Bucky Barnes Angst!

horny thoughts only

Sebastian Stan filming Captain America: Civil War.

I randomly started thinking about this fic again after like at least two years and I'm re-obsessed and couldn't find it in my reposts so I'm re blogging it again :)))))))

Just One Kiss Masterlist

(photos not mine, storyboard very much mine)

Series Summary: Bucky Barnes has been chasing after you since he was ten years old, but you’re determined not to give in. How long can you hold out when all he’s asking for is just one kiss? (40′s happy ending AU)

Series Warnings: Language, excessive amount of fluff, slow burn, mutual pining

Part One - The Beginning

Part Two - A Walk Home

Part Three - Moving Day

Part Four - A Dance

Part Five - Girls’ Night

Part Six - The Fight

Part Seven - Christmas

Part Eight - The Question

Part Nine - First Date

Part Ten - Afternoon in the Park

Part Eleven - Last Date

Part Twelve - The Goodbye

Part Thirteen - The First Letters

Part Fourteen - Broken Silence

Part Fifteen - Finale

Epilogue Pieces

Bonus Material Masterlist

Sebastian Sallow x Reader (Drabble) — Winter Warmth

Synopsis: Winter has fallen upon the Scottish Highlands, blanketing Hogwarts in all of it's frosted glory. Sebastian is ecstatic as the mercury descends lower and lower— you, on the other hand, well, let's just say you could do with a few more layers and all of the warmth you can muster to steal from your doting boyfriend.

Established relationship, takes place 7th year/aged up characters, space heater boyfriend and ice cube girlfriend trope, fem!reader, fluff, fluff and more fluff, enchanted scarves, and me projecting how much I fkn hate winter.

You can't deny that the fresh cover of snow is just as lovely as it is cold. It encapsulates the grounds of the school on every surface, draping over the looming turrets and towers and glittering in the peachy morning sunlight. The cobblestone paths and courtyards are cloaked with frost and ice, and the Great Lake, now frozen, reflects the silvery sky and the pale rose of the sunrise.

Truly, it is beautiful, and maybe if you weren't such an avid hater of this frigid, dark, long season . . . perhaps you would enjoy it more.

But the chill seeps through your robes so cold it's practically burning, frozen fingers shoved deep in your pockets and shoulders shrugged up to your ears. You'd only been outside of the warm confines of the castle for a few minutes, yet despite your warm layers and thick house scarf, you still found yourself swearing at the biting wind.

You longed to be back in your common room, cozied up beside the large fireplace with a book and a warm drink but alas, Sebastian had other plans. With Quidditch season wrapping up along with the fall months, there were few more training sessions left and Sebastian was adamant on being there to support his peers. Not making the team for his final year of Hogwarts was a heavy blow for him, but the boy was determined to find a way to still enjoy the sport.

So, here you are, tracking through the snow in the early hours of December towards the Quidditch pitch, where you promised to meet your boyfriend to watch the team practice together. You'd both been swamped with exams and papers the last few weeks, leaving hardly any time to spend together besides crashing into the Great Hall to sit beside each other for meals and the occasional drop in to the Undercroft with Ominis.

Unlike you, Sebastian absolutely adores the colder weather. He's filled with excitement for the Holidays and glittering with joy like the morning frost that enamors him. It's hard to not at least look forward to his enchanted moods if not for anything else when the mercury drops this low.

You find that even casting basic warming charms isn't enough to keep you from shivering this morning, wishing desperately for an extra layer of clothing. Your teeth clatter together clumsily no matter how hard to try to stop them.

The quidditch pitch in sight and the whipping sounds of billowing robes in the sky have you quickening your step and your eyes scan the open space for the brunet. He stands just on the edge of the pitch beside the first row of bleachers, elbow propped up on the barricade as he bickers with Imelda teasingly as she flies overhead on her broom, eyes rolling light heartedly.

He turns at the sound of your boots crunching in the snow, that charming smile of his creeping across his face before he pushes himself off the barricade towards you.

"Hey, darling." He says, bowing his head to press a quick kiss to your cheek, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his dark robes. Despite his hot-bloodedness, Sebastian himself is layered in as many warm sets of clothing as you are, a Slytherin scarf tucked snuggly into his vest and a patterned wool coat unbuttoned atop his outfit.

"It's bloody freezing out here." You complain, leaning into his warmth as he chuckles light-heartedly at your scowl.

"Not too bad," Sebastian denies, "Practice will probably run short today anyway, won't have to stand it for too long."

You watch as the players pass the quaffle back and forth through their formations, running positional drills at incomprehensible speeds. Their green uniforms go by as mere flashes of color, winds whipping in their wake. Sebastian pulls you into his side, arm across your shoulders and you nearly sigh aloud at the heat radiating off of him. It takes all your strength to stop the tremors racking your body, you know he'll fret about you if he realizes how cold you truly are. As much as you'd love to be inside by the fire, you'd hate for him to miss out on this because of you.

"Are you warm enough?" He asks, dark brows furrowed in concern.

You turn to smile up at him assuringly, "I'm alright." You nod, but he's already turning to face you, pulling your hands from your pockets to cradle between his own.

"You're a bad liar," He chides, "Your hands are like ice!" He brings your hands together to his mouth, cupping his own around yours before blowing warm air against your fingers, lips parted just slightly. Sebastian gazes down at you with nothing short of adoration, taking care of you as he always does and you're practically melting in his hold. Warmth curls in your stomach and you have to look away to avoid blushing.

You wiggle your newly thawed fingers in his grasp, humming your content before he's pulling you in and wrapping your arms around his torso under his coat, tucking your hands into the pocket of warmth between his layers.

"Oh my god," You groan, eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head, "How are you so hot?"

"While I'm flattered, my love, we do happen to be in public." He teases, wrapping his arms around your back to press you into his chest, enveloping you in his distinctly smokey-sage aroma. You pinch his side beratingly, though it ends up being mostly fabric and you can't help but laugh.

Together you watch the rest of quidditch practice, cheering on team mates and laughing while they goof off on their brooms. Some of the players are flushed red in the face due to the cold whipping at their skin, others seem unbothered by the chill. It's not long before they begin wrapping up, putting away equipment and high-fiving each other as they gather their things. Sebastian and you bid goodbye to everyone, still pressed as close as you can muster before filtering off the pitch with everyone else.

"How does breakfast sound?" You ask Sebastian, wrapping an arm around his bicep as you walk.

"Maybe something small. We could grab something from the Hall and take it to the Room of Requirement."

"Hoping to get me all to yourself, Sallow?" You tease, smirking up at him with a challenge.

Sebastian shrugs smugly, "Oh please, all I'd have to do is ask nicely."

You bounce your shoulder into his, laughing. "Well? Are you gonna ask then?"

Sebastian rolls his eyes, "Well, now," he draws out the word, "I don't want to." He turns his head from you childishly, puffing his chest up ridiculously and huffing.

"Fine, I'll ask then. Could we get breakfast and spend some time alone together and possibly never leave the Room of Requirement again?" You think for a moment, then ammend, "Well, at least not until summer. When it's warm out again."

Sebastian smiles, "If you insist."

The pastries you all but snatch off the tables in the Great Hall are warm and fresh, wrapped delicately in napkins and bundled up in your arms as you make your way to the secret room together. Sebastian holds two mugs of steaming hot chocolate, charmed to stay warm for the venture.

You push the door open as soon as it appears, a fire is already flaming next to the big gothic windows, the snowy landscape shining brightly through the stained glass. A burgundy settee is placed in front of it, adorned with plush blankets and pillows and a side table for all your treats.

Sebastian places the mugs down and shrugs off his layers, leaving him in his school jumper and pleated pants, House crest proudly embroidered on his chest. You follow suit before crashing onto the couch next to him, knees tucking into your chest as you practically burrow yourself into his side, slipping your socked feet under the warm blankets and sighing dramatically. Sebastian passes you an unwrapped pastry before taking one for himself, stretching his arm around you and settling into the furniture.

"Merlin, isn't this great? I mean, just think; if it were summer we'd be sweating right now. We'd have to sit on opposite ends of the couch and you'd still be whining about me being too hot." He remarks after a bite.

You consider before shrugging. "Okay, maybe. But could we just spend the rest of winter indoors?"

Sebastian chuckles before pressing a kiss to your lips, hand cupping the nape of your neck and tangling in the hair that lay there.

You lean into him, fingers slipping under the hem of his jumper before trailing up his warm body to rest on his broad chest. The muscles ripple under your cold touch, and you feel him flinch away from you before grasping at your wrists, his lips smiling against yours

"Bloody hell! Your hands are too cold, stop stealing my body heat!" He chastises, but you're giggling and fighting against his hold, pressing your fingers back beneath the warmth of his clothes. You know if he really meant it that he's more than strong enough to hold you back, but instead he appeases you, although he yelps helplessly when you make contact with his chest again.

Suddenly, his warm breath is in the crook of your neck and he's pushing you down into the couch, settling his body weight on top of you and nestling under the blankets against your body. You wrap your arms around his torso and tangle your legs into his, closing your eyes and relishing in his affections.

He huffs a deep, relaxed breath and grins against your skin, "Okay, perhaps I could be convinced to stay here until summer."

"That sounds perfect to me." You say, reaching a hand up to twist into the curling locks of his hair, scratching gently at his scalp. He groans softly at the sensation, rocking his head back and forth against your fingers like a dog begging for pets.

It isn't long before you're both drifting to sleep, eyes slipping closed and breaths slow and even. You spend the day just like that, tangled up together in your secret hiding spot, laughing and cuddling and talking quietly amongst each other until you find something better to do.

The next few days pass just as cold and snowy as the first, but on the third day you receive a lovely wrapped surprise at breakfast. Inside the box sits a lovely matching set of mittens and a scarf knitted of soft, cozy fabric in your favorite color. Under it, a hand written note from yours truly, the scrawl messy and parchment crinkled;

"For your damned icicle fingers! Charmed to keep you warm even in negative temperatures.

Your handsome, marvelous, thoughtful, caring, and unbelievably intelligent boyfriend,

Sebastian

P.S. before you ask, yes I suppose you can keep using me as your personal heater as well . . . "

IV. “I Trust You Know What You’re Doing?”

"Trust" Series Masterlist

John "Bucky" Egan x WAC!Female Reader

Struggling with the forced separation of your transfer and promotion, it does not take long for you and Bucky to plan a trip to London together. But even while you're on leave, the world around you continues to do its best to tear itself apart.

Warnings: Language, Grief, Alcohol Consumption, Angst, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes [oral - f receiving, implied virginity loss, protected vaginal sex, condoms, unprotected vaginal sex, multiple orgasms] - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note: Welcome to this massive installment. I have no excuses, only apologies. Also I only had the fortitude to proof this once, there may be more errors than normal, but I didn't want to delay it any longer - I will correct things as I find them. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

ETA: The image descriptions for the letters contain the text within to allow for a screen reader or anyone who cannot read cursive. Click the ‘ALT’ button to access.

Word Count: 8497

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Wycombe Abbey could not have been more different than Thorpe Abbotts if it had tried.

The private, or in a most confusing twist ‘public’ as the Brits called such institutions, girls’ school had begun its life in the 17th century as a manor house before being transformed into a much grander residence near the end of the 19th century. The school had opened in 1896 with only forty students, but that number had swelled to over two hundred by the time the building was requisitioned for use as the Headquarters of the 8th Air Force.

Stained glass windows, stonework, archways, and wood panelling now replaced squat concrete buildings and rough-and-ready Nissen huts. Though everything was just as drafty, so at least the temperature provided some familiar consistency to your new surroundings. As you descended from your quarters tucked away in some forgotten corner of the attic, down a set of precarious servants’ stairs, you nearly took a wrong turn – again. To your credit you had only been here three days and the maze of corridors and rooms further divided into offices for USAAF purposes was nearly unnavigable.

Chiding yourself softly under your breath that your office was to the right and not the left, as though the sharpness of your tone might really drive it home this time, you quickened your steps still hoping to beat to postal clerk to the outgoing mail box that sat on the corner of your desk. It had been more of a challenge than you were expecting to write the letter clutched in your hand, but the daily meetings that senior operations officers held at 1015, 1600, and 2200 were your responsibility to attend and record via frantically scribbled notes to be typed up in a more professional format later.

These were the meetings at which mission targets for the entire 8th were chosen. The strategic value of various locations was discussed alongside weather reports and aligning with the RAF’s Bomber Command for maximum impact against Nazi Germany. After the first meeting, it would be decided if a mission would even be conducted the following day, and each Division, Wing, and Base involved would be put on alert to allow them time to begin planning the operation. By the time the last meeting ended, the target and approach would be finalized, and the official field orders would be issued.

It made for a remarkably long day, even with breaks for meals, and though you were guaranteed every other Friday off because of this, by the time you crawled into bed near midnight, you only had enough energy to add a few lines onto the letter you had begun to Bucky as soon as you arrived. It made for a rather disjointed and rambling piece of correspondence, in your opinion, but you could not bear to keep him waiting any longer – not wanting him to assume you had forgotten to write and not knowing how long the thing would take to reach him regardless.

Dashing into the office you shared with Myrtle, a very stoic young woman with dark hair and thick eyelashes from Rhode Island, you exhaled in relief to see the post still waiting to be collected and added your letter to the pile. Unlocking your desk drawers, you began setting up for the day, hoping it would reach him quickly.

His reply arrived in your inbox just over two weeks later, near the end of September. Sliding it into your brown leather utility bag, you did your utmost to ignore its very existence throughout the first daily meeting, and your subsequent production of the official report thereof. Taking your lunch break a little earlier than usual paid off in that the line was much shorter at that time. You inhaled the mystery stew and rolls, hardly tasting them, before taking your letter outside to read in the rare afternoon sunshine.

It was short, and it was unspeakably adorable that Bucky did not write in cursive, but there was no lack of his personality in his response. It was as though the very essence of him had been distilled into the ink itself and you could not help the broad grin that bore its way into the muscles of your cheeks, making them ache as you read it.

Glancing quickly at your watch, you realized there was still time to send a reply before the second post pick-up but based on the length of time it had taken for this exchange of letters, it was unlikely another would reach him with enough time to plan for October 8 – your next Friday off. Worrying your lip between your teeth as you considered your options, you landed on a rather devious idea, one that quite honestly would have never come to you if not for the deep need to reach Bucky immediately. Vi had a telephone on her desk in the weather office, a number that you had access to given the strategic importance of weather to the senior operations officers.

Myrtle would be on her break for another fifteen minutes…you had not even realized you had made up your mind before your feet began to carry you back inside, up the stairs into the mercifully still-empty office. Digging out the directory, you found the number for Thorpe Abbotts’ weather office and took a shaky breath as you sank into your chair.

‘Keep it brief, keep it free of classified information. Worst you’ll get is a reprimand.’

The devious, deceptive voice in your mind was a new one, fostered, perhaps, by the rather carefree man you found yourself deeply entangled with, but it was not one you were about to disobey. Lifting the handset of your phone from its cradle, you cleared your throat as the operator answered.

“Norfolk 7315, please.” You tried your best to sound calm and collected as the line clicked and began to ring.

“Phillips.” An unexpected voice answered, and you gulped, knowing Ruth would be less likely to participate in some romantic scheme.

You greeted her in kind, trying to ignore the ache of loneliness as she gasped softly.

“I was hoping you might pass along a message for me?”

“To a certain Major?” You could hear the grin in her voice and felt the pressure on your chest ease.

“Indeed. October 8. I will arrange accommodations.”

“Your line should he need to reach you?”

Hesitating a moment, you ultimately decided to provide it as well, wanting to ensure he could in fact contact you if something came up. Or perhaps any of them could – should the worst happen.

‘Don’t think about that.’ You chastised yourself internally.

“You’re well?” Ruth asked and you smiled softly.

“I am, please tell everyone I miss them terribly.”

“Will do, have to go.”

There was a ‘click’ as she hung up and the line went dead but the lightness in your heart could not be extinguished.

Nine days later you found yourself waiting on the platform at Liverpool Street station awaiting the arrival of Bucky’s train from East Anglia. Given the proximity of High Wycombe to London, you had arrived much earlier that morning and checked into the hotel already, dropping off your small bag and come to wait for his train – well you assumed he’d be on the first train of the day, but as the carriages disgorged a sea of humanity and you had yet to spot him, your brows began to furrow in doubt.

You were about to fish the folded schedule you had picked up from the ticket counter to check the next arrival time when he was suddenly wrapping an arm around you, pulling you tight into his chest as you gasped softly in surprise.

“There you are doll.” Bucky sighed, dropping his bag at your feet to slide the other arm around you as he pulled back to nudge your cap out of the way and deliver a breathtakingly thorough kiss that you were not entirely sure was appropriate for the public setting you were in.

Not that you stopped him, you own arms snaking about his midsection to cling to him tightly.

Pulling back, his eyes raked over your features lovingly as you both inhaled deeply to fill your greedy lungs.

“Well, well 1st Lieutenant.” He smirked proudly as he lifted his hand to stroke the chrome insignia you now wore on your lapels courtesy of your promotion, leaving smudges of his thumb print.

“You are leaving my uniform in disarray, Major.” You chided playfully, unable to hold back you grin, even for a moment, to sell the joke.

His forefinger hooked behind the knot in your tie, tugging it out from beneath your jacket and pulling you closer – eliminating the last few inches of space that remained between your bodies.

“Good.” He rumbled against your lips before kissing you deeply, severely undermining the infrastructure of your knees.

The loud racket of the train cars as they shunted into one another jolted the pair of you apart, making you realize you were among the last few remaining on the platform as the now empty train left the station.

“Let’s get you checked in and your bag dropped off.” You murmured, clearing your throat as you unbuttoned your uniform jacket to straighten and re-secure your tie.

His hand slid into yours as the pair of you made your way out of the station and he happily followed you to a hotel you’d found near his station, knowing that he’d be here longer than you and it would be easier for him to find his way back to base this way. Sitting patiently in the lobby as he checked in and ran his bag up, you smiled as he returned to hold his hands out to you.

“C’mon doll, I have a whole plan.”

Taking his hands, you rose to your feet, raising your eyebrows curiously. “A whole plan?”

He leaned in to murmur against your ear, “you’re not the only one involved in planning you know.”

You pulled back quickly, eyes wide with a touch of panic. You were quite certain you had never told him just what your new position entailed, and there was no way he could simply guess it.

“Easy doll, your phone line.” He winked as he maneuvered your arm through his, turning to lead you out the front door.

Slowly exhaling, it clicked into place. Of course. Just as you were able to find Vi’s desk number in a directory, it seemed Bucky had been doing a little research of his own.

“Well, shhh.” You chastened him firmly, laying a finger over your lips, looking very much like an anti-slander campaign poster.

His hearty laugh in response did little to convince you that he took in the message.

“Now, how do we get to Hyde Park…” He murmured, pulling a crumpled leave guide out of his pocket.

“The underground.” You answered easily, leading him back towards the very station he had arrived at but this time down to the tube station entrance where the pair of you purchased your tickets.

His touch rarely left you – even if he was forced to release your hand, you could feel his palm pressed against your lower back as you made your way through the crowded subterranean space. You were glad to have him with you this time, not particularly a fan of this mode of transportation, but it certainly was an efficient way to get around London. Pressed close together on the train, you took the opportunity to simply gaze at him, basking in his presence after nearly a month apart, not missing the way his mouth ticked up at the corner cockily.

“Missed you too, doll.” He winked and ducked a kiss to your ear before guiding you off the train at your stop – once he had confirmed with you it was indeed your stop.

Blinking your way back into the light of day, you pointed at a directional sign guiding the way to Hyde Park.

“Perfect, now apparently there are…sandwiches!” He crowed and tugged you over to a sandwich truck that seemed quite popular based on the line of waiting patrons.

Your face was starting to hurt, driving home how infrequently you had found the opportunity to smile in his absence, making you squeeze his hand fondly. Bucky looked back to you quickly as he joined the queue.

“You really did plan everything.” You gulped quickly and he beamed proudly.

“Anything for my girl. What kind would you like?” He gestured at the menu written on the side of the truck.

By the time you reached the front of the line, Bucky was able to easily place your order, including two bottles of lemonade, insisting on paying. Opening your utility bag, you carefully packed the lunch away, earning a rather damp and enthusiastic kiss on your cheek as he snatched your hand to continue onto the park.

“May I ask what it is about this park in particular?” You inquired as the pair of you dashed across the road.

“You can ask…” His cheeky reply had you scoffing in return as you entered the canopy of trees, following a path further and further away from the traffic of downtown London.

Plenty of men in uniform seemed to be out, enjoying the nice weather with women on their arms. Women who, unlike you, enjoyed the luxury of being allowed to dress as they chose during their leisure time. It had been one of many reasons that nearly twenty-five percent of women had chosen not to remain enlisted during the transition from the WAAC to the WAC, the army requirement to remain in uniform even when off-duty. In all honesty, you had not really missed your civilian clothes until just then.

Watching the sheer femininity of those women as they swirled about in their colorful fabrics only drove home how drably olive and plainly cut your uniform truly was.

“You’re a million miles away, doll.” Bucky’s voice cut through the dark clouds that had gathered in your mind and you looked to him quickly.

“Sorry Bucky, it’s beautiful here. Like another place entirely.” You offered him a smile but by the way his eyebrow lifted slightly he did not seem to be entirely buying it. “Have the leaves started changing around the base yet?” You tried changing the subject.

He shook his head, releasing your hand to slide his arm around your waist instead, pulling you closer. “Seems everything will happen later here than back home.”

You hummed thoughtfully, glancing ahead and gasping a little at the glimpse of a sizeable body of water that seemed to be filled with rowboats.

“That’s why were here.”

You turned back to him to see a broad grin had overtaken his face and laughed in excitement as it was terribly romantic.

“If I had known, Major Egan, I would have brought my parasol.” You grinned and he snorted, squeezing your hip fondly.

“No need to put on airs, 1st Lieutenant,” he smirked, “the ride will be enjoyable all the same.”

“Bucky!” You hissed sharply, slapping his chest as he laughed deeply, ducking your head slightly as more than a few passersby shot glances your way.

“C’mon doll.” He chuckled and led you over to the booth beside the dock, paying the fee for a thirty-minute rental before the pair of you headed down to climb into one of the waiting row boats.

Setting your heavy bag on the floor, you carefully stepped into the rather unstable watercraft, settling on the passenger’s bench – denoted as such by the ornate ironwork arms. Bucky followed, seated across from you at the oars, his knees nearly brushing against yours, legs too long for so small a boat. Unbuttoning and sliding off his jacket, he tossed it and his cap to you before rolling up his sleeves and began to row the pair of you out onto The Serpentine, you now knew the small lake to be called.

“I trust you know what you’re doing?” You asked as he appeared to easily manage the oars, seeming at ease in the small boat.

“Mostly.” He teased with a wink before laughing at your slightly aghast expression. “Grew up on the shore of Lake Michigan, doll. Boats are like planes to me, easily managed.” He soothed.

It was difficult to decide which view to settle your eyes upon, the verdant green of the still-lush trees, the throng of boats around you, or Bucky working up a remarkably attractive sheen of sweat with his forearms on display as he propelled the rowboat through the water. A feathered fan would have been a very useful tool in that moment, to hide behind or cool yourself down, or perhaps both.

Belatedly, you realized that Bucky had been speaking this whole time – about events back at Thorpe Abbotts. Giving you the update about the people you knew, the trouble Meatball had caused with a farmer down the road, but he trailed off when he realized you were staring once more in dumbfounded silence at him.

“Doll, you’re going to give me a big head if you keep looking at me like that.” He winked as he lifted the oars from the water, letting the water sluice from the blades before tucking them into the boat on either side of you.

“Y…you’re good at that.” You replied lamely and shook your head. “Hungry?” Leaning forward for your bag, which was in all honestly a lot closer to his feet in the floor of the boat, you froze as everything tilted precariously in response to your movements.

Bucky lay a gentle hand on your shoulder to steady you. “Allow me.” Bending down slowly, he scooped up your bag and opened the flap to retrieve your sandwich and lemonade. “It’s sure tight in here, how did you even make this all fit?”

He tugged a little harder on the packet containing your lunch and your eyes widened in horror as, while he was triumphant, he also managed to send the three condoms you had tucked into your bag scattering to the floor of the boat. His eyes followed the distinct, square, paper packets and you could see his throat bob as he swallowed viciously.

“Doll…” His voice came out rough as a gravel road as he slowly raised his eyes to meet yours. “…been doing some planning of your own?”

“‘A WAC is always prepared.’” You quoted in a mortified whisper, struggling against the urge to lunge forward and hide the evidence, knowing it would only send both of you over the side and into the lake.

You watched another swallow ripple down Bucky’s throat before he offered your lunch to you, carefully collecting the offending items and returning them to your bag before he retrieved his own food.

“Would you mind,” He spoke after taking a rather ruthless and oversized bite of his sandwich, words muffled between slices of bread and chicken salad before he swallowed to start over. “Would you mind if, instead of following the rest of my plan, after these thirty minutes are up, I take you back to the hotel?”

Taking a thick swallow of your own, you shook your head slowly as you felt your cheeks heat up at the implications of that invitation. “I would not mind, no.” You clarified breathlessly and he nodded sharply, gesturing for your as-yet-unopened bottle of lemonade.

Handing it back to him, you watched silently as he lined the edge of the cap with the metal plate holding the oarlock in place, popping it off the bottle with one sharp blow of the heel of his palm.

“Thank you.” You murmured quietly as he passed you the opened drink, taking a deep sip as he repeated the process with his own, draining nearly half the bottle in one go.

Tilting your head back to take in the feel of the sun on your face, you slid your cap from your hair, adding it to the pile of his neatly folded items on the bench beside you, continuing to enjoy your picnic on the lake.

“You heard about Dye hitting twenty-five?” He broke the silence, sounding much more like himself again and you nodded quickly.

“Big news, everywhere in the 8th. Lucky crew all heading home – how did Lil take it?” You tilted your head curiously, raising your bottle to your lips, his eyes following the motion closely.

“Hm? Oh, she’ll be alright…they’re both good at letters.” He nodded, leaning back a little.

You knocked your knee against his affectionately. “Don’t sell yourself short you sweet man, I thoroughly enjoyed yours.”

His eyes flicked to yours quickly as a small smile curled his lips. “Yeah?”

You nodded firmly. “Yeah. Promise to give you more to reply to soon, phone was just necessary to make this happen.”

His hand landed on your thigh gently and he squeezed the flesh through your skirt. “Worth it. Just how long are your days though, doll?”

Your fingers played along the empty glass bottle, and you shrugged. “As long as they need to be.” You replied evasively.

“Mm, I’m going to get a better answer out of you than that.” He threatened playfully as he leaned forward to grasp the oar handles, swinging the blades back into the water and taking the pair of you on a loop around the corner of the lake before returning you to the dock.

Bucky climbed out first, taking his cap and jacket before helping you out easily, kissing you firmly as soon as you were on solid ground. “Let’s take a cab…” He breathed impatiently and you laughed, shaking your head.

“The cost would be astronomical, come on.” You affixed your cap on your head as he rolled down his sleeves and slid his jacket back on before the pair of you made your way back to the Underground.

Bucky’s body was practically pressed against yours the entire trip back to Liverpool Street station, seemingly unable to tolerate any form of separation. As you neared the hotel though, you looked to him slowly. “We should go in as colleagues…I booked us that way.”

He looked at you utterly confused, and you swallowed.

“We’re unwed, there was no way I could book us here together, and they will be none to please if they realize I’ve tricked them. I’ll get my key, you get yours, I’ll come to your room…”

He nodded slowly, arm reluctantly unwinding from around your waist before holding the door open for you to step inside.

“Thank you, Major.” You nodded, sliding your cap from your head as you stepped inside, heading to the counter to fetch your room key as he did the same, the pair of you walking up the stairs to the fifth floor together before parting ways so you could fetch your small overnight bag.

It was rather a waste of money, to book a room knowing you would most likely never sleep in it, but such things were necessary for women like you. Women who chose to go to bed with a man they were not married to in the long light of the afternoon. Taking a steadying breath, you left the perfectly made bed behind, walking down the hall to Bucky’s room and knocking on the door softly.

It promptly swung open to reveal a smiling Bucky, his jacket and cap long gone, along with his necktie, the top few buttons of his shirt undone. He stepped back and gestured for you to enter his much larger room with a small brown paper wrapped packet clasped in his hand. Once the door was closed behind you, you let out the laugh you had been holding.

“I did book this under Major John Egan, I suppose they felt the need to give you a nicer room than a Lieutenant.”

He smirked and kissed your cheek, taking your cap and bag from your hand, then pressing the package into it. “Before I forget, again.”

“Bucky you didn’t have to get me anything, you came to see me…”

“Open it.” His eyes danced with anticipation, and you began to pull at the piece of twine holding the package closed, unfolding the utilitarian paper to reveal a brand-new pair of stockings.

You let out an audible gasp as your jaw fairly fell to the floor.

“To replace the pair that got wrecked when you fell.” He smiled, obviously pleased by your reaction.

“How on earth did you…?!” You trailed off, staring up at him in wonderment.

“A man never reveals his secrets, doll.” He grinned and let out a grunt as you launched yourself into his arms, kissing him fiercely at the thoughtfulness of his gift and in recognition of the sheer determination it must have taken to achieve such a feat in rationed England.

His fingers gently plied the items from your grasp, setting them on the bedside table, freeing your hands to latch onto his arms as he cupped your face gently.

“You sure about this, my beautiful girl?” He whispered and your breath hitched in your throat at the tender look on his face just inches from yours.

“Yes.” You nodded quickly, sliding your fingers into his hair to pull his lips back to yours greedily.

A pleased noise rolled from his throat and across your tongue as he coaxed your mouth open, his fingers shifting to make steady work at the buttons on your jacket before he unwound your hands from his dark curls to slide the garment off, tossing it in the general direction of the chair that held his. You could not help the giggle that bubbled up from your chest at that as you moved to undo the buttons of his shirt one by one.

The tug of his teeth on your lower lip quickly transformed your laughter to shuddering breath as you held tightly to the open sides of his shirt, feeling him tug your tie free from your collar before it joined the pile of clothes somewhere on the plush blue carpet of the hotel room floor. Your shirt and skirt were quick to join it, leaving you in your brassiere and slip, garter belt and underwear still hidden from view.

“You have a remarkable number of layers on, doll.” He huffed as his mouth descended along your throat to suck at the crook of your shoulder, installing a dramatic curve in your spine as you arched against him wantonly with a half-swallowed cry of pleasure.

“Y…you have almost as many…” You protested, tugging the ends of his shirt from his trousers before pushing it from his shoulders only to be met with his undershirt.

The sheer broadness of him had never quite been so very apparent and had you licking your lips as you struggled with the last barrier between you and his torso, your ID tags rasping metallically against his.

“Not nearly as complicated though.” He muttered as his fingers worked at the hook and eye closure of your bra until you felt the band go slack and he leaned back to slide the straps down your arms, making you shiver as your breasts were revealed to his hungry gaze.

Bucky’s heavy exhale fluttered against your collarbone, grown cool by the time it traversed the distance between you, and you shuddered slightly, looking to the side shyly. He leaned in to brush his nose against yours tenderly, pecking your lips.

“Whatcha hiding for, gorgeous?” His tone was gentle and had your eyes slowly sliding to meet his, an action he rewarded with a deep kiss.

He continued to distract you with repeated meetings your lips, each time with growing intensity as his palms slid upwards along your sides to cup your breasts. The meeting of flesh had you inhaling sharply through your nose, hands seeking anchor as your fingers twisted into his beltloops where his trousers hung open around his hips – yet again delaying you in your purpose of undressing him. As his thumbs honed in on your sensitive peaks, Bucky elicited all manner of noises from your throat only to eagerly devour them.

“D’ya have any idea how soft you are doll?” He sighed against your lips as he kneaded your tender flesh. “’Cept right here.” He smirked as he tugged at your nipples and you whined his name, pressing impossibly close against him, realizing he was anything but soft.

Your shimmies and writhes against him seemed to serve as a reminder of the greater purpose at hand and Bucky’s fingers ceased their torment, sliding down to your hips to divest you of your slip before beginning to work at your stockings. Toeing off your shoes, you pushed his trousers from his hips, letting gravity do the rest.

“So many hooks and straps and loops…” He muttered as his mouth dipped to the hollow of your throat, though his fingers seemed more than capable of stripping you down to only your underwear.

Seizing your hips, Bucky guided you back onto the bed, and you could not help the sigh at that flew from your mouth at the feel of a real mattress with springs and a duvet, drawing a broad grin across his face as he crawled over you, coaxing you to lay back.

“Precious women like you should always have luxurious beds like these. None of those stinking Army cots…” His hands slid beneath your spine to half guide, half drag you up to rest on the obnoxious mountain of pillows.

Staring up at him in awe, at a complete loss for words, you settled on pressing up onto your elbows to kiss him firmly, hoping to convey your appreciation physically rather than trying to summon speech. As his lips parted from yours to begin sliding down your body, you let out a slight huff of annoyance, earning a chuckle against your collarbone which rumbled through his chest and into your body. He lifted his head slightly as his fingers wove through the ball chain of your ID tags as he seemed to notice them for the first time.

“I always wondered if you ladies had these.”

You bit your lip to smother your grin as he never hesitated to say what was on his mind, a constant stream of commentary on the world around him, and rather than annoying, you found it utterly adorable.

“Are you laughin’ at me, doll?” He smirked and gave a gentle tug, pulling a genuine laugh from you, to which he responded with a brilliant grin. “Alright then, I’ll give you something to laugh about.” He bowed his head to drag the flat of his tongue across your nipple, your resulting whimper bouncing off the walls as he resumed his teasing of your opposite breast.

“B…Bucky…” Your eyes shot wide as his plush lips sealed around that tender peak, applying a positively euphoric suction that had you burying your fingers in his hair and pressing your body closer to his mouth in silent demand.

With careful precision, his knee slid its way between your thighs, applying coaxing pressure to each in turn until you provided enough room for him to settle between them. The feeling of his hard length slotting against your core with only the thin barrier of your underwear separating your intimate flesh had your jaw dropping open in a silent ‘oh’ – a revelation unto itself despite all the experiences you had enjoyed with him thus far. Undulating your hips against his experimentally, you shuddered at the ragged, abbreviated groan he pressed against your sternum, caught in the midst of traversing your chest. Thoroughly encouraged, you repeated the action, savagely gnawing on your lip as he bit off a curse before his mouth reached its destination and laved at your neglected nipple.

Nestling tighter against you, Bucky began to roll his hips against you in earnest, obliterating your ability to think and scheme against him at the blinding pleasure his combined actions induced. You could feel the smug angle of his lips against your abdomen as his mouth was trailing lower on your body, his fingers curling into the waistband of your underwear to peel it from your body. Shifting back to free the interfering item from your legs, he gazed down at you with almost black eyes, his pupils having nearly devoured his irises in his arousal, before stretching forward onto his stomach.

Blinking rapidly, you raised up on your elbows to watch him hoist one of your legs over a strong shoulder and then the other, shuffling embarrassingly close to the apex of your thighs.

“Bucky?” You squeaked hesitantly.

He raised an eyebrow up at you, his pink tongue darting out the wet his lips, nearly matching the flush that had painted its way across his cheeks and down his neck. “Yes, doll?”

“What…” You swallowed thickly as your throat clenched erratically.

“Making good on a promise.” He replied seriously before stretching forward to deliver a thorough kiss to your folds that fairly sucked the air from your lungs, an odd whistling sound echoing through you as you savagely burrowed your fingers into the bedding.

When his tongue narrowed in on that sensitive bundle of nerves, it was your turn to bite off a curse, slumping back onto the pillows as he hummed against you in what was surely mock sympathy as he most certainly did not let up, his efforts only doubling. As your hips began to jerk and writhe, he slung a heavy forearm across your pelvis to pin you in place, only shifting closer and tracing his forefinger around your entrance teasingly. It was all you could do not to kick and wail as you felt yourself becoming embarrassingly slick, the noises he was making growing ever so obscene and filling the hotel room.

“Fuck!” You whined against your palm as his finger finally sunk into your wet heat, its passage remarkably eased by your arousal, hips bucking hard enough to jar his arm slightly.

“Damn you’re delicious, doll.” He growled against you, lips smacking loudly as he began to suck at your pearl, finger working you open enough to add a second before beginning a demanding rhythm.

“Oh…oh...god…” You cried out in agony, too far gone to remember your desire to be quiet, feeling the tension of pending release growing ever closer under his amorous onslaught.

“I know, I know…” He soothed, only quickening his pace, hooking his fingers towards the front of your body, sending your back into a dramatic curve from the mattress, a tortured moan ripping from your throat. “Oh, I have to see that again.” He rasped and sought that precise spot with a ruthless single-minded precision until he was rewarded with not only the same reaction, but your strangled cry as your orgasm slammed into you with breath-taking force.

As you returned to earth from your visit to the celestial plane, the first sensation you became aware of was tender, damp kisses being pressed to your inner thigh as Bucky murmured soft words of encouragement to you.

“There’s my gorgeous girl, holy hell that was incredible, did you enjoy that half as much as I did?”

You managed a wordless noise in the affirmative that summoned him to your side, his lips feathering kisses up your jaw to your ear, the tickle of his moustache making you laugh breathlessly.

“Good?” He murmured and you nodded quickly, turning to look at his still-expectant face.

“Yes.” You cobbled together a verbal response, and he blessed you with a warm smile which you leaned in to press your lips against in gratitude.

“Good.” He swiped his tongue along your lips before suddenly slipping from the bed, making you raise your head in confusion.

Stalking over to find your utility bag amongst the sea of discard items and clothing, he proudly retrieved the three condoms that had announced your hopes and intentions for you by appearing in the rowboat, unceremoniously shucking off his boxers as he made his way back to you. You had held his length before, stroked it to completion, but that paled in comparison to seeing the full expanse of him in the light of day.

“My gorgeous doll, you might not say a lot, but you sure don’t mind looking at what you like.” He smirked unabashedly as he set two of the paper packets on the night table beside you, unwrapping the third to unroll the protective latex onto his cock.

Rather than letting his teasing words dissuade you, though they did cause your teeth to sink into your lower lip, you chose to allow your eyes to linger on his actions, rather fascinated by the whole process. By the male anatomy as well. Task managed, he was climbing over you once more, blocking the golden light of afternoon that was filtering in through the windows with his body, warmth radiating from his skin. He settled easily between your legs once more, still parted from his early activities as you really had not summoned the wherewithal to move yet, and stroked his length through the lingering slick gathered along your folds.

A broken sigh fell from his lips before they clashed with yours, not quite aligned, but the sentiment was still there, body shuddering as you slid your arms around him to cling to his shoulders. It was difficult to tell just whom Bucky was teasing as he continued to rut against you, the tip of his cock brushing against your overly-sensitive bundle of nerves, both of you huffing through your nostrils until at last he began to sink into you.

Tearing your lips from his, you sucked in gasping breaths at the feel of the foreign intrusion, appreciating the fact that his pace seemed to slow in response to that. Appreciating the pause he afforded you when his pelvis slotted snuggly against yours once he was seated fully inside you. Cracking open your clenched eyes, you gulped tightly as they were immediately met by Bucky’s, crowned by a furrowed brow, but flicking over your features studiously as if awaiting your instruction.

“I’m ok.” You breathed and he nodded, immediately seizing your lips in a kiss once more as he rocked forward, earning a ragged moan as your fingertips dug into the skin of his back.

His familiarity with this sort of activity had always been apparent, but was exceptionally obvious now as he slowly began the rhythmic push and pull to drive you both towards climax. The sheer intimacy of it was too much and yet it was not nearly enough, your body craving ever more, ever faster, with increasing desperation. The rare moments that Bucky’s lips were not on yours, they were filling the room with choked-off moans or statements of the filthiest order.

“God doll, you feel so fucking good around me.”

“So tight. I can feel how wet you are too, even with this rubber on.”

“You’re gonna cum for me, aren’t ya? You’re gripping on me like a…fuck I can’t think when you do that…”

His ability to even speak while experiencing such mind-numbing pleasure, rambling though it was, was fairly awe-inspiring. Your responses were limited to moans and whimpers and cries of his name as his supposition was correct – your orgasm was indeed imminent. All it took was the solicitous stroking of his forefinger against the apex of your pleasure to send you flying over the cliff into paradise, clinging to his body as you cried out in ecstasy.

A string of rasped curses mixed in with several sighs of your name heralded his release as Bucky finished not long after, rocking against you sloppily before sinking down onto your chest with a comforting heaviness. Stroking his back tenderly as he nestled into your neck, you grinned stupidly at the ceiling as you felt quite pleased with your choices.

The pair of you made good use of the rest of the condoms you had brought, with a short break for a meal Bucky procured while you took a bath. He returned with a bottle of brandy as well, finding you still in the bathtub. A lot of water ended up on the floor, a pile of water-logged towels your testament to the attempted clean-up. Eating in bed, you shared stories of your childhoods – Bucky’s about growing up on the shores of Lake Michigan, yours of the small two-storey house with its screen door and front porch from which you had watched your brother play with the neighbourhood boys.

You fell asleep in one another’s arms after the final condom was disposed of, the sun long set, but awoke sometime in the night to the unsettling sound of an air raid siren. Not as common in 1943, yet being as close as you were to Canary Wharves, the Luftwaffe still made the occasional bomb run. Startled to find the bed empty, you sat up sharply to see Bucky sitting in front of the window, completely naked, intermittently illuminated by the flashes of distant explosions and anti-aircraft fire.

“Sorry doll, didn’t mean to wake ya.” He muttered and you shook your head, sliding to the end of the bed.

“You ok?” You tilted your head, blinking into a particularly bright flash.

“Hmmm…” He replied noncommittally, turning back to the scene before him with a frown. “I’ve dropped a lot of those. Done a lot of killing.”

Swallowing tightly, you slid to your feet despite the way your heart was pounding in your throat, padding across the carpet towards him.

“Done your job, Bucky. Done what was asked of you.” You assured him, coming to stand behind him, setting your hands on his shoulders.

“If there’s any balance to all this, my ticket was punched a long time ago.” He muttered sullenly and it was your turn to frown.

Bending down to press a kiss to the crown of his head, you stepped in front of him to block his view, perhaps, hopefully, to block his darker thoughts as you shifted to sit on his thighs.

“Whatcha doin’ doll?” He quirked an eyebrow, mouth falling open in a silent moan as your fingers slid between your bodies to gently stroke his length.

“Lightening up.” You replied, invoking the words of your dead brother’s inscription.

It was impossible to think of a more important piece of advice or a more importance source in that moment. A young man who would never get the chance to spend one more time in his lover’s arms, who knew you better than anyone in the entire world. And you were most certainly going to follow it. You had to be up in less than three hours, to catch the first train to High Wycombe, and you would not pass up this moment with Bucky. The future was unknowable, your brother’s death had certainly taught you that.

Bucky’s fingers curled into your hips as his mouth descended onto yours greedily, clearly in agreement with your plan, despite the lack of remaining condoms. Shuffling closer, you guided his now fully hard cock into your body, your soft noises of pleasure colliding with his in the space between your parted lips. Working together, with plenty of guidance from his firm grip, you began to rocking your hips, using his shoulders for leverage. His head fell back to stare up at you in awe, jaw slack, adam’s apple bobbing viciously.

“Christ, I love you…” His face betrayed such vulnerability, lips trembling slightly, that you quickly lifted your hands to cradle his cheeks, even as your lashes grew suddenly damp.

“I love you too, John. So much.” You replied thickly, rather resenting the dramatic wobble in your voice.

The tiniest of smiles pulled at his lips before his face grew serious once more and he lunged forward to kiss you hungrily, hands anchoring your shoulders so he might thrust up into your body with a sudden need. It was all you could do to hang on, though pleasure itself still managed to sweep you away, leaving you only with the vague recognition of him half pulling out mid-release.

It was terribly difficult to leave him in that comfortable, if messy, bed a few hours later. He did not make it easy either, impossible to untangle from your body like an unwieldy piece of seaweed. Yet somehow you managed to make your trains and arrive at your desk at the appointed hour. Focusing on the task at hand with the pleasurable ache between your legs was altogether another challenge, forcing you to sit on first one hip and then the other.

You had just returned after the lunch break when your phone rang, your greeting barely out of your mouth before Bucky’s question came down the line.

“Did you know you know where they played yesterday’s match?” He asked flatly and it took you several seconds to comprehend that he was speaking in code and just what he was getting at.

You swallowed painfully. “Yes, I did sir.”

Of course you did, you were in the room on Thursday night when they had chosen Bremen as the target for yesterday’s mission.

“A lot of our best players struck out, you know. Buck included.”

He sounded utterly unlike himself, cold and distant, not the man you had left just hours ago in that hotel room in London. All the same, your heart broke for him, and for yourself too. You liked Major Cleven – this war was nothing but cruel.

“I’m so sorry B-Major Egan.” You corrected yourself quickly, eyeing Myrtle across the room.

“Well I hope you all pick a better field for tomorrow’s match because I’m pitching.”

You opened your mouth to reply as your heart dropped through the floor, but the sound of the handset slamming into the cradle resounded over the line before it went dead, giving you no opportunity to speak. To wish him luck or, heaven forfend, goodbye. You hung up your phone with a slightly shaking hand as a deep sense of dread threaded its way through your stomach.

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

Read Part Five - "I Trusted You!"

"Trust" Series Masterlist

Tag list: @gretagerwigsmuse, @precious-little-scoundrel, @rubyfruitjungle, @storysimp, @mads-weasley, @xxanaduwrites, @bcon24, @fxxiva, @slowsweetlove, @hockeyboysarehot, @darylas

omg I'm totally loving this

Forgotten Alarms

CHAPTER 1 | ASHES TO EMBERS

PAIRING: Firefighter!Neighbour!Bucky x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: Mentions of night terrors, trapped in small spaces, brief mention of reader being worried about bucky holding her weight, nothing else other than bucky being cute af

SUMMARY: When you get stuck in an elevator with your neighbour (who also happens to be your crush), you discover your interest in the firefighter isn’t as one-sided as you thought.

WORD COUNT: 2736

NEXT CHAPTER

“You’re late, doll.”

The teasing voice of your neighbour catches you off guard when you open your front door; your hand slaps over your heart as you jump from shock.

“Says you” you smirk as you come down from the surprise. You step out of your door fully, turning and pulling it shut behind you.

Bucky chuckles, locking his own door while you do the same. He can’t help but sneak another glance your way - a light blush creeping up your neck under his gaze.

You think you’d be used to him by now, have your little crush under control seeing as you find yourselves leaving for work at the same time regularly. And yet here you are, heart beating faster than you’d like while you fumble with your keys.

Despite being late for work, Bucky waits for you to finish locking up before falling into step beside you as you walk down the hallway to the elevator.

“So let me guess, you slept through your alarm again?” The firefighter raises a brow, amused by your flushed appearance - unsure if that’s his effect on you or the fact your shift started five minutes ago.

“Worse,” you wince, “didn’t even set the damn thing.”

If you didn’t love it so much so much, you’d be inclined to be offended at the snort of a laugh he lets out. “Oh, doll.” Bucky shakes his head with a grin still left on his lips.

“What ‘bout you, Barnes? Spend too much time doing your hair?”

One unamused glare your way and now you’re the one giggling. Walking up to the elevator, you press the button to go down before stepping back to face Bucky.

“I’ll have you know, I woke up looking this good” He winks at you, hoping you’ll accept his non-answer for an answer. But you both know why he woke up late.

He barely even fell asleep, now that his nightmares are back.

His screams travel through the thin walls at night, falling on concerned ears. You pretend as though you don’t hear his night terrors but he sees the slight tug at your brows the next morning, the way you’re desperate to ask if he’s okay. But you never do; you don’t want to make him uncomfortable. You offered your help once, and you’re not sure you have the right to ask again.

“Who said you look good?” You tease, hoping to lighten the mood.

The elevator dings and the doors open. “Well the old lady whose cat we saved yesterday said I was the most handsome man in town” He smirks as you both step inside.

“Oh that’s high praise, Barnes” You reply, watching as he presses the ground floor button.

A comfortable silence falls upon the elevator as it roars back to life. Pulling out your phone, you fire a quick text to your boss to apologise for being late before shoving it back into your back pocket.

Bucky turns to you, “What time do you fin-“

A loud clunk sounds from above the lift and it stops moving, dropping a couple inches before coming to a halt again.

“Oh, shit” You all but whisper, almost afraid of speaking too loudly in case it sends you tumbling down.

“Well,” Bucky’s eyes are on the ceiling, “that didn’t sound great”

If you weren’t so nervous, you might slap him for stating the fucking obvious. Your eyes fall to your hand that’s grabbed his, not even realising you’d reached for him when the lift stopped.

Your cheeks burn crimson before you release the death grip you had on his wrist, ignoring the sparks resting beneath your fingertips.

“You okay, doll?” His voice softens when he sees the fear in your eyes.

“Umm..” You stutter, voice as shaky as your hands are.

“Hey, hey,” Bucky’s hands are on your shoulders now, “you’re shaking, Y/n. What’s wrong? What do you need me to do?”

Clenching your eyes shut, you take a deep breath. “Tell me we’re not about to fall to our deaths, please”

Your neighbour lets out a breathy ‘Oh, doll’ and strokes his thumbs over your shoulders. When you open your eyes, his blue ones bear into yours reassuringly, “We’re not gonna fall to our deaths.”

“This hunk of junk hasn’t been serviced in years but i’m pretty sure it’s just jammed or the powers cut out. Either way, we’re gonna be just fine” He continues.

You let out a wavering breath and nod slowly. “Okay. So what now?” You ask.

Bucky drops one of his hands to get his phone (much to your dismay), “I’m gonna call for the crew to come get us”

“Wait,” You frown, “why not press the help button?”

Bringing his phone to his ear, Bucky replies as it starts ringing. “Well, after Mr Garvey lugs his ass outta bed, he’d be calling them anyways. Might as well avoid being stuck here longer than we have to”

Ahh, Mr Garvey; the landlord to the whole building who also happens to be the laziest fucker around.

You mumble and ‘okay’ and roll your bottom lip between your teeth - completely unaware of the admiring eyes on you.

Eventually, a voice sounds from the other side of the phone and Bucky explains the situation, rambling off the information they need to find you. With a quick thank you, the call is over and you’re left with nothing but time to waste.

Your eyes follow the man before you as he approaches the far wall, sliding down it till he’s sat with one leg stretched out, the other bent at the knee where he rests his elbow.

“It’s alright, doll. You can sit down, it won’t break anything” He cocks his head to side, eyeing up your hesitant features.

You choose to trust him; after all, he is the one best qualified to know what will and won’t make this obnoxiously small lift crash to the ground.

Letting yourself drop to the floor, you sit with your knees up due to the lack of space to stretch your legs. Bucky is right in front of you, the tight squeeze seemingly not bothering him.

“Great day to be late, huh” You scoff lightly.

“Yeah well, at least we’re together”

A laugh escapes you, drawing a confused expression from your neighbour. “Let’s not pretend as though you need me here. If it weren’t for me you’d probably be climbing outta this thing”

“You overestimate my abilities, sweets. I’m no spider-man” He replies. Those damn pet names make you blush every time.

“You know,” you tilt your head a little to the left, “I can’t think of anyone who still uses ‘doll’ or ‘sweets’ aside from you”

You swear there’s a glint in Bucky’s eye when he replies, “Do you blush when someone calls you ‘baby’ as much as you do when I call you ‘doll’?”

Thinking for a moment, you shyly shake your head in response; he raises his brows at you, as though your answer proves his point. You wonder if he’s old fashioned in other ways. If he’s one to buy his girl flowers or open a car door for them. Maybe he’s just as polite in bed, though you find yourself disappointed at the thought. God, you need to stop thinking of him like that, no matter how hot he would look between your-

“You seeing that fella from last week again?”

Bucky’s question brings you out of your day dreams and you’re surprised by it, unaware he had any interest in your love life.

“Peter?” He nods. “No, I don’t think so. We weren’t really one the same page, if that makes sense”

“How so?”

You shrug slightly, “He’s fresh out of college and looking for a fuck buddy, not a genuine relationship.” You look away from Bucky as you continue. “And even if I wanted that, he’s hardly mature enough to know what he’s doing”

With your gaze settled on your hands, you miss the way Bucky starts biting his lip as he wonders what type of man would fulfil your needs. He shakes his head clear of those thoughts, not wanting to make a fool of himself.

“What about you? Haven’t heard any visitors at yours for a little while” You comment, hoping he doesn’t think you’ve been spying on him.

He lets out a dry laugh, “Lets just say I prefer my nights off with a beer and listening to you play the piano.”

“Oh god, you hear that?” You cover your face with your hands when he nods. “I hope I don’t disturb you. I didn’t think it-“

“It’s fine, doll,” he nudges your thigh with his boot, “I like it”

Your cheeks burn yet again as you drop your hands. “You do?”

“How could I not? You play beautifully. I’ve thought of slipping a request under your door but I didn’t wanna be the creep next door”

You giggle, “You couldn’t be creepy if you tried, Barnes”

“In that case, you should know my cat loves your music too”

With a gasp, you lean closer to Bucky till you’re sat cross legged barely a foot away from him. “James Barnes, the firefighter, has a cat!?”

You revel in his hearty laugh, eyes dancing across his face. From the crinkles at the corners of his eyes to the deep smile lines framing his mouth, you can’t help but be drawn to his beauty.

He sobers up. “Her name’s Alpine.” He says, “She was left at the firehouse a couple of years ago so I took her home with me. She’s probably the only thing that loves your music more than me”

A grin tugs at your lips as you enjoy the thought of your neighbour cuddled up with a little cat.

“If we make it outta here alive, I wanna meet her”

“We’ll be fine, doll. The crew’ll be here any minute now”

You hum and silence consumes the air once more. The soft dim glow of the overhead lights falls gracefully on your features and Bucky can’t pull his eyes away. He knows you’re not too fond of the situation you’re both in and yet he can’t help but thank whatever beings made this happen; to finally have an excuse to talk to you longer than your usual small talk, to tell you how much he’s in awe your piano playing.

He’s not ready to tell you that he’s rather in awe of you, too. Maybe next time you’re stuck in a lift together.

With the silence so heavy on your ears, your mind drifts to the reason you’re here in the first place. The reason he is here.

The nightmares.

You know he hasn’t slept properly in weeks; the dark circles beneath his eyes are just a glimpse of his exhaustion. And as much as you’re scared of pushing him away, the weight on your chest is growing too heavy to bear.

“I know you’re having nightmares again.”

Bucky stills.

“Those screams, James, I-“

“It’s nothing” He cuts you off with stern words. Your brows pull together, eyes laced with worry.

“It doesn’t sound like nothing. I thought they got better.“

His head falls back against the wall behind him, “Well you thought wrong.”

You curse yourself beneath your breath as you run your hands through your hair, searching for the right thing to say.

“I’m worried about you, James.” You breathe, eyes fluttering shut. You’re scared that if you look at him, you’ll cave in and promise to never ask about it again. “I get that i’m just your neighbour but I can’t keep acting like I can’t see there’s something wrong.“

“There is nothing wrong!” Bucky’s tone is sharp, not quite shouting but no longer calm.

Your eyes snap open, training on the clench of his jaw, the sole hint of any emotion on his face.

“I’m dealing with it. So you need to stop acting like you know me because you don’t.”

And there it goes. The worry in your chest morphs into regret. Regret for bringing it up, regret for thinking you could help, regret for hearing his screams in the first place.

“Okay”

Bucky hates how timid your voice is, barely loud enough over the ringing of his own heartbeat. That and the voice in his head telling him he’s a piece of shit. He wishes he could take it all back but he doesn’t know how to, so he decides that silence is better than opening his damn mouth and making things worse.

The pair of you sit there in silence, one that’s far less comfortable than before, and stare at the ceiling, waiting for help to arrive.

When it does, you count your lucky stars that the lift stopped just at the doors to the second floor. Bucky helps the crew pull the doors open enough for you both to climb through. You feel his blue eyes on you as you wait for them to stabilise the lift, avoiding his gaze at all costs.

“Okay, Ma’am,” One of the firefighters calls, the name ‘Rogers’ written on his jacket, “we need you guys to climb up here and we’ll pull you out.”

Your eyes widen at the thought of pulling yourself up there, suddenly very aware of your frankly appalling upper body strength.

Rogers catches the hesitation on your face. “Don’t worry, Buck will help you up so you can get out first”

Turning to look at your neighbour, you lock eyes for the first time in ten minutes. His lips are turned into an awkward half smile, changing his entire demeanour from one of a brooding firefighter to a sheepish kid.

You don’t know how long the pair of you stand there staring at each other, but it’s long enough for Roger’s to clear his throat in attempt to regain your attention.

Bucky steps closer to you while the crew get ready above you. “You okay with this, doll?”

You nod, “As long as this thing doesn’t fall while i’m half way through and snap my body in half, i’m good”

That heartwarming laugh fills your ears and the firefighter shakes his head in amusement. At least he doesn’t hate you enough to leave you to get out on your own.

“Well lucky for you, that ain’t gonna happen”

You roll your bottom lip between your teeth. “Okay, how is this gonna work?”

Bucky moves to stand below the gap, facing you. He lowers himself down to one knee before reaching for your hand.

His skin is warm but rough, gentle but strong as he pulls you closer to him. The unexpected tug on your hand sends you tumbling toward him, your right hand bracing yourself on his shoulder to regain your balance while his free hand lands on your hip.

You mumble an apology, flustered at the intense heat beneath his hands and the way Bucky is looking up at you.

“You good?” He asks, voice dripping with awe, though you’re oblivious to the admiration, still plagued by the way he shut you down earlier.

When you nod, Bucky removes his hand from your hip and taps his knee. “You’re gonna step on my knee, then on my shoulder and you then should be close enough for Steve to grab you and pull you out”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you” You admit, nervous at the thought of letting Bucky take your body weight on his shoulders.

He looks up at you through his lashes “Do you trust me, sweets?”

“Yes” You reply, not even having to think about it. There may be some walls between you, but you know he’s on the other side, waiting.

“Good, then get up here”

Bucky shouts up to the crew that he’s giving you a boost now and after hearing them shout back that they’re ready, you place your foot on Bucky’s knee and push yourself up.

“Don’t drop me” You warn, reaching up to the gap in preparation.

“Wouldn’t dream of it”

And with that, you climb onto your neighbours shoulders and stretch up for Steve to grab your hands.

Along with Bucky pushing your feet up, Steve pulls you out and you slide through the gap until you’re free of that god forsaken elevator.

“Well thank fuck for that” You groan, spread across the floor on your back, making the crew laugh.

You barely have time to recover before Bucky is stood above you, having lugged himself out with ease.

“Guess you won’t be forgetting to set your alarm again, ay?”

NEXT CHAPTER

a/n: first chapterrrrrr! hope you enjoyed, if you have any questions dm me or drop an ask <3

new chapter will be out soon, thanks to everyone to voted on the poll i put out, i hope it’s as good as you wished it would be :)

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Ruined ✩ Bob Reynolds

Pairings: Dom!Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolts Teammate!Reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. no use of y/n. secret hookups, armory sex, unprotected p in v, praise kink, power play, slight sub!bob energy but make it neeeedddyyyyy and feral, desperate!bob, dominant!reader, interrupted sex, yelena being yelena, begging, orgasm denial (sort of), overstimulation, dirty talk.

Summary: The Thunderbolt's press tour is a fucking disaster—Valentina's controlling, the team’s a mess, and Bob Reynolds looks at you like he’s one second away from losing his mind. When you catch him pacing the armory alone, you take what you want. But when you tell him to stay quiet and be good... Bob doesn’t stay quiet. And he definitely doesn’t stay good.

Word count: ~4k

Author's note: need bob reynolds to absolutely destroy me. can't even think or breathe cause he's taking up space in my mind. living in my head rent free and i am not complaining. I'm loooovvvinnnggg these two so much, might make more shots with them cause what the hell???? the dynamic thooooo!!! love me some dom and sub bob <3333333 he's so babygirl i can't take it anymore.

masterlist.

"Quiet, Bob."

The words came out as a whisper, but the threat in them made Bob Reynolds shiver under your touch. His back hit the cold armory wall with a clang, head tilting back, mouth already parted on a moan. His shirt was god knows where—somewhere between the racks of rifles and dusty, outdated StarkTech. Your mouth was on his, tongue sliding deep, fingers fisting his curls like you needed an anchor. And Bob? He was already halfway gone.

It had been a long, brutal week.

Valentina had decided that the Thunderbolts—the shiny New Avengers—needed a rebranding for a more "palatable" public. And what better way than a grueling, nonstop, goddamn press tour?

You were paraded like collectibles. Forced smiles. Posed photos. Tactical suits are tailored to make you look sleek. Heroes for the modern age, like she'd said.

Like a fucking boy band.

You were all lined up and put on display like action figure dolls.

"Smile for the cameras," she'd coo, pacing in front of you like a general inspecting her soldiers. "We're selling salvation, not trauma. Wipe that frown off your face, Bucky."

Bucky didn’t even flinch. Just stared through her, arms crossed, his metal hand twitching like it wanted to be anywhere else. Or wrapped around her throat.

Valentina didn’t stop there.

“You,” she snapped at you during the third press op, finger jabbing the air like it might actually hit you. “Need to look grateful, sweetheart. Do you know what I’m paying to make you likable? Not that you aren’t—you’re a doll, really—but come on now, you have to stop glaring at the children like you want to throw them into traffic.”

It was all bullshit. She’d even made Bob do interviews. Bob, whose voice cracked anytime someone looked at him too long.

Yelena had muttered something in Russian that was definitely a curse and didn't even try to smile.

Alexei had laughed too loudly during a morning show segment that made the host flinch, and a lighting rig tripped over.

Ava vanished in the middle of a red carpet appearance—literally phased through the floor and didn’t return for hours.

Walker kept trying to one-up Bucky in interviews. "Sure, Barnes is a legend," he'd say, clapping his shoulder, "but some of us chose to be heroes."

Of course, you snorted a little bit too loud. Loud enough for the mic to catch it. Loud enough for Walker to glare at you and Bucky to smirk.

And Mel? Poor Mel had to endure Valentina's bickering, forcing all of you to pose for pictures while muttering apologies like there was no tomorrow.

You were the first one to be asked for solo shots in the new tactical gear.

"Just a few poses," Valentina said, flashing a big, bright PR smile. "You wear it so well. We want something sleek. Powerful. Sexy, but not, like, thirst trap sexy, you know?"

You didn't miss the way Bob watched. He didn't say a word; he barely moved. But his eyes? They devoured you. Dark, wide, hungry. Like he was seconds from losing it in front of everyone.

Later that day, you'd found him in the dark armory, pacing like a caged animal. Shoulder tense. Breathing shallow.

So you pushed him up against the wall. Fist in his hair. Mouth on his.

And now—

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he growled against your lips, teeth grazing. His hands were gripping your hips tightly, grinding against you, still half-covered by his pants but already leaking, already thick and throbbing for you. “The way you looked in that suit—I couldn’t fucking breathe.”

You rolled your hips against his, slow and punishing. “You could’ve said something.”

“I could’ve snapped.” He laughed, breathless, voice fraying. “I nearly did.”

He didn't even make it to the bench.

By the time you shoved him down, Bob was already panting, pupils blown, knees buckling. He hit the floor with a groan, legs spread, cock heavy and flushed. You were on him in seconds—knees framing his hips, hands pressing down on his chest, owning him.

You thanked God for wearing a dress.

He didn't even see your panties come off. Just blinked and they were gone, tossed somewhere on the floor. His pants already shoved down far enough, his cock already free.

He looked up at you like you were something holy. Divine. Dangerous. Like he'd beg to be burned if it meant you kept touching him like this.

Then you reached between you, lined him up, and sank down in one thrust. He filled you up completely.

Bob swore, loud and wrecked—“Fuckfuckfuck—” his head hit the floor, back arching, eyes wide and pleading.

“God, you feel so fucking good—tight—perfect—I can’t—”

You clapped your hand over his mouth.

“Quiet, Bob.”

He whimpered behind your palm. His hands were everywhere—your hips, your ass, your thighs—like he didn’t know what to hold onto first.

You started to move—fast and rough, giving neither of you time to adjust. You didn’t want slow. Didn’t want sweet. You wanted to feel it. The way he stretched you open, filled every inch, the way his cock hit deep, perfect with every thrust.

Bob moaned into your palm, loud and choked and shameless. His hips bucked up hard, matching your rhythm, chasing every thrust like he couldn’t help himself. His grip on your ass tightened, spreading you wider for him, pulling you down harder.

Your name spilled from his lips again and again, muffled and wrecked.

“You’re so—fuck,—you’re so perfect—need this for so fucking long. I can't even fucking think when you're on me like this—God, yesssss"

You leaned down, dragging your lips along his jaw.

“You like being under me like this?”

He nodded, feverish, muffled praise tumbling behind your hand.

“Mhm—yes—fuck, please—you don’t know what you do to me,” he breathed against your palm, words falling out between gasps. “Been thinking about this—every night—every time you walked past in that suit, I wanted to fall to my knees—wanted to ruin you or be ruined, didn’t even fucking care—just needed you.”

You grinned, filthy and pleased. “And now you’re ruined under me.”

He whined, hips snapping up with such force that it knocked a loud moan right out of you.

“You feel that?” you gasped, rolling your hips in a slow, dragging circle. “That’s how deep you are. You’re so deep, Bob. I can feel you so deep inside me. God—you feel so fucking good."

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he moaned, eyes blown wide, hands gripping your thighs like a man drowning. “Such a good girl. God, you take me so fucking well—look at you—riding me like I belong to you—”

“You do,” you growled, dragging your nails down his chest. “You’re mine right now. You hear me?”

“Yes,” he gasped. “Yes, fuck—yours—always—please god don’t fucking stop—”

You clapped your hand over his mouth again, smirking down at him.

“Quiet, Bob. Don't you dare fucking come until I tell you to."

He whimpered behind your palm, body trembling, trying so hard to behave, to stay still, to not fall apart completely under your touch. But you kept moving—fast, hard, relentless. Your thighs burned. His cock throbbed deep inside you with every stroke.

And just when he was seconds away from breaking—

Hiss. The door slid open.

“Oh my fucking god.”

Yelena’s voice hit like a bullet.

You froze. Bob’s eyes flew open, pure panic, still fully inside you.

Yelena stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, hand flying to her face but only half-covering her view.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered. “The armory? Are you both deranged? This is where we keep weapons, not—whatever the hell this is.”

Bob let out a muffled moan under your hand, utterly betrayed by his body.

Yelena pointed without looking. “Oh my god, this can't be happening. You’re—on top of him. And he’s—Jesus Christ, Bob!”

“Yelena!” you snapped, glaring over your shoulder.

“Alright, alright!” She held up both hands, backing away. “I’ll leave you to your... deep reconnaissance.” She snorted. “Real in-depth work going on here.”

“Yelena! GET OUT!”

“Leaving! Leaving!” she laughed, ducking out as the door hissed shut again. “Just make sure no one ends up disarmed.”

Your heart was still pounding when the door slid shut again, sealing Yelena—and her mouth—on the other side. You didn’t move, still straddling Bob, still full of him, flushed and breathless.

“You okay?” you asked, teasing, one brow raised. “She didn’t scar you for life, did she?”

Bob’s chest was heaving beneath you. He blinked up at you. Something shifted in his eyes.

“No,” he said—low, steady. Then, with startling force, he sat up.

“Bob—?”

His hands gripped your waist, hard. The next second, you were on your back, sprawled across the cool floor, his body covering yours. He was still inside you. Still rock hard. Still throbbing.

“You tease me like that,” he growled, voice rough and frayed, “and expect me to behave?”

Your breath hitched.

“You told me to be quiet. Told me not to come.”

His mouth was at your throat now, kissing, biting, breathing heat against your skin.

“You think I’m gonna ask again?”

You clawed at his back, nails dragging over sweat-slick skin.

“Bob—”

“No,” he snapped, thrusting hard. You gasped, your back arching off the floor. “You don’t get to be in charge now.”

He fucked into you like a man possessed—deep, fast, relentless. All the praise from before was gone, replaced by low, hungry grunts and the sound of skin on skin.

“You wanted this,” he hissed against your ear. “Wanted me like this. Loud. Messy. Mine.”

You moaned, wrapping your legs around him, trying to pull him deeper, and he gave it to you—over and over again.

“You feel that?” he growled, pounding into you. “That’s not deep. This—this is deep.”

You couldn’t even form words. Just gasps. Moans. Scratches across his back.

And he loved it.

He didn’t stop until you were shaking, whimpering beneath him, your control shattered.

He leaned in, panting against your cheek, his voice a rough whisper.

“Now tell me who’s fucking ruined.”

⤷ : in which you make viktor (feel) whole. and hope. and human.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ nsfw. smut, angst-ish?, both reader and viktor use the other for fulfilment, and fear alienation basically. so terribly self indulgent, zaunite!reader, fem!reader, wc. 1.3k

VIKTOR always seeks you when he wants to feel:

Alive, human — immense pleasures in bursts and bursts, from each crevice of what is left of his wretched, mongrel body.

You ask him why you suffice — what makes you better than the diseased who throw themselves within his line of sight as frequently as they breathe; or the Zaunites that litter the streets and sell their body for a night of warmth.

He reluctantly admits that it is because you are different, refreshing. Because when he looks into your eyes, they are unlike the many husks’ that populate Zaun, with hollow pits for pupils and misty irises, who are so bereft of life and cling, even still.

“What is it that you see in my eyes then, Viktor?” You peer up at him through the veil of your lashes, a withered hand resting on his firm chest as your lips curve upwards. “What sets me apart from the others? What makes me special to you? Tell me, so I may not lose it when you find someone else with more of it to give. More of the satisfaction you crave...”

Oh, but he’s certain no one else has it, you foolish girl. No Zauntie, at least. And it would be a sin, to him — the sinner — to bed a Piltovan. One who had no soul to spare.

His tongue peeks, just past his chapped lips (that old habit), and then he forces his teeth over it, scrapes the offending flesh with his canines.

This body, he doesn’t get used to. Doesn’t try, anyhow. There’s only so much comfort he can attain before it all vanishes again.

It all leaves, when you do.

“I see hope.”

And it is raw and pure and foolish innocent — a mould of his own before it waned, crumbled. Seeped through the clefts of his fingertips in onyx wisps. Marring, marring.

And then, he’s reaching for you. Pushing, tugging — flesh against hextech, man against god.

And it is all like the first time again: new. Familiar. Beneath these hands, you do not crumble, yet still, he cannot resist the urge to wrap his arms about your waist as he slowly lowers you onto your bed, as if afraid you will dissolve into the dust and muck and ash that follow him.

His mouth finds your skin — warm — and his breath spills over, like fire, with fervour as he begs:

“Stay with me tonight. Please, please.”

What a mess of a man. You made him this. Or maybe he was always like this — in disarray. 

And then you give him that look. That hopeful one, and his head is reeling, and his mouth is wandering, and his body is failing. Even more so. 

Hope, hope. He needs it. You.

So, he drinks you in. Drinks it in. From the crook of your neck to the dip of your collarbone, as you moan and grind against him, he steals your hope. Your fickle, human, foolish hope. 

“V-Viktor—” His name, torn and hoarse, falls from your kiss-bruised, pliant, supple lips — and oh, it sends a ripple down his spine. Or what is left of it.

You make quick work of his garments, exposing his mangled, augmented form to the low, ruddy glow of the undercity, and you reach up to trace every ridge with the pad of a frail finger. Or what is left of it.

Viktor will, of course, indulge you — your little study of him. Let you drag his cloak off his shoulders and admire your work, so thoroughly exposed, and revel in his sheer, mindless need. 

The low moan he lets slip is enough indication. And you will comply, he knows. You, too, feel your skin on fire with anticipation and desire. And, too, have you suffered from that familiar throb of flesh and heat and dampness. (Hope.)

He tugs at your frayed trousers, slides them down your smooth, knobby legs.

There is little ceremony in this. Mere action. Grasp, tear, grab.

Hands wander. Desperation grows, consumes the room and, soon, nothing can contain the explosive release when you find solace, at last, with one another: when Viktor nudges his cock between your sopping wet cunt, and fills you to the hilt; when his mouth presses bruises to your fluttering pulse.

You hiss through your teeth at his girth, at the abrasion of his rough lips against your flesh. In retrospect, he gasps at how seamlessly you stretch around him, chokes out a “you feel heavenly. so, so warm.” And soon the rhythm is established. 

(Grasp, tear, grab.)

“I-is it…” You whimper, blunt nails digging into the seams of the metal plates along his shoulder blades. “Can yo—can you feel this…?”

Can you, Viktor?

Pump, thud. Pump, thud.

“Everything.” It is raspy, desperate, full, and not enough. Not yet.

You wrap your legs around his waist, force him deeper within until his body trembles, and the metal frame of his sternum shudders under the force.

Pump, thud. Pump, thud.

His thrusts are sharp and precise, timed perfectly to the pulse of your heartbeat, and he watches, his mouth agape, as you shudder and writhe and squirm under him, begging mindlessly for more. Chanting his name.

He dips down to suck your swollen breasts into his mouth, tug your nipples between his canines. And then you cry out. Wildly — pleading to him, to everyone — you cry out:

“Take it all from me, Viktor!”

You roll your hips up, urging his thrusts to deepen, and the sweet, slick noises from your cunt has his knees shaking. “Drain me empty, fuck me senseless.”

Oh, does he adore when you speak to him filthy. Does it make him hope.

So, Viktor does what is asked of him, and fucks you within an inch of your sanity the only way he knows how: by taking.

By pillaging. Consuming. Unleashing —

— and as Viktor gets closer and closer, he drinks and drinks and holds tighter. And now he is there, right at the brink of release, where no hope, no future, can haunt him. Except yours.

He takes, until your flesh is reminiscent of the hue of a plum, ripe and sweet. He takes, until tears spill down your cheeks like a river, endless. He takes, until your heat is no longer bearable, and you are but a mess of a keening, needy woman. And it is, finally, his turn to cry out, to unleash his passion, to drink you all in. He takes, so that no other will have a reason to seek after you — hopes so.

He hopes it, and it is fleeting, and perfect and sweet, like you are when his mouth covers your neck and the taste of salt explodes on his tongue.

He takes until he’s spilling into you, and you around him.

He gives and takes until you are both a blur.

Neither human, nor machine.

But one.

Your breaths begin to slow — settle. And you look at him with that look, and those eyes, as your chest lifts raggedly and your hand hesitantly seeks his own.

thank you for reading ! reblogs and comments are immensely appreciated 💝

this is BEAUTIFUL

Sinners' tango

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It wasn't just meant to be a small collection of Papa x Sister of Sin!Reader, but also to have a little interpretation key. So, as usual, I invite you to comment/like to show your support!

I really like the idea that the Ministry of Ghosts is a matriarchal pyramid, where even though Papa seems like the most important figure, Sister Imperator is the one who holds the reins of everything. Furthermore, I like that this isn't seen as a threat to anyone's masculinity within the clergy.

This series had a bit of this in mind. The woman isn't shown to allow more or less everyone to insert/identify themselves, yet her presence is so strong that even without ever seeing her face, you should be able to perceive her as the dominant figure in the composition. Sometimes she simply doesn't bother to look at those who are looking at the images, as if leaving the dirty work to someone else, other times she plays with her men, who allow themselves to be moved docilely.

There's also a certain sensuality, the idea of intimacy between the sister and the pope, and the various popes looking into the camera is like an awareness of their position. It's a submissive, almost devoted but still proud. Except for Copia, but not because he's not devoted to her, but because he, more than anyone, couldn't take his eyes off her.

UGH

the softest dean has EVER spoken to anybody fr