Deaf And Daring

‘98/Bi/Meghan. This is my blog. There are many like it but this ones mine. Deaf in my left ear but haven't let that stop me. I like a lot of things.... so beware. All about Me -- Masterlist

[emergenciesstory]

Can we talk about the fact I used to write Fics? I poured my heart and soul into them, made full on series, interwove story lines and characters.

I can’t tell you the last time I read a fic, let alone wrote one. I have half completed WIPs that are so sound they just need a beginning or end, and they’re just sitting there. I have ideas based on songs mapped out (and I mean like RECENT *cough* Father figure *cough*) and just… nothing.

I’m failing you all, but mainly I’m failing myself.

[lemonysnicketblog]

The Full "I Will Love You." Letter. The Beatrice Letters, Lemony Snicket

Always. Continuously. With increasing apprehension, and decreasing hope.

I will love you with no regard to the actions of our enemies or the jealousies of actors. I will love you with no regard to the outrage of certain parents or the boredom of certain friends. I will love you no matter what is served in the world’s cafeterias or what game is played at each and every recess. I will love you no matter how many fire drills we are all forced to endure, and no matter what is drawn upon the blackboard in a blurring, boring chalk. I will love you no matter how many mistakes I make when trying to reduce fractions, and no matter how difficult it is to memorize the periodic table. I will love you no matter what your locker combination was, or how you decided to spend your time during study hall. I will love you no matter how your soccer team performed in the tournament or how many stains I received on my cheerleading uniform. I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I see you every Tuesday. I will love you if you cut your hair and I will love you if you cut the hair of others. I will love you if you abandon your baticeering, and I will love you if you retire from the theater to take up some other, less dangerous occupation. I will love you if you drop your raincoat on the floor instead of hanging it up and I will love you if you betray your father. I will love you even if you announce that the poetry of Edgar Guest is the best in the world and even if you announce that the work of Zilpha Keatley Snyder is unbearably tedious. I will love you if you abandon the theremin and take up the harmonica and I will love you if you donate your marmosets to the zoo and your tree frogs to M. I will love you as the starfish loves a coral reef and as kudzu loves trees, even if the oceans turn to sawdust and the trees fall in the forest without anyone around to hear them. I will love you as the pesto loves the fetuccini and as the horseradish loves the miyagi, as the tempura loves the ikura and the pepperoni loves the pizza. I will love you as the manatee loves the head of lettuce and as the dark spot loves the leopard, as the leech loves the ankle of a wader and as a corpse loves the beak of the vulture. I will love you as the doctor loves his sickest patient and a lake loves its thirstiest swimmer. I will love you as the beard loves the chin, and the crumbs love the beard, and the damp napkin loves the crumbs, and the precious document loves the dampness in the napkin, and the squinting eye of the reader loves the smudged print of the document, and the tears of sadness love the squinting eye as it misreads what is written. I will love you as the iceberg loves the ship, and the passengers love the lifeboat, and the lifeboat loves the teeth of the sperm whale, and the sperm whale loves the flavor of naval uniforms. I will love you as a child loves to overhear the conversations of its parents, and the parents love the sound of their own arguing voices, and as the pen loves to write down the words these voices utter in a notebook for safekeeping. I will love you as a shingle loves falling off a house on a windy day and striking a grumpy person across the chin, and as an oven loves malfunctioning in the middle of roasting a turkey. I will love you as an airplane loves to fall from a clear blue sky and as an escalator loves to entangle expensive scarves in its mechanisms. I will love you as a wet paper towel loves to be crumpled into a ball and thrown at a bathroom ceiling and an eraser loves to leave dust in the hairdos of the people who talk too much. I will love you as a cufflink loves to drop from its shirt and explore the party for itself and as a pair of white gloves loves to slip delicately into the punchbowl. I will love you as a taxi loves the muddy splash of a puddle and as a library loves the patient tick of a clock. I will love you as a thief loves a gallery and as a crow loves a murder, as a cloud loves bats and as a range loves braes. I will love you as misfortune loves orphans, as fire loves innocence and as justice loves to sit and watch while everything goes wrong. I will love you as a battlefield loves young men and as peppermints love your allergies, and I will love you as the banana peel loves the shoe of a man who was just struck by a shingle falling off a house. I will love you as a volunteer fire department loves rushing into burning buildings and as burning buildings love to chase them back out, and as a parachute loves to leave a blimp and as a blimp operator loves to chase after it. I will love you as a dagger loves a certain person’s back, and as a certain person loves to wear daggerproof tunics, and as a daggerproof tunic loves to go to a certain dry cleaning facility, and how a certain employee of a dry cleaning facility loves to stay up late with a pair of binoculars, watching a dagger factory for hours in the hopes of catching a burglar, and as a burglar loves sneaking up behind people with binoculars, suddenly realizing that she has left her dagger at home. I will love you as a drawer loves a secret compartment, and as a secret compartment loves a secret, and as a secret loves to make a person gasp, and as a gasping person loves a glass of brandy to calm their nerves, and as a glass of brandy loves to shatter on the floor, and as the noise of glass shattering loves to make someone else gasp, and as someone else gasping loves a nearby desk to lean against, even if leaning against it presses a lever that loves to open a drawer and reveal a secret compartment. I will love you until all such compartments are discovered and opened, and until all the secrets have gone gasping into the world. I will love you until all the codes and hearts have been broken and until every anagram and egg has been unscrambled. I will love you until every fire is extinguished and until every home is rebuilt form the handsomest and most susceptible of woods, and until every criminal is handcuffed by the laziest of policemen. I will love you until M. hates snakes and J. hates grammar, and I will love you until C. realizes S. is not worthy of his love and N. realizes he is not worthy of the V. I will love you until the bird hates a nest and the worm hates an apple, and until the apple hates a tree and the tree hates a nest, and until a bird hates a tree and an apple hates a nest, although honestly I cannot imagine that last occurrence no matter how hard I try. I will love you as we grow older, which has just happened, and has happened again, and happened several days ago, continuously, and then several years before that, and will continue to happen as the spinning hands of every clock and the flipping pages of every calendar mark the passage of time, except for the clocks that people have forgotten to wind and the calendars that people have forgotten to place in a highly visible area. I will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another, where once we were so close that we could slip the curved straw, and the long, slender spoon, between our lips and fingers respectively. I will love you until the chances of us running into one another slip from skim to zero, and until your face is fogged by distant memory, and your memory faced by distant fog, and your fog memorized by a distant face, and your distance distanced by the memorized memory of a foggy fog. I will love you no matter where you go and who you see, no matter where you avoid and who you don’t see, and no matter who sees you avoiding where you go. I will love you no matter what happens to you, and no matter how I discover what happens to you, and no matter what happens to me as I discover this, and no matter how I am discovered after what happens to me happens to me as I am discovering this. I will love you if you don’t marry me. I will love you if you marry someone else – your co-star, perhaps, or Y., or even O., or anyone Z. through A., even R. although sadly I believe it will be quite some time before two women can be allowed to marry – and I will love you if you have a child, and I will love you if you have two children, or three children, or even more, although I personally think three is plenty, and I will love you if you never marry at all, and never have children, and spend your years wishing you had married me after all, and I must say that on late, cold nights I prefer this scenario out of all the scenarios I have mentioned. That, Beatrice, is how I will love you even as the world goes on its wicked way.

[emergenciesstory]

This is the kind of love I want. The kind of love I give. And the kind of love everyone deserves.

[indie-navarrete]

HARLEY QUINN — SUICIDE SQUAD // (2016)

[castielscaplan]

here's over 5.0K prompts of all sorts you can use for your writing ideas!

happy writing!

**no need to credit the list if it helps you with writing. but reblogging/sharing it with your writer friends is definitely appreciated!

**deleted the Misc prompt section, added Enemies to Lovers section of prompts, along with a "career" section with police/medic/CEOStuden/Teacher prompts.

[fvckingavengers]

alone with you

prompt: chosen by @baezen​ from this list, “don’t put your lips up to my mouth and tell me you can’t stay.” pairing: (appropriately aged) Peter Parker x Reader word count: 4,020 warnings: smut - 18+, build up/slow burn, slight angst, unprotected sex.

a/n (1 of 2): this fic jumps between scenes A LOT. i’m still getting a feel for Peter so i’m begging for feedback and for you to be honest about if this blows or not. if it’s not terrible, i’ll write a second part that’s more true to the prompt bc this was more of an introduction. a/n (2 of 2): for all intents and purposes, this reader is essentially Black Cat (Felicia Hardy) from the Spider-Man comics. goes by the codename as well. i don’t own the rights to the name. (i love her so fucking much ok, if you don’t know about the character that’s fine but i suggest looking her up.)

You should’ve just walked away.

Should have minded your own business. Kept to yourself and stayed hidden in the shadows. You had completed your job. Got the priceless Monét painting from your ex’s pretentious gallery. What better revenge for breaking your heart than to ruin her career?

Okay, so it wasn’t exactly playing fair, but pain, like love, makes a person do crazy things. And your buyer had already wired the quarter mil to the private account you’d set up for this line of work.

But then he showed up.

Swinging in, in his red and blue skin tight suit. He landed right in front of you, features hidden beneath the mask he wears.

“Out of my way, monkey man.” You scoff.

“Monkey?” He points to the emblem on his chest. “Does this look like a monkey to you?”

You squint your eyes and shrug. “Right. My mistake. Get lost, Spider-Boy.”

As you try to slide passed him, he grips your arm tightly. “C’mon, ‘boy’? It’s Spider-Man.”

His hold on you is strong, but not mean. A warning. You can feel a slight bruise forming beneath the fabric of your own suit. You give him a once over and grin. “My apologies, Spider-Man. Do you always walk around with an impressive bulge like that, or are you just happy to see me?” You nod, gesturing to his crotch.

He stutters. Releases you from his grasp and takes a small step back. He’s flustered. How cute.

“This material doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Wasn’t my call.”

If you could see his cheeks, you’re sure they’d be flushed pink.

“Well please, inform me who I should thank. They deserve a muffin basket, at the very least.” You giggle from his blatant embarrassment. “As much fun as this is, I gotta jet. Until next time, Spider-Man.” You salute and wink before your grappling hook hurls you into the air and you disappear from sight.

He goes to take a step, but stumbles to the floor with a thud. You’d somehow lassoed his ankles when he wasn’t looking. “Shit.” He sighs heavily.

Keep reading

[emergenciesstory]

Do yall ever go back and read your own works, and have better ideas or ways of doing the flirt scenes or story progression…

… but I can’t just rewrite my own works… right?

[chad-warwick]

Supernatural 7x12 “Time After Time After Time” Deleted Scene

[boomboxgod]

WHY WOULD YOU EVER DELETE JENSEN IN A WAISTCOAT 

NEVER

[castielscaplan]

The Devil's Tailor (mafia!bucky barnes)

Summary: you work for dangerous criminals, most notably, the mafia leader himself, when they need new suits and dresses for political statements.

Warnings: mafia au, a smidge of flirting

WC: 630ish

Read on AO3!

--

The faint scent of cigar smoke clung to the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly pressed fabric. You stood behind the counter of your little tailor shop, fingers delicately threading a needle as if the world outside didn’t exist. But you felt it—the weight of his gaze before he even spoke.

“Miss Y/L/N,” came the low, gravelly voice. “You’ve outdone yourself again.”

You didn’t look up immediately, letting the final stitch slide into place before tying it off. “You say that every time, Mr. Barnes.”

Finally, you raised your eyes to meet his, and there he stood, James Buchanan Barnes, the most dangerous man in the city, dressed in a suit you’d made for him just weeks ago. The midnight blue fabric clung to his broad shoulders like a second skin, the silver cufflinks gleaming under the dim light. Everything about him screamed power, from the glint of his vibranium hand to the calculated smirk playing on his lips.

But it was his eyes that caught you—the sharp, steel-blue gaze that seemed to strip away every layer of pretense.

“Well,” he drawled, stepping closer. “Maybe it’s because you deserve the compliment every time.”

You fought to keep your composure, placing the freshly finished tie on the counter between you. “Flattery won’t get you a discount.”

His smirk deepened, and he reached for the tie, his fingers brushing yours. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Besides, you’re worth every penny.”

“You mean my work is,” you corrected, stepping back to give yourself some breathing room. “What can I do for you this time?”

Bucky leaned against the counter, his presence overwhelming in the small shop. “I need something special. A suit for a meeting.”

You arched a brow. “Special how?”

His expression turned serious, the playful air dissipating. “Let’s just say this meeting might be… heated.”

You nodded, understanding the unspoken words. A bulletproof vest wouldn’t suit his needs, but a suit lined with discreet protective layers? That, you could do.

“I’ll need measurements again,” you said, grabbing your tape measure.

“Think I’ve grown?” he teased, but his tone lacked its usual lightness.

You walked around the counter, gesturing for him to stand straight. “Arms out,” you instructed.

He complied, and as you worked, you couldn’t help but notice the scars peeking out from his collar, the tension in his shoulders, the slight weariness in his eyes.

“You trust me with this?” you asked quietly, your fingers grazing his wrist as you measured.

Bucky’s gaze softened, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I trust you with more than that, doll.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and for a moment, you forgot about the tape measure in your hands.

“Why me?” you whispered, meeting his eyes. “You could go anywhere. Hire anyone.”

He tilted his head, a small smile curving his lips. “Because you don’t ask questions. You don’t judge. And, most importantly…” His fingers brushed a strand of hair from your face. “You make me look damn good while keeping me alive.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you forced yourself to focus, clearing your throat. “Well, let’s hope this suit does the trick.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “If anyone can pull it off, it’s you.”

As you finished taking his measurements and scribbled notes, Bucky lingered by the counter, his eyes never leaving you.

“You know,” he said as he turned to leave, “they call you The Devil’s Tailor out there.”

You smirked, crossing your arms. “Only because I work with the devil himself.”

Bucky’s grin was wicked, his eyes glinting as he opened the door. “Careful, doll. Keep talking like that, and I might just make you mine.”

And with that, he disappeared into the night, leaving you with trembling hands and a heart that raced faster than it should.

[castielscaplan]

Thank you for reblogging!

[emergenciesstory]

Jade was def my bisexual awakening because she chokes a guy in take a hint and is so hot

[emergenciesstory]

WAIT SO DID FREDDIE BENSON BOTH TO TRINAS PERFORMANCES WHAT WHY

[emergenciesstory]

Okay I was watching Victorious again and I had a thought.

Jerry Trainor shows up as a cameo early on in the audience of “She-cago”. But we know Icarlt is in the same universe. And we know Carly is a few years behind Tori in school from the crossover episode with the cheating boyfriend.

So that means Spencer went to watch Shecago. Why did spencer go watch the show? He went from Seattle to LA. LIKE WHY?

[justagirlfangirling]

you ever read a fanfic and just sit back and think…someone wrote something THIS good… and then just….published it on the internet….for free…..

[thorst]

I love you, fanfic authors

[the-golden-comet]

Reblogging to tell fanfic authors that we love you, and all your hard work & time you selflessly give to us. Thank you 🙏

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Sugar Mama Chapter 1

And another one! New story involving #sugarbabybucky Summary: Bucky is overworked and struggling to get by.  The bills are piling up and he’s consistently in the red with no end in sight.  Y/N is a billionaire’s daughter, entrepreneur and philanthropist having a hard time finding true friends or love.  She has a proposition for him. 

bucky barnes x curvy!reader Warnings: eventual smut, sexual assault (not from Bucky)

Next chapter

Bucky was exhausted.  He had been working three jobs for four years now just trying to get by, and this was his sixth sixteen hour day in a row.  Student loans and credit card debt was eating him out of house and home, in the most literal sense.  Even living in a rent controlled building wasn’t helping with the bills piling up.  He had gone to college for architecture and interior design, which he was doing now working as an assistant during normal working hours for one of the many local interior designers.  Then he would go straight to his second job as a waiter in a high end restaurant in downtown Manhattan, then at the end of the night go home and do a few more hours of online tutoring.  He had ended his 20s and entered his 30s feeling like an old man, with no end in sight of ever getting a break or being able to break even with his debt.  Forget about dating or having a family someday.  That all seemed like a ridiculous pipe dream now.

“Heeeeyyyy Buckaroo?” Steve sidled up to him as he was cleaning off wine glasses.

“No,” Bucky cut him off.  

“But it’s just–”

“Steve, it’s Friday night, I’d really like to go home and get in bed at a normal time tonight,” Bucky interrupted him, the dark circles under his eyes that he tried to ignore looking more prominent by the day.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.  But Peggy has been hounding me about going to that new burlesque club that just opened and I told her I was working but we haven’t had a date night in a long time–”

“Ugh, fine.  But I’m not sharing tips,” Bucky sighed, rubbing his face as he pulled a 5 Hour Energy out of his apron pocket and quickly downed it like a shot.

“Those are bad for you, Buck,” Steve gave his friend a worried look.

“Well maybe a heart attack in my 30s will put me out of my misery,” Bucky half-joked.  Steve was silent.  Bucky turned to him and scoffed.  “It’s a joke.  Go, I’ll take the closing shift.  Say hi to Peg for me.”

“I’ll take your next closing, I promise.  Thanks punk,” Steve gave him a quick hug.

“Yeah whatever, jerk,” Bucky laughed.  As Steve went to the back to change, Bucky went to the host stand and figured out who was his next table.

“Whatcha got for me, witchy woman?” he leaned against the stand.  Wanda gave him a quick glance.  

“I told you to stop calling me that,” she sighed, looking back down at the list.

“It’s not my fault you got witch eyes.  And I never said that was a bad thing,” Bucky said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Yeah whatever,” she rolled her amber eyes.  “You’re gonna love this one.  A Wall Street investment heiress, with some famous friends,” she gave him an unimpressed look.

“An heiress, huh?  Well maybe she’ll be my next sugar mama,” he joked, giving her a wink as he adjusted his apron.

“You wouldn’t know how to be a sugar baby even if you tried,” she sassed back at him.  “Table 42.  She’s all yours.”

“Thanks babes,” he sing-songed at her before heading towards his section.  As he approached table 42 he tried to see who the heiress was, but she was unfortunately facing away from him.  Her friends, though, he easily recognized from some of the most recent films that had just hit theaters: Clint Barton and Natasha Romanov.  Jackpot, he thought with a wry smile.

“Good evening, folks, welcome to Marea.  My name is Bucky and I’ll be your server tonight.  Could I get you started with some drinks?  Or a review of our wine list?” He gave them all a friendly smile as he looked each of them in the eye at least once.  The actors gave him quick smiles and glances before ordering generic wines and waters, then the heiress caught his eye.  He almost did a double take once he realized who she was.  Y/N Y/L/N, the daughter of Wall Street Tycoon Gerald Y/L/N.  She was set for life and beyond.  Her father was the investment king, knowing just when to buy in or sell out.  She had taken on his legacy by doing the same but instead of investing in huge corporations she was investing in smaller businesses and projects, being the key investor until the business could truly thrive, giving her investment a return and getting a chance to grow in an area like New York City.  She was the reason the new burlesque club opened that Steve was going to with Peggy.  Not only was she wealthy, she was beautiful.  Short in stature and plus size, she was an anomaly surrounded by her tall and slim friends, but she embraced her size and used it as a way to both literally and figuratively take up space in the industry and bring attention to the issues of body image, fatphobia, and investing in plus size companies and designers who she exclusively worked with for clothing her for events. 

Bucky tried not to ogle and quickly gave her his best flirtatious smile.  “And for you?” he asked her.

Y/N gave him an appreciative smile and her bright Y/C/E eyes seemed to really look at him rather than a passing glance like her friends.  “I’d like to hear the wine menu, please.”

“Wonderful, we have a…” As he listed off the wines Y/N watched him intently, her eyes searching his face.  He felt like he was the one being ogled and yet he persevered, trying not to sound nervous while serving some of the most influential and popular people in the world.

“It all sounds delicious, but I’m a creature of habit, so I think I’ll stick with my favorite Rose, the Billecart-Salmon.  And I’ll also have water on the side.”

“Excellent choice, ma’am.  Give me a moment and I’ll get those drinks out to you all,” he glanced at them all again before slipping away to the bar for the drinks.

Y/N watched him leave, a small smile on her face, before turning back to her friends.  They eyed her ruefully with mischievous smiles.  “What?” she asked.

“He’s cute,” Natasha commented, one eyebrow raised at her.

“Very cute.  One could even say hot,” Clint added, watching Bucky walk back to the bar.  “He’s got a great ass.  Too bad he’s working here.  He’d look divine in a Prada campaign.”

“You two stop it,” Y/N whispered, giving them a wide eyed glare.  “Yes he’s cute.”

“You gonna go for it?” Natasha asked, her grin twisting into something conspiratorial.

“Oh do it!  If you won’t, I’ll try my luck,” Clint shifted in his seat as he continued watching Bucky.  “See if he goes both ways.”

Bucky was walking back with the drinks on a tray.  Y/N narrowed her eyes and made the gesture for them to zip it.

“Alright, here are your drinks!  Your waters, and the Sauvignon blanc for you,” he set it in front of Clint, “the Stella Artois for you,” he set it in front of Natasha, “and the Billecart-Salmon Rose for you.”  He delicately set it in front of Y/N giving her another warm smile.  She reciprocated it as she reached for her wine.  She took a quick sip and her eyes fluttered shut.  

“Perfect, thank you Bucky,” she said as she licked her lips.

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly before he caught himself.  “Well, would you like to start with any appetizers?  Or jump right into the good stuff?” he huffed a laugh.

“I’d like the lobster with the salad,” Clint ordered.  “And could you make sure that the lobster is really big and thick.  I like them meaty.”

Y/N’s eyes widened at him and his not-so-subtle innuendo.  Bucky knew what he was doing and just let it slide, nodding in agreement.  “I’ll put in a good word with the chef.”  

Natasha next to him giggled before ordering.  “I’ll just take the scallops and shrimp.”

Bucky nodded before turning to Y/N.  “I’ll have the crab cakes and risotto, please.”  He nodded again and gave her a smirk.

“My favorite,” he gave her a wink, making her blush. “I’ll get those in and come back to check on you all in a little bit,” he swept the table with a smile before walking back to the kitchen.

“Stop it, don’t embarrass him,” Y/N chastised Clint.  “I’m sure he and the other servers get enough grief from creepy patrons all the time.”

“Oh it was just a little fun.  Besides, he’s all eyes for you, honey, he barely even looked at me,” he shot back at her as he sipped his wine. 

“It’s true,” Natasha said, then gave her an exaggerated wink. Y/N rolled her eyes.  “I think you should ask him out.  Or maybe he can be your next sugar baby.”

“Oh don’t bring that up again,” Y/N groaned.  “It was a one time thing and ended badly.  I just wanted to try it.”

“It ended badly because he was an ass, not because of anything you did.  You gave him charity and he gave you an attitude.  This guy seems sweet, nothing can hurt from just asking,” Natasha chided her, reaching out and pinching Y/N’s arm lightly.  

Y/N considered her words.  She had wanted to try out the lifestyle of being a sugar mama to a sugar baby.  She had a lot of events to go to throughout the year, and as much as she enjoyed spending time with her friends and networking with people, she was getting really tired of these high-class, ridiculous men who thought that just by being famous or wealthy that she would throw herself at them.  They wanted to use her for her name and connections.  They never really cared about her.  So she had tried being a sugar mama to a man who wasn’t famous, down on his luck, and just trying to get a leg up in life to escort her to these functions and give her companionship.  But once he’d gotten his debts paid off by her and a taste of luxury he quickly became influenced by the rich douchebags around him and started treating Y/N disrespectfully, so much so that he’d made front page news of some tabloids and embarrassed her.  She kicked him out after that and blacklisted him from any upcoming events.  If there was one thing that she would never condone it was when others tried, directly or indirectly, to humiliate or embarrass her.

Bucky did seem nice, and very tired.  The dark circles under his eyes and his shirt not being as ironed as some of the other servers were small giveaways that he was struggling.  She didn’t want to embarrass him either by asking to be her sugar baby and assuming that he was struggling financially.  

“He is very handsome,” she conceded, a larger smile spreading across her face.

Natasha squealed, clapping her hands joyfully.  “Do it!”

The night dragged on as they ate their delicious meals and ordered more glasses of wine.  Other patrons were clearing out as it got later and closer to closing time.  As tired as Bucky was, doing his nightly closing duties quietly and discreetly so his table couldn’t see, he was banking on their tips.  High end restaurants meant high end clients meant high end tips, and he had rent coming due next week.  He packed on the compliments to Y/N and her friends, gave them warm and flirty smiles, offered complimentary items, and gave all his attention to them exclusively.  Y/N had asked to compliment the chef and when he came out and talked to her table she whispered something to him that he quickly agreed to and jogged back to the kitchen.  Bucky gave him a questioning glance but the chef waved him off.

Bucky watched carefully until he saw Y/N’s hand raise and her eyes searched for him.  His cue for the check, which he quickly grabbed and brought it over to her.  As he glanced at the insane price he noticed an extra meal that wasn’t supposed to be on there as he got to the table.

“Oh, I’m sorry Miss Y/L/N, there seems to be a mistake on the bill, I apologize, let me go–”

“No mistake, Bucky,” Y/N reassured him just as the chef came back out with a doggy box.  He handed it to her and thanked her for coming.  Y/N shook his hand and slipped something into it before  he disappeared back to the kitchen wearing a rare smile.  “Thank you,” she reached for the bill and slid her black American Express into the folder.  

“Oh, alright, I’ll be right back then,” Bucky composed himself after the mini heart attack he just had from thinking the bill was wrong as he walked back to the stand to take her payment.  Once everything was paid he brought back the folder, this time seeing her friends standing and putting on their coats while she stayed seated.  

“Thank you, Bucky,” Natasha said his name seductively as she passed him.  Clint gave him a little wave and a smirk as he left with her.  

“Have a good night!” He called after them.  He approached the table as Y/N was opening her wallet.  “Here’s the receipt Miss Y/L/N.  Thank you for coming in tonight.”

“No thank you for such excellent service, Bucky,” she complimented him as she took the folder again.  “Will you sit with me for a moment?”

Bucky’s eyebrows raised and he glanced back at the bar.  The manager, Pietro, and Wanda motioned to him to do as she asked.  “Yes, of course,” Bucky accepted and sat himself in the chair across from her where Clint sat previously.  

Her gaze flicked over him as she opened the folder, took the pen provided and filled out the parts of the receipt meant for her.  She closed it and slid it over to Bucky who thanked her and placed it in front of himself.

“I have a proposition for you, Bucky.  And please understand when I ask this that you are under no obligation to accept it and I don’t mean to embarrass you,” she started, looking a little nervous.

“Okay,” Bucky stated lamely as he watched her.  

Y/N cleared her throat and put her fidgeting hands down in her lap.  “I would like to offer you a type of job.  As an escort, a sugar baby, to me.”  Bucky’s eyes widened comically as he processed what she said. “I know it’s a strange request.  But it’s something that I enjoy trying and it helps others…sometimes.  I don’t want to assume anything of you, but I can tell when someone is struggling, and you look like life has not always been the easiest or kindest to you.  I mean no offense.”

“None taken,” he replied automatically.  “I…yes,” he looked down as he confessed to her.  “It’s been, uh, rough, to say the least.”

“Hm,” Y/N hummed.  She reached a finger out and pointed to the closed folder.  She gestured for him to open it.  He did and took a look over the receipt, nearly choking when he saw the amount on the tip line.

“No, no Miss Y/L/N, this is too much,” Bucky protested as he stared at the number. 

“That’s what your service was worth.  You are worth every cent, and more,” Y/N praised him.  “You don’t have to decide tonight, Bucky, but in the meantime, here’s my card,” she slipped a business card over to him. “Think about it,” she said as she stood up.  Bucky quickly stood up with her.  Y/N stepped closer to him and reached for his hand.  They shook hands and she leaned in and whispered to him, “By the way, you’re very handsome.”  Bucky’s eyes bulged and he swallowed hard as she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek then turned and left.  Bucky realized as he watched her leave that she had slipped something into his hand.  He opened his hand to find a small folded wad of one hundred dollar bills in his palm.  “Oh and that’s for you!” She called out and motioned towards the doggy box still sitting on the table.  “Your favorite.  Dinner’s on me,” she said and gave him a wink then twirled back around and out the door.  

After she was out of the restaurant and beyond hearing Wanda and Pietro ran up to him.  “How much did she give you?”  Wanda squealed as she looked at the bills in his hand.  He quickly counted it.

“$1000,” he whispered as he gawked at the money.

“Give me that,” Pietro demanded as he took the folder from Bucky.  He opened it and gasped.  “She gave you a $2500 card tip??  What did you do, Barnes, give her and everybody at her table a blow job?”

“Wow…I don’t know if I want to be her or be on her,” Wanda said wistfully as she looked back out the glass door where Y/N had already gotten into her car and drove off.  

Bucky felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders as he stared at the bills, the $2500 floating around in his mind.  He was not comprehending just how much she had given him.  He looked at her business card again and knew he had to at least meet with her and find out what she was offering.  But to become an actual sugar baby?  To have a sugar mama?  To have his debt disappear?  To be taken care of?  He smiled as his fingers touched where her lips had been. 

**this picture has me SALIVATING. This is what I imagine sugar baby!Bucky to look like in this. Hope y'all like it!**

[emergenciesstory]

Always rebloging for later

[jobean12-blog]

Lost In You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader (Mob/Mafia AU)

Word Count: 1.8K

Summary: Bucky's been too busy lately and you're missing him badly so you do something to get his attention and it works...

Author's Note: The picture below was too much to handle and gave me Mob feels and I do love writing him with a soft edge, which I hope comes across here. There isn't much back story, lately I can't do much more than focus on the action LOL Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thanks a bunch Daisy!🥰

Warnings: tension, masturbation over the phone (bc where the hell is your man!), soft moments in between the smut

It’s been the longest week of your life. Bucky’s been…busy and you’ve had enough and you’re just about to tell him so when your phone buzzes in your hand.

“Don’t forget what I want tonight. Make sure you eat dinner doll. I’m going to be keeping you up.”

You huff out a small laugh at his text message. He’s been keeping you up all week and while you’d never complain you would like him to be more available.

With slightly shaky hands, you press his name to call him, and wait while it rings once…twice…

“Is everything all right?” he asks immediately.

“James,” you purr. “Are you busy?”

Silence greets you across the line and after several long beats, he clears his throat, quietly.

“Doll,” he says, “you know you shouldn’t be calling me right now unless it’s absolutely necessary. I’m in the middle of something. What do you need?”

His voice is low. Stern and laced with irritation at the interruption.

Your hand slides down your torso, over your belly button and lower, between your spread legs.

“I miss you,” you pout into the phone. “But if you can’t talk I can call back at a better time.”

You can almost imagine the way he leans in, pressing the phone flush to his ear and listening carefully for every sound on the other end of the line.

“No, I’m here now. I miss you too doll.”

Your hand slides up and back, fingers pressing into your skin. You pretend it’s his hand and he’s hovering over you, watching your expression.

“When are you coming home?” you start, your breath catching when you hear him exhale forcefully.

“Doll,” he whispers, and now you know he must be alone in his office, having silently gotten rid of anyone else. His voice has gone hoarse, goading, deep enough that if he were here you can just imagine the way his eyes would darken with intent.

“Why won’t you let me come see you.”

You try to keep your words steady but your fingers are moving faster now, sliding easily over skin that has grown slick with the sound of his voice, the sound of his breath through the phone.

You imagine him behind his large and ornate desk, his jaw tight, his hand clutching himself through his zipper.

Just the thought makes you gasp.

“You’re a distraction,” he hisses, and you moan quietly without meaning to.

“Are you being a distraction right now doll?” he asks.

Your back arches off the pillows, sensation pooling and warming in your thighs, low in your stomach.

“Do you want to hear me?” you ask. “Do you like thinking of me doing this in our bed?”

“Are you…” he growls. “Doll…”

You remember the way he looked at you this morning before he left. You remember how his mouth felt on your neck when he climbed into bed last night.

And then, when you barely whisper, “oh god,” you hear his rumbling groan on the other end and completely fall to pieces under your own hand, pretending it’s his, knowing how much better it will feel when it really is his, later.

Your legs are shaking and you’re crying out into the phone, riding through the wave of heat, slick pleasure sliding across your skin. You say his name, some other things you’re not even sure are coherent but just knowing he’s listening, and it’s all he can do- he can’t touch you or feel you-prolongs your release until you’re spent.

“Doll.”

You blink with a swallow. “Bucky…I…”

“Don’t you dare move,” he warns. “I’m coming home.”

You’ve drifted off waiting for him when the door slams open, the knob hitting the plaster of the wall just on the other side of the bedroom. Startled, you sit up, grasping the sides of his button down and covering yourself as he storms into the bedroom.

“There you are,” he whispers, his voice too low and steady and you know you’re in for it.

He stalks toward you, stopping at the side of the bed and running a hand through his already mussed hair.

“Did you think that was a good idea doll?”

You push up onto your knees, sliding your hands up his chest and into the open buttons at the top by his neck.

“I didn’t know how else to get your attention.”

He closes his eyes, moving his fingers to your jaw, down your neck to push his button down off your shoulders. His hands slide over your breasts before he pulls his hands back, forming tight fists.

“You don’t think you’re the only thing on my mind all day…and night,” he says. “I count the minutes until I can come home to you.”

“But you’ve been gone so much this week. The late nights aren’t enough.”

He leans in and says, “I’ve had a lot of business to attend to and tonight especially.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, as you lean in to meet him, your lips brushing along his neck.

His eyes flutter closed, nostril flaring.

“What do you think it looks like. Me running off?”

With his eyes anchoring yours, and to make his point, he slides a rough hand lower, between your legs, two fingers searching and finding you soaked.

“Who made you this wet?”

You don’t answer, closing your eyes and pushing into his hand before reaching to grip his wrist and fuck his fingers if he won’t move.

He jerks his arm back and pulls his fingers away, reaching to push them into your mouth, pressing your taste onto your tongue. His hand grips your jaw, fingers curled into the hollow of your cheeks to hold your mouth open.

“Answer me.”

“You.” The word is hard to get out around his intrusive fingers, but you manage, and he pulls back, gently rubbing the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip.

“You’re all I think about,” you say as you stare up into his eyes, so intense with desire.

They soften as you continue to hold his gaze. His eyes drop to your lips and his hands spread gently at your waist.

“I don’t care that you’re busy and had to leave. I want you to ignore it.”

His jaw tenses.

“I want you.”

“Doll,” he breathes out before his lips crash over yours, tongue pushing your mouth open, tasting, rolling up against your teeth.

You greedily reach for his shirt, tugging it free of his pants. With shaking fingers, you work each button free and once his smooth, warm torso is exposed, you let out a fevered moan and your hands are frantic across his skin, your fingers catching on the gold chain that rests there.

He growls when you spend too long running your hands up and over his chest, stroking and teasing the line of hair heading down below his belly button and into his pants.

Impatiently, he tugs at the shirt that’s still draped half over your body, pushing his hips forward, and grunting his approval when you quickly unfasten his belt, his zipper and shove his pants down his thighs so you can free his cock.

Oh.

It rests warm and thick against his belly and when you reach for him he’s steel in your hands. You use both to grip him and slide them down his length, dipping your head so you can suck on him with as much hunger as you feel.

He exhales a tight groan as you pump him in your fist and then curls down, capturing your mouth in a brutal, commanding kiss. You pull away, intending to lick him until he comes, but with a growled curse he pushes you back on the bed, kicking off his pants and climbing over you.

With hands flat on your thighs he spreads your legs, leaning forward and roughly thrusting into you. It’s a relief so enormous you moan loudly, never before feeling so full of him. You’re starving and satisfied, wanting him to stay like this forever.

He pulls back and then slams forward, gripping the headboard for leverage and taking you so roughly each thrust forces air from your lungs.

It’s wild and frantic, his body over yours, your legs clamped around his waist.

“I needed to get this deal done tonight,” he hisses, hands gripping your thighs. He pumps hard and fast, sweat trickling down his temple. “Instead, I need to come home and deal with my needy wife.”

His large, rough hands reach for your breasts, and he slides his thumbs across your nipples.

“Please make me come,” you whisper hoarsely. “Please,” you beg. “I’ll be good.”

You know he can’t deny you anything. Not really. He’ll give you everything you want. Always. And that’s exactly what he does when he angles your hips and drops his hand between your legs, pressing a finger to your clit until you feel the rush of warmth along your skin and the tension build deep in your belly.

“Bucky,” you cry out as your pussy tightens around him and your body arches beneath him.

The sight of you so lost in him is too much and he thickens inside you before filling you up, his hips stuttering and slowing.

He carefully pulls out and falls to the bed, wrapping you up in his arms and burying his head in the side of your neck.

“Baby doll,” he murmurs, his lips warm and soft at your skin.

“You’re not leaving again right?” you ask quietly.

His hand slides along your waist to your stomach where he reaches for yours and tangles your fingers together.

“No doll face. I’m not going anywhere.”

He lifts your hand to his lips, kissing your palm and then turning it over to press a kiss to your wedding ring. His mouth moves across your knuckles then to each fingertip and you shiver in his arms.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says again, rocking behind you and pushing his thigh between yours.

You start to move against it, the friction from his hard muscle making you grip his hand tightly. When he feels your wetness coat his skin he purrs into your ear, pushing your body down harder onto his thigh.

And just when you feel yourself nearing the edge he pulls his leg away. You whine out his name but with quick hands he rolls you onto your stomach, spreads your legs, and slides in so deep you gasp.

His groan vibrates across your skin, his lips warm and soft at your neck before he whispers along the shell of your ear, “I need to feel you come around me again.”

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Nothing But Your T-Shirt | Bucky Barnes x Reader | One Shot 1.7k

Natasha dares you to steal one of Bucky's shirts during a drunken sleepover. Natasha is definitely up to something, but maybe revealing your secrets isn't such a bad idea...

Warnings: 18+ for language, sleepover antics, fluff, kissing and suggestive situations. Rated F for fluff and T for tower fic.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and @saradika-graphics

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

Wanda opened the door of the penthouse with a squeal of excitement.

"Oh my god, you came! Yay! Come in, come in!" She ushered you inside enthusiastically, a large pina colada in one hand, your fingers in the other.

"Hey," Natasha waved from the comfort of the conversation pit, pillows and blankets draped about.

Pepper emerged from behind the bar with a tray of glasses, snacks and a huge smile. "Hi, how are you? Come and get comfortable."

You'd been an Agent level member of the Avengers for a month now. Accompanying them on a few missions and attending briefings. So when Tony declared it was 'boys night' and he was taking the male contingent to a new restaurant, Pepper had rolled her eyes and insisted that you, Wanda and Natasha join her for cocktails in the penthouse.

You were shocked at being included, but Wanda and Natasha had been so welcoming when you'd joined them for a mission the week before that you managed to tamp down your nerves enough to say yes.

Pepper handed out the drinks and insisted of getting your specific order for both pizza and desert before sitting down and finally looking you over. She was a constant presence when you were in the New York Avengers Tower, powerful and confident, always smartly turned out in heels that rivaled the tower itself in height. And you'd always been too nervous to talk to her.

Suddenly you felt hot under the over sized floor lamps.

"So," Pepper grinned, an uncharacteristic move that had you even further on edge. "Natasha tells me you have a crush on Barnes."

You choked on your drink.

"What?"

"Don't play coy," Natasha purred, I've seen the way you look at him, she winked and you couldn't help but laugh.

Wanda giggled around her straw, nodding in agreement. "You do, you're always fluttering your eyelashes at him.

"I do not!"

"Fine, fine," Pepper held her hands up, "if you're not ready to spill, lets do something else. I got my aesthetician to send me some new facial samples, want to try?"

Natasha looked pointedly over the rim of her glass, "this isn't like the egg thing is it because I don't want to put anything up my-"

"Natasha! No!" Pepper cut her off as she crossed the vast room, "behave, I'll be back soon."

Four more pina coladas and a face mask later, you were a lot more relaxed. Lying on one side of the sofa with your arms behind your head, eyes drifting closed until a foot poked you in the side.

"You sleeping?" Wanda whispered with a giggle.

"I think so," your own giggle bubbled up, inhibitions lowered by the drinks.

"Did you bring pyjamas? I have three guest rooms or we can sleep out here." Pepper's voice was excited, higher pitched than you'd ever heard it, the professional edge gone.

The others had already changed before you arrived, but you'd had to travel across town from your apartment and hadn't exactly wanted to get a cab in your nightwear. Looking at them now they were all so similar, matching even in their differences. All in over sized t-shirts. Pepper's had a joke on about electrons. Wanda's was deep red with 'Avengers Tech Institute' printed on the left side. And you were fairly sure Natasha's belonged to Steve, it fell on her shoulders in such a graceful way, showing off her collarbone. They all looked so effortlessly beautiful and, despite the fact you were over dressed, you wilted again.

It'd been so nice to be included and now you felt different again, outside. They all had their partner's shirts on, and you had…red plaid with a tea stain on.

The silence was loud until Natasha sat up, a cheeky grin appearing as she said, "I dare you to get one of James' t-shirts."

"Nat, no, come on." You could feel embarrassment heating you again. Hadn't they decided to ignore this line of questioning?

"Yes! Do it, do it!" Wanda agreed, jumping up and clapping her hands together.

"Officially I feel like I need to put a stop to this, I can't have you breaking in to someone's private rooms."

Natasha raised an eyebrow and glared at Pepper who rolled her eyes in return.

"But unofficially I'm going to go to the bar and whatever you three do while I'm not looking, isn't my fault." She held her hands up and pointedly turned away while Natasha and Wanda fixed you in their sights.

"I couldn't!"

"You know you want to, you likeeee himmm." Wanda sang obnoxiously, poking you again.

"You can, I'll help you." Natasha said, very seriously, grabbing your hand and dragging you to the elevator and leaving you with no choice.

You should probably have been concerned over just how quickly Natasha managed to break into Barnes' rooms. You couldn't think of him as Bucky, or even James as Natasha called him. Not when you were stood looking at his unmade bed, the clothes on the back of the chair and the wobbling stack of books on his bedside table.

He'd left a cookie and a half drunk cup of coffee on the other side where the pillows were propped up against the headboard and a well worn copy of Lord of the Rings was face down in the sheets.

You'd only been close to Barnes a few times, but he always smelt so wonderful, a heady mix of clean vanilla and spice. Soft and welcoming with some deeper thread that made you want to press your nose into the soft crook of his neck and just inhale.

"Quick, pick something he won't notice is gone." Wanda whispered, pulling drawers open in the dark.

"No, no, this!" Natasha held up Barnes' signature henley, ox blood red and so soft. It had frayed around the neck from wear and the cotton was slightly stretched. He wore it almost constantly, despite Steve buying his a petrol blue one for Christmas.

Natasha closed the lid of his laundry basket again and chucked it over to you.

It had that same vanilla scent and, though it also had a hint of sweat, you couldn't help the urge to press it to your face.

"Come on, put it on." Natasha urged, pulling on your tank top to lift it over your head.

The henley was as soft as it looked and, in the brief moment it covered your face, you allowed yourself the inhale that you craved. Bucky, all Bucky.

Getting it over your boobs proved a slight struggle. But once it was settled it hugged them snuggly, allowing your cleavage to peep through the unbuttoned front. It stretched at the hips too and was oddly flattering when you looked into the mirror by the door.

"That actually really suits you."

Natasha nodded in agreement and then paused, completely still.

"Fuck, quick." She ran for the balcony, dragging Wanda with her and you turned in confusion only to be met with light in the hallway and one Sergeant James Barnes, stood stock still in the doorway of his own bedroom, staring at you.

"Sergeant Barnes I -" you struggled to find an excuse, was there really ever an excuse to break into someones bedroom and try on their clothes? Instead you looked away, wondering whether to rip the henley off and try to find your top instead, or whether to try and escape past him.

He licked his lips and paused, carefully choosing his next words, but your name slipped out, unbidden.

Your eyes snapped up to his.

"That shirt looks good on you," his voice was rough when he spoke, like he was holding something back and your body flushed with heat.

"I'm so sorry, I don't know what I was thinking, Natasha -"

He gave a low, dark, laugh.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm sure it's entirely her fault. But you - " He took a step forward and your breath caught in your throat.

"I'll give it back -"

"Please, keep it on." He approached slowly, as if trying to befriend a wild animal that could run at any time.

"I'm sorry -"

He was right in front of you now, still in the suit Tony had insisted he wear, although his bow tie was undone, hanging around his neck, and the first two buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, showing a flash of his skin underneath.

"Is Natasha right?" He asked, slowly backing you towards the wall. Each step was calculated. When you staggered back, his left hand curled around your waist to steady you.

"Uhm-" your eyes flicked down to his parted lips and back to his eyes.

"She said she knew a secret, she shared it with me," he watched your every move, carefully leaning you back against his bedroom wall. The hand on your waist tightened, the other toyed with his shirt, still wrapped so closely around your body.

You heaved in a breath and his eyes dropped to your cleavage before lifting to your face. "I'm glad I came back, been dying to see you. Imagine my surprise when I find you all wrapped up in my bedroom like a present."

"Sergeant Barnes," you whimpered and his leg slid between yours, pushing up against you. "What did Natasha tell you?"

"Always so formal, it's okay, I know, you can relax." He bent forwards, nose brushing against your cheek, lips at the shell of your ear.

You let out a shaky breath.

"She told me you have a little crush on me."

It's exactly what you'd imagined she'd said, and yet, the embarrassment was so acute already you thought you might pass out.

"Don't worry," his breath tickled the soft skin behind your ear making goosebumps rise along your arms. "I have a little crush on you too."

You could feel his smile on your cheek when he pressed a kiss there and then his lips were on yours, rough in their excitement, and you couldn't hold back any longer. You threw your arms around his neck and pulled him down towards you, fingers in his hair.

"You can keep the t-shirt," he mumbled against your lips, "but can we lose the pjs?"

You giggled, nodding and broke away only when Wanda and Natasha started banging on the glass, cheering and whooping while you and Bucky smiled, with only eyes for each other.

[oldblogarchived]

i forgot how fucking weird november is theres no afternoon its just night after 2pm

[dzamie]

when it rains you simply do not get a day

[halfbakedideas]

northern hemisphere people, are you okay??

[midnights-dragon]

northern hemisphere person here!! no

[castielscaplan]

Guns N' Thugs (mafia bucky x reader)

gif sent in by @buckys-wintersoldier a little while ago and the fic itself was an idea coming from this ask between myself and @nana1000night back in 2022.

Summary: Bucky protects a woman from being harassed after he recognises the perpetrators as his enemy's goons.

WC: 1.2K

Warnings: harassment, catcalling, gunfire

Read on Ao3!

--

The streets of Brooklyn had an edge tonight. The autumn air was crisp, the bite of the wind sharp enough to sting your cheeks as you quickened your pace down the dimly lit sidewalk. The sound of distant laughter and blaring car horns echoed around you, but it was the footsteps behind you that held your attention.

They had been following you for a few blocks now, growing bolder with each step. You could hear the low murmurs, the crude comments thrown in your direction, and despite your best efforts to ignore them, your heart raced with every word.

"Hey, sweetheart, where you off to in such a hurry?" one of the men called out, his voice dripping with mockery.

You kept walking, tightening your grip on your bag, praying that they would lose interest. But they didn’t.

The group of them — four, maybe five — started closing in, surrounding you with their leering grins and foul remarks. You could feel their eyes on you, like vultures circling prey. Your stomach twisted in fear as one of them stepped directly into your path, forcing you to stop.

“C’mon, don’t be shy, darlin’,” he said, his grin spreading wider. He reached out as if to touch you, but before his hand could make contact, a voice rang out.

“I’m sorry I’m late, sweetheart. I was looking everywhere for you; got caught up in the shops.”

The voice was deep, smooth, with a commanding presence that seemed to stop the world around you. You blinked, your body stiff with tension as you turned towards the source.

Bucky Barnes.

You’d heard whispers about him — about the mobster who controlled most of the city’s underworld with an iron grip. He was feared by everyone, respected by those who knew better, and completely untouchable. His name alone sent shivers down most people’s spines, but the way he approached now, so casually, so effortlessly, it was like the situation was already under his control before he even spoke.

Bucky’s steely blue eyes met yours, and there was a flicker of something softer behind them as he played along with the act. He reached for your hand, gently tugging you toward him as though you’d been waiting for him all along.

The men around you hesitated, confusion flickering across their faces as they sized him up. They might not have known who he was yet, but something about him — the way he carried himself, the dangerous glint in his eyes — put them on edge.

“Who the hell are you?” one of the men sneered, stepping forward as if challenging Bucky.

Bucky didn’t even blink, his arm sliding around your shoulders protectively. He didn’t need to answer. The way he looked at the man, with an amused smirk tugging at his lips, said everything.

From across the street, Bucky’s most trusted men — Sam and Steve — lingered in the shadows, watching the scene unfold. Sam, always quick to react, saw the way the situation was escalating. Without hesitation, he stalked over, his hand slipping inside his coat to grip the gun hidden within.

Sam approached one of the men from behind, pressing the cold steel of the gun to his back, careful to keep it hidden beneath his sleeve so as not to alarm you. His face was hard, his eyes locked on Bucky, waiting for the signal.

He raised an eyebrow, the unspoken question clear. Do we take them out?

Bucky glanced down at you, still holding you close to his side. His fingers brushed lightly over your arm, a silent reassurance that you were safe with him. Then, with a barely perceptible nod, he gave Sam the permission he needed.

“Let’s go,” Bucky said softly to you, guiding you a few meters away from the group, towards the safety of your car parked just down the street.

You followed him, your mind still racing, trying to process what had just happened. Who was this man? Why was he helping you? Your heart was still pounding, but something about his calm demeanor, the way he seemed completely unfazed by the danger, made you trust him, even if you didn’t fully understand why.

Bucky’s voice was low and soothing as he opened the car door for you, his hand lingering on your back for just a moment before he pulled away.

“You’re safe now,” he murmured, his eyes scanning the street behind him. He wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot.

As you slid into the driver's seat, the sound of a gunshot cracked through the night air. You gasped, your hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as your pulse skyrocketed.

Bucky was already moving, his expression hardening as he turned back toward the scene. He didn’t need to look to know what had happened — Sam had done exactly what was necessary.

When Bucky returned to where Sam stood, the man who had dared to challenge him was sprawled out on the ground, blood pooling around him as he gasped for breath. The others — the rest of the gang — were already gone, running in fear for their lives, disappearing into the shadows.

Sam stood over the dying man, his gun still drawn, though it was tucked discreetly into his coat sleeve. He didn’t need to say anything; the message had been sent loud and clear.

“I have her safe,” Bucky said, his voice cold now, all traces of the charm he’d shown you earlier gone. He nodded toward Steve, who had come up to stand beside Sam. “You and Steve find them. They looked like new recruits from Zemo’s gang of misfits.”

Steve’s jaw tightened at the mention of Zemo. It wasn’t the first time they’d crossed paths with his gang, and it wouldn’t be the last. With a sharp nod, Steve and Sam set off in pursuit of the remaining thugs, their figures disappearing into the night like shadows.

Bucky remained where he was for a moment, his eyes locked on the body at his feet. The man coughed, choking on his own blood as he tried to speak, but Bucky didn’t care to listen. He was already done with him.

Turning on his heel, Bucky headed back to your car. You were still inside, wide-eyed and shaken, but otherwise unharmed. He opened the door once again, leaning down slightly to meet your gaze.

“Go home,” he said softly, though the steel in his voice was unmistakable. “You won’t have to worry about them anymore.”

You swallowed hard, your mind still reeling, but you nodded. Something about the way he spoke — the authority in his tone, the way he seemed so sure of himself — made you believe him.

Bucky stepped back, watching as you started the engine and pulled away, the taillights disappearing into the distance. He stood there for a while, his hands slipping into his coat pockets as he gazed down the empty street.

It was just another night in Brooklyn. Just another problem handled.

But something about the way you had looked at him, the way you had clung to his side without knowing who he was, had stirred something in him. Something unfamiliar.

With a low sigh, Bucky turned and headed into the darkness, his mind already back on the job at hand.

Tomorrow, the streets would belong to him once again.

[emergenciesstory]

Reblog for later