

Pairing: Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Being the daughter of a mafia boss was hard enough growing up. You got out and made a new life for yourself as a bartender only to be sucked in when your old man made a bad deal and he thinks you need protection. Enter Bucky Barnes, your new bodyguard and roommate.

Warnings: Blood, mentions of guns, nightmare

Word Count: 2,526

Authors Note: This one is a little shorter but very progressive! I’m going to say this once more only. If you want to be on the tag list, send me a message or an ask. Otherwise it’s probably going to be ignored because I cannot keep up with notes sometimes.

Born In Flames Masterlist

Reblog & leave some feedback!

The drive home was quiet, aside from your quick breaths. You were curled up in the passenger seat, though you were slumped down a bit with tremors running through your nerves. Sure, you had close calls, but never that close.

Bucky drove both of you home, taking different roads just to make sure the two of you weren’t being followed. He kept glancing over to you every few minutes, quietly reminding you to breathe in deep and try to relax. You tried, you really tried. Little bits of glass from the windshield were beneath you and it was increasingly uncomfortable. Your car looked terrible. Bullet holes riddled the back and hit quite a bit in the trunk.

Once Bucky pulled up to your apartment, he got out as you slowly opened the door. There was slight ringing in your ears leftover from the guns. Walking to the back, Bucky opened the trunk and sighed. A bullet hit the milk, causing it to explode over everything.

“Head inside, I’ll bring these,” he said as you started to grab a few bags.

“Let me help,” your voice was barely a whisper, but he nodded gently. He didn’t want to fight with you. Sliding the rest of the bags onto his left arm with ease, he shut the trunk. Following you up, you made it to your door and unlocked it. Home.

Stepping into the kitchen, you set the bags down and brushed your hair behind your ear to get started putting everything away.

“Ow,” you gasped, pulling your hand away to find a bit of blood. “What the…”

Bucky set his bags down and furrowed his brow. Walking over, he took your chin gently and turned your head. A small stream of blood had begun from the top of your ear and down your neck. Because you were so lost in your thoughts and the wind from the open windows whipping your hair around, you didn’t feel the liquid. Not to mention the adrenaline being so high.

“C’mon,” Bucky said as he took your hand, leading you to the bathroom. Closing the lid to the toilet, he had you take a seat. “Any chance you can tie your hair back? Looks like you got nicked,” he said, handing you a hair tie he found while he searched your cabinet.

You took it and gently put your hair up. “There’s some gauze in the bottom shelf…and some neosporin,” you muttered. So you had been shot. It was small but the fear made it all too real now. You were being targeted and if Bucky hadn’t of been there, you would probably be dead.

Grabbing a washcloth and rinsing it in cold water, he sat down on the edge of the bathtub beside you. Gently he turned your head so he could see it better.

“I’m going to be as gentle as I can, okay?” He spoke, meeting your eyes. You glanced down to the washcloth in his hand, noticing the gloves were still on.

“You’re gonna ruin those,” you mumbled, looking back to him.

Bucky hesitated for a moment, trying to figure out if he should. Shaking his head, he leaned forward. “Just stay still.”

With the gloves on, Bucky started to clean out the wound. Just two inches over and your head would have been a blended shake on the steering wheel. Sure you were lucky, but would you really call this luck? He was gentle, but that didn’t stop the sting as he tried to clean the dried blood away. He even wiped it off from your neck, though there was no saving the collar of your tee.

Setting the washcloth down, he pulled off his right glove, the left hand holding the ointment. He dabbed a little bit on it, thankful the bullet only skimmed the outside. You would have a little scar but nothing too damaging. After, he was able to wrap a smaller bandaid over the shell of your ear to keep hair from getting inside.

You stayed quiet, though your facial reactions showed how much it did hurt. You’d much rather get new piercings five times over before ever doing that again.

Once he was done, Bucky checked your other ear and let his eyes gaze over your body. “Does anything else hurt?” He asked, pulling his hand away from your chin.

You shook your head. “I’m just…I’m okay,” you spoke, your hands fidgeting with each other. “Do you think this is how it’s going to be now? I have to watch over my shoulder everywhere I go? They know where I live. They know where I work. I don’t want to be shot at again,” you said, not able to hide the fear in your tone.

Bucky sighed. “That’s what I’m here for. That’s why I’m a guard dog,” he said, somewhat teasing about the name she gave him. “As long as I’m watching over you, they won’t be able to get close. I’ve been doing this for quite a while, even before I was brought into the mafia. It won’t always be this scary,” he tried to convince you, but it wasn’t that easy. You leaned forward and hid your face in your hands as Bucky frowned. “Listen, go lay down and try to relax. I’ll put everything away, okay?”

You nodded from behind your eyes. Bucky took it as a sign to leave and give you some space. Discarding the trash and tossing the washcloth in the hamper, he walked out and closed the door behind him.

It wasn’t two seconds later that he heard soft sobs. It broke Bucky’s heart. This wasn’t the life your mother wanted for you.

An hour later, after cleaning up and changing your clothes in your room, you emerged and walked out to the couch. Bucky sat in the chair, looking at his phone. You had heard him on a call about twenty minutes ago. Taking a seat, you curled up against the arm and wrapped the blanket around your legs. Your hair was pulled up higher into a bun and you looked comfortable. Well, as comfortable as you could be after a day like that.

“When do you work next?” Bucky asked as he broke the silence. You looked away from the television, away from Gordon Ramsey yelling at some cooks.

“Tomorrow night. I only get one day off a week,” you said softly. He could see how red your eyes were, a dead giveaway to your crying, but he didn’t say anything about it. “I would call in but we’re already understaffed as is,” you added. Work was going to be a lot harder knowing that people weren’t just outside taking surveillance photos anymore.

Bucky nodded quietly and looked back to the tv.

The rest of the night was fairly quiet, though you went back to your room and slept. The adrenaline wore off and your body decided to give in to the tired the shooting left you in. It had been a long, long time since you experienced any excitement like that.

You had one nightmare, one very scary nightmare involving the men who followed you in the store. Only Bucky wasn’t there with you. Running and running, the sound of bullets whizzing past your ears getting closer and closer. You woke up with heavy breaths and tears as the last bullet was hit in the back of your head.

Sleeping wasn’t an option now, you came to realize that. Laying back down in bed to catch your breath, you stared at the ceiling and wiped the tears from your eyes. Everytime you closed them, you saw the faces of the men, the glass on your seat, the guns.

Giving up, you left your room in just a pair of pajama shorts and a tee. It was about five am, a time you usually found yourself going to bed at. Perhaps you’d be able to get a quick nap in before work, but it was a long shot.

Leaving your room, you walked out to find Bucky standing shirtless in the kitchen, right in front of the coffee maker. He was pouring himself a cup but that’s not what held your attention.

Bucky’s left arm was black and gold, taking over the majority of his shoulder. It was hard to tell in the dim light of the kitchen bulb that needed to be replaced, but it looked as if there were scratches where the metal met the skin. He had a pair of dog tags around his neck, remnants of what he used to be.

Bucky turned around and nearly dropped his cup as he saw you. “Oh. Shit. Hey,” he muttered, running the back of his neck with his right hand. “I didn’t think you’d be up this early,” he said. Then he followed your eye line to his arm and he sighed. Setting the mug down, he started to walk towards you to get to his room.

“Wait,” you spoke, gently holding a hand up. “It’s okay. I just…I’ve never seen something like that. Is that…why you had to leave the army?” You asked, though you weren’t sure if it was okay to even mention it.

Bucky stopped in his tracks and sighed. Nodding, he held his palm up and made a fist before letting it loose. “I was trying to save one of my men and a bomb went off too close. He made it out but my arm didn’t,” he muttered. “I don’t show it because I know it makes people uncomfortable. Prosthetics always do. When I sleep, it’s the only time I can be free from those damn gloves and long sleeves.”

You stepped closer, though you didn’t touch. “I’m pretty sure you’re past prosthetics. This is basically a robot attached to you. It’s so advanced. How did you find something like this?” You asked, seeing how the plates shifted slightly as the arm moved.

“Your father has a few friends. It’s linked to my nerves and bones. I even get phantom itches in it,” Bucky watched your face, ready for any sign of disgust. He had been wearing long sleeves and gloves for years now, only ever taking them off when he had to torture someone for his boss. But he saw no disgust, only intrigue. “You can…touch it, if you want.”

You bit your lip and glanced up to his eyes for a second before looking back down. Softly your fingers came up and brushed along the forearm, tracing the gold lining in the middle of the black plates. They slid up to his hand, gently bending his fingers towards his palm before letting them free. Your other hand rested beneath it to hold it up.

“This is…really, really cool, Bucky,” you spoke, flipping his hand over to see the other side. “You shouldn’t hide it. It’s not something to be ashamed of, you know. But…” you let his hand down and looked up to him. “If it helps, you don’t have to hide it in here, okay? If you want to wear the gloves and long sleeves out there, then that’s okay. But I won’t judge it,” you gave him a soft nod.

Bucky stood there for a few seconds before giving a slight nod. He really didn’t expect anyone to think it was cool. He did at first, until he noticed others staring. And in a job like his, he couldn’t afford to stand out.

You walked around him and headed towards the coffee, really needing it now. Bucky turned and watched you walk, amazed by your open mindedness. Two days ago you didn’t want him around and now you were fine with him showing the most hated piece of himself.

You were really something else.

“So…why are you up so early?” Bucky cleared his throat and walked back over to grab his coffee that was starting to cool.

You frowned, though your back was to him, as you poured yourself a cup. “Just…sore. My ear was in pain,” you lied. It was only partially a lie. It ached, but so did your chest from crying and the stress.

“So it has nothing to do with the crying I heard twenty minutes ago?” He raised an eyebrow.

Your shoulders dropped and a sigh left your lips. “I…had a nightmare. Those guys kept shooting and it kept getting closer. Now I can’t even enjoy my favorite pastime of sleeping in,” you groaned as you took a sip of coffee and turned around. “If you heard me crying, why didn’t you come in?”

Bucky leaned against the counter and watched you. “The same reason I didn’t go back into the bathroom after I bandaged you up and heard you crying. Felt you didn’t want me around as a reminder and that you needed space. Plus if you were in real danger, I’m sure you would scream first,” he shrugged.

You leaned back against the counter and huffed. “I’m just…not used to this. The shooting and the near death experiences,” you stared at the coffee in your hands. “It’s not you, it’s the life. The mafia. I always felt different growing up because I always had to be watched. My mom knew I hated it. My dad didn’t care. I lost friends because of this. I can’t go hang out or have sleepovers. Birthday parties were just for my immediate family. Hell, I’m still mad he didn’t take me to Disneyland like he said he would when I was eleven,” you muttered which made Bucky smile slightly.

“You can still go, you know,” Bucky took a sip and you rolled your eyes.

“It’s no fun alone and I don’t think Miss Liz is up for it,” you shrugged. It was apparent you didn’t have friends outside of work.

Bucky was quiet for a few minutes, the only sound being the rain droplets hitting the window. As if your car didn’t deal with enough, now your seats would be soaked.

“After all of this is over, why don’t I take you to Disneyland?” Bucky asked, making you pause as you brought the cup to your lips.

“What?”

“You heard me. Why don’t I go with you? After all, I’m considering us friends since no one else has taken so kindly to my arm,” Bucky tilted his head.

You rolled your eyes, but the sincere look on his face told you he wasn’t joking. “Yeah…sure. But I’m not holding my breath. There is no after this is over in the mafia. There’s brief periods of quiet but it always gets bad again,” you frowned, finishing off your coffee.

Bucky knew you were right, but he had a bit of a plan. At least to make sure you had the chance to find your after in the mafia life.

“Fair enough,” Bucky nodded as you set your cup in the sink.

“I’m gonna try to go lay down again. If um…if you hear me crying again, just come wake me up, please,” you said softly, the end sounding like a whispered plea to save you from what may come from your mind.

“Okay,” Bucky gave another nod and watched as you walked back to bed.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to fall asleep again.

Tag list: @crownstealer @borikenlove @bitchassbucky @babyboibucky @buckybarneschokeme @buckys-blue-eyes @vanillanaps @bibbidibobbidibucky @spicynudlesoup @bemine-bucky @suchababie @rebekahdawkins @sebsbrokentoe @marvel-3407 @acmbooksandfilm @stucky-my-ship @boofy1998 @kaaabiii