Latest Posts by tsnelf7 - Page 6

This wonderful person right here writes good masterpieces.

And this is one of them !!!

Obscene Behaviour || b.b & s.w

Platonic relationship with Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson and a new mom!reader

Summary: Your coffee date with your friends takes a turn when you slip your nip out to feed your newborn. Warnings: public breastfeeding (let's normalise it please), bullying WC: 624

|| Main Masterlist || Bucky Masterlist || Sam Masterlist ||

“Wow, look at you.” Sam gushed as he took a seat at the table you were waiting at. “You are absolutely glowing! How’s everything going?”

“Thanks, Sam.” You grinned as he gave you a kiss on the cheek and stole your newborn from your arms. “I’m still adjusting. It’s weird seeing you guys on the news and not being out there in the action.”

“You got something more important now.” He said, gently bouncing your baby boy in his arms and swapping to baby talk. “Isn’t that right, little Sammy?”

“His name is James.” Bucky argued as he arrived and gave you a hug before he took the third seat at your table.

“You’re both wrong.” You laughed as they began to argue with each other until you grabbed the birth certificate from your handbag and placed it between them. “His name is Steven Anthony Y/L/N.”

“No way.” Sam grinned. “That’s a big name to live up to, little man.”

“If anyone can, it'll be him.” Bucky smiled as he grabbed a chubby toe and tickled it. “You doing alright, mama?”

“Could do with a few more hours of sleep a night but I think we are doing pretty good.” You said before a yawn broke out at the mention of sleep.

“We can have him for a night if you need some rest.” Sam offered and Bucky’s head snapped to him with wide eyes.

“We can?”

“I’m not doing it alone.” Sam chuckled. “I’m not as brave as y/n.”

“You might find it a bit difficult, unless you can breastfeed?”

“Last time I checked…no.” Sam said with a shake of his head and looked at Bucky.

“Don’t look at me, these are pure muscle.” He said with a wave over his chest.

As if your infant understood the talk about breastfeeding, he began to cry and you took him back so you could open the discreet slip on your shirt, latching him on. Neither man bat an eyelid as you fed your bub but you could feel a pair of eyes on you and looked around to see a middle aged man staring at your chest. Bucky turned as he saw your eyebrows pinched and his own eyes hardened.

“Hey, you got a problem?”

The man jumped at Bucky’s harsh voice but he recovered quickly and looked down his nose at you. “Some of us are trying to eat here, not be subject to pornographic, obscene behaviour.”

“Pornogr- what the hell is wrong with you, man?” Sam asked seriously. “Some people are trying to eat, including her baby.”

“You don’t see us trying to stop you from stuffing your pie hole.”

You watched with amazement as they both ripped into the man who was turning redder by the second.

“I could see her nipple. It was offensive and distracting.” He gupped as more people were tuning into the conversation.

“I can see your cutlery, I don’t find that distracting.” Sam laughed. “It’s just a nipple, how about not sexualising it, then you shouldn't find it so distracting.”

Bucky pulled his shirt over his head and sat back in his chair as a few bystanders began to pull their phones out and Sam took his shirt off next.

“Oh my god, what are you two doing?” You laughed as they turned their seats around to face the man.

“Distracting him.” Sam smirked. “Look at all these pornographic nipples.”

Bucky smiled at one woman that looked just his type and pointed to his chest. “Is this offensive to you ma’am?”

“No, sir.” She giggled before turning to the man. “You should be ashamed of yourself, if you have the right to eat in a public place, so does this beautiful wee baby.”

Breaking and Entering Masterlist

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: You break into Bucky's apartment after being hired to steal his dog tags but something about the man draws you to him. Struggling with the guilt of taking his precious possession, you find yourself unable to complete the delivery of the item. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, lots of smut, illegal activities, bit of violence. Word Count: 8.6k Status: COMPLETE

Part One ⁂ ➴ You break into Bucky's apartment and decide your mission can wait until after you have some fun with him

Part Two ⁂ ➴ Fate has you and Bucky crossing paths and leads to a change of heart.

Part Three ⁂ ⨮ ➴ Nothing is easy and doing the right thing is downright hard but it's something you need to do.

⁂ = smut † = death ⨮ =angst ꕥ = fluff

Killing Time [pt.1]

Bodyguard!James 'Bucky' Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: You are the daughter of an underground kingpin, held prisoner in your own home for your protection and only being allowed out when it suits your father's agenda. Things finally start to change for the better when you get a new bodyguard. Series Warnings: 18+ only, there will be smut, violence, alcohol and illegal activities throughout, individual chapters will have warnings. WC: 2686

This is completely AU, Sam Wilson is your head of security and best friend. Helmut Zemo is unfortunately your husband from a failed alliance your father set up. Bucky is the forbidden love interest.

|| Main Masterlist || Bucky Masterlist ||

Knock, knock. You placed the book you were engrossed in face down on the table beside you. You moved the mug of hot chocolate further away from the novel then stood to open the door. A handsome man in an elegant black suit stood with his hands behind his back. It was hard to tear your eyes away from the intense ice blue ones that stared back at you and you could see him run his eyes over your body, making you feel self conscious.

You hadn't been expecting anyone this evening so you were in comfortably loose sweatpants and a singlet. Nervous beneath his scrutiny you crossed your arms over your chest and stood up a little straighter. You looked down the hall and saw your regular guard standing to the side watching the exchange with a small smile and a nod that it was alright.

"Can I help you with something?" You asked the man.

"My name is James. Your father hired me to be your personal bodyguard." He had a very slight accent but you couldn't place exactly where. You would hazard a guess that he had been living here for many years to have lost most of the lilt.

"As nice as it is to meet you James, I am in no need of a guard. As you can see, this prison has an over abundance of armed men." You started to close the door but his boot blocked it and you raised your eyebrow to him but he still did not remove it. Losing patience, you stomped on the wayward appendage and, when he pulled back in pain, slammed the door closed.

Flopping back down on the over padded chaise you grabbed your phone and fired your father a rather brutal message.

Dad: Unless you plan on letting me leave, I don't need any more guards. Just leave me the fuck alone.

You didn't expect a reply. He never did but you did see the sent change to read, at least he opened the message. You tossed the phone down beside you and gathered the worn book to try and get back into the story.

The thought of the piercing blue eyes distracted you and you couldn't concentrate on the mystery thriller anymore. Slamming it closed, you walked to the bookshelf it came from and slid it back into its rightful place. Picking up the remote next, you pointed it to the gas fireplace and turned it off. The warmth in the library dipped quickly as you tidied up after yourself and turned the lights off before opening the door. You found yourself facing the back of James' suit and luckily for him the man moved to the side before you could ask him.

Padding your way through the quiet mansion, you made your way downstairs to the main living area and kitchen. You grabbed two tumblers and the open bottle of vodka from the freezer drawer. You slid one glass across the marble countertop towards James and he didn't say anything as he lifted the glass to his lips. You watched as he pulled a face as he swallowed the fiery jet fuel.

"So you're not Russian. Where are you from?" You asked as he placed the empty glass back down.

He frowned at your question. "Why can't I be from Russia?"

You laughed as you poured yourself another glass. "They drink vodka like water. You don't. So?"

"Born in Romania but my family moved here when I was 10."

You watched the way the man held himself, his perfect posture. He had to be like most of the men your father employed, ex military. You wondered what the man would be like when he loosened up. He had his dark hair pulled back into a tidy low ponytail but you could imagine how it would frame his face if it was allowed to hang free. You tilted your head as you pictured him more relaxed and knew he would be devastatingly handsome. He already looked good now, just too stiff.

You both turned your heads as the front door opened and James’ hand went to his holster until he saw it was your head of security, Sam. Your father seemed to enjoy torturing you by surrounding you with handsome men, with the notion of a painful death to anyone that touched you. Sam was no exception, he was just as fit as the next guard but he had instantly fallen into the friend zone. You both looked at James, amused.

"If someone made it this far into the property, you are probably already screwed." You laughed at Sam's statement because it was true. The property was fully fenced and patrolled by guards and dogs 24/7. You were fucked of someone made it through all that to get in the house.

You grabbed another glass and refilled all the empties with more vodka. Giving Sam his and carrying the bottle, you walked into the lounge and sat on the large plush suite. You laid your head on Sam's lap and he rested his free arm along your side. He had been head of security for the last 5 years but before that he was your brother's bodyguard. He had also been your brother's best friend and when he died, well, somehow the two of you bonded.

You could see judgement in James’ eyes. To everyone else, it looked like Sam was sleeping with the boss's daughter but you weren't, he was just your best friend. He was there for you at the worst time in your life, your mother and father were too busy dealing with the loss of their son they forgot that you had lost your big brother. Now the two of you looked after each other.

"Have you eaten?" You asked Sam as you rolled to look up at him and he shook his head. He was always so busy making sure you and your family were protected that he didn't take the best care of himself. You stood up, feeling the effects of the alcohol on your empty stomach, and collected the empty glasses, putting them in the dishwasher before prepping some dinner.

You made a large serving of creamy chicken penne pasta since you knew Sam would be hungry but didn't know if James would join so you made sure there was enough. You opened the wine fridge and looked along the shelves for the right pairing, deciding on a Chardonnay. You opened it and set it on the island before grabbing three wine stems and yelled to the men that dinner was ready. Turning around you jumped when you found James was already behind you.

"Jesus Christ, remember to buy him a collared bell." You said quietly to yourself but he must have heard as he smirked. You were right, he would be drop dead gorgeous if you could remove the stiff facade, just the smirk alone was able to send butterflies flapping in your stomach.

"Isn't there staff to cook for you?" He asked curiously and you went to open your mouth but Sam beat you to it.

"Sure, she's just too picky. Everything has to be done her way, right?" You squinted your eyes at your friend and threw a piece of pasta at him but the little shit caught it in his mouth and winked back.

"I am not picky, I just don't see why someone else has to do what I can already do. Like you," you pointed at James, "I don't see why I need a personal bodyguard when I can defend myself and I never leave this prison anyway."

The man shrugged insincerely and took a mouthful instead of rebutting. He was paid to guard you, not argue. Sam spent most of the meal talking to James, since they would be working closest with each other it was probably a good thing they got along. You couldn't help feeling a bit left out and jealous that Sam's attention had been stolen. You knew it wasn't like you were going to lose your best friend but the stupid little voice in your head started whispering anyway. After the meal was finished you cleaned the kitchen and James helped since: quote 'the cook shouldn't clean.' You were used to it but it was nice to have some help.

"Are you working tonight?" Sam asked as he popped back into the kitchen and had his phone covered and you looked at the time, 8pm.

"I haven't checked yet. Why?" You asked him but he had already walked away with the phone back to his ear.

"Where do you work?" James asked as he leant against the marble countertop.

"Here. I never leave, remember. I'm a cyber security analyst, for the most part. On the books, people pay me to test their companies security for weaknesses and off the books, people pay me to hack other companies for information or whatever."

Your father in particular made regular use of your skills but he was still the worst criminal by far. James looked impressed and you had to admit it made you feel a bit prouder about yourself.

"Go change, we are going out."

You looked wide eyed at Sam, sure that you had heard him wrong, you hadn't left the compound in almost 6 months. Joy flooded your system and you ran into his arms laughing before running up the stairs towards your room. You skidded to a halt before turning and running back.

"Uh where are we going? What's the dress code?" You didn't want to make an ass of yourself showing up looking out of place, wherever it was you were going.

"Casino. Classy."

He didn't even look up from his phone as he answered so you went back up the stairs. You had mentally walked through all of your outfits before you even got to your room. You knew exactly what you were going to wear, you just had to find it along the long shelves that were full of outfits. You skimmed your hand along each outfit that was wrapped in a garment bag until you found the one.

You quickly changed out of your sweats and into the cocktail dress that hugged your frame, accentuating all your assets. You still had foundation on from the day so you just added some eyeliner and mascara before grabbing a clutch for your phone, ID and credit cards. Lastly, you slipped on a pair of comfortable heels and you were set to go.

"Ready! Let's go!" You could hardly wait, as you were sure they could see.

You watched as James’ eyes ran over your body and felt a flush follow so you looked down at the stairs you didn’t want to trip on. The entire descent was you fighting the urge to look at him and the time you did you found his eyes still very much fixated on you.

"You look stunning, y/n."

You smiled at Sam and his complement as he offered his hand as opened the front door. At the bottom of the steps was one of your father's drivers, Lincoln. He was ancient and you still didn't know how he had a licence at his age. He had been in the family since before you were born, and possibly before your father was too. Ancient.

You wondered what the ploy was tonight. Sam could have driven you in the Escalade but instead you had Lincoln driving the Rolls Royce. Trying not to let the mystery ruin your night you focused on walking in heels. Sam hopped in the front while James opened the door and offered his hand which you took. You couldn't help but notice how good his hands felt and the warmth that ran up your arm. You felt the absence as soon as he removed his hand and had to consciously stop the pout from appearing on your lips.

It only took 30 minutes to drive from your estate to the casino you were going to. The car came to a stop in front of Circus Circus and Sam hopped out first followed by James. You stayed in your seat, there were a hundred options of casinos so why did they take you  here?

"Get out." You shook your head like a spoiled child but you could see Sam was not finding it amusing. "We need your help so please get out of the car."

You slid out from the seat and closed the door loudly.  "I am not responsible for my actions tonight from here. Got it?"

He nodded to you, accepting that much at least. You held out your hand and he placed a thin ThinkPad in your hand. You quickly found the IP of the CCTV for the casino and used a backdoor command line of code to circulate footage from an hour ago. "We are good to go. Yay." You handed the ThinkPad back to Sam with your sarcasm. "You need to take the suit jackets off if you two want to blend in."

They both removed them and put them back in the car before you reached up to James’ collar and unbuttoned the top two buttons before making your way to the front door. When you got inside you made a beeline to the first bar and ordered three shots of tequila before downing them in quick succession. With your nerves settled you ordered a Long Island to take with you to the tables. You needed to be drunk to face what was coming, Sam and James would have to look after you when it got messy.

You led the way to the high rollers lounge and sat in the middle seat of a 21 table. A stack of chips were placed in front of you and the games began. You’d always had a thing for numbers, they came easily to you and were definitive. There was no interpretation like literature, one plus one equals two. You chose to go take maths a step further and count cards so as the dealer dealt the cards you started a running count. When the favour started to build your way you upped the bets and started winning big.

About 30 minutes into playing you saw the floor manager make his way through the crowd. That was your queue to go and Sam started packing the chips into trays and headed to the cashiers. You, however, kept $50,000 and continued to play until you felt the man take the seat beside you with a scowl on his face.

"I'm going to need you to come upstairs please, ma’am."

You raised your eyebrow at the man and rested your face on your palm. “Now, why would I do that? I am comfortable here, thank you. Zemo is more than welcome to come down here if he wants to talk." You patted his shoulder mockingly and the manager quietly made his way back to the doors to the operations rooms.

"Do you think he will come?" You asked Sam when he came back with a bag of money and you packed up the remaining chips to put them in the bag too before heading to the bar.

"He doesn't have a choice. He owes restitution and he knows what happens if he doesn't pay."

You saw James’ confused look but he didn't pry into what you were talking about as Sam handed you the ThinkPad and you ordered another Long Island iced tea. You logged into the device you had slipped into the manager's pocket and placed your airpod in your ear.

“Sir there is a woman in the high rollers that I'm sure was card counting.”

“And..?” Your lip curled at Zemo’s voice. “Why are you bothering me about it, that’s your job.”

“Well she said if you wanted to talk you should go to her.”

You could picture him already, running to the monitors and looking over the footage so you looked at the closet camera and blew a kiss at it.

Taglist: || Taglist Join Form || @jessica11133 @nash-dara @buckyisperfect @itswanktime @slutforsexyseabass @sea040561 @gryffindorqueensworld

Happiness and Hair Ties (Drabble)

Pairing: Wakanda Bucky x reader

Warnings: fluff, goats

Summary: just straight fluffy goodness

THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR 200 FOLLOWERS!!!! If you want any fic written please comment it and I will write it!

Bucky blew his hair out of his face for the 100th time. He was out trying to take care of the goats. Steve the goat was head butting his leg of course, that goat was always trying to start fights, hence Bucky naming him Steve. You were watching out the window of the hut you shared, laughing softly as your boyfriend struggled.

“Jamie, come ‘ere baby, let me help ya,” he waltzed over to where you had walked outside. “Help with what doll?” You pulled a hair tie off your wrist. “Turn around Jamie, it’ll keep your hair outta your face while ya take care of the goats.” He turned around and let you put up his hair. You decided on a bun, one, because you thought it would do the job, and two, because you knew it would be hella hot, and you were right, it was.

“Thanks doll, wanna read in the grass once I’m done?” You smiled at him, “sounds perfect, and I’ll make us a snack so we can have a picnic sorta thing.” Bucky put his one arm around you and gave your forehead a kiss, then headed out to the field to finish with the goats.

You went back inside and made a few types of sandwiches and cut them into pieces. You grabbed the books you and Bucky were currently reading and you headed out to the field. Bucky had just finished and picked a spot for you two. “Doll! Over here!” Your face lit up, “Jamie! I comin’!” You skipped over there and plopped down “heya baby,” you passed him his book and nuzzled into his neck. “I made sandwiches,” you informed him, showing off the sandwiches. He thanked you and took a piece.

After a little while a few of the goats got interested with you guys. You nudged Bucky, “Jamie look,” you pointed over to Diana the goat who was trying to ‘sneakily’ walk over to you. Bucky laughed, “I guess they want some pets, huh?” He called over the goats but only Steve and Diana came over, the rest continued eating the grass. Diana sat down in your lap, you scratched her head and continued reading. Steve on the other hand kept head butting Bucky’s hand that kept trying to pet him. Eventually he settled down though and took a nap. Once Steve fell asleep, Bucky did the same. You looked over and saw him asleep, it was then you really took in the situation.

You and Bucky, both of you torn apart by the war, tortured by Hydra, forced into doing things against your will. Somehow escaping, and meeting each other again. Everything you both had been through, always fighting in some battle, even before WW2 when you guys were saving Steve, and fighting for your rights as a woman, defying the gender norms.

But now, you both, sitting in peace, finally free, no battles, no one to tell you what to do, just you two, and the goats, together.

AN: alright, I think this might be one of my favorite fics I’ve written, so I am definitely going to do more fluffy, Wakandan Bucky fics, with the goats of course

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.”

Taglist || Taglist Join Form || @jessica11133 @nash-dara @buckyisperfect @itswanktime @slutforsexyseabass @sea040561

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?”

To Love the Enemy

Imagine catching the eye of Klaus Mikaelson.

Tagging: @midnightseance​ Author’s Note: So I finally convinced my sister to watch TVD and I’ve been rewatching some episodes with her- specifically the episodes that had the best Klaroline and some of the saddest scenes. This idea spawned from the reawakening of my intense dislike for vampire!Elena. Whoops. Sorry Elena lovers, I don’t think this one will be for you. It’s not total Elena bashing, but I’m not exactly her biggest fan. Warning: Don’t pay too close attention to the order some events are mentioned. I forgot some things and what not. Lmao. 

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Wildest Dreams.

Imagine it’s a couple days before your wedding and your friends start coming in for your last days of freedom. Only you start having second thoughts, old feelings crop up, and you end up having a breakdown.

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You know the drill guys I don’t need to say anything…

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Imagine going to the feed store for your sister, only you come home with more than just feed for the animals.

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I want a BUCKY BARNES TOO !!!

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Imagine being taken by HYDRA. After years with them, they set you loose on someone you haven’t seen in a while. Unfortunately for HYDRA, you weren’t as susceptible to their mind experiments like they thought. Now away from their influence, your only worry is making sure you’re prepared for your baby to enter the world.

Words: 11.3K Author’s Note: I won’t say I don’t like this because there are some parts in here that I absolutely adore. However, it is rushed and it feels forced to me, but I needed to get this out so here it is. Also, I’ve never experienced childbirth so please ignore my mediocre take on it. Haha.

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I know for a fact that when I’m gonna finish all of the fics that you wrote I’m gonna cry !

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Imagine being taken by HYDRA. After years with them, they set you loose on someone you haven’t seen in a while. Unfortunately for HYDRA, you weren’t as susceptible to their mind experiments like they thought.

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I need this to be a series !

What Didn’t Kill Me (Made Me Stronger)

Imagine being kidnapped at a young age and then returned to your family some years later after being rescued. Only difference is that you’re not the same as you once were.

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Imagine coming home for Thanksgiving break and letting your family know you’re moving back home. Life in Beacon Hills ends up being a rollercoaster, but what a fun ride it is.

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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.

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Fuck this is so good !!!

Sweeter than Sugar

Summary: She broke his heart but you're not going to let her win. Bucky deserves the best and you're going to give it to him.

Pairing: Chubby Baker!Bucky x Reader, mentions of former relationship with OFC.

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: Smut, Oral (fem receiving), body shaming by OFC, language, mentions of insecurities. painful break up (not reader) bit angst, fluff. As always 18+ only.

A/N: Do not copy, rewrite, repost or translate my works. Comments and reblogs are welcomed. Beta'd by the lovely @deann and @makbarnes but all mistakes are my own.

A/N II: @star-spangled-bingo 2021 Squared filled: Curtain fic and @gotnofucks Body positivity challenge

"Wait till you try this. I think this is my best batch yet." Bucky promises as he pulls the tray out of the oven with his vibranium hand.

You cringe for a second before remembering that he can handle the heat.

You stretch, looking around the large bright kitchen. A fresh breeze floats through the open window carrying in notes of rain and freshly cut grass and the faint sounds of the neighbor's kids playing with their dogs.

Leaning back in your seat, you turn your gaze back to him, a faint smile on your lips as he blows on the pastries, cute little puffs he named after you.

His blue eyes shine under the soft yellow lights, an apron under the swell of his pudgy belly. He looks incredible, wearing only a pair of black boxers that stretch across the curves of his ass. His hair is pulled back into a small bun at the nape of his neck, and there's always something smeared across his cheek.

Yesterday, it had been red velvet frosting, and today, cherry.

Bucky scoops a puff on to a small white plate, grabbing a fork from the drawer. He beams, his entire face radiant as he walks towards you.

That's the look that makes your stomach twist and leaves you feeling dizzy.

Dating Bucky has been a dream. He's loving, kind and he looks at you with such love that you lose your breath just thinking about him.

According to him, you've improved his life in several ways; he swears his food tastes better now, that you somehow make his cakes perfect, his frostings sweeter, and well, he can’t look at a peach without grinning like a drunk-in-love idiot.

You’ve spent many late mornings and lazy afternoons watching him patter around the kitchen, listening to him explain his baking processes while you lounge in a chair.

You don’t understand half of what he’s saying, but he speaks with such passion, his hands animatedly flying in the air as he talks about chocolates, melting points, and the differences in pans.

Bucky has discovered early on that he loves to watch you eat. To be more specific, if it's his food. Only his food, if he’s being honest. He gets so nervous every time that his stomach plummets because he wants to make things for you.

Give you so many things.

Starting with your own custom-made pastry.

“Here, Peach, it just melts on your tongue,” his deep voice lowering to a near moan.

He slips the pastry into your open mouth, his thumb grazing over your bottom lip as you swallow. Oh, your eyes almost roll back in your head when the flavors explode on your taste buds. You’ve never tasted anything that wonderful.

“Oh my god, Bucky,” you gasp, leaning forward for more. “I-that’s so good! Can I have another?”

He grins, lopsided and wide, his heart thundering so hard it feels like it might fly out of his chest. Bucky will give you pastries as much as you want if you keep looking at him like that. He puts his all into his baking and the fact that you enjoy it makes him feel as if he can walk on air.

Bucky kisses your forehead as you chew, pushing away from the table, he slides on his sock-covered feet to the fridge. “What do you want to drink?”

“What do we have?” You giggle as he dances in front of the fridge, calling out options for you.

It’s hard to believe that the carefree man in front of you is the same one that was ashamed to remove his shirt a few weeks ago.

Bucky holds your hands at your sides, fingers laced between yours as he feasts between your thighs. He promised to make you come for him at least three times and you swear it’s been double that by now. His warm, wet tongue flicking over your swollen, sensitive clit over and over, sucking and pulling it into his mouth like he can’t get enough of you.

You moan incoherently, voice hoarse from begging and mewling, your legs limp around his broad shoulders. “Buc-Bucky, oh right there, Bucky,” you plead, feeling pressure build in your belly as his tongue traces patterns over you.

Bucky grinned, his face covered in your slick. He can’t remember the last time he had a better meal in his life. “That’s my girl, so sweet, need one more taste, just a little more,” he whispers before his lips wrap around your clit again. Your mouth falls open in a wordless scream, back arching off the bed when he gently shakes his head, sucking so hard that you see stars.

Bucky groans actually groans deep and vulgar when you cum,and you feel it as your body explodes, waves of pleasure surging through you until you’re gushing on his beard. He eases up, nuzzling into your puffy folds as you come down from your high. Bucky looks up, his dark slate-blue eyes taking in your heaving chest, a bead of sweat rolling down your belly.

“One more?” he says hopefully, wanting to dive back into your pussy.

Your eyes widen as you frantically shake your head. “No. Oh no. Bucky, I can’t, I really can’t, I’m not sure I can handle any more.” You laugh breathlessly, tugging one of your hands free from his tight grip. You rake your fingers through his hair, smiling down at him. "Besides, I’ve been dreaming about you fucking me until I can’t walk.”

A faint blush sweeps across his cheeks as he averts his eyes. “Peach,” he mumbles shyly like he just didn’t spend the past hour worshiping your pussy with his mouth.

Bucky stands up, wiping a hand down his face. He stares at his glistening palm for a second, and then his pink tongue darts out, swiping across the wet surface. You wonder if he’s aware that he's moaning, your pussy throbbing at the guttural sounds.

“You’re filthy,” you jest when he does it again. His face gets even redder as he sucks on his finger.

“You taste better than my pies,” he retorts. “I could eat you all day, every day.”

“Tomorrow, for sure, but right now I want you inside me.”

His smile drops a little when you tell him to get undressed. He’s been dreading this moment, doing everything he can to avoid it. You scoot back on the bed, reaching out for him. Bucky looks down at his body, at his belly, his eyes narrowing, he scratches the back of his neck, telling himself he can do this.

He lifts the edge of his navy blue Henley, freezing when he hears her voice in his head. “Who would want a fatty? No one is going to love you looking like that.” Even now it stings thinking about her. Bucky glances over at you, his heartbreaking at the thought of you rejecting him.

Bucky drops his shirt and reaches for the lamp. “One second.” He says. An unmistakable hint of sadness in his voice has you sitting up. He’s never sounded like that before.

You tilt your head to the side, searching his face. “Bucky, what’s wrong?”

“Just gonna turn the lights off first.” The corner of his lips lifts in a weak, watery smile.

You move to your knees and grab his large hand before he can switch them off. “Why?”

Bucky swallows, “no reason, just like the lights off, 'is all.”

Bucky’s admittedly good at a lot of things, but lying isn’t one of them. He briefly meets your gentle gaze, worry and fear swimming in his beautiful clear blue eyes.

Placing your hands on his chest, you grab his chin. “Bucky, look at me.” He immediately follows your soft command. “What’s wrong? Did I do something?”

Bucky blinks, shaking his head, almost confused at the thought that you could do anything wrong. “No, no, you’re perfect! It’s me. I don’t wanna disappoint you.” His voice tapers off in a whisper, hearing her sharp laughter the last night they were together. “I know I’m fat, so it would be better if we turned off the lights, that way you don’t have to look at me. “

You stare at your generous, doting boyfriend. “Why wouldn’t I want to look at you?,” you question, befuddled because who on earth would jump at the chance to see a naked Bucky Barnes.

He shrugs a shoulder, his somber eyes drifting down. He grabs his belly and jiggles it. Another shrug followed by a quiet, “I look different with my clothes off.”

You crane your head back, “I love your belly, it’s perfect. Who made you feel like you have to hide it?”

Bucky sighs, rubbing his cheek into your palm. “My ex, Moxie- “

Bucky dated her two years ago. She latched on to him when he and Steve bought the bakery, wanting to be the girlfriend of the rising baking star.

Bucky slowly gained weight as he sampled his baking and designed dessert menus for local restaurants, his joy for baking expanding each day, finally getting to see his dreams become reality.

He hadn’t noticed the changes in his body until one night Moxie cruelly pointed them out.

He was getting ready for bed, eager to be with his girl after a full day of running around. He had been telling her about how another restaurant wanted his input, so excited to share his news that he didn’t notice the way she glared at him.

Tossing his shirt in the hamper, he turned to her and smiled, his hands on his belt. “I’ve been thinking about you all day baby, I can’t- “

Moxie sneered at him, pretending to gag. “Are you serious?”

Bucky’s brows furrowed. “Um, what?”

“Um, what,” she mocked, pulling the blanket up to her chest. There's a pause, tension seeping into the room. “You know what, I have to say it, I can't take this anymore James. Look at you and look at me, why the fuck would I let you touch me anymore?”

Moxie sighed, “can you put on your shirt back on or something because that- “she gestured at him “-is disgusting” She let out an irritated groan when he flinched at her words.

A punch to the gut would have hurt less. Bucky felt his heart split. “Moxie,” he whispered, unable to find words to express the pain currently ripping through him.

“Look, I didn’t sign up for this, you were in shape when we got together, what the hell happened to you? Why do you think I stopped letting you touch me.” She ranted, ignoring his soft pleas for her to stop.

“Either lose the weight or I’ll fuck Steve, at least he still looks good.” She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, yawning, “can you go somewhere else, I don’t want you accidentally rolling over me and squishing me in your sleep.”

His mouth floundered open, but he couldn’t speak. It all hurt too much, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe, the air was too thick and his chest grew tighter with each breath; he needed to get away, terrified of what might happen if he cried in front of her.

Bucky shuffled out the room, his heart shattering with every step. He thought she was happy, that he made her happy. Her laughter following him out to the hallway made his head droop even more.

What did he do wrong?

He spent the night on the couch, staring at his old pictures through tear-filled eyes, Bucky always had a little fullness to him, but he was always happy with his body. And he had been having so much fun with the grand opening and all the new opportunities that he never noticed that he stopped needing belts and his shirts were a little snug over his belly.

Bucky called Steve, his best friend fuming when he told him what happened. By the time he was done speaking with him, Bucky felt a little better, his heart may have been in pieces but he knew what he needed to do.

He kicked her out the next morning.

Much to Moxie’s surprise and Bucky's. He may be chubby but he's not going to be her pushover either.

Bucky ignored her apologies and said she had to go. It shocked her when Steve had shown up with a roll of garbage bags, tossing them at her feet with a sharp quip that he doesn’t fuck losers. Both men stood side by side, watching silently as she packed her belongings.

The only things she left behind were his broken heart and a few nagging insecurities that plagued him.

He finishes, his broad shoulders slumped under the weight of his confession, you want nothing more than to stamp out the sadness marring his beautiful eyes.

“I thought she loved me but--“ he sighs, “--I don’t want you to look at me the way she did, I love you too much, Peach, and I know I should probably lose a few -”

You’ve never been angrier in your life. You want to punch little Ms. Moxie in her throat, she better hope she never runs into you because they will have to pry you off of her.

Clearing your head, you clasp his face in your hands and pull him down for a kiss. “Bucky Barnes, you are the sweetest man I know, you’re beautiful and I love everything about you.”

You silence his objections with another kiss. “I mean it Bucky, I love all of you. You don’t need to change anything.”

Bucky swallows the small protest, letting himself relax. You’re not her, you won’t hurt him. Placing a kiss on his soft, round belly, you murmur, “you have no idea how sexy you are, honey.”

You stand on the bed, holding on to his bicep for balance, and tug his shirt off. Looking down at him, you bite your lip. He’s ridiculously handsome and you’re going to prove it to him.

You pepper kisses along the curve of his neck as you sink back down, praising him and telling him how much you love him, describing in vivid detail how each part of his body is perfect.

His confidence and love for you growing with each word. By the time you reach the band of his boxers, he panting, his eyes darkening with an almost feral need to possess you.

Bucky tears off the last barrier keeping you from him and he pounces. You giggle as he pushes you into the soft blankets, the solid, comforting weight of his body encompassing you as he kisses you with such passion you forget to breathe. His warm lips melding into yours, his wet tongue dipping into your mouth, the taste of you still lingering on his tongue as it dips into your mouth.

Bucky reaches down with one hand, grabbing his cock, his other hand cupping the back of your head as he deepens the kiss. He breaks the kiss, resting his forehead on yours so he can gaze into your eyes. Bucky watches your mouth fall open, a gasp pouring out when he guides his thick cock into you.

He rolls his hips, moving deeper into your wet, hot heat. “That’s it Peach, you’re so good,” He brushes his lips across yours, swallowing your oh Bucky as he stretches your tight pussy around him. The slight burn gives aways to pure bliss, you circle your hips after a minute. A quiet I’m ready breathed into his mouth.

Bucky thrusts languidly into your pussy, each deliberate slow drag of his throbbing cock against your soft walls sends bursts of pleasure up your belly and down your spine. His lovemaking tender, yet so possessive that your head is reeling.

He makes sure that you feel all of him, each inch as you clench down, greedy for more of him, even as he goes deeper and deeper, his soft lips caressing your neck. His body keeping you pinned, so you have to take everything he’s giving you.

That pressure builds again, heavy and hot in your belly, digging your heels into the top of his thighs, you meet his strokes, pleading with him to please move a little faster, you need it so bad.

You don’t have to beg; he wants you to cum for him; he wants to feel your sweet pussy flutter around him as you cry out his name.

Bucky sucks a bruise on your throat, his hips pounding into yours. The headboard smacking against the wall with each powerful thrust. The dull thuds drowned out by your loud moans, the pressure getting more intense.

“Bucky,—” you cry out, scratching his lower back when he grinds his hips down, “—oh fuck, do that, do that again,” you frantically chant, slapping your hands on his ass, keening when he does, god yes, he does it just right, hitting a tender spot inside your cunt so hard that you bite down on his shoulder to keep from screaming.

“That it Peach, is that what you need.” He slips a hand between your bodies, his wide fingers circling your clit, “Go on, cum for me, give it to me Peach, be my good girl, and cum for me.”

You do, your walls clenching down as the pressure snaps, sensations firing off as your orgasms winds through you. Bucky’s pace falters, becomes erratic when he feels you milking his cock, unable to hold himself back any longer he lets himself go, relishing in your warmth until he spills inside you.

He tries to roll off of you, but you wrap your arms around him, murmuring for him to stay for a minute. You smooth your hands over his slick back, Bucky relaxes on top of you, grinning at your contented sigh. “I love you Peach.”

“Love you too,” you respond, plotting all the ways you’re going to let him know how much he means to you.

After that night, you began to praise Bucky, complimenting his body every chance you got, smacking his ass whenever he walked past you, hugging and kissing him.

The first couple of weeks, he would hide his face behind one of his large hands and his cheeks would resemble one of his bright red apples. “Peach, you don’t have to, I mean I’m-” he would stammer each time, always tucking his hair behind his ears.

It took you three days to figure out that he has a praise kink and you amped it. He barely opened his eyes before you were saying something that made him hide his face behind his pillow, laughing when you wiggled under it to tell him how good he looks when he smiles.

While you loved making him blush, you cherished how confident he became. And you reaped the benefits, one second he was a bashful baker with buttercream frosting on his forehead, the next he was bending you over his counter, railing you so good you couldn’t even scream his name.

After a while, he stopped avoiding the bathroom mirror in the mornings. And you couldn’t wipe the grin off your face, the first time you saw him cooking, shirtless, in the kitchen. He turned when he heard your footsteps, his face turning that familiar shade of red as you openly gawked.

“C’mon Peach, don’t you start-” he playfully grumbles, his lip twitching as he held in his smile, he moved back to the frying pan turning off the stove as he braces himself.

You squeal, flinging yourself at him, peppering his back with kisses. You couldn’t contain the litany of praises on your tongue, so proud of him. Bucky twisted in your grasp, cupping your face in his hands. “God I love you Peach.”

Bucky and Steve are celebrating the grand opening of another bakery. The largest one to date. The new building is full of investors, press, other bakers and chefs, a live band playing in the corner, drinks, and food everywhere, and of course the tower of desserts in the middle of the room. The atmosphere light and airy, glasses clinking, people dancing and every kind of cake, pies, and pastry imaginable on silver platters through the room.

You’ve never had so much fun, although a slightly buzzed Bucky is having an even better time because you’re wearing one of his favorite dresses. You remember when he first saw you in it, you twirled out of the dressing room and he nearly lost it in the middle of the store.

The more he celebrates, the more he’s giving you that look. Steve has to keep interfering, he’s close to going feral in front of all his guests.

Steve sent him to the kitchen after he caught him trying to put his hand between your thighs. You’re laughing as a contrite Bucky gets up from the table to refill the rapidly diminishing display.

“You know I’ve known Buck my whole life and I’ve never seen him this happy.” Steve remarks as he takes a seat across from you. His warm blue eyes glistening. “Thank you for that. He’s been through a lot and you’re the best thing that happened to him.”

Your cheeks get heated at his words. Steve leans forward, holding your hand between his. “I mean it, even though he’s getting on my last nerve talking about you.“

Steve squeezes your hand as he looks up at the ceiling for a second. “God, the man never shuts up, and I’m this close to strangling him if he compares you to another peach, but I love-“

He cuts off, his head jerks back so fast, you think something struck him. “What the fuck is she doing here?”

You turn around in your chair, searching the crowded room. “Who are you talking about?”

“Moxie,” Steve spits out, his hand curling into a fist. “White dress by the bar.”

You find her flirting with one of the investors. Moxie puts her hand on his chest, her shrill laugh cutting through the surrounding conversations. Whatever she tried fails spectacularly. The tall, sturdy blonde grimaces and walks away. You would almost feel bad if you didn’t want to slam her face into the wall.

She spots Steve and waves, making her way through the crowd. “Hey, long time no see.”

Steve raises a brow, his eyes hardening. “Why are you here?”

She laughs, patting his shoulder. “I’m here to apologize to Bucky, I know he misses me, he must be lonely.”

“Really?” you question, keeping your voice light and even.

Moxie dismissively glances at you before returning her attention to Steve. You chuckle under your breath, tapping your heel on the floor.

Don’t ruin your man’s event. Don’t ruin your mans’ event. You repeat the thought as you inhale through your nose.

“So I heard you two are doing really well.” She says, her manicured nails roaming over Steve’s suit. “Really well.”

Steve flicks her fingers off him, “We are. No Bucky’s not lonely. He doesn’t miss you. He’s very happy. With her.”

Moxie’s polite veneer cracks when Steve points at you. Waving your fingers at her, you grin at her. “You go near my Bucky and I’ll rip that cheap necklace off and shove it down your throat.”

She turns to Steve, gesturing to you as if she's the innocent one here; he raises his glass, blowing a harsh breath through his lips. “Don’t look at me, I still don’t fuck losers, but I’ll call if you if that changes.”

You laugh in your empty glass when she sputters. She turns to you, hand on her hip. You slowly raise your eyes, returning her stare. Part of you wanting her to do something, so you can wipe the smirk off her overly painted face.

“Whatever, I don’t need this. Keep the fattie. I can find another rich loser like that.” She snaps her fingers, storming over to the bar. You blink a few times in disbelief. The audacity of this bitch, thinking that she can stay and mingle at his event.

You're debating if you should have her thrown out by one of the staff or if you should drag her out by her hair.

You look her up and down as you ponder your choices, pausing when you see the edge of a tag sticking out the back of her dress. Hmm, interesting. She must plan on returning it after tonight.

A devious smirk slowly takes over your face, you know exactly what you’re going to do to little Ms. Moxie.

You glance at Steve, picking up his wineglass. Steve shakes his head while grabbing your hand. “Hey hey, I know what you’re thinking, and no.”

Before you can say anything, he’s pouring more burgundy wine into the glass until it’s nearly sloshing over the sides. “If you’re going do it, you gotta do it right.”

You exchange knowing glances. No one hurts Bucky. You saunter over to her, keeping your hand steady, not wanting to lose a single drop on the floor.

“Hey Moxie,” you call out. She turns around and you ‘trip’ over your heels, the deep red liquid flying forward in a perfect arch, splashing across her ivory dress, her face and you even got some in her hair.

“Oops, gosh, I am so clumsy,” you state, hiding your grin as she shrieks.

Steve jumps up, offering to help before she can swing at you. “I got you, darling.”

He places a hand on her back, quickly ushering her away “a little club soda will get that right out,” he reassures a pouting, whining Moxie.

He's lying through his teeth, that stain will never come out. Steve gets a peek at the price tag, almost laughing at the $899 imprinted on the card. He maintains his façade, leading her through the room, he stops, giving her a wide smile.

“And you can find some at the drugstore down the street.” He states, opening the front door and pushing her out. Her indignant shouts cut off when he slams the door in her face.

You throw your head back and cackle, startling some guests around the bar, you apologize for your outburst between fits of laughter, wiping the tears pricking at your eyes. You wave down the amused bartender, placing an order for you and Steve.

Steve joins you, raising his fresh glass of wine in a toast. “No one fucks with Bucky.”

"No one."

Neither you nor Steve realizes Bucky saw the whole thing. He ducks back into the kitchen, clutching the tray of Cannelés to his chest. For weeks after the breakup, he had rehearsed what he was going to say that next time he came face to face with Moxie.

But what you and Steve did was even better, the love of his life and his best friend always looking out for him.

Loving him unconditionally.

And just like that, the last traces of his insecurities vanished.

Later that night, you fall asleep with your head on his shoulder. He smiles at your hand on his belly. He places his large hand over yours, wondering how he got so lucky to have you.

And if Steve would kill him if he named another dessert after you.

He’ll risk it.

Innocence taken (1/2)

Info: Thomas Shelby has been the sole carer for his baby sister since he returned from the war, meaning that he has always been overly protective of her. At age 16, she tries to be more independent without the help of her brothers but when she gets attacked one night, she ends up pregnant and when her brother finds out, he doesn't realize that it wasn't by choice, and regrets it when Polly tells him the bad news.

Season: 1

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x sister reader, Shelby clan x sister reader

warnings: Mentions of rape

Part 2

The Garrison was practically empty as it neared closing time. Tommy Shelbys youngest sister y/n, laughed as she talked to Grace, cleaning up the counter. Grace placed some empty glasses on top of the bar counter as she cleaned up some of the tables that were empty. The two looked up when they heard the back room opening, seeing Tommy coming through. He nods at Grace before turning to his sister as she moved from behind the counter.

"Y/n, let's go home." Tommy stated, heading to front door as he lit a cigarette he had placed in his mouth. "I'm helping Grace close up tonight." Y/n stated, not looking at her brother as she wiped down a table. "No your not." Tommy stated, turning to look at his sister. " Yes I am." Y/n stated, looking up at her brother with an annoyed look. "Y/n Shelby......." "I'm not a kid Tommy, I'm capable of walking home on my own." Y/n stated, moving towards her brother in intimidation "Your under my control until your eighteen y/n so I suggest you come with me or I swear I will fucking drag you home." Tommy threatened, moving closer to y/n as she took a step back "Finns eleven and you let him walk around on his own. What's so different for me?" Y/n asked, crossing her arms. Tommy looks at Grace who was stood behind the counter watching the Shelby siblings argue. "Listen y/n, your a girl, who has little to no idea on how to protect herself. I just want you to be safe." Tommy sighed, stubbing his cigarette in a an ash tray before placing his hands on his sisters upper arms. "Fuck that Thomas, I'm well capable of looking after myself." Y/n spoke confidently, shaking her head in disagreement. "Mr. Shelby if I could, I think y/n is capable of walking home on her own, she's took care of drunk men in here on the daily. On her own may I add." Grace piped up from where she stood, causing Tommy to turn his gaze to the Irish woman with a glare. "Tommy please, trust me." Y/n pleaded, placing a hand on his arm as he turned his gaze back to his sister "Of course I trust you sweetheart, it's others I don't." He tried to explain, placing a hand on her cheek gently "I promise to be careful." She smiled softly, causing Tommy to sigh and shake his head "I want you back before midnight, any later and I won't let you do it again." Tommy stated reluctantly causing y/n to smile widely. "Thanks Tommy." Y/n smiled, hugging him quickly before leaving to the back room. "She's a good person." Grace stated, looking at Tommy as he stood still for a moment. "It's those around us who aren't" Tommy stated, taking out a cigarette once again. "She has you wrapped around her little finger." Grace spoke daringly, watching as Thomas glanced at her "Ah." Thomas nodded, opening the door. "Goodnight Mr. Shelby." Grace called back before silence consumed the pub floor.

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"Goodnight Grace." Y/n called out as she and Grace parted ways after locking up for the night. "Night y/n, be safe walking home." Grace nodded to the young girl before leaving y/ns sight.

Y/n sighed and gave a yawn as she started walking towards her home from childhood. The streets were relatively quiet since majority of it's residents gone home for the night. Taking a turn y/n slowed down when she heard something. Looking behind her, she sees nothing so decides to keep going when suddenly, she's grabbed from the side. She tries to scream but a hand is placed over her mouth as she's pulled further into an alley way. Looking up at her attacker, her eyes widens when she sees the eyes of the drunk man who had grabbed her.

"Hey pretty girl, let's have some fun." He said before pushing her into the wall, forcing himself onto her as she tries to fight him.

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Tears in her eyes, y/n didn't say anything as the man fixed himself up and left her in the dark. Sniffing slightly, she placed a hand over her mouth to silence the sobs that left her body as she realized what happened.

Gaining composure, she slowly walked him, a look of terror as she kept looking around her. Her hair and clothes were all over the place as she held her shoulders, trying to keep the sleeve of her dress which ripped up for modesty.

Turning the corner to her childhood home, she groaned as she seen a glow of light in the sitting room when she opened the door. She froze when she seen it was Tommy, who had stayed awake to make sure she got home safe. Turning towards the stairs, she cringes as she hears her brother calling out to her, but ignores it as she heads to her room, closing the door.

"Y/n?" Tommy called out, moving out to the hall in confusion when she doesn't answer him. "Y/n" He tried again, moving to the bottom of the stairs and making his way up the stairs.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Tommy knocks on his sisters door before opening it when he doesn't hear anything. Sighing in relief, he seen her lying on her bed with her back towards the door. Satisfied that she was home he nodded his head before leaving, closing the door behind him not knowing y/n was still awake with tears falling down her cheeks as she cried softly.

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Two weeks after the incident, y/n was still struggling with that night. Every little noise she heard caused her to jump and feel uneasy. She avoided walking in the dark as much as possible, going as far as taking the early shifts in the Garrison instead of the late ones. She avoided close contact with her brothers as much of possible, not evening sneaking into Tommy's room as she always did from a young age since the war, a tradition which eased both her and her brother that they were home and safe, instead opting to stick around Polly and Ada when she was home.

Arthur and Tommy sat at the kitchen table when she made her way done the stairs, yawning as she reached the bottom stairs. She froze when she seen the two boys sitting at the table before looking at Polly as she walked into the kitchen from the living room where Finn was.

"Morning love." Polly smiled at her as she turned off the stove which held the breakfast for the morning. "Morning Pol." She smiled softly, hiding the nausea which started to come up at the smell of the bacon. "Want some breakfast?" Her aunt asked as she plated the breakfast. "Not hungry." Y/n replied, eyeing the plates Pol placed in front of Tommy and Arthur. "Y/n sit done and eat some breakfast love, we haven't seen much of you lately." Tommy tried, moving the chair beside him out before patting it for her to sit. "I have morning shifts in the Garrison so I better get going." Y/n stated as she grabbed her coat from the hanger. "Take some toast at least." Polly chimed, grabbing a piece of toast from Tommy's plate and throwing it in the girls direction.

Y/n smiled weakly and grabbed the piece of toast that was left on the table before nodding and leaving quickly. Tommy watched with squinted eyes as his youngest sister left the house before moving towards the window, watching her cross the road and head the direction of the Garrison.

"Tommy something ain't right with her." Arthur stated, turning his attention to Tommy as he looked out the window. "Pol has she said anything to you?" Tommy asked as she moved away from the window and took a puff from his cigarette. "She's probably just not feeling well, you know how she gets when she's close to her time of the month." Polly stated, sitting at the table and grabbing a cigarette from the open packet on the table. "No it's not that, she's never been one to be away from one of us, she craves some form of affection from us whenever were close by." Tommy explained, breathing out smoke with a shake of his head, "Now she tries to avoid us like were the fucking plaque." He continued, leaning on the back of a chair. "I'll talk to her" Polly stated with a nod, knowing that even though he would never say, it was hurting Tommy that his sister didn't want to be near him.

Tommy and y/n had always been close, both before and after the war. When the Shelby boys had told their family that they would be leaving to fight in the war, y/n, at the young age of 12 had burst into tears and clung onto her second oldest brother, refusing to let go causing Polly and Ada to forcibly pull her off him so Tommy could leave. Tommy was heart broken seeing his sister like that and when he had returned he decided to become the carer of his younger sister. The two always done things together so to have y/n not wanting to be near him or talk to him pained him. She was his light, the main reason for getting up everyday.

"Come on Arthur, let's get John before we head to work." Tommy spoke, stubbing his cigarette butt and moving away from the table while he rolled his shoulders. "Let me know how y/n is Pol." He finished behind his shoulder before leaving the house, heading towards his car.

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Y/n sighed as she headed home from the garrison. Entering the house she rubbed her eyes in tiredness before heading towards the kitchen where Finn was sitting at the table. She smiled at her younger brother and ruffled his hair affectional when she passed him.

"Hey Finn." She smiled softly at him as she sat across from him. "Hey y/n." The boy smiled back as Polly came in. Y/n looked up to greet her aunt only to see a hard look on her face. "Finn, go into the living room, I need to talk to your sister." She stated, pointing to the door. Finn looked between his aunt and sister who nodded at him to do as he's told. "And no eave dropping." Polly shouted at him as he closed the door.

"What's this about?" Y/n asked in confusion as Polly sat in front of her. "I heard something, and I want to hear it from you, no lies, just the truth." Polly stated as she put her hands together in front of her. "About what?" Y/n asked in clear confusion. "Where were you today?" Polly asked, noticing as y/ns breathing hitched. "At work." "Not all day you weren't. Ada was at the garrison and said you left early, which isn't like you. So, where were you?" "Pol, please." Y/n pleaded softly. "Y/n where the hell were you?" Polly asked, her voice raising slightly. "The doctors okay." Y/n snapped, throwing her arms out in front of her. "I went to the doctors." She finished quietly as she looked down. "Why?" "I don't see how that is any of your concern...." "Y/n Shelby, your 16 years old, you don't go to something like the doctors unless me or Tommy know, so why were you at the doctors." Polly asked in a stern voice. "I was late. I kept getting sick, I didn't know what to say so I went on my own." Y/n replied in weak voice, causing her aunts face to soften. "Jesus Crist y/n, your not pregnant are you." Polly asked in shock, being proved right when y/n started crying. "I don't know what to do, I didn't want it." She stated, shaking her head rapidly. "You mean your were....." Polly asked, not able to finish the sentence. "I couldn't stop it Pol, I tried but he was too strong, I couldn't." Y/n explained as sobs escaped her lips. "Oh y/n, sweetheart." Polly rushed out of her seat and pulled y/n into a hug, petting her hair as she shook with her tears. "I couldn't stop him Pol, I tried, I really tried." Y/n stated, pulling away slightly. "Hey hey, none of this is your fault, okay, what that bastard did to you was not your fault so don't you dare blame yourself okay." Polly shushed the young girl, rubbing her arms when they pulled apart. Y/n sniffed and wiped her eyes . I don't know what to do Pol, I don't think I can be a mother." Y/n spoke with a shaky voice "You don't have to be, I know someone who can help you alright. This can all go away." Polly soothed her youngest niece, tucking some hair behind y/ns ears. "Do I have to tell Tommy?" y/n whimpered slightly "No, no one will know. It will be like it never happened." "But it did, it's stuck in my head like a record on replay." "It will get better y/n, time will heal." Polly stated, not knowing that the youngest of the Shelby's had heard everything.

--------------------------

-------------------------

Tommy sat in the back room of the garrison, smoking a cigarette as he waited for Grace to bring him the drink he ordered. He looked up to the door when he heard the sound of frantic feet before the door slammed open, the youngest Shelby coming into view.

"Finn, what is it?" Tommy asked, watching as his youngest brother fidgeted in his position. "It's y/n." The younger boy spoke uneasy. "What about her? Finn, what's wrong with our sister?" Tommy asked, placing a hand on Finn's shoulder to get him to look at him. "She's, she's pregnant Tommy." Finn relayed, not remembering the vital information of how it happened. "What the fuck did you just say?" Tommy asked, enraged about the new found information. "Tommy your drink." Grace called out. "Don't fucking need it." Tommy cursed abruptly at the bar maid before storming out of the bar, the locals watching him leave before looking at Finn who just ran out to follow his second oldest brother.

--------------------------------

--------------------------------

Polly looked up from her position on the couch as she heard the door slam open. She placed a finger to her lips when she seen it was Tommy before caressing y/n's hair gently as she lay with her head in her aunts lap. Tommy sighed and moved in front of the two women.

"Y/n wake up, now." Tommy spoke as he shook his sister harshly. "Tommy for fuck sake leave her alone." Polly told him as y/n opened her eyes with tiredness. "Stay out of this Pol, y/n my office now." Tommy pointed to the women as he spoke to them. "Jesus Christ Tommy can you just calm down and leave her be. What's this about?" Polly asked, holding y/n as she steadied her niece to a seating position, still half asleep. Never you mind what this is about Pol, this is between me and y/n." Tommy stated, grabbing y/ns elbow and dragging her to his office.

"Tommy, your hurting me." Y/n winched as she frantically tried to get him to let go of her. "Sit down." He stated, ignoring her as she pushed her into his office and closing the door behind them before moving to his seat. "What's going on?" Y/n asked, looking at her brother in nervousness. "I heard something which I didn't like the sound of, and I'm hoping you can confirm that what I heard was a big misunderstanding." Tommy spoke as he lit a cigarette and placed it in his mouth. "Well, what did you hear?" She asked shyly, moving uncomfortably in her seat. "One of my sisters are pregnant, and I want to find out who the fucking guy was." He stated, leaning on his desk as he sat up. y/n looked up at him in fear. "Well y/n, who was it?" "Tom..." "Fucking answer me y/n, who was he?" Tom shouted causing y/n to flinch involuntarily "It's not what you think?" Y/n tried to explain. "Just tell me who it was y/n?" "I don't know." She spoke, looking down in shame. "You don't know. You fucking sleeping around y/n huh. You a fucking whore now eh?" Tommy screamed at his sister. "No it's not like that." Y/n cried, looking up at her brother as he stood up and threw glass to the wall ,causing her to flinch. "No? Cause the way I see it I have a 16 year old sister who's a fucking whore, and letting men take at advantage of her but didn't think of the possible outcome and is now fucking pregnant." "Tommy please...." Y/n begged, not able to look at her brother in shame. "Just get the fuck out of my sight y/n, I don't want to see you right now." Tommy stated, opening the door and grabbing y/n by the shoulder, pushing her out before slamming the door in her face.

Y/n stood at the door even after the door was slammed in her face before breaking down in tears. She leaned against the door and covered her face as she realized that her brother had called her a whore and really believed that she would just sleep around.

"Y/n?" Polly asked cautisly, seeing her youngest niece in tears at her bothers office door. "Can we go tomorrow Pol? I just want this nightmare to be over." Y/n pleaded as she looked up to her aunt, her eyes full of tears. "Yeah, we can go tomorrow." Polly smiled softly at the young girl, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and rubbing her arm gently "Come on, let's make you a nice warm bath and then straight to bed, we have a busy day tomorrow." "What's tomorrow?" Ada asked, coming into the hall, looking in confusion when she seen her sisters tears. "Come help me with your sister Ada." Polly spoke as she helped y/n up the stairs "She needs you right now." Was all she said before leaving into the bathroom to start the bath.

This is so fucking good 😭

Set Up Series Masterlist

Set Up Series (completed) :

Summary:  You’re close friends with Lizzie Olsen, she invites you to her birthday party where it’s very clear her and Scott are intending to set you and Chris up.

Part 1: The Set Up (1.9k)

Part 2: Coffee Date (1.9k)

Part 3: Dog Sitting (3k)

Part 4: Let’s Make It Official (2.4k)

Part 5: Dresser Drawer (2k)

Part 6: Caught (2.3k)

Part 7: Meet The Fam (3.6k)

Part 8: The Key (1.3k)

Part 9: First Fight (3.7k)

Part 10: Say Yes (2.4k)

This is fucking amazing I finished it all in less then a day and I already regret finishing it !!

arranged.

Arranged. 

Mafia Boss!Chris Evans x Female Reader

Summary: Living in this life, you’ve never gotten to have much say in anything. What you wear, who you hang out with, and now, who you marry and you’re dreading your arranged marriage to the Italian mob boss, Chris Evans. Expecting to suffer through a life of abuse while being kept under lock and key, you’re pleasantly surprised when Chris is nothing like you expected. He’s the most feared man on the East Coast, only brought to his knees by one thing and one thing only. You.

This is the backstory to one of my recent fics, Followed. Check it out here! 

Smut = 🔥

Part 1 - The Wedding (w/c = 9k)

Part 2 -  Assecondami (w/c = 8.1k)

Part 3 - Ferris Wheels and Cotton Candy (w/c  = 5k)

Part 4 - Come Home To Me (w/c = 6.2k)

Part 5 - Amore Mio (w/c = 6.5k) 🔥

Part 6 - Blindsided (w/c = 8.3k)

Part 7 - Free (w/c = 7.1k)

Part 8 - Detained (w/c = 10.4k) 🔥

Part 9 - A Fresh Start (w/c = 6k)

Part 10 - You Make It Easy (w/c = 8k) 🔥

Arranged Series Drabbles - 

Chris Challenges Reader at Breakfast

Chris Confronts Readers Father (Chris POV)

Chris and Reader Discuss a Dog 

Chris and Reader Discuss a Holiday Card

Tattoos with Chris 🔥

Lydia and Seb Drabble (Lydia POV)

Jealous Reader Pulls Chris From a Poker Game

The Mutt Sheds (Dodger Drabble)

The First Kiss (Chris POV)

After Followed

4k Celebration Drabble (Prompt - “I’ll die for you” & “I’ll kill you myself if you even as much as think of putting yourself in danger”)

4k Celebration Drabble (Prompt - “You’ve made me the happiest I’ve ever been.” “ and “You can’t lie to me, you know”)

4k Celebration Drabble (Prompt -  “I wouldn’t have called you if it wasn’t important.”)

Incinta

Domestic Bliss

Daylight - Seb and Lydia Drabble (Lydia POV)

Lydia and Seb Tie The Knot (Reader POV)

.

If the Punisher is brought into the MCU and he’s not played by Jon Bernthal, then I don’t want it.

Hello please reblog this if you’re okay with people sending you random asks to get to know you better

Dreams of Wolves and Light | Geralt x Assassin!reader

Description: When a misunderstanding leads to you having to fight a Witcher of all people, you encounter the last person on the continent you’d ever expected to.

Length: 3.5k

Trigger Warnings: fighting, blood, aggression, swearing?,

STARS’ MASTERLIST

MORE OF ‘THE ASSASSIN’S CREED AND THE WITCHER’S CUB' UNIVERSE

Note: I am heavily basing my character design/backstory off Assassin’s Creed lore so its abit of a cross over. I am in love with both of the games so I felt abit of a crossover would be interesting.

Your mother. That was all you could smell. It brought you a comfort you hadn’t known in decades, the sweet scent of her hair oils filling your senses like a soft kiss to your face; that was the first sign you were dreaming. Nothing in your real life was so gentle as this anymore.

“Mother,” You heard yourself ask, not in the adult tone you knew by now, the one rugged with the scars of growing up. No, this one was young, tiny. Innocent. You barely remember being this age. “What did the seer mean, that thing she said about my destiny?” You asked curiously. You couldn't have been older than five.

This was a memory, you were certain of it, though the edges were blurred with the mirage of sleep, marred with the curse of losing one's memory as a long time passes. It was so dark in this dream, the image of Mother all but a shadow. You felt your hands run through her long hair, the trellises as soft as ever. You knew she was dead, but this all felt so real.

A honeysuckle laugh met your ears, calm and liquid: “You shouldn’t worry about destiny just yet, sweet pea. It’ll make sense someday,”

Your voice, your real voice, called for her in your slumber. It was perhaps this loud noise or the rumble of speaking in your chest that started to wake you, but it didn’t stop you clinging to the dream that bit tighter.

“But what did she mean? I don’t understand, there’s no wolves around here, are there Mama?” You heard yourself questioning frantically.

She simply chuckled again, and you felt a soft stroke of a mother’s touch on your forehead, soothing your qualms about what the seer had predicted for your future.

“Hush, pea. Nothing bad will happen to you while I’m here.” She soothed. You felt the cold of the outside, the real world, calling you home as she began fading into the deepest part of your mind once more, “Now enough talk of light and wolves and other such nonsense. It’s time you slept, little one,”

And yet, in a horribly ironic turn, it was then that you awoke.

The feeling of the scratchy, cheap sheets of the bed grounded you, finally bringing you out of your solemn reminiscence of that day, along with the horrid realisation your feet were practically like ice under the thin duvet. Your eyes scanned the room for the culprit of your discomfort until your eyes snapped on it. The window was open, letting a biting cool breeze nip at your skin.

You sighed, sitting up from the bed with a groan of effort. Yesterday’s journey had been particularly exhausting and your muscles were paying the price for it.

You thought about your dream as you packed up your things to travel once more, and took a deep breath of sourness as you exited the tavern and began climbing up a nearby church steeple to survey your area closer. You took little notice to a few townsfolk below you gasping as you expertly scaled the tall tower, as if your hands were made of hooks. There was no trickery needed, you simply had years of practice. It’ll make sense someday, the soft voice reverberated around your head tauntingly, and you gave another bitter sigh.

Because your mother had lied. She had died, and yet you still had no clues to what the seer’s vision meant. It had taunted you for years since she had passed, each turn of the phrase in your head as riddling as the last. Her old croak of a voice had uttered such an illusion to you, one you would never forget as long as you would live until you found the answer you wanted.

Dear Child, she had said, The wolf and the pup will guide you to the light or drag you to the darkness.

Your eyes scanned the horizon for any sign of someone travelling through the woods, just as the target you were here to kill supposedly had been for the past three days.

Your brotherhood had informed you of a cloaked figure moving between towns in the area, said to be slaughtering villagers in the night like some human shaped grim reaper. But the villagers weren’t just chosen at random, they just so happened to be informants for your creed, those who had happily given you and your brotherhood information over the years about your targets.

You called them the Keepers. They were an order of knights and lords who managed to find themselves in high courts all across the continent, whispering in the ears of leaders to control the continent as they pleased, starting wars and slaughtering people at a flick of their wrist under the titles of advisors to the court. Your creed had been able to keep them at bay for the time being, but they were getting stronger, smarter, and now you were losing your key informants at the hands of your enemies.

So it was only logical that the brotherhood decided to send their best assassins out to hunt the killer. Or killers perhaps. You had your private suspicions that this was a much bigger plot than it seemed, that many malevolent leaders had their puppeteering fingers on the strings of these killers. They weren’t working alone.

There! Your eyes caught sight of a small flume of smoke coming from amidst the trees, around a two hours ride away from here. In all likelihood, it was nothing, yet if they were simply a traveller they may have some more information on where your newest target was.

So, the woods it was then, you decided.

“If only mother could see me now,” You almost laughed to yourself cynically at your words, checking the street below for a soft landing, your eyes narrowing on a deep enough pile of hay that would break your fall well, “So much for that destiny bullshit,”

And with that you leapt.

»»-----------►

Geralt watched Ciri contort in her sleep, frowning as he heard her mumbling empty threats to some unknown assailant. His heart went out to the cub, it really did, he just had no idea how he was supposed to defend her from figments of her own mind. Goblins and ghouls, he could handle, but Geralt knew more than the average man that the biggest threats we faced were often the darkest parts of ourselves only we could confront.

“Stay back,” The blonde girl whimpered, her legs thrashing on the woodland floor. Geralt minded how her boot got a little too close to the hot coals that was all that remained from their fire last night and decided he needed to wake her up for her own good. As if hearing his concerned thoughts, the Cintran girl’s eyes snapped open without prompt, taking in the bright new morning they had awoken to.

“Glad to see you’re awake,” Geralt started, packing the few items he had into his rucksack ready to load Roach up for another day of journeying towards Kaer Morhen, “How did ou sle-”

“Someone’s coming,” Ciri rushed, giving little explanation as she sat upright, disturbing the dry leaves around her small body. Geralt seemed to tense up in alert in synchrony with the worry in her voice.

“What do you mean? Where?” He asked sternly, golden eyes flicking between the trees frantically to see where the problem was.

“I don’t know, I just saw them in my dream,” Ciri frowned, her eyes trying to chase the source of her vision just as much as her protector’s were. “A man in a black cloak and a mask, he was reaching for me. I couldn’t get away,” Her voice wobbled with the trace of the fear she’d felt in her dream, knowing it was about to become a reality before her very eyes. Her visions always started like this.

Geralt sighed, looking at the younger girl’s startled frame. He had forgotten what children were like when they had convinced themselves the monsters in their head were real. He was so sure she was just on edge from her morbid sleep, “Ciri, I’m sure it was just a nightmare,” The older man tried to reassure her, but the girl had since hopped up to attention, her heart racing with fear.

“No! No, Geralt, it wasn’t like the black knight. It was different this time, you have to believe me! I saw him,” Ciri said fiercely, eyes flicking through the trees as more snippets of her dream started playing out before her until… “There! A rider!”

Geralt looked at where she was pointing, her expression somewhere between triumph and fear as she locked in on the man from her dream. His attuned senses caught up to him as the sound of fast approaching hooves met his ears, and he made out the figure of a dark cloak atop a grey horse, an omen of death if ever he’d seen one.

“Go stand behind Roach. Don’t reveal yourself until I tell you it’s safe to.” Geralt ordered, blindly following the girl’s intuition. He had no idea who this person was, but the accuracy of the Princess’s dream told him to trust her word nonetheless. She followed his command, standing behind his mare’s large, muscular legs and using the surrounding bushes as slight cover from whoever this man may be.

He drew his sword as the rider approached, lifting his own dark hood over his head and hiding behind a large tree in order to size up this mystery passenger.

Geralt heard Ciri’s heart pounding from her hiding place, rhythmically in time with the hooves of the approaching horse. He felt as if he were holding his own breath, waiting for the assailant to hopefully pass by with no qualms on their position, the sound of the footfall only getting louder in his sensitive ears. He didn’t doubt his skills necessarily, he knew he could protect Ciri from any regular foe, but his time with the Cintran girl had been nothing but a handful of surprises, even the gift of her herself. It unnerved him that she had seen this man approaching them; why him?

It struck him then what was odd about the approaching fiend. He couldn't hear a heartbeat.

There was something different about this enemy, he could feel it in his gut.

The rider slowed their horse down to a trot, then to a walk as they neared the camp he and the girl had slept at. He heard them dismount gently, their feet much lighter than expected as they closed in on his makeshift campsite.

He tried to listen for any other clues as to who the target was, but all he heard was a brief fumble of a hand on the forest floor as they felt around the dying fire, no doubt trying to gage from the heat in the soil how fresh or old the flame was. They were smart, skilled at tracking it seemed.

Geralt decided it was now a good time to confront the man in question. He couldn't risk him advancing on Ciri.

The white wolf rounded the tree, sword bared and ready for a fight.

Except there was no one there.

The horse they had rode on still stood obediently, so they hadn’t left, he would have heard if they had anyway. There were no tracks, the ones that remained seemed to have been swept away by the man’s long cape that Ciri had noted immediately.

They had just … vanished. Like a ghost or a flume of smoke simply fading into the air around them. No trace they were really ever there.

Geralt stood to attention, ears pricked like a wild animal on the prowl for its prey as he took in every minute movement around him. His head snapped to a small movement in the tree above him, only to see a small crow hopping between the branches innocently. Sure, that very well could be them considering some mages were well known to shapeshift, but Geralt’s eyes flickered around the perimeter unconvinced.

For a moment, there was just silence. Ciri’s heart pounding in his ears from her spot, Roach’s much slower heartbeat overlapping it. He was sure even he was holding his breath as he searched for any sign of the assailant.

And yet nothing.

He had but a millisecond to react as he heard a faint twig snap above his head before it was too late. A body - the body he had been searching for in fact - landed on his shoulders with a diligence he had only seen in professional killers. The unexpected force of a figure damn near knocked him to the floor, though luckily he was more than built enough in his legs to handle the weight. He did, however, drop his sword in shock, and was left grappling with the perpetrator with his bare hands.

The, who he now guessed was an assassin due to their expertise skill, wrapped his cloak hood over his face, effectively blinding him and suffocating him at the same time. He reached out for any part of their body he could grab hold of, satisfied when he felt the culprits waist, grabbing it with both hands and heaving them forward with a heavy buck towards the forest floor.

The assassin was flung to the floor, though they had the good sense to grab his cape in just the right place from around his neck to take him tumbling to the ground too. The figure kicked out a heavy boot into his stomach as he careered almost on top of them, and even his quick reflexes felt numbed as they skillfully pinned him to the ground. He felt a set of thighs wrap around his neck, arm yanked upwards towards a surprisingly well endowed chest, before they began to squeeze like a muscled constrictor around his neck.

Geralt groaned in effort as his throat began to pay the price for his opponent's quick work. Luckily, his eyes caught sight of a small blade in the side of the assassin’s boot, and he was smart to yank it out of its holder before his airways could be shut off. He plunged it into the figure's thigh, making them grunt shortly and loosen their grip on his neck. Just as he'd wanted, he grabbed the figure by the scruff of their own cape and threw them to the ground next to him.

The pair of them stood, Geralt only equipped with the assailant's own blade, as he watched the figure in question pull another two long knives out of their waist scabbards. He debated drawing one from his own boot that he knew lay hidden, but their smaller, more nimble stature told him his odds were against him at a knife fight. He was good with a sword, gods know he was good with a sword, but this assassin clearly operated with small, fast movements, something his brawny build worked against.

Instead, Geralt chose a smarter route. He moved his hands into the symbol of axii, pushing his hands forward to thrust the wind in their direction to knock them hard away from Ciri.

The white haired man felt his mouth drop open when the galeforce current he sent towards them was deflected by a cross of their wrists, as if they had bounced the wind off their being with the action.

Instead, the spell he had conjured was sent straight back at him, launching him backwards, further into the forest. His body dragged along the floor with the weight of the spell, ironically knocking the air out of his lungs in both force and shock at the action he had just witnessed.

What in the continent was that?

He barely registered the fact the movement had thrown him past Roach and Ciri, his mind racing to catch up with what had just happened, but he didn’t miss the young girl’s worried eyes following his falling figure, nor did he fail to see the way the assassin ran at him with their blades drawn.

Geralt barely had time to sit up to defend himself before the dark hooded figure had jumped at him, their weapon pressed against his throat oddly delicately. He could barely make out who was beneath the hood from the black sheath they wore over their mouth and nose, and the clothing was draped too far down to see any eyes. The figure looked like what he imagined the grim reaper to be, the omen from the stories he and his brothers used to tell each other before bed back when they were just young ones. The other hand brought the twin blade careering down towards his head, and Geralt prepared himself to take the stab to the hand when Ciri spoke up.

“NO! STOP!” The young cub yelled, revealing herself even though it had been clear from their new position that they were not at all alone.

Geralt watched the figure freeze for a moment. It seemed a shred of humanity gleamed through the assassin’s behaviour as they heard a mere child beg for mercy. Their head snapped towards where Cirilla stood, false bravery on her expression as she watched the figure look straight at her, their attention diverted away from the white wolf.

“Ciri?” The assassin said, though the voice was muffled from the mask and much higher pitched than Geralt had imagined.

It was then that the small frame, the voice, the quiet, nimble movement they held, it all wove together in Geralt’s mind.

It dawned on him that this assassin was in fact a woman.

A woman who had stupidly taken her eyes off him.

He knocked her clean off her feet as she stared at the princess for much longer than he felt comfortable with, her smaller body rolling clear out of the way of Ciri and Roach, dropping one of her knives in the process.

You groaned as you felt the effect of his hard punch land hard where your nose was, rattling your brain inside your head. It couldn’t be, surely you were seeing things. That couldn’t be the princess.

As your thoughts raced, you were unceremoniously picked up by the scruff of your neck like a pup in a litter. Your most obviously concealed weapons thrown to the ground next to you as the Goliath of a man handled you with revenge in his piercing golden eyes.

He ripped your hood down revealing your neatly braided hair and partially covered face, though you simply looked over his shoulder at the girl who had shouted for mercy.

You had to know if it was her. What on earth was she doing so far from Cintra? She had grown so much since you'd last seen her. Why was she with your target? Your heart plummeted as you feared the worse for your sweet girl: Had she been kidnapped by this man?

“Eyes on me,” He growled at you, watching as your gaze had ignored him and gone straight to his child surprise. “Now, who sent you?

Your head snapped back to him at the hostile mutter of his question, “Who sent me?" You snarled, "I should be asking you the same thing,”

Geralt huffed, bringing one of his large hands up to your throat as you kicked viciously against his brutish strength. “If you want to talk in riddles, I have no use for you,”

You prepared yourself to start wrestling against his grip when a figure appeared over the shoulder of the man, exactly the one you could have sworn blind you'd heard. Your eyes widened at the girl you had left all those years ago.

“Y/N?” Ciri asked cautiously, as if the mask that lay on your face deceived her. But the way you’d looked up at her had her curious, and she was so sure when she’d gotten a closer look at your cape and facial features, the years came back to her in waves of nostalgia.

Geralt’s head turned to the young cub who approached carefully, her grey fur coat dragging behind her slowly. He felt his hands loosen from around your throat as he saw the saddened glint in Ciri’s eyes, and something tinged with recognition as she said your name again. He put you down the minute he saw her reaching for you longingly, and the second your feet met the floor she had rushed forward to take you in by the waist, burying her head into the crook of your hood as if she was greeting a family member.

You hugged her back just as tenderly, pulling your black mask down to reveal quite a beautiful face indeed, bar the bruise that was quickly forming on your nose thanks to Geralt’s heavy hands. “Sweet girl, what on earth are you doing here?” You asked in a voice so soft he couldn’t believe you had been grappling to kill each other not five minutes earlier.

Geralt’s head swam with lost thoughts. How on earth had you escaped and left no tracks in the first place? How had you deflected his axii like that, he was so sure that was impossible, and more importantly, why was his child surprise holding onto you as if her life depended on it?

Nothing about you made sense, not one single piece of information and so Geralt, in his whirring mind had nothing else to say to you except: “Who the fuck are you?”

-----

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This was part 2 for my 500 follower celebration! I hope you enjoyed I lowkey hate it

promise

frank castle x reader

It was the first time in a long time Frank was in a deep sleep, when he heard a loud bang on his front door.

He was out of bed, half-asleep, gun cocked as he made his way to the sound, fearing the worst. As he quietly opened the door, gun ready, he let out a groan when he recognized your prone body collapsed outside of it.

“What the fuck, I was sleeping.”

You glared up at him half-heartedly. “Just calling in a favor, Castle.”

He could tell you were injured, blood staining your jacket and trailing from a cut on your cheekbone. He didn’t even think twice as he leaned down to carefully scoop you up into his arms and into his apartment; you’d done it for him enough time that he really did owe you one.

“What is it this ti-fucking christ.”

You’d pulled your jacket off, lifting up your sweater to reveal the 8 inch gash along your side. It was deep, blood pumping out at a terrifying amount.

“Just a quick stitch-n-ditch, I promise.”

Frank rolled his eyes, trying to hide his concern as he quickly grabbed his kit from under the sink. “I’d be amazed if you didn’t pass out from blood loss within the next ten minutes, sweetheart. You ain’t going anywhere.”

You gave in pretty easily, considering there was no way you were walking out by yourself at this point. A stab wound to the ribs, possible broken wrist, and most likely a concussion.

Frank didn’t say a word as he stitched you up, focusing on his work. He could feel your gaze on him, heated and soft. Like always. He could move his face an inch and kiss you. But he wouldn’t.

Keep reading

short king - b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, sam wilson warnings: tiktok trend about: request! doing this tik tok trend on bucky barnes? But it's to him in person. ( gaslighting bf into thinking he's short. )

the weight of bucky’s head is sweet against your thighs, soft tufts of dark hair between the spaces of your fingers as you run them through. the cerulean of his irises is hidden behind fluttering eyelashes, his cheekbones pressed against your lap. he hums once in a while to voice how comfortable he is, lightly tightening the arm looped around your waist to pull himself closer.

the sound of the television is not enough to drown out the music from sam’s phone, constantly changing from the tiktoks he’s watching. bucky can barely hear any of it through the sound of your heart and the wonderful feeling of your love that makes his skin tingle.

sam’s chortle nearly snaps him out of the daze that made him begin to drift off to sleep, a quiet grunt slipping past his lips in disapproval. it disappears when he feels you giggle, fidgeting with a particularly silky strand. he pushes his face further into your thighs when sam turns up the volume on his tiktok and restarts the video.

after attempting to laugh quietly for two minutes, sam begins to guffaw, and bucky grumbles after a few seconds of it, reluctantly raising his head from your skin, “sam.”

sam shushes him, “i’m trying to hear.”

“if i can hear, you can hear,” bucky grumbles, sighing frustratedly when sam waves him off. “i’m going to the bathroom.” he’s already been forced out of his comfort, so he might as well.

kissing your thigh before getting up, bucky shoots sam a look before going to the elevator to his room, he never liked using the ones on the main floor.

“what’re you laughing at?” you ask sam when bucky is gone. sam snickers.

“there’s another tiktok thing going around where girls convince tall guys they’re short. it’s great.”

you tilt your head, nodding amusedly, “i can imagine that.”

sam’s eyes suddenly rise from his phone to you, a wide grin overtaking his face and a delighted laugh already bubbling in his throat, “you don’t have to.”

“what?”

“you should do that to bucky! how tall is he? eight-ten?”

“i don’t know, at least six feet?”

“i don’t care, you should do this to him,” sam encourages, thrusting his phone into your hands. you roll your eyes.

“bucky’s one-hundred-and-four, he isn’t going to freak out over me saying he’s short when i know he’s not.”

“who knows?” sam exclaims, “people can surprise you.”

“sam—”

“do it.”

pursing your lips, you settle your attention on the man, squinting, “you’re not leaving me alone until i do.” he shakes his head and you throw your hands up, “fine! but this will be very boring because he will just nod yes and then kiss me on the cheek.”

“nuh uh, this will hit a gross little part of him, you’ll see.”

“stop,” you laugh.

“stop what?” bucky asks when he enters the room again, sitting next to you and pressing a kiss to your head as he throws an arm over you.

“i just told y/n how tall you were,” sam cuts in, you cock your head at him.

bucky’s brows furrow as he looks back at you, “and you said stop?”

“height is just a number, bucky, don’t worry about it,” you assure smoothly with a light hand on his bicep. you wish sam wouldn’t look so impressed, this was your damn job.

“what?”

“i mean, i knew you were short, but i never—”

“short?” bucky interrupts, turning to you with inquisitive eyebrows.

“yeah, but it’s not like it’s something new,” you shrug comfortingly, “and it’s not a bad thing, honey.”

“i know, but i’m not.”

“oh,” you pout, “whatever you say, baby.”

bucky scoffs, “it’s not—y/n, i was tall before the serum and i’m taller now.”

you hum along, stroking his arm, “okay.”

“don’t—okay, do you think sam is short?”

you shake your head immediately, “no, no, sam’s tall, buck. what’re you talking about? you know you shouldn’t compare anyone, especially because of something so tiny like your height—oh, sorry.”

“i’m taller than he is!” bucky points out. you tilt your head at him, smiling softly.

“oh, honey, it’s all about perspective.”

“stop it! say that i’m tall.”

“okay,” you nod, “you’re very, very tall, honey,” you give in, pecking his nose. bucky groans.

“not like that,” he argues, letting his head fall against your shoulder, “this is bullying.”

“it’s okay,” you coo, yelping when you’re suddenly pulled up, one of bucky’s hands at his forehead.

“look,” he whines, “tall.”

at his insistence, you can’t help but laugh, tugging him closer to you, “yes, sweetheart, tall.”

“y/n, stop,” he drags, his chin above your head.

“it’s okay, you can be what the ladies call a short king,” you wink. he groans. sam laughs.

“bullying,” bucky insists, nuzzling his nose against your forehead.r

i love when i “make a mental note” of something. it’s gone within 20 seconds

Safe Place

Summary: You are Bucky’s safe place. Well your boobs are. 

Warnings: fluff, so much fluff, mention of boobs

Word count: 317 short but sweet

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

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It all started on a sunny Tuesday. You and Bucky were currently laying on the sofa in the common room of the tower, Bucky was laying between your legs, his hips were on yours pining you down so you couldn’t move, not that you want too anyway. 

It was a bad day today. You knew it was because he was like a lost puppy dog following you around all day begging for his safe place.

And that’s how you ended up pinned under a super soldier, with his face gently nestled in between your boobs while you were reading your book. A comforting silence washed over you both, making Bucky sigh with calmness. His hands trying to go around you so he could be closer, so you arched your back slightly to help him and relaxed when he connected his arms.

You heard a muffled “thank you” causing you to giggle slightly at the vibrations in your chest.

“You’re most welcome bubba.” You whispered, kissing the top of his head as to not disturb the peaceful silence between you both.

It was a little over an hour when your silence was interrupted by the ding of the elevator, causing you to look up from your book to see Sam walking out with his head in his phone.

“Hey.” He greeted, doing a double take. “What is he doing?”

“Hi, Sam.” You greeted back, smiling at him, and then going back to your book. “It’s not a good day today.”

Sam nodded understandingly, hearing a muffled “piss off pigeon” causing him to shake his head as you giggled again from the vibrations.

“Feel better soon, Tin Man.” Sam called before walking away, making Bucky growl into your chest.

“Hey. Less of that.” You scolded playful as he whined, snuggling into your boobs more and sighing happily.

He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

You are Bucky’s safe place.

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I’ve been thinking a lot about mafia Bucky and tattoos. About how sometimes he asks the reader to help design new ink and cuddles with her while it’s tattooed on, or teaches her how to use a tattoo gun so she can very carefully write her name and “I love you” over his chest

I love the idea of sitting with Bucky while he gets tattooed.

He has his artist come to the house so he can have it done in private. Bucky converted one of the rooms on the first floor to resemble an actual tattoo studio. It has everything including new machines, a few chairs, and Steve's hand-drawn artwork gracing the walls. In fact, many of his men will come by to get tatted after becoming made men or celebrate a big event by getting inked.

Tonight it's you, Bucky, and Natasha in the expansive room. You spent the past two hours laying on the sofa with Bucky between your thighs, his head on your belly while Natasha adds the final touches to the new phoenix tattoo on his shoulder. The stunning design coming to life before your eyes while you card your fingers through Bucky's hair. The bird's burnt oranges and deep reds striking in the sea of grey and black tattoos covering his back.

It's always peaceful during these times. Bucky isn't normally much of a talker, it's considered a bad habit in his line of work. However, he does like to talk to you. You know all his secrets. And something about the soothing pain that goes along with getting inked makes him talk even more than he normally does when he's around you.

Which is why Nat is wearing soundproof headphones, she rolled her amused green eyes the first time he tossed them at her, giving you a blithe smile as she glanced at the rosegold custom-made headphones. "You're lucky I like you."

"I know-"

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Not you," she scoffs. "I was talking to her."

She's been secretly teaching you how to tattoo. Bucky mentioned wanting to get your nickname on his chest a while ago and she's been putting it off, taking her time on the other designs until you're ready.

Nat lifts the needle off his skin, carefully wiping him off before standing up. "Alright we have time for one more." she sighs, the mischievous wink she sends over his head belying her seemingly bored tone.

Bucky rubs his cheek on your belly, placing a kiss on your skin. Pushing himself up on his elbows, he smiles at you. "You doing okay? Need a break? Something to drink?"

Only your man will spend hours getting a needle dragged across his skin and ask if you're the one who needs a break. "I'm fine," you reply.

Bucky sits up, glancing at his shoulder in the mirror across from you. "You sure?" He asks, tracing one of the wings with his finger.

"She is." Nat sasses, "Let's go, I'm not missing housewives because of you two, and take your hands off my art."

Bucky sits back on the sofa, sneering at the redhead. Just as he's about to fire off a snarky retort, you swing your leg over his and settle your weight over his thick thighs, holding the tattoo machine in your hand.

Bucky's eyes flit up and down your body, a knowing smirk spreading across his face. "Finally going to write your name on me prințesă. You know you were ready a few weeks ago but I don't mind waiting for you."

Your mouth flounders open in shock. "How did you-" Turning your head, you find Nat, hands on her hips, opening glaring at him. "It was supposed to be a surprise."

"I didn't say anything," she says.

Bucky places his knuckles under your chin, gently closing your mouth, his other ring-covered hand smoothing over your hip. "You gotta learn to whisper doll." He chuckles at your crestfallen expression.

Nat flicks the back of your head. "So lucky I like you," she laughs. "Now remember what I taught you and if you fuck up, don't worry about it-" She moves your hand, positioning it over the the outline"-it's only Bucky."

Flipping it on, you grin, scrunching your nose at him. "That's true, Nat."

Bucky places his hands behind his head. "Prințesă you can do whatever you want to me, now mark me as yours."

honey,

there is no right way

summary || when you agree to be the feared mobster Bucky Barnes’ sugar baby, you expect to get enough money to pay your bills. what you don’t expect is to fall head over heels for him.

warnings || sugar baby au, mob! Bucky Barnes, unprotected sex, a lot of kinks, violence, SMUT. ANGST. FLUFF. (the holy trinity). MINORS DNI.

I have decided to not do taglists anymore, so if you wished to be notified of my newest updates please follow @bonky-n-steeb-lib and turn on the notifications!

* Feel free to send drabbles, requests or asks about this series!

— one

— two

— three

— four

— five

— six

— seven

— eight

— nine

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DRABBLES

Bucky and reader at a wedding

Bucky and Peter before the first date

Bucky taking your photographs

Bucky with kids

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