This Blog Is Pro-choice!

This story is soo good I don’t know if I am more exited for the witcher 3 or your story !!

I really enjoyed every chapter I normally never read sorties that are ongoing but I have 0 regret with your story ❤️

Broken Heart

Summary: You were the first and only female Witcher.

You and Geralt had been together since you were teenagers, training and fighting alongside each other for decades. However, when Yennefer of Vengerberg showed up, he chose her.

Now, years later, you go back to Kaer Morhen for the winter and come face to face with Geralt of Rivia, forcing old feelings to resurface once again.

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Language,

Previous Chapter

Chapter 11-

Slowly, you fluttered your eyes open, blinking away the fuzziness as you took in the scene around you.

Coen was sitting on the ground across the room, his head in his hands, the potions that he grabbed broken on the ground beside him. The few remaining Witchers were all standing around the room, their heads lowered.

Ciri was crying in Yennefer’s arms while Lambert paced the cafeteria, kicking any object in his path as he swore every word under the sun.

Then there was Jaskier, who was sitting on the ground beside you, hugging his knees to his chest as he cried softly, his face buried on top of his knees.

Suddenly, realisation hit you; they all thought you had died.

Holy shit, they thought you were dead.

Keep reading

The beardiness is strong with him.... and the shirt 🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵

Again I really don’t know why I didn’t de log this it’s perfect

Two Minds, One Body || Mafia!Bucky [pt2]

Mafia!Bucky x fem!reader

Chapter Summary: Now that you are a permanent fixture in Bucky and Winter's life they treat you as their queen. Have mercy on anyone who disrespects their queen. Warnings: 18+ only, smut, mafia typical threat of violence WC: 2864

Main Masterlist || Bucky Masterlist || Part One || Part Two || Part Three ||

When you had been asked to pack a bag for a night away, you had thought you were going somewhere further than New York City. The confusion had been clear on your face as your driver parked outside a gated brownstone, but before you could ask why you were there the front door opened to reveal Bucky. His usual business attire had been ditched in exchange for a dark blue cashmere sweater that set his eyes alight and the way it hugged his chest had you itching to run your hands over it.

The only sign that he wasn’t as relaxed as he tried to appear was the crystal tumbler of whiskey hanging from his fingertips and the way his hair tipped to one side, the result of his fingers constantly brushing through the strands. Your driver was at your side and opening the door just as Bucky cleared the gate and you stepped onto the pavement and into his waiting arms. He may have only been gone one day but it was more than enough to have missed his presence at home.

“I’m so glad to see you, doll.” Bucky whispered quietly into your ear as his eyes scanned the street. “Let’s get inside.”

Whatever timeless age the outside held was gone the moment you stepped over the threshold. High ceilings and open spaces were modernised and surprisingly minimalist compared to the decor of the mansion upstate, but it was just as stunning. Bucky’s hand was low on your back as he guided you through the foyer and down a hall to his office at the back. You were suddenly nervous as he closed the door behind you and placed his glass on the mahogany desk.

He dropped heavily into his chair and turned his attention to the wall of glass that overlooked the private backyard and shimmering pool. A tension hung in the air and you were surprised Winter wasn’t making his way to the surface as Bucky chewed on his bottom lip and twirled a pen mindlessly in his hand. Suddenly he dropped the pen back on the desk and patted his lap, your movements slower than normal as you tentatively approached him.

“I need your help.”

Whatever you thought he was going to say could not have come close and your lips parted as you took a breath and sat on his lap. “Whatever you need, baby.”

“A warehouse of mine was raided today. There was meant to be an auction tonight.” He said as he tipped his head back and sighed as your hands massaged the tight muscles on his shoulders. “We are sitting on $100 million cash and this auction was how we were going to wash it.”

You didn’t know where he was heading with it as he reached for his whiskey and swallowed the amber liquid back, sucking his teeth as the alcohol burnt down his throat. “I need to know if you were serious when we met.”

You nodded as you remembered what you said in an attempt to hopefully save your life. “You can launder money digitally without losing, I'm sure. I had a lot of time to think of business and criminal ventures when I was trapped in that marriage.”

“I need you to show me how, doll. If I can’t get rid of this cash quick we are all fucked.”

You stood up and turned around so you could sit facing his computer, already bringing up different websites. “You’re familiar with cryptocurrency, right?”

“Some of our overseas partners use it.” He nodded. “We have wallets with Ethereum, Litecoin, Cardino and a few others.”

“Good. What about NFT’s?” He shrugged and you brought up an image that looked like a child had made on Microsoft Paint. “Buying, trading and selling of unique digital media. It can be as basic as this shit or actual art but they are legitimate sales and can be almost completely anonymous with crypto.”

He leant forward to look closer at the website and scanned over the information, his mind processing it efficiently. “I’ll need a few more shell companies, but that's simple enough to do.”

“Buy a few of these cheaper ones and sell them to yourself for a few hundred thousand.” You nodded. “Crypto takes care of the rest, money washed.”

“Set it up.”

“Wait, what?” You gasped, spinning around to see if he was joking.

“This is your baby.” He reclined back with a smile, reaching into his pocket for his phone and wallet. “Get whatever you need to make it happen.”

No one had ever trusted you to do, well, anything. You had just been an item to trade and barter with and now Bucky was treating you as his equal. Sensing your hesitation, he pulled you closer and cupped your face as his lips brushed softly over yours. Your body relaxed in his embrace, moulding into him as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“If you need any help, I’ll be right here.” He reassured you as he broke away, leaving you to catch your breath.

You took a deep breath and nodded, mentally telling yourself that you could do this. You had made a million plans in your head on how to hide money on the off chance you had been able to save some up and escape your previous marriage that you knew you had the idea right, you just needed to execute it. Turning back to the computer you were stopped and Bucky shook his head.

“Start tomorrow, doll. I asked you down here so I could take you out. How does dinner and dancing sound?”

“Sounds like you are trying to court me.” You teased him as you twirled your fingers around the hairs hanging longer at his nape. “I think you are just trying to get me in your bed.”

His rich laugh sent warmth pooling between your legs and his hand trailed up your leg as if he could sense it. “Definitely. In my bed, in my shower, on my desk…everywhere.”

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Bucky’s eyes darted around the room that was far too busy for his liking, there were too many exposure points and he had precious cargo with him. Everybody that brushed too close to you had his fingers inching closer to the gun on his hip and you stepping closer under his arm.

“There something I should know?” You asked as you noticed the stiffness that was usually reserved for Winter.

“No, I just don’t particularly like it here.” He said as he continued his survey of the nightclub’s ground floor.

“You don’t like it?” Your laugh briefly pulled his attention away and your hand resting on his chest had his cock twitch. “Honey, you own it.”

“I own half this city.” He pointed out before spotting a familiar face and his eyes darkened to azure.

“Win, what’s wrong?” You asked as you noticed the switch, following his line of sight to your ex-husband. Your evening had been going so well, starting with dinner at Chef’s Table then a few cocktails at Little Branch before heading to the nightclub for some dancing. In an instant the mood was gone. “Fucking marvellous.”

“I’ll deal with him.” Winter said chillingly. “Go with Nico and order a drink while I take out the trash.”

“Don’t take too long, there’s only two names on my dance card.” You whispered as you tiptoed to reach his ear, placing a quick kiss to his racing pulse.

“Kukolka…” he groaned as he fought the urge to take you to his office upstairs and fuck you on another of his desks.

“Sorry.” You said with a soft chuckle.

“No you’re not.” He said before snapping his fingers at Nico to get his attention and leaning down into your ear. “I’ll deal with you later, now go.”

You drew your bottom lip between your teeth as you imagined just how he would deal with you and you couldn’t wait. Two drinks later you were squirming on your bar stool. Between the music and the thought of Winter you just couldn’t sit still. Climbing off, you felt the room slightly spin and decided not to finish the half full glass.

“Would you like some water, ma'am?” Nico asked as he watched you grab the bartop.

“I think that is probably a good idea.” You admitted as you tried to act sober and failed.

After a refreshing glass of water you decided to make your way into the crowd filling the dancefloor, needing something to distract you from the absence of you boyfriend. A moment of insecurity hit you as you swayed to the music and you noticed the crowd move away from you. You didn’t think you had stood on anyones toes and the dozens of bottles of perfumes Bucky had bought were mouthwatering so it wasn’t that either. Turning around though, you saw exactly what had sent them spilling to the edges of the room.

Winter’s air of dominance was almost palpable as his eyes roamed your body, your hips begging him to grip them tight as he showed every man exactly who you belonged to. He had seen the way the others had been eyeing you up, and if Nico hadn’t been there to stop their filthy fingers from getting close he would have been splitting his knuckles on another man. He had only just left your ex-husband unconscious against the dumpsters out back, he would have no problem adding more bodies to it.

Your body was burning for his touch as he continued to watch, his chest puffing from the fight he had just had and the sight before him. Holding your hand out, you curled your finger in invitation and his lips teased a hint of a smile that only you could see. To everyone else he looked cold and unfeeling and he stepped closer like he was stalking his prey, this was the deadly mob boss with a reputation of getting his hands dirty. To you, you saw the fire in his eyes and welcomed his touch, your thumb softly brushing the fresh bruises on his knuckles before they came to rest on your hips.

“You started without me, kukolka.” He murmured low into your ear just loud enough to be heard over the music.

Turning in his arms so you could roll your hips and grind your ass over his cock, you leant back into his chest to look up at him with a smirk. “You were taking too long. I had to get your attention somehow.”

You should have known he would be a good dancer, the way he held you close and rolled his body in time with yours should have been illegal. It almost was illegal some of the things his hands were doing but he just stopped short of fucking you on the dancefloor. Just. The build up was leaving you dizzy and you could feel your arousal pooling in your panties with every beat of the heavy bass playing around you. Filth fell from Winter’s mouth between the kisses and sucks he was trailing along your neck and you felt like you could almost reach bliss without a single touch to your needy cunt.

“Win, unless you want everyone here to know how I look when I cum, we need to leave.” You begged as the throbbing between your legs left your chest rising and falling rapidly with sharp breaths.

“Upstairs.”

You could barely keep up as he raced towards the stairs that led to his office above the club and his fingers almost slipped from yours twice before you made it there. His hand was just about to turn the doorknob when Nico shouted over the music. A deep groan escaped his gritted teeth as he turned to find Nico holding his hand over his phone, worry indenting lines across his face.

“Got a situation, boss.”

Winter’s barely audible curse left you hiding the disappointment you felt, knowing your night had come to a halt earlier than planned. You gave him a small smile in return for the apologetic look he was giving you and he held his phone out to accept the call of whoever was on the other line. “This might take a while, doll. Nico, call the car around.”

He was about to head into his office where it was quiet enough to take the call but you pulled him to a stop, stealing your kiss goodnight before he regrettably pulled. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

He bit his lip as your hands trailed down his abs to hover over the bulge trapped in his pants. “Then you’ll deal with me?”

“Oh, doll.” He chuckled. “I’ll do more than just deal with you, I’m going to ruin you.”

═══════☆═══════

You could hear Winter’s angry rock music leaving you a trail of aural breadcrumbs to follow and you found the sound escaping the doors to the gym. Sweat was beading along his forehead as he lay there bench pressing an insane amount of weight, his legs spread wide to balance himself. The ropes of muscles in his arms strained to push the bar back up but still he kept going, so focused on finishing his reps that he didn’t notice you slipping inside.

“I missed you last night.”

You straddled his waist and he locked the bar over the hook so his hands were free to roam your body. You were still in one of his shirts you slept in, the edge riding up your thighs as he looked down to find you weren’t wearing anything underneath. His cock was already straining against the loose shorts he wore and you rolled your hips to sate your need for friction. You had waited up but after the dawn rays broke through the gap in the curtain you gave in to your exhaustion, it must have been important if it kept him out all night.

“Had some shit to deal with.” He tone admitted he missed you too as he felt the heat of your core calling to him.

“I had to take care of myself.” You pouted, reaching up your shirt to tease your nipples. “That’s how much I missed you.”

His chest vibrated with a possessive growl and he lifted you from his lap just long enough to push his shorts over his hips, impaling you with one well aimed thrust.

“Oh fuck.” You cried at the sudden fullness, swearing that you could feel him as your hand pressed to your stomach.

“Show me.” Winter grunted as your feet lifted off the ground with each sharp rut up into you. “Show me how you touch yourself.”

Your jaw went slack with ecstasy and you ran two fingers over his full pink lips until he opened his mouth for them, tongue working around them until they were nice and wet for you. Your heavenly sigh filled the air as you teased your clit and rolled your hips, riding Winter as he laid back and enjoyed the show. Your free hand tweaked your stiff peaks and the residual feelings from the nightclub plus everything he was doing quickly had you falling into your first orgasm.

Your pleasure was like a naked flame, your body the fuse and Winter the explosive. Seeing you ignite sent Winter into action. His large hands splayed across your back and he pulled you down, chest to chest as he took the control back. His hips pistoned furiously into you and your body had no time to recover from the first orgasm, the waves continuing to ripple through you, pussy gushing around his cock and down your legs.

“Fuck, Win, oh god, too much!” You cried as your legs fell slack around the bench and you gave yourself over to him.

“Wanna feel you come around me again.” He panted as he starved off his release to feel yours first.

Your head was shaking, but you couldn’t find the words to deny him as your walls began to flutter and tighten more with every rough pound of his body ramming yours. You tried to pull away as ghostly touches of fire spread over your skin but he took your hands and pinned them behind your back.

“Fuck, fuck, Winter, please.” You begged as tears sprung to your eyes.

“Take it, kukolka, you take it so well.”

You sagged with relief as your pussy began to pulse and he groaned as your body milked his cock, the hot ropes releasing with his heavy breathes that blew cool air across the fire that consumed your body. His hands released the grip on yours and pulled the limp limbs up to his neck so you could play with his hair while you recovered.

“I always liked waking up alone, until now.” You murmured as your mind remained in a cum-clouded haze.

“I wish I could promise that it wouldn’t happen again but our line of work makes it impossible.”

You looked up to see Bucky, his softer touch running soothingly up and down your spine.

“Then I’ll be content with the nights we do have.”

Click here for next part.

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Taglist || Taglist Join Form ||

@jessica11133 @nash-dara @buckyisperfect @itswanktime @slutforsexyseabass @sea040561 @gryffindorqueensworld @honeywithemoney @kenzieam @tsnelf7 @jmeagin-blog @saranghaey @heavenly-rogers

@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?”

Born In Flames || Chapter Five

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: Guns, blood, nightmares

Word Count: 3,105

Authors Note: It’s been fun watching everyone freak out about the last chapter! Good luck with this one. If you want to be on the tag list, send me a message or an ask, otherwise it will be ignored.

Born In Flames Masterlist

Reblog & leave some feedback

You stared at the screen for what felt like hours but it was mere minutes.

A newspaper article stated that Charlotte and Alexander were high school sweethearts, having known each other since middle school. They wed in the fall and planned on moving out of the state. That didn’t seem to happen. They were in their late twenties when they got married.

So was that a lie, or was your life a lie?

“Maybe it didn’t work out between them? And she met my dad and they stayed friends?” You tried to reason, to find any sensible explanation for what you were finding out.

“C’mon, Y/N. Look at that photo from your birthday. Would exes really be that cuddly together if one was married to someone else? And I’m pretty sure Michael would never allow that. I’ve heard stories over the years of things he’s done. People have died for a lot less than cuddling his wife. By any chance…have you ever done a dna test with your parents?” Bucky dropped the question and you rolled your eyes.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re not seriously suggesting that man is my father. We look nothing alike. Granted I don’t look like Michael either but I’ve always been told I look like my mom. And you expect me to think the man who supposedly killed my mom is related to us? Or to me at least? I’m not believing a word until I talk to my dad,” you shook your head, sitting up from the wall and looking over at Bucky.

“Would you believe anything that comes from him?” Bucky asked, resting his arm on the desk.

Bucky had a point. Over the years, you’ve learned not to trust what your father said. He made excuses and lies plenty of times. How he would be home for dinner, he would come to your birthday party, the lake house, even something as simple as reading you bedtime stories when you were little. Every time you started to believe him, he would disappoint you.

Sighing, you ran a hand through your hair and glanced at the screen again. “Print it out. Looks like we have to go see dear old dad tomorrow before work,” you huffed. You felt lost and alone. Charlotte was gone and you couldn’t ask her the truth. She never lied to you, but she never mentioned being married before Michael either.

Collecting the scrapbooks off of Bucky’s bed, he began printing out the page and watched you. “It’s gonna be okay, you know,” he spoke softly, seeing how frustrated you were.

You looked over as you held the books to your chest. “I wish I could believe that,” you sighed before leaving his room.

Sleep didn’t come easy that night. Thankfully when you ordered groceries, you managed to remember some sleeping pills on the list. It wasn’t much, just a couple to help you get at least a couple hours. And you did. Of course the nightmare decided to change from the men shooting at you to replaying the memory of seeing the man being shot over and over again. By your hand at that. You weren’t a killer. You begged Michael not to make you pull the trigger. Bucky was nowhere to be found.

Bucky woke you up that morning after hearing your cries again. You shot up, tears streaming down your face as you clung to his arm. It was a first. Usually you woke up and told him to go back to sleep. You never touched him, but today you needed a little bit of comfort and he didn’t put you away. Instead, he pulled your back to his side, the arm you clung to holding you close, his free hand brushing your hair back.

“Shh, you’re awake now,” he whispered, feeling how you shook under his hold. His fingers softly caressed your stomach and you could feel the heat radiating off of his bare chest. He knew you needed this too and frankly he was tired of hearing your cries. You deserved a better life.

He held you until you slowly let go of his arm and moved back to your spot on the bed, facing him. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-“

“Hey, it’s okay. If you need a hug to calm down, I can do that,” Bucky nodded, reaching out to wipe your leftover tears away.

“How do you handle all of the death?” You asked, reaching up and taking his hand, cupping it between both of yours.

Bucky thought for a minute, frowning. “I saw too much of it over the years. Being in combat sort of threw me into it without a crash course. I…do still have nightmares. Every night. Sometimes I’m still out in the field with my men, sometimes it’s things I’ve done while working for Michael. I just have to remember that I’m still alive for a reason. And right now, my reason to make sure you stay alive,” he explained, feeling your fingers brush soft lines on his palm.

“But what about after this is over? Whether all of the deals are done or I get killed like my mom? What’s your reason then?” You asked.

Bucky had to think for a moment. “Then I live for me I guess. I never really thought about what the reason was, only that there must be one.”

You nodded softly, looking down at his hand. “Thank you,” you whispered.

Bucky smiled and squeezed your hand. “Hey, get dressed. Neither of us ate last night and I’m starving. I want to take you to a place I like before we do what we have to,” he suggested, though he was fully ready for you to protest food.

You knew food wouldn’t be easy to hold down, but it also wasn’t a good idea to go on an empty stomach. Especially since you worked later.

“Okay,” you nodded.

Bucky gave your hand one last squeeze and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

On the other side of that door, Bucky hated the smile he got while thinking of you. A bratty mafia princess and now…he found himself wanting to make sure she was happy no matter what the circumstance.

Dammit. He had to reel those feelings back in quickly. You were his job. His boss's daughter.

The two of you got ready and within an hour, you found yourself in a little cafe. A little hole in the wall place that seemed to rely on regulars to keep it going. Bucky chose a booth in the back, making sure he could see the whole place in case something were to happen.

“How did you manage to find this place?” You asked, taking a sip of the coffee you ordered. The food was already cooking, pancakes for you both as well as extra bacon.

“I used to come here a lot growing up. There used to be tons of people who visited. Now it’s competing with the big chain restaurants. They won’t let it go until it can’t run anymore, so that’s what I really like about it,” Bucky leaned back in his seat. He wore his usual jeans, blue Henley, and a jacket with gloves. You had a change of work clothes in the car, only opting to wear a red tee and some black jeans out.

“If things start to settle…we should come back here,” you suggested, surprising him. Were you really trying to ask him to be friends outside of the job?

“I’d like that,” Bucky smiled just as the food came out.

“Oh thank god. Smells delicious as always, Pam,” he chuckled as the waitress put the plates down in front of both of you.

“Thank you,” you looked up at her while also trying to burn the sound of Bucky’s laugh into your brain.

Wait, were you falling for the man? Wanting to hear his laugh more? Jesus, something was wrong with you. You wanted out of the mafia life and here you were, finding the guard dog that you were saddled with extremely attractive when he wasn’t annoyed.

The two of you ate in silence more or less. You had been more hungry than you thought by the way you scarfed down the pancakes. Both you and Bucky shared the plate of bacon, though you didn’t want to admit you ate a couple more pieces than him.

When the food was gone and you were back in the car, you knew what you had to do next.

“We don’t have to go today, you know,” Bucky said as he glanced over while at a stop light.

“I know. I just…if I don’t do it now, I’m gonna think about it until we do and it’s going to fuck with me. I already feel nauseous. I need to know, Bucky,” you spoke, looking from the window to him.

Bucky nodded gently and turned the radio up, already having realized music had a tendency to calm you a little.

Not long after, you found yourself in the elevator with Bucky, heading up to your fathers floor. You didn’t get as many weird looks this time, only because you weren’t in obnoxiously short shorts. Those were in the car.

You told his Secretary that you were there to see him and that it was urgent. Of course he thought it had to do with being followed, so he excused the meeting from his office. The men walked out before you and Bucky walked in.

You wasted no time putting the piece of paper along with the baby photo of you on his desk in front of him. “What is this and when were you going to tell me mom was married before? To the asshole trying to have me killed?” Your voice raised slightly.

Michael picked up the photo of you and looked in the background, closing his eyes for a moment to steady him.

“Never. You’re my daughter, I raised you. He was nothing, terrible to Charlotte,” Michael spoke.

You glared at him, moving to sit on one of the chairs while Bucky sat beside you. “So I’m not even related to you?”

Michael sighed. “Not by blood, no.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked, leaning forward.

“We had no intention of telling you. Look, your mother and Alexander…they were kids in love. But then he got into the mafia business and things went south with them. He became vile. Her and I had met over the years because of meetings and galas, so I offered everything to stay at my home when she couldn’t take his antics. She had you before then. You were almost three when the two of you came to live with me and…we fell in love,” Michael spoke, a look in his eye and a tone in his voice that showed that he did indeed miss her.

“Why did that man say that they killed mom?” You asked, sitting more on the edge of your seat now.

Michael got up from his chair and walked over to the window, looking out at the busy street. “Because they did. There was a rat in the midst of my group. Sitwell. He had been tasked to watch over your mom since you were at school. He…poisoned her. Small doses of thallium,” he crossed his arms as you furrowed your brow, about to open your mouth to ask what it was but Bucky spoke before you could.

“Rat poison.”

Your eyes grew and your hands gripped together. “So what, he killed mom because she left him and he’s trying to kill me too?” You asked. You remembered Jasper but you never spent time around him. You were a teenager and a bratty one at that. Everytime he offered to make you food or something to drink, you rolled your eyes and made your own food. Now you know why he was so pushy.

Michael nodded and moved away from the window. “That’s one reason I decided after she passed that you should have your freedom. You weren’t directly involved with me nor any of the mafia business you’ve hated for so long. It gave you time to have a life. I hoped they wouldn’t be able to find you, but they did. To be fair, you lived a better life here than you would have with him,” he tilted his head.

Rolling your eyes, you leaned back in your chair. “This is just great. Well at least I’m not related to you. Makes sense on why you were never there for me growing up. Mom deserved better though. Just…” getting up from your chair, you were ready to pull your hair out. “Do something about Pierce. I don’t want to lose my life because of choices others have made for me. Afterwards, I don’t want to be a part of this. I’m changing my name and moving far away from anyone who could track me back to this shit. And to think, I was hoping you were doing this because you cared about me. No, I’m basically a pawn in this. One wants me alive and another wants me dead. I should have let Sitwell poison me,” you ranted, angering Michael farther.

“Y/N!” He yelled, making your footfalls pause. “I do care about you. You’ve been like a daughter to me and that’s why I’ve been doing this. Making those deals with Pierce. It kept him at bay, or so I thought. Your mother knew you were supposed to have a life and right now I’m trying to make that happen for you. Hell, I’ll give you the money to move but what I need from you right now is to stop acting like a child. I put you in Bucky’s care for a reason and so far he’s proving more than capable. If all of this ends and you want to tell us to fuck off and not see us again, then by all means. But until then, you need to stay quiet and safe,” Michael leaned against his desk, glaring at you.

“Bucky,” you glanced to him. “Let’s go. I have a job to get to.” Leaving the photo and the printed out wedding announcement, you stepped out of Michael’s office. Bucky gave Michael a tight nod before following you out.

All of the anger that had come to a head slowly started to dissipate. You knew he was right. He did what he needed to keep you safe, but it felt like your whole life had been a lie. While you were falling apart on the inside, Bucky stayed quiet and walked you to the car. He didn’t particularly like the idea of you running off and leaving the city, let alone the state. Of course it was your choice but he hated the feelings in his chest, telling him to be there for you as more than just a guard dog.

Work was somewhat easy that night. It was an early weekday which meant it was just the regular drunks. Bucky sat at his designated table while you and Courtney worked the bar. When you had a minute, you would refill Bucky’s drink and make sure he was okay.

“I’m more worried about you,” Bucky whispered as you say a basket of fries down in front of him.

“I’ll be fine. Just got a couple more hours and then we can go,” you spoke softly, patting his shoulder.

Those couple hours passed by quicker than you expected, and you were on your way home.

“You know, after this is done…keep my number, okay? If I gotta fly out to help you with something, I will,” Bucky said, breaking the silence as you straightened out the tips you made.

Looking over with a furrowed brow, you set the money in your purse. “You don’t have to. I know you’re only doing this because of da…Michael,” you corrected yourself. You had no dad.

“At first, yeah. But would a guard dog really go so far as scouring the Internet for information about your mom? I don’t think so. Or let you cuddle their arm when you wake from a nightmare?” Bucky gave you a look as if to say he wasn’t just a bodyguard, he was a friend.

“Yeah, I guess. Let’s just see what happens, okay?” You asked, but you really should have chosen a better set of words.

And a better stoplight to catch a red at.

Immediately gunshots rang out and broke the windows. You screamed, sliding down in your seat. Bucky started to drive away but when he started to swerve, you looked over to see blood gushing from his chest.

“No, no, no!” You yelled. Hiking your leg over the console, you hit the gas and grabbed the wheel. “Siri, call Michael!” You managed to slide your phone out from your pocket and put it on speaker.

At four am, the streets were somewhat bare so it was easier to speed away.

“Hello?” Michael’s tired voice spoke from the other end.

“Bucky’s been hit! Just got off work and people started shooting. I’m driving us away but he’s passed out,” you spoke, giving him the next street you drove down until more shots rattled off. You hit the gas and pushed the car to top speeds trying to take roads to Michael’s house. He always had some men there.

“Y/N,” Bucky gasped, his speech slurring slightly.

“Stay awake, Buck. Please,” you begged, setting your phone down onto the dashboard. With one hand you drove, the other you pushed on Bucky’s wound to keep pressure on it, and you still had one leg in the footwell of the passenger side. Talk about multitasking.

One of Bucky’s hands rested on your back, trying hard to keep himself awake. He heard tires screeching and that’s when three of Michael’s cars passed you and started shooting the men who started the gunfire.

Slowing down, you pulled over as Michael left one of the cars that stuck with you.

Sliding into the passenger seat, the driver's door was pulled open.

Getting out, an ambulance that no doubt Michael had on his payroll rolled up and quickly they got Bucky in. You started to jump in the back but Michael protested.

“He’s no good to you right now,” he said, tugging on your hand.

Pulling away from him, you stared him down. “He’s the only understanding one right now and I’m not going to let him die,” you yelled before jumping in the back of the ambulance.

You really, really hoped he didn’t die.

Tag list: @crownstealer @borikenlove @bitchassbucky @babyboibucky @buckybarneschokeme @buckys-blue-eyes @vanillanaps @bibbidibobbidibucky @spicynudlesoup @bemine-bucky @suchababie @kaaabiii @rebekahdawkins @sebsbrokentoe @marvel-3407 @acmbooksandfilm @stucky-my-ship @boofy1998 @valsworldofcreativity @yaszx @21st-century-daydreamer

“You’re not a piece of property, y/n.” He said

Oh !! But I can be yours Buck no worries

Feminist? I’m not familiar with this word not sure what it means 🤷🏻

Hands That Heal - Ch. 3

Bucky Barnes x mechanic!fem!reader

Chapter Summary: Bucky is all about second chances and after 106 years he doesn’t believe in wasting precious time or chances.   Series Warnings: 18+ only, canon-typical violence, swearing, fluff, misogyny/degrading comments from some men, smut to come. Word count: 1908

Chapters: 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6 coming soon

RECAP To Bucky: Would it keep you in?

His reply was almost instant and you nearly drew blood with the way you chewed on your bottom lip.

From Bucky: No. From Bucky: But you could.

━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━

You made record time as you showered and shaved, telling yourself you were due to do it anyway and not specifically because of a certain someone due to arrive any second now. You could hear his truck pull in as you ran between your bathroom and bedroom to get fresh clothes and you left a river of water drops across the hardwood flooring. You were almost done when you heard him call your name from inside the house and you gave yourself a once over in the mirror as you replied where you were.

Satisfied with your reflection, you opened the door and stepped into the hallway to find Bucky leaning against the wall opposite your door. His smile grew as his eyes looked over you and you returned the gesture with an equally appreciative look. His dark denim jeans hugged his legs and the navy blue t-shirt he wore was tight across his broad chest and biceps. He looked like he belonged on a runway, not in your hallway.

“Hey.”

One word and already your mouth was dry. You blamed his smile that came with the word because that sucker seemed to scatter your brain every time it surfaced, yet you missed it when it was gone. Then he opened his arms slightly and you practically dove into the hug, missing the scent you had become addicted to in a single day. If all drugs were like him you could begin to understand why people ruined their lives for it, he was intoxicating.

Keep reading

Deserve

Summary: Marc never stays with you after he fucks you. You are better left in the hands of Steven. This time, he doesn't leave you.

Pairing: Marc Spector x Reader (implied Steven Grant x Reader)

Word Count: ~4k

Warnings: smut, some references to rough sex, angst (with a happy ending) - don't let me fool you this is just touch starved marc struggling with being loved

A/N: im fine im just really out here with nothing else to do but think about moon knight

Marc was an intense person. 

He was like the patter of rain against the roof, against an open window pane. He was like the shock and flash of lightning during a storm. 

The grim set of his mouth and shoulders, the unending weight of the world that made his brows dip into that hard line. Marc felt more than he let on, was affected by things people said and did, let the blows rain like ash against his skin and said nothing. 

You had learned long ago that Marc did not welcome comfort, that he felt it was something he did not deserve to receive. Soft, shaded mornings were for his alter. Everything squishy and warm, hazed in the breathy glow of a sunrise, was for you and Steven, not him. 

Maybe it wasn’t that Marc didn’t welcome comfort. 

He craved it, wanted it, longed for it. 

And he should not long for it, want it, crave it. 

He’d told you as much, over and over, the weight of your gentle hands against his skin like burning embers. 

He wanted it. He so badly wanted to sink into that flame, but he was worried it would burn him alive, melt him down into something unrecognizable. 

It was only when something went particularly badly that he allowed some comfort. 

He loves you, this you know. 

You see it in the heaviness of his stare, in the intensity of his worry, in the way he hugged you, held your hand, worried after you like you had not survived for years on your own. 

But if you ever dared to hold his hand, hug him, drag your fingers down the length of his spine, it was too much for him. These were things he could offer you, but that you should not give him in return. These were not things he deserved, these were things better reserved to his alter, who was deserving of everything he was not. 

Marc is intense.

He’s hard and wild and something close to broken some days, when reality drifts in and out of focus, when the world is best left in the hands of Steven.

There’s always a beating heart of anxiety behind everything he does, that this time he will not be enough, that this time he will not be fast enough, that this time the universe would get the last laugh again.

So when Marc fucks you, he is intense, he is like the weight of the all consuming world poured out. Salt water in wounds. 

You don’t mind. 

The times he’s gentle with you, you get the sense that he’s mourning, like the act is grief, something lost that he’s stealing back from the gods. Something that is temporary and definitely not for him. 

This night, he had come to you like the storm he bred inside him, the hatred of self and fear of a future he could not control, of a tentative reality of things only he could see. 

Marc was rough with you.

His fingers in your mouth, his hand hard against your cunt, against your ass. He had buried himself inside you, set a punishing pace. When his mouth was on yours, his kiss had been more like an effort to consume you. When his hand wrapped around your throat, his eyes had snapped to the mirror, and you had known Steven had been cautioning him, that you were in fact breakable, no matter what you said, that he should be careful of you. 

But you’d covered his hand with your own and tightened his fingers, eyes fluttering closed as you lost yourself in whatever bit of himself he would give you. 

~

A last stuttering breath passes your lips, eyes screwed closed, pleasure lighting up the insides of your veins, molten, like a river of fire that never ends. 

You clutch the sheets beneath your fingers and turn your face into a pillow as the last waves of your orgasam shutter through you. You bite off the moan that bubbles to the back of your throat when you feel Marc shift inside you, so full it's almost painful. 

Your thighs tremble, the insistent pressure of Marc’s hand against the back of your neck keeping you in place. His other hand kneads the flesh of your hip, and you know a bruise has already formed there. 

Marc pulls back, and thrusts into you one last time, a pleasant satisfied ache beginning between your legs. 

The firm fingers at your waist finally let you drop your hips to the mattress. 

You feel weightless and warm, content, like you’re floating through a cloud. Marc presses a kiss to the space between your shoulder blades, before the heavy bulk of his body surrounds yours. 

Disappointment darts through you in a brief little flash, because this is Marc’s parting gift to you always. 

The kiss between your shoulders, the all consuming fire of the warmth of him against you, before he hands the reigns to Steven. 

Marc never stays with you, after. The kiss against your spine is all you get from him. Whether because he can’t be bothered with taking care of you or because he feels he doesn’t deserve to, you aren’t sure. 

Steven is always there though, to kiss you back to life, to smile at you, make love to you so slowly and sweetly it was like a dream you never wanted to wake up from.  

His fingers slide up your arms, massaging as he goes, until he reaches your clenched hands, gently uncurling them from the fabric of the sheets until he can twist his fingers with yours. 

You feel him squeeze carefully, his nose dipping to the crook of your neck. 

A stillness falls over you both, silence, peace, creating a warm little bubble. 

You don’t mind his weight against you, it settles the frantic beating of your heart, drenches you in warmth. 

Normally, Steven would say something to you when he fronted, a kiss against your cheek and a softly spoken hello, love. 

Today, he’s silent, arms tight and grounding around you. 

But it's Steven, you know it must be. 

Because Marc never stays. 

You turn your head, nuzzling your nose against his arm, feeling his damp skin against your cheek. You want to open your eyes, reach up and touch the little black curl of hair you know must be stuck to his forehead at that moment. 

You’re content to stay like that with him, content to feel the gentle drift of his nose along the curve of your jaw. So you keep your eyes closed and let your mushy, sex-addled brain drift, as lips press along your jaw, behind the curve of your ear. 

And you’re happy to stay in the gentle warmth being offered to you, the glow of being loved so well.

But then, he does something inexplicable. 

Steven pulls away from you. 

He gets up. 

And he leaves. 

An empty feeling that you don’t like crawls up from the pit of your belly. A feeling that’s suspiciously like abandonment, that you know is not grounded in reality. 

Steven never left the bed, not without saying something to you first, not before checking in with you to ask what you needed or wanted. Especially not when Marc had been so rough with you. 

It was a routine that was being broken, a sacred step you didn’t know needed spoken out loud. 

You swallow thickly, peeling your eyes open. 

You don’t like the dirty, used feeling that’s overwhelming you, like you did not matter. 

Pushing yourself up is a monumental task, the ache of your bones like the grinding of cinder blocks against your flesh. You glance over your shoulder at the door. 

Then there’s a clatter from the bathroom and the door swings open, Steven emerging in only a pair of briefs. He still doesn’t say anything as he approaches and encourages you with gentle hands to roll over, the brief warmth of a washcloth between your legs. 

Which is odd. 

Because Steven would normally lie with you and talk with you, until you were coherent again, until you were secure enough for him to move away without feeling the sting of abandonment. 

Steven also talked almost non-stop to you, never without something to say. 

Normally,  you would throw on a shirt and play cards in bed, watch something on your laptop. Sometimes, Steven would just hold you and talk. Sometimes, he would make love to you again. 

But none of that happened until you were ready. 

Steven still doesn’t speak to you as he climbs back into bed, handing you Marc’s discarded shirt, which he gingerly helps you sit up and slip on.  

Steven’s head twitches toward the mirror, and you watch him watch his reflection for a moment. You frown, wondering what Marc could be saying to him. Marc, who always and without fail disappeared and walled himself off from both of you. 

And then it dawns on you. 

In your post-orgasm haze, and without the sound of his voice, you hadn’t noticed the signs that this was very clearly Marc still fronting, not Steven. 

Marc never stayed with you, never. 

Your throat is tight when he doesn’t say anything, his head is still swiveled toward the mirror, brows drawing tighter together with each passing minute. 

“Hey,” you clear your throat, “c’mere.” 

You snuggle down and hold out your arms. 

You half expect him to huff out an exasperated breath and lay back but avoid your touch. 

But he doesn’t. 

He curls into your arms, nudging his nose into the hollow at the base of your throat. He cradles you close, inhaling gently. 

But to your utter surprise, he lets you smooth your hands over his shoulders, through his unruly curls. The motion of it soothes you, comforts you. 

You glance toward the mirror and wish that you could see Steven there too, so you could ask what was going on in Marc’s head, why he was pretending to be Steven. 

“You okay?” You say as he lets you run a hand down his face, over the ridge of scar above his brow. 

It takes Marc a long time to respond, buried in your skin as he is, breathing you in, tracing rough hands along your hips and over your thighs, massaging where he knows you must be sore. 

You kiss the top of his head, blearily giving him all the love he was usually too prickly to receive.

He nods against you, so you slip hands down his back, over his hair. You aren’t sure why he’s pretending, but you find you don’t mind. It’s the kind of love you always want to shower Marc with but that he rarely allows. 

You want to ask him why, why he didn’t let Steven front. But you worry he might think you’re asking to see Steven, that you don’t want him there with you. 

Emotionally, Marc was a fortress, impenetrable and soldily quiet. Things simmered down in his gut, pushed away and down down down, until they overwhelmed him, until they burst to the surface in a violent torrent. 

Most often, it was when someone he loved was in danger, when the past became something he could no longer stare down, when the things he avoided were impossible to ignore.

And you’re terribly afraid that if you say anything now, he’ll clam up, shut down, pull away from you, leave the flat and take your heart with him. 

Gently, you slide down, until you’re eyelevel with him, one hand against his neck, thumb tracing the line of his jaw carefully. 

You feel Marc’s hands go to the small of your back, big hands gingerly tugging you closer, until your nose is touching his, until you share the same air. 

And you can hardly believe that the man who had smacked your pussy, held you down and fucked you until you felt like you couldn’t breathe, whispered filthy things in your ear that you can hardly remember, that your brain fuzzes out when you think about too much - is now holding you so gently you may as well be made of delicate glass, is now allowing you to stroke your hands through his hair, pet his broad shoulders. His eyes are closed, trust you didn’t think Marc possessed pouring over you in waves. 

You know why. 

You know why he’s doing this. 

Marc would rather accept love in the guise of his alter than ever believe he was worthy of it himself. 

You think about the hatred that lives inside Marc, about the self-hatred that loomed always at the back of his mind. The hatred that ran so deep, that he felt so potently, that even his alter had thought the worst of him at first. 

Killer, mercenary, cold-blooded. 

Things that Marc accepted into the folds of who he was without question. 

Marc never let you hold him like this, and so you do so for as long as you can bear, tilting your chin into his so you can kiss him softly, feeling the slow drift of his hands down your sides to the curve of your ass, over the bruised skin of your hips and thighs. He hooks his fingers behind your knee and tugs your leg over his hip. 

You finger a curl at the back of his neck, the glow of brown skin molten in the low light of the flat. 

You swallow and hope that you don’t drive him away, but you can’t stand it any longer - his thinking that this is softness you would only grace Steven with. 

“Marc,” you whisper. “I know it's you.” 

Even the way they hold you is different. Of course, you can always tell. You did not need their voices to tell you who was fronting. 

Marc’s eyes flash open and you’re surprised to see fear there. 

You hold fast to him, though he doesn’t try to pull away. You raise a questioning brow and resume your gentle ministrations, trying to show him without words that you did not treat him carefully because you thought he was Steven. 

“How’d you know?”

You shake your head and press your thumb against the center of his chin, “I can always tell. It’s not something you can really hide.”

He tries to tug his face away from your hand but you don’t let him, stubbornly making him look into your eyes. 

“Baby,” you say, “You know that you are just as deserving-,”

“Don’t,” he says sharply. “Don’t do that.”

“But you are, Marc. I always want to do this but you always leave me,” you stoke a hand through his hair. “I know Steven has talked to you about it, too. Told you that you don’t have to go.”

Marc is stiff against you and you consider for a moment letting him go. 

But you don’t. 

You hold on, and murmur, “It’s okay to want this. It’s okay.” You keep feathering your hand through his hair, your touch as gentle as you can make it. “I love you, you know.” You touch the gold chain around his neck and finally glance away from his eyes, staring at the hollow of his throat instead as you say, “You don’t always have to have your walls up. I’m not - I won’t -,” you stop and consider your next words. “I love you exactly as you are.” 

There’s a long moment of silence after that, one in which your heart beats painfully fast and you wait for Marc to push you away. 

But it doesn’t come, his body slowly relaxes against yours again, your fingers continuing their careful press against his skin. 

His head tips toward the mirror on the wall, and he nods after a few long minutes, carefully plucking up one of your hands, to kiss each of your fingers, the flat of your palm, and then to curl them closed again, hold your hand against his chest. 

You can feel the steady thrum of his heart, and Marc doesn’t look at you when he says. “I want it too.” 

You wait a moment but he doesn’t say more. 

“I’m happy to give it to you, Marc.” 

“You - you give too much as it is.” He pauses for a long moment, before pushing you onto your back, hovering over you, his eyes darting over your face. 

And you’re amazed, wondering, at the love struck expression he wears, like you were the pinnacle of a universe that barely made sense, that was barely held together. 

“Steven deserves this,” he nods down at you. “He’s never-,” 

You hear the unspoken words - that is why Steven was born after all, to be all the things Marc thought he wasn’t, to shield himself. 

“Stop it. Marc, you are not your past. You are not bad. You carry around the weight of the world and these sins you think are yours alone. They aren’t.” You tip your head up to nudge your nose against his, Marc’s hands pinning both of yours to the space beside your shoulders. 

Marc is looking at you in that intense way of his, brows furrowed, mouth tilted in that overly-serious line. 

“And what if I don’t think I deserve it, huh? To get you like this?” 

“Don’t listen to you, then. Listen to me.” You hitch your knees up to frame his hips, holding him against you, levering pressure into the backs of his thighs until he drops down fully against you. “You deserve it. More than most.”

You know everything he’s ever done is flashing through his mind. His brother’s death and his mother’s wrath. His time as a mercenary, his time in the military. The way he thinks he breaks and folds and isn’t strong enough, never strong enough, not enough. The mistake of Khonshu. The way he thinks he failed Layla and Steven, and that he will do it all over again. 

“Hey,” you nudge his jaw again. “Quit that.” 

Marc nods slowly, intense stare pinning you down. “I deserve it.” He says it like he expects you to disagree with him, to laugh. 

“Yes,” you breathe. “I’ll remind you of that.” He releases your wrists, burying his nose in your neck, the breath he sucks in is shaky and wild, the drum beat of a storm he stored inside the stoic stone that surrounded his heart. 

You cup a hand against the back of his neck, your other hand sliding down his side, tracing the violent scars that dot his ribs. Carefully, you slide his boxers down his thighs. Your touch is soft against him, your body already welcoming to him, and he slides into you with a quiet groan. 

It’s not like making love with Steven, who was sillier and goofier than Marc would ever be. 

It’s different to how Marc normally fucks you, when the mood strikes him to give it to you slow. 

This time, it's sweet, it's like the smoky burn of incense, like the homecoming he’d been waiting for for years. Marc kisses you softly, groans into your mouth when he was normally quiet aside to talk to you, demand things from you. 

You tighten your legs around him, encourage him to move slower, push deeper. 

“Fuck,” he whispers against the delicate skin of your neck. 

Sweat beads on his forehead, the glow of him against you like the sun. When you push the curls back from his forehead to look into his eyes, you catch something vulnerable in your heart, like the knife of everything Marc was storming into you. 

“Fuck,” he murmurs again. 

He ducks his head to kiss a path along your throat, where earlier his palm had circled the flesh. 

You drag your nails along his back, rub a hand through his hair, rock the cradle of your hips along with his. 

Marc reaches for one of your hands, kisses your fingers before guiding your hand to your cunt, “Sorry baby, I’m not gonna last. Need you to touch yourself for me.” 

You’re only a little bit shocked, but you tip his chin up to kiss him. Marc normally had a stamina that could win awards. 

Not now, it seemed. Not when you had given him permission to be slow and gentle and soft. 

Your breath is squeezed from your lungs, the heavy drag of him inside you almost enough to make you come. 

Marc doesn’t let you breathe, his mouth an insistent press against yours until you pull away with a gasp and you hear the sound of a quiet laugh against your throat, teeth digging into your jaw. 

You come unexpectedly, hips jerking up to meet him as Marc gives a harder thrust, looping an arm beneath one of your knees to open you up more, to slide that much deeper. 

The spot he hits within you makes your toes curl, makes it hard to catch a breath. 

“I can destroy you like this too, huh?” Marc asks, grinding against you, hips swirling as you groan from the breathless pleasure darting up your spine. 

“Don’t ruin this, Spector,” you huff, nipping at his jaw, only laughing a little. 

“Keep touching yourself. I didn’t say to stop,” he answers. 

Your eyes roll back when his tongue curls against the hollow of your throat. “I want you to come again,” his voice is a husky rasp in your ear.  

You’re still wearing Marc’s shirt, but when he releases your leg to palm your breasts through the fabric, you regret ever letting him partially dress you. 

“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, “You’re so tense. Come for me again, hm? Come for me.” When he pinches your nipple and rolls it between his fingers, you do. White hot pleasure courses up your spine, makes your mind go blank. “Fuck, are you coming?”

“Yes,” you moan, “I’m coming for you.” 

“For me,” he repeats. “For me.”

“Marc,” you whisper, pleasure making your vision go fuzzy, your exhausted body trembling. “Marc, I love you.” 

His hand goes to your ass, angles your hips, before he thrusts so deep you see stars and he spills inside you.

You make sure to wrap your arms around his head, tightening your grip until he wiggles. “Can’t breathe, baby.” But you don’t want him to go anywhere, you don’t want the idea to even occur to him. 

You loosen your grip but say, “Don’t leave.” 

Marc’s jaw tightens, “Sorry about that.” 

“S’ok. Just don’t go.” 

“Not going anywhere tonight, honey.” 

You nod, nuzzling your nose against his cheek when Marc takes your hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing your fingers and wrist, your forearm, the crease of your elbow. 

“Stop that,” you grouse, a giggle at the tip of your tongue.

“I’m obsessed with you. I can’t.” 

You do laugh then, and he rolls you onto your side. He slips free from you and you feel the emptiness immediately, but then Marc is kissing you again, insistent and demanding, and it's forgotten. His fingers dance up the column of your spine, tracing the delicate vertebrae of bone with soft fingers. 

“Fuck, you’re so good,” he whispers. It's so rare to see him without that stoic facade, the burned in self-hatred, that your heart gives a painful thump. 

You kiss his sweaty brow and think to remind him of something. “You’re so good, Marc. You deserve good things. You deserve kindness.” 

He doesn’t answer and you know he’s fighting down that automatic response, so ingrained into him it was almost a part of his DNA. 

“I deserve it,” he murmurs eventually and you figure it's as close as you’ll get to agreement. 

Marc lets you hold him, and he doesn’t try to move once. 

Wanda: Y/N, you need to react when people cry!

Y/N: I did. I rolled my eyes.

Masquerade || billionaire!Bucky

Billionaire!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: Sneaking into the infamous James 'my friends call me Bucky' Barnes' elaborate party seemed like such a simple task until you met the charming man himself. Everything about him pulled you further into his orbit and who were you to fight gravity. Warnings: 18+ only, implied smut, nudity WC: 2331

|| Main Masterlist || Bucky Masterlist ||

Reblogs and comments are much appreciated my sweets - love Ollie xx

The decadent soirée was in full swing when you arrived, masked acrobats swinging high above the hall that was full of almost black roses. The elite list of invitees were already mingling over expensive flutes of champagne and their polished taste indulged in the White Gold caviar pristine hostesses offered as hor d'oeuvres. You declined the creamy white eggs but accepted the alcohol as you felt like an imposter in their midst.

“Do you have eyes on him?” Your handler asked through your ear piece.

“There’s three who match the description but the masks make it difficult to be sure.” You whispered discreetly as you pretended to admire the roses.

“I’m sure you will come up with a solution.”

“Black velvet.”

You turned at the sound of the man who had stepped in beside you and found one of the three possible suspects you had pegged as the owner of the mansion you were in. His deep blue suit set his eyes alight and the silver mask he wore was inlaid with diamonds you were almost certain were real. Even though you knew everyone who was invited was rich, he screamed luxury: from the tailored suit to the air of arrogance that clung to him as strongly as his sharp cologne.

He caught the quizzical look even through your black laced mask and chuckled to himself. “The roses.”

“Oh, they are beautiful.” You said as you followed his movement, his gloved fingers reaching out and plucking a stem from the bouquet.

“Because they are forced to be.” He said as he offered the single rose to you. “They have been modified to reach perfection. Something you seemed to have achieved naturally. I’m James, but my friends call me Bucky.”

“I’m y/n.” You said as you inhaled the sweet scent of the bloom and fingered the sharp thorns that lined the stem. “Does that line usually work for you?”

“9 times out of 10.” He quipped back with a charming smile. “I knew you stood out from the others. Should I just give up now?”

“I didn’t take you for the type to give up so easily.” You shrugged and slotted the flower back into the bouquet. “Or take advice from a woman.”

“Is that what you think of me?” He asked, his dark eyebrow peeking over the top of his mask. “I love it when a woman tells me what to do…in the right situation.”

His ocean eyes were turning to obsidian as he took in the curve of your breasts swelling over the designer dress you had been given for the party and down its length to the daring slit that revealed your leg. You could feel his eyes undressing you and he smirked when he caught you pressing your legs together needing to apply some sort of friction between.

“This used to be a royal embassy before my family bought it.” He said, looking around the room lined with paintings that were probably worth millions each. “Would you like a tour?”

You were nodding before your handler confirmed what you had already realised, he was your target. The target, James, cocked his elbow and you slipped your arm through his before he began to lead the way out of the grand hall and up a pair of intimidating staircases. Your heels tapped loudly on the stone steps and you realised just how quiet it was away from the party, there wasn’t a single person on this side of the palace.

You came to a stop in front of a pair of dark portraits and your head tilted to the side with familiarity. “These are Rembrandt.”

“You have an eye for detail.” He smirked as watched you inspect the paintings.

“They are extremely well made copies.” You whispered as you stepped closer and eyed the detail of the brush strokes and the lighting cast across it.

“Who said they were copies?”

“I saw these quite recently at the Louvre and I haven’t heard of their sale, that would certainly make the news.”

His smirk widened as he began to walk further down the hall with you in tow. “The Louvre would never admit they were displaying counterfeit artworks, imagine the embarrassment.”

You were beginning to feel like a lamb to the slaughter as you walked past a Monet and Klimt next, hundreds of millions of dollars in artwork in a ten metre span. It was no wonder the Barnes family had been running the criminal world for so long, they had infinite resources. And you were hoping to topple it all with a pretty dress and a pair of tits, what were you thinking.

“This wing was the original palace built for the House of Savoy in 1875.” James said as he opened a gilded door and let you through first.

“Keep him talking.”

“What is it now?”

He shut the door with a smirk that sent a lightning bolt straight to your core and instead of taking your elbow he placed his hand on the bare skin of your lower back. “Guess you’ll just have to find out.”

You were hyper aware of the smooth leather glove that was pressed to your skin and you were grateful for the daring dress once again as he led the way to another double door that was carved and covered with gold. You had never seen a more opulent room as you took in the space that was larger than your entire apartment. The double height ceiling housed a glass dome that let you see the brilliance of the stars above and you couldn’t help but stop to stare at the sight that looked unreal.

“Are these the same stars as outside or can you afford bigger, better ones of those too?”

His laugh rolled over your skin and his blue eyes almost glowed between his mask. “I like that. I’ll have to ask Elon, see if he can get me some bigger stars. Drink?”

He slipped the empty flute from your fingers before you could answer and made his way to the bar that was set up in one corner with a dark red leather sofa beside it, facing a warm, glowing fire.

“Do you have any tequila?” You asked as he grabbed a bottle of champagne from the wine fridge.

“I have AsomBroso Reserva Del Porto or Clase Azul Extra Añejo.” He said as he held up two bottles that you clearly didn’t recognise. “AsomBroso it is.”

“Mhmm, sounds good.” You nodded, still kind of thrown by how well he rolled his r’s when he spoke. "You speak Spanish?”

“Sì, ¿verdad?” You shook your head at his question and he grinned as he poured two shots of the amber liquid. “My father made sure I was fluent in a handful of languages to cover most of the countries we have business in.”

The way he said it contradicted the smile he had and you were sure it was not something he had a choice in. “Just how much is a handful? Out of curiosity.”

He handed you one of the shot glasses as he answered. “Almost 30.”

You nearly dropped the glass as your jaw did and a small splash of the golden liquid slipped over the rim and along your finger. You swapped the glass to the other hand and raised your finger to your lips to catch the wayward droplets on your tongue. Your eyes connected over your finger and the whole energy in the room changed as he licked his lips at the sight and you raised your glass to his before tipping it back. It was unlike any tequila you had drunk before, smooth with a rich warmth that reached your belly immediately, definitely not your more affordable Jose Cuervo you normally drank.

“Wow, that’s seriously amazing.” You gasped when the slight burn in your throat eased and you looked disappointed at the empty glass.

“You should have tried the caviar.” He teased as he took the glass and you followed him to the bar this time, leaning against the countertop as he refilled the glasses.

“You were watching me.” You smiled to yourself, impressed you had gained the billionaire’s attention that fast.

“I keep my eye on everyone who comes into my home uninvited.” You choked on the shot you were about to take and began to step away from him but he caught your hand and pulled you flush against his body. “Uh-uh-uh, where do you think you are going, beautiful? The party's just beginning.”

Your mind was racing as fast as your heart and you tried to think of ways to get out of his grasp. “I’m a cop.”

“What the hell, y/n! Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Nice try, doll, you think I’m going to believe you're a cop? You’re wearing a Givenchy dress and Louboutins, which are admittedly from last season but still more than a cop could afford.” He laughed and stroked his knuckle gently over your cheekbone. “Plus, you have too much sex appeal.”

“Thanks, I guess.” You said with an eye roll. “Fine, I was curious as to how the other half lived and my friends bet me I couldn’t get within 100 feet of the party.”

“Better.”

“And what did you bet them?” He asked as he relaxed his hand so his fingers were almost laced with yours.

You looked down at your hands and made the move yourself, curling your fingers between his before looking up into his baby blues through your mascara thickened lashes. “I bet I could fuck the host.”

His lips tipped up at the corners but he caught himself before he could really smile at the thought. “Why should I believe you? You could actually be a cop for all I know.”

“Rich men like yourself must have contacts at every police station along the Eastern Seaboard, I’m sure you could check-”

“Careful now, y/n.”

“-or…I could prove it right now.”

His eyes were darkening by the second as your hand trailed up his hard arm, knowing beneath the glove and the layers of clothes was a very advanced piece of technology. His eyes were screaming at you to prove yourself and when his lips parted in anticipation you couldn’t hold back. You rose to your tiptoes to reach his ruby lips that were calling you, even with the heels he was too tall, and you laced your fingers in the long strands of his hair. His lips were softer than you imagined they would be and they moulded to yours as he deepened the kiss, tongue lashing across yours as you fought for dominance but gave in as his hands roamed your body.

“Tell me we don’t have to trek across this mansion and climb an Everest of stairs to find your bedroom.” You begged as you unwillingly broke apart for air.

“Not quite.” He chuckled as he tightened his fingers around yours and headed to the doors set off from the library corner.

You crashed to his mattress in a sweating, heated mess and tried to remember how your legs were meant to work but the back to back orgasms he had pushed you through had rendered the limbs useless. With a satisfied sigh, James fell to his pillow beside you and brushed a hand through his messy hair that stuck up at different angles. He had been right, he certainly took orders from women and every direction you gave he did without question. You could only say he was the best sexual partner you had ever had.

“Holy shit.” You giggled as you snuggled into his arm that he opened for you. “That vibrate function was fucking insane.”

“I guess there’s some perks to losing an arm.” He chuckled as he looked at the black and 24k gold plates that had replaced his left arm. “Hell of a silver lining.”

You swore you had been bewitched everytime he smiled at you the way he did, it stole your breath in an instant. It had only gotten worse as your masks had been tossed aside so you could kiss the sharp shape of his jawline, seeing it all come together was a masterpiece.

“Oh shit, where’s my phone?” You asked aloud as you tried to find where you had dropped it with your clothes but you couldn’t see it anywhere.

“It’s safe on the dresser over there.” He said as he nodded to the set of drawers. “You are quite careless when you have a mission, or should I say bet to win.”

You pulled yourself from his arms and padded across the plush carpet to retrieve your phone and opened your camera. “Smile, I have to prove I won.”

He dragged the sheet over his hips to protect his modesty and he laughed when he caught your pout behind the phone, which was capturing the perfect image of him. “I better not see that shit on TMZ.”

“Oh no, I don’t want to share this with anyone, I might even take a loss on the bet so those horny bitches don’t get to see it.” You said seriously as you climbed back into bed and dropped your phone next to his. “Should I apologise for making you miss your own party?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the one who made you miss the party.” He quipped back as his eyes greedily drank in the sight of you naked against his sheets. “How about next weekend?”

“The clone of his phone has been successful.”

He pulled you closer and kissed the sweet spot he had found at the base of your neck and begged you with his deep voice. “Come and miss another party with me.”

“Congratulations, y/n, mission complete, payment transferred.”

You grinned as you pulled back to capture his sincere eyes and despite knowing it was a bad idea mixing business with pleasure, you were addicted to him already. “That sounds perfect.”

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