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The nature of women's rape fantasies: an analysis of prevalence, frequency, and contents
Summary: a new neighbour moves in and changes everything.
Character: Frank Castle
Warnings: dubcon, noncon, NSFW. This is a dark drabble like most of my stuff so take this as your warning to stop reading.
Part of the Trailer Park AU
Please leave a comment and reblog. Or send an anon ask! Always happy to hear from y'all. ♥️❤️
“Better not forget nothing this time.” Your grandma huffs as she shifts, grimacing at the fraying straps of the lawn chair.
You don’t argue. You didn’t forget, you told her, they were sold out. You crinkle the paper in your hand, alongside a single twenty dollar bill. There will be a dollar thirty eight in change as long as you buy exactly what she wrote down. She’ll be sure to tally up the coins herself when you get back.
“I got the list.” You assure her.
“By all means, drag your feet.” She snorts.
“I’m going. Won’t be long.” You say.
You head for the door with a reusable bag around your elbow. You pull the door shut behind you until the clasp clicks loudly. You tuck your handful into your jeans skirt pocket, the hem just above your ankles.
“Headed out early, huh?” Frank sits on his steps, a coffee cup in his hands. It looks tiny in his grip; two fingers and thumb to keep it steady.
“Mmhmm. Groceries.” You murmur as you descend the stairs.
“Oh yeah? Got that on my agenda too. Want a ride into town?” He looks into his mug then dumps the dregs of the coffee.
“Um, no, it’s okay. I always walk.”
“Only makes sense. Goin’ in the same direction. Which store you hit up?” He stands and sets the cup on the barbeque.
“I can go…”
“Ah now, let me do ya the favour,” he insists. “Let me just grab my keys, sugar.” He climbs the steps and flicks open the screen door. He reaches inside and swipes up his keys with a jingle. He pulls the interior door shut behind him and locks it.
“It’s… nice of you. Thank you.”
“Nothin’,” he says as he waves you toward his truck.
He opens the passenger door and waits. You grab the inside and the edge of the seat. You haul yourself up as his hand grazes your side and hip. “Don’t wanna fall.”
“Thanks,” you slide into the seat and fold the empty bag on your lap.
“Don’t forget to buckle up.” He claps your thighs softly. “This thing’s got a kick.”
He shuts the door and you pull down the seatbelt. You click it in as he rounds the hood and swings back the driver’s door. He climbs in and snaps the door shut. He shoves his keys in the ignition and turns the engine so it rumbles to life.
“Ah, can’t forget,” he sits back and straps himself in.
He grips the ridge steering wheel with one hand and cranks the manual stick with the other. The truck jerks between gears and he reverses off his lot. You shrink into yourself as you clutch the reusable shopping bag.
“So, where we shopping?” He asks.
You chew your lip. “Lucky’s.” The store is named for its stock; the dent and irregular packaging not good enough for the other stores, but sold at a decent discount.
“I drove past it on my way in.” He drives through the park slowly. “Quiet town. Not like the city.”
You glance over at him. It must be boring here to him. It’s boring to you.
“New York boy,” he chuckles. “Wouldn’t go back if you dragged me.”
You nod. “Oh.”
“Eh, y’know. No one ever likes where they grew up.”
You shrug. “I… guess.”
He inhales and turns onto the dirt road just outside the park. “So, you been with grandma how long?”
You wiggle your foot. You trace your thumb along the seam of your bag. “Since… Since I was thirteen…” You answer.
“If you don’t wanna talk about it… I’m only curious.”
“No, it’s… no one asks… I guess.” You clear your throat as the engine roars. “Sorry if I’m… quiet.” You gulp. “My dad dropped me off. Didn’t come back. He had a girlfriend and I don’t think she liked me.”
“Hmm. Now that’s just cruel, isn’t it?” He tuts. “Well, you know, parents are…messy. Mine tried their best but they weren’t the problem.”
He pumps the pedals as he smoothly switches gears and flies down the country road. You watch the trees and brush blur by. Fields of overgrown grass and weeds lean in the breeze.
“I don’t think about it. I just try to help.” You say. “Grandma… I get it. She didn’t want another kid around. Doesn’t really matter.”
“Does it not or do you think I don’t care, sugar?” He asks as he slows, approaching the edge of the town centre.
“Just doesn’t,” you insist.
“Sure, sure,” he accepts evenly.
He finds his way to the bargain grocer. He comes around your side of the truck before you can get the door open. He holds your arm as you get down. You’re happy for it, not realising until your feet hit the pavement hard how high it was.
You cross the parking lot together. You feel self-conscious as locals pass by and stare at Frank. Newcomers are always noticed. You aren’t.
You unfold your list as you get inside and Frank grabs a cart. You pace beside him as he stops to knock on a cantaloupe. “When I was in the sh— field, we barely got fresh fruit. It was always dehydrated or pureed and sealed in tubes.” He trades the melon for one that sounds better. “I appreciate the little things now. Fresh melon, sunny days, friendly neighbours.”
“Oh, yeah…” you babble.
As you peruse the baskets of produce, you notice an older lady, Caroline, staring over the grapefruit. Your face goes hot and you quickly look down at the pears. Does she think you and Frank… you could laugh. That’s a silly idea.
“Don’t ya need some fruit?” Frank asks as he picks out several plums and puts them in a paper bag.
“It’s not on the list.” You look down. It’s all non-perishables aside from the bread.
He leans over and you try to hide the paper. Too late. He pinches the corner and reads the roster of items, with the prices and exact sizes and brands beside them.
“Isn’t much.” He says.
You tug it away. “It’s fine.”
“Here, let me get ya some cherries. It’s the season.”
“You don’t– you shouldn’t.”
“I wanna.” He says as he grabs a bag. “‘Less you don’t like them.”
You’re quiet. You look around. “You just feel sorry for me.”
“What you say?” He grits.
“I like cherries,” you relent.
He puts them in the cart. “I don’t feel sorry for ya.” He says. “I just think you deserve some nice things. Something to enjoy.” He grabs the cart handle. “Cause you know what goes good with cherries? Them little shortcakes and whipped cream.”
Summary: a new neighbour moves in and changes everything.
Character: Frank Castle
Warnings: dubcon, noncon, NSFW. This is a dark drabble like most of my stuff so take this as your warning to stop reading.
Part of the Trailer Park AU
Please leave a comment and reblog. Or send an anon ask! Always happy to hear from y'all. ♥️❤️
“Better not forget nothing this time.” Your grandma huffs as she shifts, grimacing at the fraying straps of the lawn chair.
You don’t argue. You didn’t forget, you told her, they were sold out. You crinkle the paper in your hand, alongside a single twenty dollar bill. There will be a dollar thirty eight in change as long as you buy exactly what she wrote down. She’ll be sure to tally up the coins herself when you get back.
“I got the list.” You assure her.
“By all means, drag your feet.” She snorts.
“I’m going. Won’t be long.” You say.
You head for the door with a reusable bag around your elbow. You pull the door shut behind you until the clasp clicks loudly. You tuck your handful into your jeans skirt pocket, the hem just above your ankles.
“Headed out early, huh?” Frank sits on his steps, a coffee cup in his hands. It looks tiny in his grip; two fingers and thumb to keep it steady.
“Mmhmm. Groceries.” You murmur as you descend the stairs.
“Oh yeah? Got that on my agenda too. Want a ride into town?” He looks into his mug then dumps the dregs of the coffee.
“Um, no, it’s okay. I always walk.”
“Only makes sense. Goin’ in the same direction. Which store you hit up?” He stands and sets the cup on the barbeque.
“I can go…”
“Ah now, let me do ya the favour,” he insists. “Let me just grab my keys, sugar.” He climbs the steps and flicks open the screen door. He reaches inside and swipes up his keys with a jingle. He pulls the interior door shut behind him and locks it.
“It’s… nice of you. Thank you.”
“Nothin’,” he says as he waves you toward his truck.
He opens the passenger door and waits. You grab the inside and the edge of the seat. You haul yourself up as his hand grazes your side and hip. “Don’t wanna fall.”
“Thanks,” you slide into the seat and fold the empty bag on your lap.
“Don’t forget to buckle up.” He claps your thighs softly. “This thing’s got a kick.”
He shuts the door and you pull down the seatbelt. You click it in as he rounds the hood and swings back the driver’s door. He climbs in and snaps the door shut. He shoves his keys in the ignition and turns the engine so it rumbles to life.
“Ah, can’t forget,” he sits back and straps himself in.
He grips the ridge steering wheel with one hand and cranks the manual stick with the other. The truck jerks between gears and he reverses off his lot. You shrink into yourself as you clutch the reusable shopping bag.
“So, where we shopping?” He asks.
You chew your lip. “Lucky’s.” The store is named for its stock; the dent and irregular packaging not good enough for the other stores, but sold at a decent discount.
“I drove past it on my way in.” He drives through the park slowly. “Quiet town. Not like the city.”
You glance over at him. It must be boring here to him. It’s boring to you.
“New York boy,” he chuckles. “Wouldn’t go back if you dragged me.”
You nod. “Oh.”
“Eh, y’know. No one ever likes where they grew up.”
You shrug. “I… guess.”
He inhales and turns onto the dirt road just outside the park. “So, you been with grandma how long?”
You wiggle your foot. You trace your thumb along the seam of your bag. “Since… Since I was thirteen…” You answer.
“If you don’t wanna talk about it… I’m only curious.”
“No, it’s… no one asks… I guess.” You clear your throat as the engine roars. “Sorry if I’m… quiet.” You gulp. “My dad dropped me off. Didn’t come back. He had a girlfriend and I don’t think she liked me.”
“Hmm. Now that’s just cruel, isn’t it?” He tuts. “Well, you know, parents are…messy. Mine tried their best but they weren’t the problem.”
He pumps the pedals as he smoothly switches gears and flies down the country road. You watch the trees and brush blur by. Fields of overgrown grass and weeds lean in the breeze.
“I don’t think about it. I just try to help.” You say. “Grandma… I get it. She didn’t want another kid around. Doesn’t really matter.”
“Does it not or do you think I don’t care, sugar?” He asks as he slows, approaching the edge of the town centre.
“Just doesn’t,” you insist.
“Sure, sure,” he accepts evenly.
He finds his way to the bargain grocer. He comes around your side of the truck before you can get the door open. He holds your arm as you get down. You’re happy for it, not realising until your feet hit the pavement hard how high it was.
You cross the parking lot together. You feel self-conscious as locals pass by and stare at Frank. Newcomers are always noticed. You aren’t.
You unfold your list as you get inside and Frank grabs a cart. You pace beside him as he stops to knock on a cantaloupe. “When I was in the sh— field, we barely got fresh fruit. It was always dehydrated or pureed and sealed in tubes.” He trades the melon for one that sounds better. “I appreciate the little things now. Fresh melon, sunny days, friendly neighbours.”
“Oh, yeah…” you babble.
As you peruse the baskets of produce, you notice an older lady, Caroline, staring over the grapefruit. Your face goes hot and you quickly look down at the pears. Does she think you and Frank… you could laugh. That’s a silly idea.
“Don’t ya need some fruit?” Frank asks as he picks out several plums and puts them in a paper bag.
“It’s not on the list.” You look down. It’s all non-perishables aside from the bread.
He leans over and you try to hide the paper. Too late. He pinches the corner and reads the roster of items, with the prices and exact sizes and brands beside them.
“Isn’t much.” He says.
You tug it away. “It’s fine.”
“Here, let me get ya some cherries. It’s the season.”
“You don’t– you shouldn’t.”
“I wanna.” He says as he grabs a bag. “‘Less you don’t like them.”
You’re quiet. You look around. “You just feel sorry for me.”
“What you say?” He grits.
“I like cherries,” you relent.
He puts them in the cart. “I don’t feel sorry for ya.” He says. “I just think you deserve some nice things. Something to enjoy.” He grabs the cart handle. “Cause you know what goes good with cherries? Them little shortcakes and whipped cream.”
Frank makes me shy and giggly. I’d be so thrown by him. He’s not outwardly romantic but his attention is so nice. Helping her in the truck, getting her fruit, the little touches. He wants us taken care of. I love him. And I appreciate this reader for also liking the treatment. A lot of our men are creeps, and so is Frank, but in a nice sexy flavor. I want him bad, but I don’t think he’ll mind that.
Summary: a new neighbour moves in and changes everything.
Character: Frank Castle
Warnings: dubcon, noncon, NSFW. This is a dark drabble like most of my stuff so take this as your warning to stop reading.
Part of the Trailer Park AU
Please leave a comment and reblog. Or send an anon ask! Always happy to hear from y'all. ♥️❤️
“Better not forget nothing this time.” Your grandma huffs as she shifts, grimacing at the fraying straps of the lawn chair.
You don’t argue. You didn’t forget, you told her, they were sold out. You crinkle the paper in your hand, alongside a single twenty dollar bill. There will be a dollar thirty eight in change as long as you buy exactly what she wrote down. She’ll be sure to tally up the coins herself when you get back.
“I got the list.” You assure her.
“By all means, drag your feet.” She snorts.
“I’m going. Won’t be long.” You say.
You head for the door with a reusable bag around your elbow. You pull the door shut behind you until the clasp clicks loudly. You tuck your handful into your jeans skirt pocket, the hem just above your ankles.
“Headed out early, huh?” Frank sits on his steps, a coffee cup in his hands. It looks tiny in his grip; two fingers and thumb to keep it steady.
“Mmhmm. Groceries.” You murmur as you descend the stairs.
“Oh yeah? Got that on my agenda too. Want a ride into town?” He looks into his mug then dumps the dregs of the coffee.
“Um, no, it’s okay. I always walk.”
“Only makes sense. Goin’ in the same direction. Which store you hit up?” He stands and sets the cup on the barbeque.
“I can go…”
“Ah now, let me do ya the favour,” he insists. “Let me just grab my keys, sugar.” He climbs the steps and flicks open the screen door. He reaches inside and swipes up his keys with a jingle. He pulls the interior door shut behind him and locks it.
“It’s… nice of you. Thank you.”
“Nothin’,” he says as he waves you toward his truck.
He opens the passenger door and waits. You grab the inside and the edge of the seat. You haul yourself up as his hand grazes your side and hip. “Don’t wanna fall.”
“Thanks,” you slide into the seat and fold the empty bag on your lap.
“Don’t forget to buckle up.” He claps your thighs softly. “This thing’s got a kick.”
He shuts the door and you pull down the seatbelt. You click it in as he rounds the hood and swings back the driver’s door. He climbs in and snaps the door shut. He shoves his keys in the ignition and turns the engine so it rumbles to life.
“Ah, can’t forget,” he sits back and straps himself in.
He grips the ridge steering wheel with one hand and cranks the manual stick with the other. The truck jerks between gears and he reverses off his lot. You shrink into yourself as you clutch the reusable shopping bag.
“So, where we shopping?” He asks.
You chew your lip. “Lucky’s.” The store is named for its stock; the dent and irregular packaging not good enough for the other stores, but sold at a decent discount.
“I drove past it on my way in.” He drives through the park slowly. “Quiet town. Not like the city.”
You glance over at him. It must be boring here to him. It’s boring to you.
“New York boy,” he chuckles. “Wouldn’t go back if you dragged me.”
You nod. “Oh.”
“Eh, y’know. No one ever likes where they grew up.”
You shrug. “I… guess.”
He inhales and turns onto the dirt road just outside the park. “So, you been with grandma how long?”
You wiggle your foot. You trace your thumb along the seam of your bag. “Since… Since I was thirteen…” You answer.
“If you don’t wanna talk about it… I’m only curious.”
“No, it’s… no one asks… I guess.” You clear your throat as the engine roars. “Sorry if I’m… quiet.” You gulp. “My dad dropped me off. Didn’t come back. He had a girlfriend and I don’t think she liked me.”
“Hmm. Now that’s just cruel, isn’t it?” He tuts. “Well, you know, parents are…messy. Mine tried their best but they weren’t the problem.”
He pumps the pedals as he smoothly switches gears and flies down the country road. You watch the trees and brush blur by. Fields of overgrown grass and weeds lean in the breeze.
“I don’t think about it. I just try to help.” You say. “Grandma… I get it. She didn’t want another kid around. Doesn’t really matter.”
“Does it not or do you think I don’t care, sugar?” He asks as he slows, approaching the edge of the town centre.
“Just doesn’t,” you insist.
“Sure, sure,” he accepts evenly.
He finds his way to the bargain grocer. He comes around your side of the truck before you can get the door open. He holds your arm as you get down. You’re happy for it, not realising until your feet hit the pavement hard how high it was.
You cross the parking lot together. You feel self-conscious as locals pass by and stare at Frank. Newcomers are always noticed. You aren’t.
You unfold your list as you get inside and Frank grabs a cart. You pace beside him as he stops to knock on a cantaloupe. “When I was in the sh— field, we barely got fresh fruit. It was always dehydrated or pureed and sealed in tubes.” He trades the melon for one that sounds better. “I appreciate the little things now. Fresh melon, sunny days, friendly neighbours.”
“Oh, yeah…” you babble.
As you peruse the baskets of produce, you notice an older lady, Caroline, staring over the grapefruit. Your face goes hot and you quickly look down at the pears. Does she think you and Frank… you could laugh. That’s a silly idea.
“Don’t ya need some fruit?” Frank asks as he picks out several plums and puts them in a paper bag.
“It’s not on the list.” You look down. It’s all non-perishables aside from the bread.
He leans over and you try to hide the paper. Too late. He pinches the corner and reads the roster of items, with the prices and exact sizes and brands beside them.
“Isn’t much.” He says.
You tug it away. “It’s fine.”
“Here, let me get ya some cherries. It’s the season.”
“You don’t– you shouldn’t.”
“I wanna.” He says as he grabs a bag. “‘Less you don’t like them.”
You’re quiet. You look around. “You just feel sorry for me.”
“What you say?” He grits.
“I like cherries,” you relent.
He puts them in the cart. “I don’t feel sorry for ya.” He says. “I just think you deserve some nice things. Something to enjoy.” He grabs the cart handle. “Cause you know what goes good with cherries? Them little shortcakes and whipped cream.”
hi grl!! do you have a masterlist for dragonfly? I can't seem to find it and I wanted to start reading it! I love me some dark frank castle. lots of love🫶
Warning: power imbalance, size kink, dark content, and all around sexiness.
Summary: you work in the background until you’re dragged front and centre. (actor!Napoleon Solo, short reader)
Hi! Please please please reblog and leave some feedback if you read! I love you 💕
"Maybe Cody can do it." You say as you busy yourself with updating one of the tablets programmed for remote shoots.
"It's not my job." Cody huffs. "Besides, she's on one. Heard she dumped her coffee on Tiffy."
"I might too," Harris tosses back. "She's an idiot, like her boss."
You almost argue that Penelope is as good as all your boss. She might not be directly upwards but she could have any of you out of a job. She might just if you don't give her time tonforget your unfortunately stray into the spotlight.
"I know, I just thought..."
"Oh yeah, didn't you fuck up?" Harris chortles.
"Typical," Cody rolls his eyes. "You ladies should stick to makeup."
You frown. They are so annoying. Whatever. If they did it, you'd probably have to redo it anyway.
You give up on the firmware updates and grab your gear. You clip your radio to your belt and head down to the studio stage. Penelope is there growling at Tiffany and tugging her limp waves.
"What the hell did you do to my extensions?"
"Nothing, they look good." Tiffany insists as she spritzes hair spray and tries to add volume.
"That's not what I asked. I always look good." Penelope retorts.
"Where's the guest?" You ask Karlsen, the stage director.
"Late. Kid called to say he got stuck on Sunset... Somehow." Karlsen shakes his head.
Right, no distracting yourself.
You approach Penelope as she sits in her chair. You take out a clip-on mic and look for the best place to put it on her busy dress. She barely notices as you slip it behind a ruffle.
"Where's my coffee?" Penelope snips.
Tiffany looks down at her stained satin blouse. "Mick went for a refill--"
"You are all useless." She whines and swats you away like a fly.
You back up, avoiding her manicure, and she once more fusses at her hair. She's usually in a mood but since yesterday, she's been a terror. You can't help but feel responsible.
"...thanks very much. Every studio is the same yet different, huh?" The deep voice carries before the man appears.
It isn't the expected young actor and his reddish curls, but the same as the day before. What's going on? Napoleon Solo, action star, three time sexiest man of the year, enters with an armful of flowers; violets, daisies, carnations, roses, in a dozen shades of pink, purple, and cream. A lovely wild array.
"Ah, so you've come to apologise," Penelope scoffs as she stands and struts over. She reaches for the bouquet.
He lifts a brow. "If I assumed you had any sense of self-awareness, I might expect the same of you," he keeps the flowers away from her easily. "No, I spoke with Larry. The footage will be scrapped." His blue eyes barely graze her as he turns and searches the stage. "Ah, there you are." He walks towards you as your confusion has you frozen. He holds out the flowers and you stare. "My appreciation."
You blink and glance over at Penelope. She's fuming, lip curled, shaking. You put your palms up.
"Sir, I really don't think I can. Uh... It's a nice gesture and all but... I really can't." You sniff. "It's not professional."
He tilts his head. "Don't let her spoil it," he pushes the flowers at you again.
"Really, Mr. Solo--"
"Napoleon," he intones with a crooked grin. Then he says your name. You almost cringe. "I know you remember me. I remember you."
You stand, uncertain. Your heart pumps wildly and your ears thrum. All at once, the bouquet sends up a puff of petals and you back up as Penelope snatches them and swings them into the floor. The flowers explode into a cloud of stems and petals.
"As gracious as ever," Napoleon remarks tersely.
"You come into my studio." Penelope clings to the few stems still bound on the ribbon and pokes him with it. "And insult me like this. For a tech?" Her voice is shrill. "For this creature--"
She pulls her arm back again and aims at you. He catches the stems easily and yanks them from her grasps. He growls and throws them in her face.
"I don't think you realise how little power you actually have," Napoleon says evenly. "Your a name on a script. No one watches for you, darling."
She balls her hands and stomps, like a toddler in a tiara and plastic heels. "You are so stupid--"
She raises her fists as if to hit his chest and he snags them in his large hands. He walks her backwards as she squeals. He doesn't let go until she sits in her chair.
"Expect my complaint to be followed by legal notice," he brushes a fingertip over his palm. He turns and looks at Karlsen, "if those cameras are rolling, don't wipe the footage."
"Wouldn't think if it," Karlsen can't help but smirk.
Napoleon retreats and stops by you, "you'll need a new job, I expect." He pauses and feels inside his powder blue jacket. "My agent will arrange it." He hands over a card. You accept it, speechless.
"See you in court, Penelope." He turns and strides out. You quickly hide the card. Penelope stands and storms over to kick around the ruins of the flowers.
"Clean this up! Now!" She hollers as stomps past you. "You will all pay for this!”
You don't bother to try to get the mic back. Instead, you turn to help Tiffany clean up the flowers. The rest of the crew whisper in confusion. What do they do now?
As you father up the bent stems, you feel heat on your nape. You peek over and notice how everyone is watching you. Even Tiffany stops tidying to look at you.
You frown and ignore them as best as you can. You didn't ask for any of this. As nice as it is for him to want to make up for Penelope's behaviour, it's the worst thing Napoleon could have done. Especially for you.
“Hey, I'm here, I'm here!” The guest, Peter Parker rushes in, his shirt button unevenly and his hair askew. He stops short and looks around. “What happened here?”
You sigh and Karlsen chuckles. “No show today, kid.”
Warning: power imbalance, dark content, obsession, and all around sexiness.
Summary: your boss is a hard man to please. (actor!bucky, assistant reader)
I always see this gif and wanna write something so here we go.
Hi! Please please please reblog and leave some feedback if you read! I love you 💕
"That was good." Peter sighs in relief as he steps off the sound stage. "Right? Good?"
"Oh yeah, buddy. A real charmer when you want to be." Bucky slaps his back, hard. Peter's eyes widen as he stumbles just a step.
"Just followed your lead," peter chuckles nervously.
"Sounds like a drink earned." Bucky stays. "On me. I know this place. It's where I talked Fowler into giving me this role."
"Really? I auditioned twelve times." Peter says.
"It was all just a formality. I know what kinda scotch he likes." Bucky shrugs.
You don't recall this but to be honest, a lot of your time with Bucky is a blur now. You'll be all too happy to forget them. You pull out your phone.
"Well, I'll leave you two to it then." You say. "I gotta get stuff together for tomorrow. And sleep."
"You're not coming?" Peter asks.
"Um, no. Doesn't sound like business. You two have a good time."
"Bummer," Peter pouts. You realise, he might be intimidated by Bucky but you're over being a buffer. Besides, you know Bucky doesn't actually want to have drinks with the clueless heart throb.
"She's a busy lady, isn't she?" Bucky scoffs. "Boys' night. You still gotta tell me about this special lady of yours."
"Alright, have a good one. Your hotel key is in your pocket, right?" You say.
"Got it," Peter assures as he pays around, panicked until he feels the card in his back pocket.
"Bright and early," Bucky chirps and smacks Peter's arm. Hard. "I'll get him back nice and safe. Have a good night, sweetie."
You hesitate at that pet name. Peter glanced over at Bucky curiously. You give a wave and turn on your heel. Any longer with the jerk and you might throw yourself in a canal.
🎞️
The buzz sinks into your subconscious. It's a recurring nightmare for you. Your phone is always vibrating in your dreams, a haunting constant in your waking hours.
It doesn't stop. Your eyes roll open and you groan as you push the sheet away from your waist. It's humid even as a soft breeze flows through the open window.
You reach for your phone. It's one in the morning and Peter is calling. He's usually in bed by now unless there's an after party.
You answer but not before you realise it's a video call. The shine of your phone limbs your sleepy face in the lower corner as youre'rmet with Peter giggling then gagging as he bends over. You hear his puke spew onto the Venice cobble stones.
"Damn, sweetie, looks like you should come get your boy." Bucky snickers off camera. "Can't quite handle his Grappa."
You stifle a yawn and sit up dizzily. "What did you do?" Your voice is crisp in your throat.
"We were just having a good time. When's the last time you did?" He taunts. "Woah, kid, don't fall."
Bucky's hand comes into frame and grabs Peter's arm before he can tip head first into the stone work.
"Bucky, he's... Messed up."
"You'd know about messing a guy up, wouldn't you?" He snarls.
You sigh and push off the bed. "I'm on my way."
He clucks. "Jeez, sweetie, I don't remember you being so worried for me."
You shake your head as you put your phone down to aim at the ceiling. "Where are you?"
"Really, when did you ever give such a shit about me?"
"Bucky, please--"
"You fucking quit. Coward." He growls.
"I remember well helping your drunk ass to bed the last night I suffered working for you." You snap. "It's over. Just... Leave me alone and tell me where the hell you are."
He's quiet. You pull on a loose midi dress and swipe up your phone. "Bucky, where--"
You see Peter sitting on the ground, head hanging. "I'm so... Drunk." He hiccups.
"Wanna know something?" Bucky flips the camera and stares you down through the phone. "I wasn't fucking drunk." His blue eyes bore through the lens. "I was giving you your grand opportunity."
"What are you even talking about? Just tell me where to find you--"
"You coulda been under me, doll. You still could be. Let me tell you, it's a hell of a lot better than this bullshit. Baby sitting this human disaster," he turns the phone and snorts. "All you had to do was look after me and my needs. You know, there's women all over who'd love one night in my goddamn bed."
"Just tell me where you are," you beg.
He sighs and faces the camera again. "All I wanted was to feel you."
You sniff. You flip around your apps. There. You can see Peter's location. It was his idea since he was so bad at giving directions.
"I'm on my way.”
You hang up and snatch up your purse. You clasp the strap between your hand as you hurry through the slanted hallways. You race down the steep stairs and out into the tepid night.
The only way across the canal are the smaller boats meant for couples on romantic outings. You pay the fare to get across and climb up onto the cobbles. You follow the dot on the app. By the time you get to them, Peter’s laying on the edge of a fountain, his phone beside him. Alone.
Bucky just left him like this? What the fuck?
You got to Peter and turn his face up. His lashes flutter. You scoop a palmful of water from the fountain and splash it over him as you call his name. His eyes open and he yelps.
“I love youuuuu.” He slurs then sits up, wobbling. “Oh… it’s you.”
“Peter, are you okay?” You hold onto his arm.
“Huh?”
“Where’s Bucky?” You ask.
“Huh?” He echoes again.
“Peter…” You huff. You pick up his phone and put it in your purse. “Can you walk?”
“Can I… did something happen to my legs?” He gasps.
“No, you’re drunk. Peter–”
“I… I can try.” He babbles and his head starts to droop.
“No, no.” You grab his arm and stand, tugging him. “Let’s go.”
He manages to stand, leaning on you as he can’t quite lift his head all the way. You angle him around and make slow staggering progress to the canal. You catch another ride, this one swaying with Peter’s inebriated tilts, and you struggle to get him up on the other side.
You get to his hotel and the stairs have you out of breath and ready to give up. You move slowly down the hall and get him inside his room. You put him on his stomach across the bed and put the bin next to it. You place his phone on the night stand.
“Peter,” you rub his shoulder. “I’m gonna get you some water, okay?”
You stand up and back away, watching him as he gurgles senselessly. You turn at the door and all at once, you're snagged around the back of your neck, a hand across your mouth. Bucky smirks at you as he hushes you through his teeth.
“Looks like the boy dropped his room key… I was just coming to return it.” He growls. “So… how are you gonna thank me, doll?”
Hey, lovelies. I hope I am being overly cautious, but I made a backup blog at @stargazingwriter18 just in case all this nonsense with Dumblr escalates and my beloved blog gets terminated. You may want to follow me over there, just to be safe.
I'm going to try to appeal the shadowban and see if I can work with them to get my blog back to normal, but I worry that may actually escalate things, since trying to go back and label my stories as mature content is triggering a bunch of flags and removal, even on posts that aren't explicit.
As you can imagine, all of this has been super upsetting and stressful. This blog has been my much loved fun place and reprieve for almost seven years. I've put countless hours and so much love, energy, and creativity into cultivating this space and sharing it with all of you. Not to mention the thousands upon thousands of words I've written across all of my stories over the years. I'm really sad this is happening, and even more so a couple of weeks before my birthday event, because now not everyone who may want to participate can, and honestly, I have had zero writing inspiration or motivation at all as a result of this.
I'm not sure what will come of any of this, but what I do know is that I am going to fight to save my blog, because it's so much more than that to me. It's a community I truly cherish, my absolute favorite creative outlet that I've ever had, and--as silly as it may sound--a part of who I am.
And I'm really grateful you're here with me. Thank you ❤️
No pressure tags to help spread the word. Thanks again.
Summary: a new neighbour moves in and changes everything.
Character: Frank Castle
Warnings: dubcon, noncon, NSFW. This is a dark drabble like most of my stuff so take this as your warning to stop reading.
Part of the Trailer Park AU
Please leave a comment and reblog. Or send an anon ask! Always happy to hear from y'all. ♥️❤️
“There y’are, Magdaline,” Frank claps off his hands as he finishes transferring the last bunch of pansies.
“Wow. A neanderthal can use tools,” your grandma harangues smugly.
“Ah, ya know, I figured it out,” Frank’s tone is cool. “Almost looks like a real lady lives her and not some old witch.”
Your grandma scoffs. She’s quiet for a moment as she moves her crochet hooks. “Smart ass.” She mutters.
Frank shrugs. “Well, I should let you ladies enjoy the evening. I gotta go clean up.”
“So does she. Look at her nails. Dirt all under em, paint all over her.” Your grandma chides. “Grown and all but still actin’ like a damn child.”
You cringe and hide your hands behind you, gripping your wrist tight. “Uh… thank you, Frank.”
“Anytime.” He assures.
“Ya mean it? Get this girl outta my hair?” Your grandma cackles. “Godsend.”
You chew your lip and smile tightly. “Ha, your funny, gran.”
Frank’s thick brow tweaks just a little. “Ya, well, I've taken up enough of your time today.” He gives a salute.
He turns and stalks back to his trailer. His back and arms muscles bulge with each subtle swing of his arms. You clutch your wrist even tighter and turn to your grandma. “I like the boxes, don't you?”
“Man's got too much time. That's what happens when all you're good for is the service.” She clucks. “My second husband was a Navy prick. The one before you were around. Limp fish, that one.” She spits and reaches her arm out. “Come on, help me off my damn ass.”
You grab her head and get her up. She shoves her crochet into your chest and a needle pokes your neck, the hook scratching you good. She growls and shuffles around the chair and inside.
“Could use some tea.” She grits.
You follow her in and out her crochet on the table. You flip on the electric kettle and hurry out to get her chair. It folds around your finger and you grunt. You haul it inside as your grandmother coughs.
“You sure are slow. Bet you let that man do all the work.” She sneers.
“No, I… helped.” You push her lawn chair until it locks again. You grab her pillow and throw blanket as she drops into it, the frame creaking.
“Sure. You don't really have a concept of help.” She groans and leans back.
You go to the kitchen and wait on the water. You learned long ago not to argue. She wasn't always wrong, was she?
You make her tea how she likes, with the last of the milk. You sit at your desk and yawn over your half-shaped frame. You want it to be a sparrow but it's taking a lot of work.
You're too tired to do more than sort through your gathered supplies. You're like a crow, out searching for shiny things. Your grandmother slurps and picks up her latest crime novel.
After a while, you relent and lay down on the folding couch where you sleep. She keeps her lamp on and reads well into the night, even after you change into your pajamas. You drift off into dreams painted the same yellow as the day’s sunlight.
You hear Frank’s timbre but can’t make out his words. Almost as if he’s not saying anything at all but just making noises. You can see his shadow, then his thick hands, his forearms lined with tendons and veins that strain with the tension of his grip. You don’t know what he’s holding onto but you feel a tingle in your stomach.
You wake, disoriented and thirsty as heck. It's from all that time in the sun. You grab a glass of water as your grandmother gives a start and picks up her book again. You go outside, afraid to disturb her.
You sit with your glass of water on the front steps. It's quiet. The way it gets when everyone's asleep. You can see a raccoon creeping across another lot.
You sip slowly, the scratch on your throat fading. The evening is balmy as the day's heat clings on stubbornly. You set the glass down and cup your chin, elbows on your knees.
“Crazy… always have been…” the grizzly grumble startles you. “Old man…”
You glance over and see the shadow near Frank's step. It's him. You can tell by his silhouette alone. He's running his hands through his hair, his back to you as he rambles to himself. It reminds you of your dream and the quivery sensation.
“Gotta be nice.” His voice rolls like distant thunder.
He paces back and forth. You can't help but wonder if he means your grandma. She can be a bit out there and she's not the nicest.
He stops again. He turns and you swear he’s looking right at you. He doesn’t seem to notice you as he drags his hands over his beard. He shifts on his feet and groans. He rubs his neck and tilts his head to crack it.
He huffs and retreats inside. You sit in the silence and stare at his trailer. His window opens but he doesn’t look out. It just lets out the soft amber glow of the light within.
You wait a few minutes before you go back inside. You rinse your glass and lay down. Your grandma sighs. “Why didn't ya tell me it was so late, girl?”
She gets to and throws the book so it hits the edge of the table and falls. You flinch and listen to her stomp to her room. When you do bother to mention the time, she retorts dryly that she can still read a clock.
You close your eyes. Nothing you do will make her happy. You never expect it to but if there’s nothing to complain about, she might forget you’re around. And if she does that, life would be a lot easier.
I love how quivery—and thirsty—Frank makes her 🤭 I also love that he doesn’t take any shit from nasty gran and gives it right back to her. Get her, Frank 😤
Warning: power imbalance, dark content, obsession, and all around sexiness.
Summary: your boss is a hard man to please. (actor!bucky, assistant reader)
I always see this gif and wanna write something so here we go.
Hi! Please please please reblog and leave some feedback if you read! I love you 💕
"That was good." Peter sighs in relief as he steps off the sound stage. "Right? Good?"
"Oh yeah, buddy. A real charmer when you want to be." Bucky slaps his back, hard. Peter's eyes widen as he stumbles just a step.
"Just followed your lead," peter chuckles nervously.
"Sounds like a drink earned." Bucky stays. "On me. I know this place. It's where I talked Fowler into giving me this role."
"Really? I auditioned twelve times." Peter says.
"It was all just a formality. I know what kinda scotch he likes." Bucky shrugs.
You don't recall this but to be honest, a lot of your time with Bucky is a blur now. You'll be all too happy to forget them. You pull out your phone.
"Well, I'll leave you two to it then." You say. "I gotta get stuff together for tomorrow. And sleep."
"You're not coming?" Peter asks.
"Um, no. Doesn't sound like business. You two have a good time."
"Bummer," Peter pouts. You realise, he might be intimidated by Bucky but you're over being a buffer. Besides, you know Bucky doesn't actually want to have drinks with the clueless heart throb.
"She's a busy lady, isn't she?" Bucky scoffs. "Boys' night. You still gotta tell me about this special lady of yours."
"Alright, have a good one. Your hotel key is in your pocket, right?" You say.
"Got it," Peter assures as he pays around, panicked until he feels the card in his back pocket.
"Bright and early," Bucky chirps and smacks Peter's arm. Hard. "I'll get him back nice and safe. Have a good night, sweetie."
You hesitate at that pet name. Peter glanced over at Bucky curiously. You give a wave and turn on your heel. Any longer with the jerk and you might throw yourself in a canal.
🎞️
The buzz sinks into your subconscious. It's a recurring nightmare for you. Your phone is always vibrating in your dreams, a haunting constant in your waking hours.
It doesn't stop. Your eyes roll open and you groan as you push the sheet away from your waist. It's humid even as a soft breeze flows through the open window.
You reach for your phone. It's one in the morning and Peter is calling. He's usually in bed by now unless there's an after party.
You answer but not before you realise it's a video call. The shine of your phone limbs your sleepy face in the lower corner as youre'rmet with Peter giggling then gagging as he bends over. You hear his puke spew onto the Venice cobble stones.
"Damn, sweetie, looks like you should come get your boy." Bucky snickers off camera. "Can't quite handle his Grappa."
You stifle a yawn and sit up dizzily. "What did you do?" Your voice is crisp in your throat.
"We were just having a good time. When's the last time you did?" He taunts. "Woah, kid, don't fall."
Bucky's hand comes into frame and grabs Peter's arm before he can tip head first into the stone work.
"Bucky, he's... Messed up."
"You'd know about messing a guy up, wouldn't you?" He snarls.
You sigh and push off the bed. "I'm on my way."
He clucks. "Jeez, sweetie, I don't remember you being so worried for me."
You shake your head as you put your phone down to aim at the ceiling. "Where are you?"
"Really, when did you ever give such a shit about me?"
"Bucky, please--"
"You fucking quit. Coward." He growls.
"I remember well helping your drunk ass to bed the last night I suffered working for you." You snap. "It's over. Just... Leave me alone and tell me where the hell you are."
He's quiet. You pull on a loose midi dress and swipe up your phone. "Bucky, where--"
You see Peter sitting on the ground, head hanging. "I'm so... Drunk." He hiccups.
"Wanna know something?" Bucky flips the camera and stares you down through the phone. "I wasn't fucking drunk." His blue eyes bore through the lens. "I was giving you your grand opportunity."
"What are you even talking about? Just tell me where to find you--"
"You coulda been under me, doll. You still could be. Let me tell you, it's a hell of a lot better than this bullshit. Baby sitting this human disaster," he turns the phone and snorts. "All you had to do was look after me and my needs. You know, there's women all over who'd love one night in my goddamn bed."
"Just tell me where you are," you beg.
He sighs and faces the camera again. "All I wanted was to feel you."
You sniff. You flip around your apps. There. You can see Peter's location. It was his idea since he was so bad at giving directions.
"I'm on my way.”
You hang up and snatch up your purse. You clasp the strap between your hand as you hurry through the slanted hallways. You race down the steep stairs and out into the tepid night.
The only way across the canal are the smaller boats meant for couples on romantic outings. You pay the fare to get across and climb up onto the cobbles. You follow the dot on the app. By the time you get to them, Peter’s laying on the edge of a fountain, his phone beside him. Alone.
Bucky just left him like this? What the fuck?
You got to Peter and turn his face up. His lashes flutter. You scoop a palmful of water from the fountain and splash it over him as you call his name. His eyes open and he yelps.
“I love youuuuu.” He slurs then sits up, wobbling. “Oh… it’s you.”
“Peter, are you okay?” You hold onto his arm.
“Huh?”
“Where’s Bucky?” You ask.
“Huh?” He echoes again.
“Peter…” You huff. You pick up his phone and put it in your purse. “Can you walk?”
“Can I… did something happen to my legs?” He gasps.
“No, you’re drunk. Peter–”
“I… I can try.” He babbles and his head starts to droop.
“No, no.” You grab his arm and stand, tugging him. “Let’s go.”
He manages to stand, leaning on you as he can’t quite lift his head all the way. You angle him around and make slow staggering progress to the canal. You catch another ride, this one swaying with Peter’s inebriated tilts, and you struggle to get him up on the other side.
You get to his hotel and the stairs have you out of breath and ready to give up. You move slowly down the hall and get him inside his room. You put him on his stomach across the bed and put the bin next to it. You place his phone on the night stand.
“Peter,” you rub his shoulder. “I’m gonna get you some water, okay?”
You stand up and back away, watching him as he gurgles senselessly. You turn at the door and all at once, you're snagged around the back of your neck, a hand across your mouth. Bucky smirks at you as he hushes you through his teeth.
“Looks like the boy dropped his room key… I was just coming to return it.” He growls. “So… how are you gonna thank me, doll?”
