[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

One More Thing 11

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.

"Okay, enjoy. Don't forget, you're shooting tomorrow morning."

"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?”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

One More Thing 10

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 💕

"You saved me. Again." Peter fawns as he checks his reflection.

The stylist tucks her bottle of hairspray away. "Hopefully it holds in this humidity." 

She wipes the trickle on her temple. Peter looks over at her and swipes up a tissue from the box on the hotel vanity. It's an old style wooden thing with ornate posts around the mirror. He looks as if he's about to wipe away the sweat himself before he tilts his hand to offer it to her. She thanks him and dabs her glistening face.

"I wasn't ready for the weather," she pats along her lip as Peter leans on the vanity and watches her. It's good they get along. You wonder if she reminds him of his aunt.

"Yeah, it's... Stuffy." You agree and check your phone.

There's a knock at the door. "Pete! The bell tolls." Bucky calls through. "Street car will be by shortly."

"Shoot. Yeah." Peter stands straight. "I look good?" He's asking the stylist not you.

You cross the room and grab his wallet and phone. "Peter, come on."

"Right, right." He coughs and turns away from the stylist.

"I'll follow you out," she assures as she zips up her bag. "I saw some hand-painted fans at a shop. I might have to get myself one."

"Great idea," you say bluntly.

You're tense to the bone between Peter's oblivion and Bucky's looming threats. You just need to do you job. Focus on that.

You open the door and stand back to let Peter and the stylist out. She bids a hurried goodbye as the younger actor wisps out a breathy 'see ya'. Bucky watches her pass as he casually has a thumb hooked into his dark blue trousers, sporting a greyish purple shade on top: short sleeves and unbuttoned to the top of his chest. His dark hair is tied half back, some strands loose around his face.

"Looking snazzy, Pete," Bucky claps his shoulder.

"Uh, yeah, you too, dude. Ugh, sir?"

"Come on, I'm not that old yet," Bucky jerks him and lets go.

"No, I didn't... Sorry."

Loosen up, kid. It's just a bunch of PR. Smile and get through it."

He points Peter down the hall. You keep up with your client, only to have Bucky right behind you. The Italian hallways are narrower than most hotels; redesigned from long-standing structures built for a much different time.

"Besides. I bet she took care of everything." Bucky drawls.

"Mostly. I'll be chill. Once I'm there, I'll snap out of it." Peter says as if trying to convince himself.

As you continue to the staircase, you shuffle in behind Peter and Bucky is behind you again, closer. As you descender the tight spiralling flights, he brushes his hand down the nape of your neck. You try to lean away but the steps are steep and Peter's right in front of you. He traces his finger down to the top of your loose linen pants and dips under the belt. You swat blindly behind you and nearly tip over.

"Whoops." Bucky seizes you around the waist and pulls up against him as you gasp. "Don't fall, doll."

Peter looks over his shoulder. "What's going on?"

"She almost fell right on ya, bud. Woulda been like dominos." He clucks.

"Oh, um, yeah," Peter turns around and keeps going, clenching the railing. "These are kinda scary."

Bucky hums and his hand slips down to your pelvis. You snatch it away and throw your elbow back.

"All good, doll? Need to hold onto me?" He says coolly, ignoring your efforts to make him back off.

"I'm fine. I just slipped." You grumble.

You continue downward. You twitch again as he touches the top of your ass and grab his hand. He slips free and crushes your fingers. He pulls your hand back and you snarls.

"Stop!" You spin around, clinging to the railing.

"What?" Peter squeaks.

"You forget something, doll?" Bucky asks without a beat, one hand on his hip, the other on the railing.

"N-no, I... Sorry. No, I got it." You cringe. Asshole. Even if you cry wolf, Peter wouldn't believe it.

"Stairs kinda make you dizzy, huh?" Bucky snickers. "Come on, almost to the bottom."

You slowly pivot around. Peter turns, phone in hand, texting someone. You take the last bend, leaning forward as much as you can, but find no relief at the bottom. Bucky stays close.

“We could walk to the canal from here, get the waterbus,” Bucky suggests. “Doll, isn’t this your job?”

You don’t even look at him. “Good idea. Peter, take a left.”

Peter hesitates. He’s still in his phone. You sigh.

“I’ll lead the way.” You say calmly.

You step ahead, Peter drags his feet next to Bucky as they trail you.

“Heh, special lady?” Bucky asks.

Peter sniffs. “Uh, no, er, I don’t know.”

“Come on, I know that look,” Bucky laughs.

Does he? You saw how he got with Nat. He was never puppy-eyed.

You try to ignore their conversation. It’s a skill you’re well-honed at. You listen when it matters, otherwise, you don’t worry.

You get to the canal dock and wait for the waterbus to skim up. You don’t miss a few cameras in passing aimed at the men with you. It’s pretty typical but Bucky doesn’t voice his usual agitation.

You board. It’s crowded. You squeeze through and find three seats. In the jostle, you find yourself between Peter and Bucky. Great. You check the time.

“We should get there early,” you say to Peter as you distract yourself with his schedule. Peter is once more flicking around his keyboard, a lazy ‘uh huh’ in acknowledgement.

Bucky rests his hand on his thigh. He sits up tall, spreading his shoulders until he’s snug against you. He looks around as he extends his pinky over to touch your leg. You cross your knee over the other, making yourself as small as you can.

It doesn’t deter him. His hand slips slowly down the side of his thigh. As you lean subtly away, his fingertips crawl along your seat and graze the underneath of your lifted leg. He almost touches the seam of your damn pants before you force yourself flat, close to crushing his hand before he retracts it.

You look him in the eye and mouth ‘fuck off’.

He smirks and adjusts the belt of his pants, shifting in his seat. You shake your head and look away. Peter fidgets as his lips move in silent conversation with himself.

“Doing good?” You ask him.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah, just getting myself in the zone.” He clamps his hands around his phone and exhales.

A gristly groan escapes Bucky’s throat. You ignore him as best as you can, even as he spreads his legs wide enough to crush yours. Your phone vibes. You look down. Fucker, you keep blocking him.

You open Bucky’s messages as he casually cradles his phone over his left thigh. His other hand is right up near his pelvis. You go to block again but the message imprints into your mind. ‘I know you’re making me hard on purpose.’

You shudder and hit the three dots. How the fuck is this happening?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Big Bad 37

Warning: age gap, verbal and physical abuse, dark elements….

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: silverfox!Andy Barber (mob au)

Note: If you’ve got a problem with slow burn then you’ve got a problem with me and I suggest you let that one marinate.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You’re wide awake. You’re glad Everly begged you to stay the night. If you were alone in that apartment, well, you’re not sure you could even sit still.

Not that you are now.

It’s not a good idea, but it’s your only one. You don’t know what else to do. Your stomach clenches. You bend over your lap and breathe away the nausea.

Has it all been for nothing? All your hard work? Late nights?

You’re just going to walk away? Maybe you are your mother’s daughter after all. Your father always said so.

There’s nothing else to do. You can’t go back to your dad. He never wanted you and you don’t know if you can face whatever had Andy so riled up. You have no family to take you in. Your mom hasn’t been around since the week before you graduated and that was for about three days before she took off again.

It’s wrong. You know it. All the logic in your brain tells you this is more dangerous than the alternative. But what is that? Staying here, waiting for Andy to get back, living under the thumb of another man with all the control?

Sure, Andy could be nice, but it scares you that he can also be so mean. Even if it’s not to you. This can be his last favour to you.

You leave the phone but take his card. You silently dip out the front door and tiptoe down the hollow hallways. In the front lobby, you stop at the student ATM and take out more than you should. It will have to be enough.

You slide the card into Everly’s mail box before you head out the front of the building. You tuck the money in your pocket and set off on the long walk to the apartment across town. It’s getting lighter by the time you get there.

You approach the apartment door cautiously. You listen through the wood. You don’t think he’s back yet. He’d have messaged. Well, you don’t have the phone anymore.

You enter. It’s just as you left it. You pack up your things. Just your things. Nothing that he got you.

You look back at the apartment and your heart drops. You shuffle into the kitchen and pick up the little marker on the whiteboard. You write a single word; ‘sorry’.

You stick the marker back in the magnetised holder and turn away. You leave without looking back. You hike up your bag and cross your arms, head low, shoulders high. You’ll figure out where you’re going when you get to the station.

🖤

You buy a cheap flip phone from a convenience store across from the train station. You’re sure it’s not out of the usual. You set it up as you sit on a park bench with your bag in your lap.

You don’t think you’ve ever been this far from home. They say big city’s have a place for everyone. Is there even a place in this world for you?

You finish and tuck the phone away. It’s there for emergencies. Besides, you probably can’t get a job without a number. Or a place to stay.

Like any metropolitan hellscape, the apartments are overpriced. You sleep with your bag at a bus terminal for a few hours. You wake up and wander around until you find a library. They offer ten minutes on the public computer without a card. You scribble down addresses and phone numbers on the call cards and leave.

There’s a place. Three roommates. All female. It’s your best hope.

Gladys is the ‘landlord’. She owns the walk-up and lives on the top floor. She’s fifty-eight and annoyed by it. She’s suspicious as she warns you that they’re old ladies and they don’t put up with trouble. You promise none of that and count out the down payment. She’s not as unsure then.

You shiver as she leaves you to your room. That’s the same reaction Andy would get when he flashed his card, or even just his name. You shut the door and put your bag on the lumpy mattress. It will do.

Later, you meet your other roommates. Raylene has tattoos up to her chin and recites scripture as easily as she makes a joke about her illicit past. She’s only forty-two, you can’t tell right? Amanda is older and quieter. She seems annoyed as she pours her cereal. You go back to your room.

The next day, you return to the library. You need proof of address for a card. Right.

You go back to the house. There’s mail on the floor as you step in. You pick it up and turn it over. You leave it on the table.

You look for a job on the glitchy flip phone. It’s useless. You lay in the room, doing nothing but thinking about everything. Too late to go back now. You threw it all away. Because…

Because you’re scared. Because even though you were living in the same place as him, you know nothing about who Andy Barber really was. What little you do know, couldn’t convince you to stay.

You find a job at shipping service kiosk. They had a sign up to apply online but when you tried to get a pic of the QR, the manager asked if you were interested. You said sure. He hired you on the spot.

You realise quick why it was so easy. There are less customers than loiterers. Those who hang around, lean into their high and sway dangerously towards the ground. You watch them, as nervous for them to collapse as to suddenly lurch at you instead of whatever it is they’re seeing in their heads.

You weren’t safe before but you’re not safe now. Did you do the right thing? Is saving yourself really that? Has there ever been better for you? Was Andy that?

As you head off from your third shift, you nearly shriek. You sigh and shake your head. The man in the suit isn’t him. You don’t know why you thought it would be. He can’t find you.

You drag your feet along the streets, lost in thought. You take out your phone to check the time only for your shoulder to jerk suddenly. A man wrenches on your purse strap as your phone clatters to the ground. It bounces across the pavement as you cling to your bag. Your accoster pulls back his elbow and hits you in the left eye socket.

You keep a hold of your purse as you cry out. He struggles with you as pedestrians hurry by, acting as if they can’t see you. He gives up and grabs the phone, running off into the stream of bystanders.

You pant on your knees and hug your bag under one arm. You shakily touch your cheek as you feel the skin tightening already. You keep your head down as you stand up. Not one person will look at you. No one asks if you’re okay.

You’re not.

You made a big mistake. It was easier to protect yourself from one man you knew than a thousand faceless men waiting for their moment. You hurry home and lock yourself in the room. You don’t cry. You just sit there as the bruise pulses and swells around your eye.

The next day, you put your wallet in your pocket and leave your purse at home. You get to the kiosk and roll open the gate. You’re on alert as you stand behind the counter and the plexiglass screen. It’s a paltry shield between you and the general public.

A customer comes in to send out a package. You print the label and tape it up. The complain about the price. You agree, it is expensive, but they’re welcome to try to post office instead. The take their tracking number and scoff a thank you.

You turn to put the parcel in the bin of expedited shipments. The bell rings as the next customer steps up. You’re right there, they can wait.

You turn and nearly fall backwards. It’s like you’ve been punched again. You stare at Andy through the scratched protective glass.

“Hey, I’m here to inquire after a lost package.” He says calmly, resting his fingertips on the lip of the counter.

Your lip trembles and you flick your lashes. You deflate and shake your head.

“Tracking number?” You prompt, staying away from the counter.

He stares at you. “Sweetheart…” His voice scrapes up his throat.

You stare at him. His brow furrows and he leans in. He puts his elbow on the counter and rests his palm on the glass.

“Who did that to you?”

You blink as your eyes tingle. You shrug. You look away. He doesn’t. You can feel him staring. He exhales.

“You know it’s time to come home, don’t you?” He says quietly.

You gulp.

“Sweetheart…” his voice hardens. “I don’t want to make you… but I will.”

You dip your chin down and flutter your lashes until the tears retreat. You lift your head slowly and look him in the eye. “I’m afraid if you can’t provide a tracking number, I can’t help you, sir.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

One More Thing 10

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 💕

"You saved me. Again." Peter fawns as he checks his reflection.

The stylist tucks her bottle of hairspray away. "Hopefully it holds in this humidity." 

She wipes the trickle on her temple. Peter looks over at her and swipes up a tissue from the box on the hotel vanity. It's an old style wooden thing with ornate posts around the mirror. He looks as if he's about to wipe away the sweat himself before he tilts his hand to offer it to her. She thanks him and dabs her glistening face.

"I wasn't ready for the weather," she pats along her lip as Peter leans on the vanity and watches her. It's good they get along. You wonder if she reminds him of his aunt.

"Yeah, it's... Stuffy." You agree and check your phone.

There's a knock at the door. "Pete! The bell tolls." Bucky calls through. "Street car will be by shortly."

"Shoot. Yeah." Peter stands straight. "I look good?" He's asking the stylist not you.

You cross the room and grab his wallet and phone. "Peter, come on."

"Right, right." He coughs and turns away from the stylist.

"I'll follow you out," she assures as she zips up her bag. "I saw some hand-painted fans at a shop. I might have to get myself one."

"Great idea," you say bluntly.

You're tense to the bone between Peter's oblivion and Bucky's looming threats. You just need to do you job. Focus on that.

You open the door and stand back to let Peter and the stylist out. She bids a hurried goodbye as the younger actor wisps out a breathy 'see ya'. Bucky watches her pass as he casually has a thumb hooked into his dark blue trousers, sporting a greyish purple shade on top: short sleeves and unbuttoned to the top of his chest. His dark hair is tied half back, some strands loose around his face.

"Looking snazzy, Pete," Bucky claps his shoulder.

"Uh, yeah, you too, dude. Ugh, sir?"

"Come on, I'm not that old yet," Bucky jerks him and lets go.

"No, I didn't... Sorry."

Loosen up, kid. It's just a bunch of PR. Smile and get through it."

He points Peter down the hall. You keep up with your client, only to have Bucky right behind you. The Italian hallways are narrower than most hotels; redesigned from long-standing structures built for a much different time.

"Besides. I bet she took care of everything." Bucky drawls.

"Mostly. I'll be chill. Once I'm there, I'll snap out of it." Peter says as if trying to convince himself.

As you continue to the staircase, you shuffle in behind Peter and Bucky is behind you again, closer. As you descender the tight spiralling flights, he brushes his hand down the nape of your neck. You try to lean away but the steps are steep and Peter's right in front of you. He traces his finger down to the top of your loose linen pants and dips under the belt. You swat blindly behind you and nearly tip over.

"Whoops." Bucky seizes you around the waist and pulls up against him as you gasp. "Don't fall, doll."

Peter looks over his shoulder. "What's going on?"

"She almost fell right on ya, bud. Woulda been like dominos." He clucks.

"Oh, um, yeah," Peter turns around and keeps going, clenching the railing. "These are kinda scary."

Bucky hums and his hand slips down to your pelvis. You snatch it away and throw your elbow back.

"All good, doll? Need to hold onto me?" He says coolly, ignoring your efforts to make him back off.

"I'm fine. I just slipped." You grumble.

You continue downward. You twitch again as he touches the top of your ass and grab his hand. He slips free and crushes your fingers. He pulls your hand back and you snarls.

"Stop!" You spin around, clinging to the railing.

"What?" Peter squeaks.

"You forget something, doll?" Bucky asks without a beat, one hand on his hip, the other on the railing.

"N-no, I... Sorry. No, I got it." You cringe. Asshole. Even if you cry wolf, Peter wouldn't believe it.

"Stairs kinda make you dizzy, huh?" Bucky snickers. "Come on, almost to the bottom."

You slowly pivot around. Peter turns, phone in hand, texting someone. You take the last bend, leaning forward as much as you can, but find no relief at the bottom. Bucky stays close.

“We could walk to the canal from here, get the waterbus,” Bucky suggests. “Doll, isn’t this your job?”

You don’t even look at him. “Good idea. Peter, take a left.”

Peter hesitates. He’s still in his phone. You sigh.

“I’ll lead the way.” You say calmly.

You step ahead, Peter drags his feet next to Bucky as they trail you.

“Heh, special lady?” Bucky asks.

Peter sniffs. “Uh, no, er, I don’t know.”

“Come on, I know that look,” Bucky laughs.

Does he? You saw how he got with Nat. He was never puppy-eyed.

You try to ignore their conversation. It’s a skill you’re well-honed at. You listen when it matters, otherwise, you don’t worry.

You get to the canal dock and wait for the waterbus to skim up. You don’t miss a few cameras in passing aimed at the men with you. It’s pretty typical but Bucky doesn’t voice his usual agitation.

You board. It’s crowded. You squeeze through and find three seats. In the jostle, you find yourself between Peter and Bucky. Great. You check the time.

“We should get there early,” you say to Peter as you distract yourself with his schedule. Peter is once more flicking around his keyboard, a lazy ‘uh huh’ in acknowledgement.

Bucky rests his hand on his thigh. He sits up tall, spreading his shoulders until he’s snug against you. He looks around as he extends his pinky over to touch your leg. You cross your knee over the other, making yourself as small as you can.

It doesn’t deter him. His hand slips slowly down the side of his thigh. As you lean subtly away, his fingertips crawl along your seat and graze the underneath of your lifted leg. He almost touches the seam of your damn pants before you force yourself flat, close to crushing his hand before he retracts it.

You look him in the eye and mouth ‘fuck off’.

He smirks and adjusts the belt of his pants, shifting in his seat. You shake your head and look away. Peter fidgets as his lips move in silent conversation with himself.

“Doing good?” You ask him.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah, just getting myself in the zone.” He clamps his hands around his phone and exhales.

A gristly groan escapes Bucky’s throat. You ignore him as best as you can, even as he spreads his legs wide enough to crush yours. Your phone vibes. You look down. Fucker, you keep blocking him.

You open Bucky’s messages as he casually cradles his phone over his left thigh. His other hand is right up near his pelvis. You go to block again but the message imprints into your mind. ‘I know you’re making me hard on purpose.’

You shudder and hit the three dots. How the fuck is this happening?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Director's Cut 13

Warning: power imbalance, dark content, obsession, and all around sexiness.

Summary: Powerful director Nick takes interest in a new project; you. (director!Nick Fowler, plus!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 💕

“Oh….” your brows rise and your lips round. 

You stare at your reflection as you turn in the bathing suit to examine the generous cutouts. It’s a glorified bikini; the top and bottom are attached by a gold ring, forming a sort of criss cross and highlighting the fullness of your sides. You turn to the side. One wrong move and your butt might fall out. And your chest; the deep cut is doing little to comfort you.

“Sweetheart?” Nick calls from outside. “You ready? That water sure does look tempting in this heat.”

“Erm, oh….” you back away from the mirror and swipe up the towel. “Sure. Uh… Ready.”

You wrap yourself up before you open the door. You nearly gasp as you find Nick in nothing more than a pair of swim trunks; cut high up his thighs, hugging them. His torso is tightly lined with muscle and his arms rounded too. You bite your lip as the towel folds around his neck does little to lessen his bareness.

You catch his eyes flick up from your body as you hug the top of the towel. You squirm and sniff.

“It is really hot here, huh?” You chuckle nervously.

“Sure is. I shoulda warned you about the humidity,” he grins. His hair is slightly puffed up from the damp heat. You’re sure you’re a big mess as well.

“It’s all good. Uh… where’s the pool?” You ask. It’s the one thing he kept a surprise during his tour.

“Ah, yep. This way, sweetheart.”

He beckons with one arm, his other hand hovering and moving behind you as he ushers you down the tiled hall. Each square is painted with a different vine or flower. He takes you around to a door with twisted iron bars behind sliding glass. He pulls back the panes then pushes open the heavier doors. The trickle of water plucks in your ears.

The pool is long and rectangular, running nearly the expanse of the courtyard, around which the villa is built. The water is clear and crystalline, rippling prettily in the sunlight. Along one side, there’s a painted table and matching chairs, on the other, cushioned loungers under umbrellas.

“Oh, wowee.” You say without thinking. “This is like… a movie.”

“Not one of mine,” he intones. He spreads his towel over a sun chair.

“Oh, no. I guess.” You sway as you sense him watching you. Is he expecting you to react more? “Thank you. This is so amazing. I never imagined… anything like this.” You slowly near the edge. “When I was a kid, we’d go to the community pool, but when we got older, we’d swim in the river so the parents of the younger kids wouldn’t yell at us. This one time… well, it’s boring.”

“I don’t think so,” he steps up next to you and brushes his knuckles along the bottom of your towel. “Tell me.”

“Well, ha. You know, we didn’t know there were leaches and my friend, Lucianna, she got them all up the back of her leg and she panicked bad.” You giggle. “We all did and were checking each other and we were all too afraid to take them off her but I got a little stick and did my best.” You shrug. “See? Boring.”

“Cute. Quaint.” He says as he pinches your towel. “Gonna get in with me?”

“Hm, well… maybe in a bit. Can I sit and watch for a bit?” You ask.

He hums. “Sure.” He draws away. “Go for it.”

That tone underlines his words again. Disappointment? Agitation? You’re not sure. He could just be tired. It’s been a long day.

You sidle away and sit on the end of one of the loungers. He stays at the edge of the pool. He dips his toes then tips his whole body, arching to dive into the water. He pushes beneath the surface, slither through, and pops up near the middle. He shakes out his hair and runs his hands over the sopping strands.

“Refreshing.” He says. “Sure you don’t wanna hop in?”

“In a bit.” You assure him, wiggling your foot nervously.

You look down at the towel and back at him. His shoulders, his chest, his jawline. How did you end up here with someone like him?

“What’s the matter? Does the bathing suit not fit?” He wades to the edge.

Your lashes flick and you squirm. “No, it does.”

“Well… you gonna show me?” He prompts as he crosses his arms over the tiled trim of the pool.

You hide your discomfort. “It’s just a swimsuit.” You push your shoulders up.

His eyes narrow. “You don’t want me to see?”

“No.” You lie. “It’s just…” You exhale and shake off your nerves. “You know what, it is hot.”

You try to hide your insecurity as you slowly peel the towel apart. You let it fall back behind you and stand. Your chest and tummy jiggle so you feel every little ripple. You don’t hate your body, not at all, but you never really showed it off too much.

You go to the edge and cautiously sit, dipping your feet and calves into the water. Nick lingers nearby, pushing himself back as he spreads his arms out and watches you. You stare at the intertwining lines of light in the water and push off, sinking in to hide your discomfort and the way the swimsuit catches under your tits.

“I like it. It’s a nice colour on you.” He says as he tilts his head.

“Thanks. That’s… nice. I like the colour too.”

He smirks. “What about me? I think the pattern was a bit of a bold choice.”

You glance down quickly through the water. The oranges on vines across the dark blue fabric isn’t tacky, more sophisticated.

“Cute,” you say. “I like oranges.”

“I think they’re mandarins?” He shrugs. “So, we’ll have a swim and I’ll finally follow through on my promise and take you out to dinner.”

“Oh, you don’t have to–”

“Well, the private chef can’t come until tomorrow.” He wades toward you. “And you have to try real Italian pasta while you’re here. Just once.”

“That’s so sweet of you,” you smile and chafe as his gaze sinks once more. Is he looking at you? What is he thinking? How much is that pasta going to cost?

He’s quiet for a minute then leans back and floats on his back. “I like being with you, sweetheart. You don’t ask for nothing. You just are.”

“Mm, oh. I…I like hanging out, too.” You say.

A gritty noise rolls up his throat and he closes his eyes. He arches his body and dips under the water. He cuts through like a shark as he flips onto his stomach and you back away as he swims toward you. He loops his arms around your legs and brings them up around your waist. As he comes above the surface he picks you up.

You exclaim in surprise as your tits bounce and hit his head. How embarrassing! His face is as good as buried in your stomach too. You lean back and put your hands on his shoulders as you try to see him. He looks up at you with a big smile.

“Nick! What are you doing?!” You squeal.

“Having some fun, sweetheart.” He turns you and carries you across the pool. “I don’t get to do that so often.” 

He tips you over and brings you under with him as you cry out, your surprise drowned by the plunge. He spins you around and brings you back up, soaked and dripping. You feel a breeze across your chest that makes your nipples hard. You look down at your exposed tits and quickly cover them up.

“Let me go!” You demand. He does just that and you fall away from him. You shake your head and hug your chest. “I’m so sorry! I think… I don’t think this fits after all.” You turn and push your feet through the water.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve seen a lot more than that.”

“I know but… I’m sorry.” You hurry to the steps and climb out. How awkward! You don’t want to ruin this trip for him. You really hope you didn’t.

[spideynyc]

you are the right one (ch. 2)

summary: you, bucky, and sam meet up to work out the road trip. but when you get there, there's a certain someone from your past..one that bucky really doesn't like. 1.7k wrds. includes: friends to lovers, LOTS of yearning, crushes, angst, forced proximity, only one bed, fluff, slow burn (kinda), female reader, no use of y/n cw: eventual smut

previous chapter read on ao3 join my taglist!

You stare at the ceiling and sigh. Lying in bed, it was easy to go over everything that had happened that day. To over-analyze and pick apart interactions you had. Especially with Bucky.

Lately, it had only been Bucky running through your thoughts.

You though about a lot of things. His eyes. The corded muscles of his arms. The way the cool metal of his fingertips felt against your wrist. That one especially made your pulse race.

God, why were you like this? It made you feel so guilty and perverted. But the thing was, you craved that guiltiness. It felt so good, so wrongfully right to think of him in that way. Thinking about the way his head fell back against the couch, arms spread out across the backing. He was so big and strong. He could easily pick you up and pin you against a wall.

It should have made you wary. He was an ex-assassin! But you knew Bucky would never hurt you. That's what made it really hurt. Not his physical attractiveness, but his soft side. The one that would binge TV with you and cover you with a blanket when you fell asleep.

It was odd, really. The way you simultaneously wanted to put band-aids on his paper cuts and wanted him to pound you into a bed.

And the boner...

You told yourself it was fine. It was purely an anatomical reaction that happened. His body recognized a warm female body, and responded accordingly. Maybe he hadn't gotten action in a while. You secretly prayed he hadn't, even though it wasn't fair in the slightest.

Your thighs rubbed against each other. The wetness that had gathered between your thighs was purely anatomical too. Just a reaction. That's it.

Normally, if something like this happened, you would bust out your trusty old wand vibrator and get it out of your system. But not when it was Bucky. You didn't know if you could look your best friend in the eyes tomorrow if you did that, and thought about how his cock would slowly slide in and out of your hole. Inch by inch. Nope! You weren't gonna do that.

Instead, you rolled over and reached for your phone, the perfect distraction. Your fingers tapped along until they reached Instagram, which you hadn't caught up on in a while. Scrolling down, there was on common theme with all of your mutual's posts. Weddings. Anniversaries. Proposals. Honeymoons. Pregnancies. It seemed like everyone but you was falling in love. Well, reciprocated love, at least.

You wanted that. So badly.

But the one person you wanted that with, you couldn't have. It had become a stupid little mantra in your head: Don't ruin the friendship.

Sighing, you plugged in your phone and drifted off into sleep.

---

The next morning, you walk down to the coffee shop the three of you agreed on. It's a cute place, with a yellow-and-white striped canopy elegantly draped above the storefront. A black chalkboard sits outside, with handwriting advertising a famous strawberry lemonade. Lemonade. The thought brings you back to the previous night, when Bucky forgot about his.

Because of the thing. The thing you are ignoring for his sake and yours.

As you walk toward the entrance, an elderly man notices and holds open the door. You smile and thank him. Just as you start scanning the tables for your friends, the bar catches your eye. Specifically a barista.

Oh, no.

You awkwardly try to back out the door, but the elderly man is gone, and your back makes contact with something solid and warm. A person. You whip around, an apology on your lips, but your words die in your mouth as you see who it is. Bucky.

He steadies you, lightly setting his arms on your waist. "Careful there. What's going on? Why you in a rush?"

You scramble for words, but can't seem to find them. But when you glance over your shoulder, Bucky seems to understand immediately. His hands tighten on your waist, arms going rigid.

Because standing behind the counter, wearing a yellow apron that looks comical on his lanky frame, is Jason.

Not quite ever becoming your boyfriend, you and Jason had a complicated relationship. You would hook up, ghost each other, and repeat. Thinking back on it, you didn't even really like him. Because you were searching for something that only one person could give you. Jason and you had finally decided to stop seeing each other about 8 months ago, and you hadn't thought of him since. Not until now, at least.

Jason hadn't noticed you yet, thank God. You glance back at Bucky. His lips are pressed into a thin line, his jaw ticking. Stepping out of his death grip, you try to think of something to say. Maybe you could try a different spot. But then, like the devil he is, Sam pops up out of where he was sitting in the corner, coffee already in hand.

"Hey, lovebirds! Over here!"

Trying your hardest not to glance at Bucky again, you walk over to Sam, trying to genuinely smile. You were happy to see him, of course, but right now was really not a good time for his jokes.

You half-whisper, "Hey, Sam. Can we um...keep it down a bit?" You gesture towards the bar, where Jason has no doubt noticed you now. "That's...Jason."

"Oh, shit! My bad, my bad--"

"Don't worry about it. It's fine. I just have to get it over with, I think. Bucky?"

Bucky snaps out of the glare he had been leveling Jason ever since he identified him.

To say Bucky didn't like Jason was an understatement. You had told him all about the ups and downs between the two of you, and Bucky had grown to roll his eyes every time he was mentioned.

The most he knew about dating was from the 40's. Explaining 'ghosting' to him was quite the task. Bucky didn't understand why you kept going back to him, even after he left pee on your toilet seat. You couldn't quite explain why you did either.

"Bucky, do you want anything? I'm gonna go order."

"I'm coming with you." The serious look on his face dares you to argue with him. You don't.

"Ohh-kayy. Chill out a bit, will you? We don't wan't you to be on the run for attempted murder."

His anger on your behalf was cute. Some might even call it jealousy, a voice in your head says.

Purely friendly, though. Platonic jealousy. Jason was an asshole, and that's why Bucky is mad. Right?

The two of you stride up to the cashier, where Jason was currently typing away a customer's order. They were moderately busy, with you and Bucky only having to wait for the person in front of you. Finally, you approach the cash.

"Do my eyes deceive me? What are you doing here, stalking my work?" Jason says, smirk on his face. "What's up with your bodyguard?"

Bucky remains silent.

"Hi Jason. I promise I didn't know you work here. This is my friend, Bucky. I'm sure I've mentioned him before?"

"Yeah, sure. What can I get you guys?"

You politely order the largest size of their strawberry lemonade with light ice, and one black coffee. Bucky remains hulking next to you, silent. It's like you can feel his moody shadow lurking over you.

"Okay then, cash or card--"

"I'll pay," Bucky butts in. Despite your protests, you know that this is a losing fight. That was another one of his many green flags. Bucky doesn't let you pay for anything. Something about the Avenger's paycheck being good.

After letting him tapping his card, the two of you stroll to the pickup counter. You lean against it, eyebrow raised.

"What's wrong? Why are you acting so...different?"

Bucky's blue eyes stare into yours, imploring. You feel like he's trying to tell you something through just a look. He sighs, closing his eyes.

"I just...slept really bad. The nightmares."

His words send a pang through you. You knew all about how much he struggles with sleeping, even with all the therapy he's put himself through. The dark circles under his eyes made you want to tuck him in bed and kiss his forehead.

"Bucky...you know you can talk to me whenever you want. I'm right here," you insisted. "I hate seeing you like this. Are you sure that's all it is?"

His eyes drift back up towards yours. A beat.

"Yup." His lips pop on the p. Despite his words, you still feel like there's something he's holding back from you. Oh well. If Bucky doesn't want to talk, you're not going to force him to.

"Ok then. Hey, I think you should go sit with Sam. Look at him, he looks like a lonely puppy! I'll wait for the drinks, don't worry."

Bucky gives you one last unreadable look and stalks over to Sam, his metal arm glinting in the sunlight.

He can be so cryptic sometimes.

As you wait for the drinks, you admire New York in spring. The sunlight streams through the windows in rays of gold, making everything look that much more delicious. Just as you begin contemplating if it's worth going back up to ask Jason for a blueberry muffin, your beverages arrive. One large strawberry lemonade and a pure black coffee. Bucky has a taste for bitter drinks.

You pick them up and walk over to the table. Sam and Bucky haven't noticed you yet, and are still conspiratorially whispering with each other when you approach.

"--eight months! I'm telling you dude, she's not--" Sam abruptly stops when he sees you. He plasters on a fake smile that has a hint of guiltiness behind it. "Look who it is! Now that didn't take very long, did it? Man, you've got to try this coffee, its the best!"

His rambling makes you slightly suspicious, but you decide not to question him. Setting down the drinks, you take the last remaining seat and take a sip.

"Huh. Not bad. How's the coffee, Bucky?"

"Good." His fingers lightly circle the rim, veins in his forearms protruding.

"So, about this road trip. Sounds fun! How are we getting there?"

For the rest of the morning, you, Sam, and Bucky work out the details. You have the weekend off of work, and Bucky is almost always available, so you three settle on leaving in two days. Sam says he can drive everyone there, and claims he's got a really good car for it. The look on his face says the opposite.

This should go well.

a/n: i lowkey don't really like this chapter lol oh well the next one is gonna be better!

taglist: @moonwalker0504

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Try Again 8

Warnings: This will include dark elements such as noncon and power imbalance. Please do not read if these elements or any dark elements make you uncomfortable.

Character: John Walker, single mom reader

Summary: a break-in becomes more than that.

Please reblog if you enjoy and leave some feedback! Muah 💋

Tristan's in one arm. He's getting restless as you push the bacon around the pan with the spatula. You rock him gently, twisting at your waist to comfort him. You hush him as he starts to babble.

"Tris," you cool and put down the spatula to pull up the bottom of your tea shirt. It bunches against his head as you get him latched. "That's it, sweetie."

"Hm, sweetie, I like that." John startles you as he struts in. He wears only his boxers. You don't correct him that you were'nt speaking to him.

"Bacon and eggs." You announce. "Coffee, too?"

He sits at the table and smirks. "Sounds perfect, honey..." His eyes skim down to Tristan as he slurps loudly and you grunt at the tug in your chest. "Maybe some of what he's having." He winks.

You hide your discomfort. You're still not used to him or this place. Even with it all unpacked, it's still not welcoming.

"Why don't you wear that dress I got you?" He asks. "It'd look hot."

You focus on your son. "I don't want to get food all over it. It's too nice to wear just at home."

"Huh." He scoffs. "Are you asking for something?"

"What? No. I just... Wouldn't want to ruin it." You wipe a dribble down Tristan's cheek.

"Fucking look at me and ask then." He snaps.

You wince and lift your head. "Ask? Sir."

"Captain ..." He grits.

"Captain," you quaver and Tristan starts to fuss. "I don't..."

"You want me to take you out? For dinner? Some kinda date?"

You stare at him, dumbfounded. You never even thought of it. Tristan unlatches and you move him onto your shoulder to burp him.

"You don't have to--"

"Just ask, goddamn it." He slaps the table.

You gasp and gulp. Your lashes flutter in fear. "Okay. C-Captain, please, will you, uh, take me out?" Your lip trembles. "Please?"

His lips slant. "Are you gonna be a good girl?"

"Yes," you answer as you repress the wave of shame and disgust. You're as repulsed by yourself as him.

"Well, not like I haven't given you everything else. I guess dinner isn't too much." He sneers.

"Thank you, Captain." You say it because it's what he wants to hear, not what you feel.

You think you've fully accepted now that it's not about you. Whatever he wants, whatever Tristan needs, that's what you're good for now. If you were ever good for anything.

🍼

"This is Fran." John says as an older woman waves from beside him. "She's gonna watch Tristan."

"Fran?" You say.

"Babysitter. Highly recommended. Not cheap, either, so let's go, honey." He says.

"Um, yes, sure." You look into the basinette and touch your son's cheek. You draw away reluctantly. "I... I pumped. The bottles are labelled in the fridge. He should sleep a while. And the diapers are just under the cabinet." You explain.

"She's done this before. Shell'l figure it out." John clucks.

"Sorry, sorry. It's just... I've never really... Left him." You look back but not for long before John grabs your arm.

"New moms. You know how they get." He chortles curtly. "Now, honey, you need some time for yourself. You been doing too much."

"Aw, dear, it'll be okay," Fran coaxes. "I've taken care of collicy twins and feverish toddlers. This one seems rather peaceful."

"But... He'll wake up without me." You chew your lip.

"Honey," John drones and slides his hand down to yours, gripping right. "Come on. You need this."

You get it. His strength says more than his words. Even Fran won't stop him.

"That's a good one,“ the elder babysitter chirps. "Let him take ya out."

You relent and let John drag you out. You stop at the door to get your shoes on. You're still in jeans and a tee.

"Where..." You begin.

"Well, babe, if we're going to have a date, you need something sexy to show off when we get home..." He pulls you forward and let's go, only to wrap his arm around your waist. "Something spicy I can't take off with my teeth. Or grab onto when I'm..." He stops himself and snarls.

You nod. You can't speak. It's almost flattering, if entirely degrading.

He ushers you out the door. You glance back one last time. You feel empty, alone, without your son near. Your fingers twitch and your stomach swims. Sometimes all you wanted was a break but not really. Not like this.

You get in the car and watch out the window. You feel like you haven't been anywhere in ages. Like you've been locked up in a cage. Haven't you?

He pulls into a boutique. You stare dumbly as your cheeks burn hotly. You remember wearing a lacy pink bra like that one on the mannequin under your uniform, giddily showing Pete in the back office... Ugh, just a stupid girl.

John gets out and goes around to open your door. He as good as hauls you out as your body and mind lock up. He herds you towards the lingerie store as you prey to disappear into nothing.

Inside, it smells like vanilla body spray and the top 20 plays over the speakers. Blues, lilacs, and black decorate the space, laces, satins, and sheer mesh hanging from racks. John puts his hand on the small of your back and urges you further in.

"Hello, you doing okay today?" The associate greets from behind the counter as they put clearance sticks on body glitter.

"All good. Just looking for a thong or two," John throws back dryly.

His hand brushes over and he curls his fingers around your love handle, further emphasizing the extra cushion that makes you chafe among the slender mannequins and posters of beautiful women. You sigh softly as you search for anything to cover both cheeks or that can contain your swollen chest. John leans against you as he reaches for a one piece which isn't much more than a cross cross of strings.

"You'd look hot in this." He growls. "I could get all tangled up."

You shift. "John. I... How about that?" You point to a teddy that might just hide your stomach.

"Why? I seen all of you. You shouldn't be tryna cover up." He lets go of the stringy piece.

"I'm not trying too... I'll... I'll wear whatever you like." You say.

"Uh huh. Damn right you will." He drags his hand across your ass as he pulls away. He picks up a leather dress with no chest. "And what do you say?"

"Thank you, Captain." You murmur

"No, no," he holds up the dress and measures it against you. "What you called me earlier. Sweetie."

You nod and swallow. "Thank you, sweetie."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

No Dress Rehearsal 2

Warning: power imbalance, dark content, and all around sexiness.

Summary: your new job includes duties you don’t expect. (actor!Steve Rogers, actress 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 💕

You poke at your plate of fruit, plucked from the tray at the food services table. It’s a brief break at the interlude of the script. You chew on a chunk of pineapple, taking the whole piece off the toothpick awkward as it refuses to split. As you gnash the mouthful, a figure approaches.

“Hm, you’re the first actress I’ve seen eat at one of these things.” Steve stops in front of you.

“Um,” you hum and swallow. “Well, it’s a long day.”

“Just be mindful of your costars, you know? No garlic, no onion.” He intones.

“Huh, yeah, I guess that makes sense,” you nod. “Think it’s going well.”

“You think,” he drawls.

“Um, well, so far, I like the script.” You shrug.

“Nick’s got a good eye for these things. Very selective,” Steve says. “It’s our third film together. Would’ve been my fourth with Sharon. Too bad she’s dipped out.”

You fidget. The mention of your predecessor is slightly edged. He isn’t saying so but you can’t help but feel he’s telling you you don’t belong. That imposter syndrome creeps up your neck.

“She’s a great actress.”

“She’s pretty.” His lips curve slightly. “She sells but she’s not winning a statue any time soon.”

“Oh, well… one can only dream,” you say.

“Yeah? Do you think you will?” He asks.

You stare at him, stabbing the toothpick into a bleeding strawberry. “I try not to fixate. I work hard and… I’m just starting out. I’ve mostly done independent, you know?”

“I know,” he assures you tersely. “I got my Oscar at 29. Six nominations since. It’s like the lottery except you have to actually be good.”

You nod. “That’s impressive.”

“It’s a good idea in this business to know your stuff.” He tuts. “So, can you guess which movie I won for? You might get lucky.”

You try not to let your face show your confusion. It’s like he’s testing you, but why?

“Can I get a hint? Year?” You ask.

He scoffs. He makes a face and says the year. He watches and waits, lifting his chin slightly.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I think I was like 11 when that came out.” You say. “But I’d love to go back and watch it.” You twist the toothpick in the flesh of the berry. “I saw your last release though. It was good.”

“Good?” He echoes darkly.

“Uh huh,” you force a smile.

His lips draw straight. “You have a seed in your teeth.”

He turns and struts away. You furrow your brow and swipe your tongue over your teeth. You stare at him as he saunters off.

Hopefully, he’s just having an off day.

📽️

You get your own trailer. That's nice. Sometimes the luxuries that can come with this job are overwhelming, even if you don't miss sharing a crowded space with two dozen other actors and stylists.

Xio, the woman who introduced herself as your stylist for the project, sits you down to start on your face. Today will be makeup tests and screen tests. The tedious little things that come before the big scenes are shot.

“Do you prefer cream or powder?” Xio asks.

“Huh, no one's ever asked before.” You respond.

She giggles. “Oh, well, I use a blend. You can't have things to shiny on camera but it helps to know your clients too. Then I know not to go too hard on one or the other.”

“Of course. Makes sense.” You nod.

“Some can be real picky. Not to mention names but they might even be your costar.” She smirks and searches her brushes.

You pick up on the hint easily. There is no shortage of opinions on set. The table read more than cemented that. It's nothing you haven't seen before. It's the nature of the city and the business. Egos always collide.

Xio starts on your face. The click and clack of brushes and lids fill the void between her chatter. She tells you that on the last set she worked, there was a big argument between artists over a hairbrush and who it belonged too.

“Label all my stuff.” She says as she leans in to brush your lashes with a wand. “Learned that early on. Worked with an older artist. Well known. Very Miranda from Devil Wears Prada. She has exhibitions and all. She claimed a particularly rare palette for herself.” She huffs. “It helps if you have a lock on your kit too.”

“Oh, wow, that's awful.” You try not to move too much. “I was on set once and we'll the hanger with my name on it was empty by the time I got down to my bra and panties. I put my clothes back on and went out. They kept it in the final cut but you know, I had two lines.”

“Really? I think Fowler would have an aneurysm if that happened on his project.” She snickers.

“You work with him a lot?”

“Sure do. I don't say a damn word to him and get the work done.” She stands up and considers you with a tilt of her head. “You have gorgeous eyes.”

There's a rattle behind you and the trailer door swings open. You lurch forward in surprise and crane to see the intruder. Steve struts in with sunglasses. Maybe he went to the wrong trailer.

“Oh, hey,” you say.

He doesn't say a word as his lips stay straight and tight. He approaches and swipes off his sunglasses. He steps around next to Xio and stares at you. You turn to look back, confused. He clucks and walks around you and peers at you in the mirror.

“Can you make her nose look smaller?”

“Excuse me?” You blurt out in surprise and a bit of offense.

“Someone's gonna point it out.” He says blithely.

Xio gives you a look then stares at Steve. You can't expect her to defend you. With all the makeup thieves, she has enough problems.

“Do you need help find your trailer?” You interject.

“Do you need help finding your manners?” He retorts. “A thank you would do you well. I'm giving you good advice.”

Your brows furrow.

“Oh, don't do that, sweetheart. The worst thing you can do is make yourself look older than you are.”

You blink. “Well, thank you for your helpful advice but I think maybe you need to get to your trailer and get your own makeup done.”

“Won't take long,” he pops his sunglasses back on. “My looks are built in.”

He slaps your shoulder and spins away. He saunters to the door and swings the door out. He stomps down the stairs as the door snaps behind him. You shake your head at Xio.

“You have a really pretty nose,” she says. “Really, it's very… Victorian.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Come See About Me 23

Warning: age gap, voyeurism, dark elements….

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen, Steve Rogers

Summary: Your new neighbour has no shame, but you find more than you can handle.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You cling to the edge of the pool as Lloyd comes up behind you. His touch relights the tingle in your nerves. Everything about this is so wrong but so right. You’ve never been the type to be so brazen; skinny dipping with an older man…

And not just that.

He nuzzles the back of your head as his dick prods your back. He hums and nibbles your ear. He caresses your shoulder and arm. His large hand stretches across your throat.

“Fuck, day’s hot enough without you wiggling that ass around,” he taunts as he rubs his tip against your rear. “Come on, open up for Lloyd Poo.”

You shiver but don’t resist. You open your legs and arch your back. You whimper as he slides into you. It’s getting easier but you’re still raw. You bite your lip as the bright sun makes your eyes water. You lean your head back on his shoulder as his fingers curl into your neck.

He rocks into you deliberately. Long strokes that mirror the slow breaths rising and falling in his chest. You drop your arms and feel along his thick thigh and side. He groans and rams his hips up. He grunts and drags his hand down, hooking his arm under yours to fondle your chest.

“I could fuck you all day… think I will.” He snickers. “You know, baby…” he puffs heavily. “It’s a fucking compliment cause I don’t usually… keep a kitty around more than an hour or two.”

You purr and lean into him. “If you want me to go…”

“Shut the fuck up.” He ruts harder and you squeal. “You couldn’t get off me if you tried.”

He’s right. You push down onto him until he spasms. His hand kneads your chest, his other splayed over your stomach and pelvis. He rolls his hips relentlessly, water stirring.

His motion stammers as a sudden sharp melody erupts. He sighs but plunges into you again. He shifts your weight along the wall of the pool. You latch onto his forearm as he sidles along.

“Work with me, sweetheart,” he growls.

He carries you along and pushes you once more against the tile. He splashes water over the edge as he reaches to quiet his ringing phone. He thrusts again.

“Hansen. Go.” He snarls.

You hold back a squeak as you watch the call timer count. You bring your hand up to bite your knuckle. Your eyes roll back as Lloyd crushes you into the wall.

“You busy?” The voice rises from the speaker.

“Swimming.” Lloyd answers keenly. “What d’ya want?”

“You’re shortballing me.” The caller accuses.

“You insulting my balls?” Lloyd challenges.

“It’s worth more.”

“Fuck it is.” Lloyd pumps into you hard, water slapping loudly.

“Hansen?”

“I’ll drop another ten–” He pauses. “Just to get you to let me finish.”

He reaches over and hangs up with an impatient flick. He drones and once more loops his arm around you. He backs up and turns so his back is against the wall of the pool. He stills and moves you up and down his length. He bows his head and chews on your shoulder.

You close your eyes and smile up at the blazing sun. No thoughts, no dread, no worry. Just that moment and the way he makes your body sing.

☀️

You don’t wanna go. It’s not your choice though. As young and naive as you are to get yourself into this… whatever it is, you know better. You have to go home. The towel Lloyd tosses your way is as good as a dismissal.

“Are you busy tomorrow?” You ask as you wrap yourself up.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, sweetheart?” He cackles and sits, naked, shameless, on the lounge chair and sighs. He whistles as he looks down at his dick, limp but twitching. “What the fuck do you do to me?”

You giggle. “I don’t… know.”

“You should go before I clear my schedule for the week. I can’t afford that shit.” He growls.

You grin and stare at him. The way he wants you makes you feel so powerful. And he’s not bad on the eyes. The mustache isn’t exactly your thing but the rest of him…

“Don’t look at me like that,” he warns. “Why the fuck are you hanging around here anyway?” He pauses and holds up his finger. “Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t fucking care.” He points at you. “Get this, alright? I’m not a commitment kinda guy. I’m— I got some years on me and I haven’t been tied down yet so don’t you go dreaming up some fairytale. This is fucking. Nothing else.”

You shrug and bend to grab your bikini. “Sure. I got it. I’m too young for commitment.”

“Uh huh.”

“Really.” You assure him as you drop the towel and pull on your damp bathing suit. “Besides, there’s lots of guys my own age.”

He snorts but doesn’t say anything. He shakes his head and leans back on the heels of his hand. He sniffs.

“Go home, sweetheart. I really do got business to deal with… boring fucking business.”

“See ya ‘round,” you throw your caftan over your head and skip away.

“Mmm, sure thing, sweetheart,” he mumbles.

You strut out but stop once you’re past the gate. Your confidence dissipates. You look up and down the street. You have no escape.

Slowly, you make your way to your mom’s gate. His car is there. Shoot. You stare, trying to figure a way inside. You don’t think you have enough strength in your legs to make the climb again.

“There you are!” Your mother startles you as she appears in a bright floral romper and sunhat. “Dear! Where have you been?”

You push through the gate and clear your throat.

“Swimming… at Nadine’s.” You pull the name out of thin air. She never can remember who is who.

“Ah. How is she?”

“Good. Good.” You fold your arms. “I’m just going to change–”

“Melrose,” the deep voice stops you from flitting away as Steve steps through the front door. Great. He winces as he sees you. “You found her.”

“I’m a good girl,” she purrs.

You frown. They made up fast. You look between them.

“Um, can I go…” you gesture past Steve.

“We have a surprise for you!” Your mother claps.

“A surprise?” You murmur.

“Vacation! Whoop!” She throws her arms up. You shrug in confusion.

“Huh?”

“Steve booked us all a trip to a resort in the Caicos!” She shrills. “A family vacation! We talked and realised we really haven’t spent time all together.”

“Oh, but…”

“I have a bunch of time off banked at work. Figure I should use it before it expires.” He says primly.

You blink at him as his eyes bore into you. You notice his intent examination of your caftan. You look at your mom.

“When?”

“In a couple days. Oh, this is just what I needed! Cocktails on an island.” She wiggles in excitement. “Lindy’s already packing.”

“Oh, right…” You utter.

“Don’t be a downer!” She grabs your arms and pulls them apart. “You need to loosen up!” She pouts and feels the sleeves of your caftan. “And get something cuter than this!”

“Mom.” You say.

“We’ll go shopping tomorrow! And get you something nice.” She tugs on you. “What do you think, honey?” She turns you to Steve. “Wouldn’t she look lovely in something… red?”

Steve watches you. His cheek dimples and his brow twitches. You can smell vodka radiating off your mother.

“Maybe pink,” he suggests. “Don’t forget the sun lotion, Mel. I know how the young girls like to show off these days.”

“And the older ones,” she giggles. “Isn’t that right, honey?”

He hums. “Well, there’s lots to do, isn’t there?”

“Yep, so… I should probably… go do that.” You pull away from your mom.

You step up to Steve and stare at him defiantly. He glares back. “You’re welcome.”

“Hm, thanks,” you scoff.”

You turn and hurry past him. Your mom whoops again and he grunts. You don’t look back, thankful for once for your mother’s lack of self-awareness. Hopefully she can keep him busy during this trip.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

One More Thing 9

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 💕

You return with a smoothie dripping condensation down one chilled hand, and a coffee burning in the other. You slow in disappointment as you find Peter’s chair empty but the other smugly filled by your former employer. Bucky leans forward as tilts his head back and forth.

“I smell a light roast,” he sits backs and props his elbow on the arm rest.

You sniff and step into his sight of his reflection. He watches you in the mirror as you set down Peter’s smoothie on the long vanity then turn to put down the steaming cup of coffee. Bucky reaches for it, leaning forward again. He doesn’t grip the cup but your hand.

“Look at me.” He snips.

You wince as the cup bobbles onto the vanity. You tug on his grasp and look him in the face. His blue eyes storm at you as the lines of his face deepen.

“These girls don’t know what the fuck they’re doing. Look.” He gestures with his other hand. “No brightening under my eyes. Didn’t even bother to shave my neck.” He growls. “It wouldn’t be this way if someone wasn’t playing scaredy cat.”

“Let go of me,” you say calmly. His grip tightens before you can wrench away.

“Why are you playing this game?” He lowers his voice.

“You got no problem speaking up for yourself, so why don’t you tell them to redo it?” You challenge and put your other hand on his knuckles, trying to push him off.

“Because it’s not my job.” He snarls. “Girl, that boy is an idiot. I’m sure he’s a lot more work than I ever was. Come on. Come back. I’ll give you a raise.”

“I have a job.”

“Fuck off.” He growls and stands up. “It was one drunken night–”

You whine as his hold on you grows unbearable. Your bones feel ready to snap. You fidget and slap his hand.

“Let go.” You plead.

“Don’t you get it.” He backs you up until you nearly trip on Peter’s empty chair. “I can’t let go. I won’t.”

You grimace and jerk your arm helplessly. “Why?”

He takes a deep breath through his nose and lets it out slow. His tongue pokes out and wets his lips. His eyes darken as he leans in, looming over you.

“Because you’re goddamn mine.” He grits.

“No–”

“Ugh, I hate screen tests.” Peter cheeps as he comes around the corner.

All at once, the crushing weight relents. Bucky lets you go and quickly turns to pick up his coffee. You watch the tension cord in his neck and your gaze trails down the bulging muscles in his arm, the memory of his strength still thrumming in your tendons.

“‘Specially with Fowler. Man’s a tight ass.” Bucky says above his coffee.

“Oh sweet! My smoothie.” Peter exults cluelessly. “Choco banana?”

You back up slowly and turn to look between the men, “That’s it.” You confirm. “Uh, Peter, I’m just going to confirm a few things with the hotel. Make sure everything’s in order.”

“Right, uh… makes sense. Oh. When was that interview with Vogue Ital- tal– i–a-no?” He struggles to enunciate with a very Mario-like accent.

“It’s in your itinerary but I’ll make sure you get there.”

“And the stylist? She has an outfit for me?” He asks hopefully as he plays with his straw.

“Sure, Peter. That’s why she’s here.”

“Ah, she’s great, isn’t she?” Bucky steps forward and puts his arm over your shoulders. “Efficient.”

“A life-saver!” Peter agrees. “Uh. where’s your assistant? Or do you have seven like Mr. Fowler?”

Bucky laughs and squeezes you closer. You chafe in his embrace. “She’s a hard act to follow. I had a few replacements but not of them could make it here so… I’m raw dogging this one. Getting my own coffee, booking my own flights…”

“Oh jeez! I could never.” Peter pouts. “Well, if you need anything, I’m sure she can help you too. We’ll mostly be at the same places, right?”

“Presser, tonight.” Bucky points and snaps his fingers. “Don’t know why they book this shit on the first day but it’s why we’re paid the big time.” His hand grazes down your arm. “Why we can pay others to look after us, right?”

“Ha, sure.” Peter slurps his smoothie and pulls out his phone. He chews on the tip. “Um… are you sure she got off her flight, okay?”

The stylist. Again.

“I’m sure she’s sleeping it off.” You reassure him. For the fifth time. “Anyway, I should go. I’m sure Fowler will need you up front soon.”

🎥

“Did she answer you?” Peter asks as you nudge him off the elevator.

“She’ll be waiting for us there. She said she labeled the outfit before you packed.” You point him down the hallway. “Really, we don’t have a lot of time.”

“I know but… my hair–”

“She can do it there.” You insist as you check your phone. “Look, you need to wash off the stuff from set anyway.”

“I know but…” He huffs. “I’m sorry, I’m just so nervous! This is like a real movie.”

“And you’re a real movie star, Peter. You’re good at what you do so just let me do my part and get you where you need to be.”

He drops his shoulders and tips his head back. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just… Everything feels so official now with you around.”

“You miss your aunt?”

“Kinda,” he sniffs.

“Ah, I think that’s your room.” You point ahead. “Got he key?”

“What? Key?” He babbles.

“Peter.”

He chuckles and digs in his pocket. “I’m kidding.” He steps ahead of you and flicks his hair out of his face. “Venice is not nice to my hair.”

“Humid, yeah,” you agree.

As the card elicits a green flash from the lock, another door clicks and startles you. A whistle draws your attention from Peter’s back. He spins around and leans on the door to open it an inch.

“Pete! What are the odds?” Bucky pokes his head out of a nearby suite. He’s shirtless and his hair is damp. You sidle closer to Peter.

“Hey, Buck. Uh Bucky. Sorry.” Peter cringes. “Yeah, uh… I thought you’d have a full villa.”

“Nah, too big for just me.” He shrugs. “Plus, I had to do this all last minute.”

You frown. Before you quit, you’d booked his trip and rooms. It wasn’t here… You try not to show your concern as you look at your phone.

“Peter, we should get ready–”

“Hey,” Bucky snaps his fingers. “We’re headed to the same place. How about we share a ride?”

“Gee, really? That’d be awesome!” Peter chimes.

You bite down and stare at the wall. You know what Bucky is doing. You just want him to stop. Give up. Whatever chip you took out of his ego, you wish he’d just find another way to fill it.

“Sure. I mean, no cars in Venice right? We’ll probably end up on the same tram anyway.” Bucky shrugs. “And it’s easy to get lost in a city like this…”

Bucky glances at you and your eyes catch for just a minute. Your brows twitch and his lips slightly curve. You look at Peter as his eyes round in admiration. Christ.

“Well, it seems you’re already well ahead of him so better get cleaned up, huh, Peter?” You prompt.

“Hmm,” Bucky hums. “She help you shower too? Never did that for me.”

“Wh-at?” Peter’s voice cracks. “N-no!”

“Kidding, kid,” Bucky winks as he lets his door open to expose more of his body, only a towel around his waist. “I know her better than anyone, she runs a strict ship.”

“Erm, yeah, sure,” Peter chuckles. “She’s right though. I can’t be late… again.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Director's Cut 12

Warning: power imbalance, dark content, obsession, and all around sexiness.

Summary: Powerful director Nick takes interest in a new project; you. (director!Nick Fowler, plus!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 💕

Nick reaches back to catch your hand before you can outpace him. He pulls you down a walkway of stone inlaid with intricate designs. You almost don’t want to step on them as you can see and almost feel the history carved into them.

He brings you past to wide pools of crystal water alongside trimmed hedges and greenery. He approaches a set of arched double doors and grabs the lock box hooked around the handles. He punches in a code to open it and a key falls out. He catches it in his palm and turns to jingle it at you.

“Benvenuta,” he purrs in Italian.

“Is this… a hotel?” You wonder.

“It’ll be our hideout for the next little while.” He opens your hand and presses the key into your palm. “Go on.”

“I…” you look down at the key. “No, no. It’s yours. I couldn’t.”

“Ours!” He corrects as he runs his hand up your forearm to just above your elbow. He turns you to face the doors and sidles behind you. He puts his hands on your shoulders and crowds you. “Come on. It’s exciting, isn’t it?”

“Sure, very. It’s just… I don’t know. You do it.” You turn to him and his hands barely miss your chest as they fall. He inhales and his brows twitch. “Please,” you shove the keys against his chest. “Just… it doesn’t feel right if I do it.”

“Alright, sweetheart, no problem.” He wraps his hand around yours and slides the keys free. “Don’t wanna do anything that doesn’t feel right.”

His eyes flick down then up and his jaw squares. He takes another deep breath. He moves around you subtly and unlocks the door with a single hand. His other hovers by your lower back.

“Come on, you gotta at least be curious.” He pulls the key free and gestures you inside.

“It’s… okay! Okay! I just… I don’t want to overstep.” You clasp your hands together.

“Never,” his fingertips graze your shorts as he drops his hand completely to his side.

You poke your head in as he stays close. He reaches over casually to flip on the light switch; the sort you have to twist. Above, a chandelier of tear drop bulbs bloom to light. You bat your lashes as you look around. 

A marble staircase trimmed in iron railings winds up to another level in the foyer and a rounded archway looks into a sunny front room, pulsing with the refracted light from the ripples outside the wall of glass panes. You look to the other side, another archway, a dining area with wooden chairs and a clear glass table.

“Which way to our room?” You ask.

Nick chuckles.

“This is it.”

“What?”

“All of this. This is where we’re staying.”

“Huh?” You sway. “But this is like a whole house.”

“All ours.” He assures.

“Hmm,” you hum and lean forward, too wary to take a step.

“You don’t like it?” He wonders.

“I love it but… I don’t want to break anything or… I don’t know. It’s so much! This is bigger than my apartment. Bigger than the house I grew up in.”

“Really, you haven’t even seen the whole thing.” He chides.

“This alone,” you peer between the archways.

He grins. “There’s a real pool in the back…”

“Oh, shut up!” You smack his arm playfully. “You’re not serious.”

He laughs again. “I am,” he looks down at his bicep where you hit him.

You gulp. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to– I was only joking–”

“Sweetheart, you do whatever you want to me.” He looks up at you. “I don’t mind.”

“Err, you’re too nice, Nick.” You sigh. “Well, maybe I shouldn’t stay too long. I’m sure you have lots of work to do… when am I going back?”

“Trying to get away already?” His voice sinks.

“No, no. I just… I keep seeing all this stuff about the movie. I saw a whole ET thing on the new actor they hired.”

“Young kid. He’s got a good reference,” Nick’s tone goes dull. “I don’t want think about work right now.”

“I’m sorry,” you tug on your ear lobes nervously. He narrows his eyes and touches your elbows.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not upset.” He brushes along your forearms. “Do I really scare you that much?”

“Scare me? Not exactly. It’s just… this is the furthest I ever went from home and you’re like famous and I’m… no one.” You giggle meekly. “Oh, I didn’t mean to say all that out loud.”

“No, I like your honestly.” He insists. “Sweetheart, people lie to me every day. They say what they think I want to hear. They pretend to be who they think I want to know. Thing is, I don’t want to know anyone but you.”

“You’re too sweet.” You rock and fold your hands in front of your stomach. “Well… is Leon here? Maybe I could help out while you’re working–”

“What’d I say about work talk?” He grits.

You make an O with your lips. His eyes dart down to your mouth. “Oops! I’m not meaning to… I guess… I don’t know what to do or say!”

“Well, I mentioned the pool…” He suggests.

You smile but it falls just as quickly. You slap your forehead. “Gee, I think I forgot a suit.”

“Forgot your bikini?” He tuts.

“Bikini? No…” you blush hotly. “I… I had a whole list and I forgot to put that on it.”

“That’s alright. I’m down for skinny dipping if you are.” Your eyes go wide. He tilts his head then snickers. “Kidding… obviously.”

“Oh. Hahaha. Of course. That would be… ha.” You cough. “Well, I could put on shorts and I think I have like a tee shirt–”

“On it, sweetheart,” he pulls out his phone. “The girls are coming with our luggage. I’m sure they can find you something on the way.”

“No, I couldn’t–”

“You can. It’s done.” He taps the screen with his thumb and lowers the phone. “It’s too hot in this city not to swim.” He leans on one foot as he watches you. “And you’re not gonna let me hang out all by myself, are you?”

You stare at him and chew your cheek. You came this far and he’s done so much. You can’t be ungrateful. Besides, it’s just a swimsuit. It’s all your fault for being so dang forgetful.

“Of course not.” You relent. “I… thank you, Nick. You’re so…” you search for the end of the sentence as his brows tweak. “Nice to me. Really. You’re like the nicest person I’ve met in LA.”

“Hmph,” his cheek dimples. “Nice. Yeah…” He looks past you. “I can be pretty damn nice.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Big Bad 36

Warning: age gap, verbal and physical abuse, dark elements….

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: silverfox!Andy Barber (mob au)

Note: If you’ve got a problem with slow burn then you’ve got a problem with me and I suggest you let that one marinate.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The ringer of your phone jars you awake. It's even earlier than your alarm. You slide your thumb over groggily to answer the call. The voice on the other end isn't who you expect.

"Slacking again." Your father snarls as you tap the speaker and roll back against the pillow. You hold back a sigh.

"Dad?" You gulp.

"Daughter." He snaps. "You owe me rent."

"Huh?"

"With interest. You think I'm gonna keep holding onto this trash you left behind for free?" He sneers.

You rub your eyes, wide awake as your heart spikes. You sit up and clear your throat.

"Dad, you said--“

"You're just like you're mother. Running off whenever you want, thinking you can just barge back in when it suits you. I'm not a storage unit." He huffs. "Just as useless as her too."

"Dad, please, I'm still waking up. I..." You pause and swallow in your dry throat. You glance over your shoulder, staring at your bag on the night table. Andy's card... No you can't.

"Always a goddamn excuse. I thought-- I tried to raise you better but you're just as stupid as her." He growls. "A thousand by the end of the day or I burn it."

You wince. "Dad, please--"

The line clicks. You stare at your phone then close your eyes. You tip your head back and roll your shoulders. Well, it's a good thing you never had anything very valuable. But there's one other hitch; doesn't sound like you'll be going home after this term.

"Sweetheart." Andy's crisp voice slices through the lull.

Your eyes snap open and you turn to him. He has a cardboard tray with cups in his hand, a paper bag in the other. You push yourself to your feet and the blanket droops over the side of the bed.

"Andy?" You gasp. "When..."

He looks down at the coffee and wets his lips. His throat tightens. "Been here long enough to hear what I need to."

"Andy..."

He crosses the room and puts the tray and bag down on the night table.

"Wanted to surprise you. Figured you'd still be sleeping." His voice is thin with fatigue. "Sounds like you had a rude awakening."

"Andy," you repeat his name again. "What did you..."

"All of it." He turns to you and puts his hands on your shoulders. He squeezes. "I was gonna drive you to class but... I got business that just came up. Get yourself an Uber."

"What? Business? Andy. What are you talking about?" Your spine locks up as chills ripple across your skin. "My dad... He says things he doesn't mean."

"Sweetheart. That didn't sound like a concerned father to me." He rubs your shoulders with your thumbs. "And it's not the first damn time I've heard him talk to my woman the wrong way."

You flinch. You frown. Back in the store when your dad called... You thought maybe he overheard some but hoped...

"Please. It's not a big deal. You don't have to--"

"Sweetheart, you don't get it." He bends to kiss your forehead. "I do gotta."

"Andy..." Your voice cracks as you think Charles and bloody knuckles; of what Everly said. "You can't hurt him."

He goes silent and slowly drags his hands down your arms. He clings to your hands and hums. "No, I can. He hurts you and I know he does more than speak to you bad." He squeezes. "I see it each time you shy away from me."

"It's just my dad."

"Who's going to burn all your stuff?" He challenges.

"He's not serious."

"Sounded pretty damn serious to me." He snaps and you flinch, pulling your hands from his.

He cringes and shakes his head. "I'm not mad at you, sweetie. I'm concerned."

"Please--"

"This isn't something I can just let go." He leans back on his heel. "Don't worry about me. That's not your job. I worry about you." He insists. "And this is just that.”

He turns and strides away. You hurry after him. He stops just inside the front room. He faces you.

“Go. Enjoy your breakfast.” He orders.

“But… yours.”

“I’ll be fine.” He caresses your cheek and leans in to kiss you. “Sweetie. You have to trust me. That’s gonna be important. Trust that some things I need to take care of.”

“Please, don’t hurt him.”

He winces and closes his eyes. His jaw tenses. He shakes his head.

“I’ll try not to.” 

He spins and marches out. You stand stunned. He as much as admitted his intent. But what’s more shocking is you’re not stopping him. All that pleading, just words, and that’s as much as you’ll try for your father. It’s more than he ever did for you.

💗

You go to your midterm but you’re not really there. You can’t stop thinking, wondering what Andy’s doing. Flashes of his bloody knuckles and that deadly silence when he came to your house that night he found Everly colour your mind. The memories redraw his entire image; all those moments he firmed his voice and told you, didn’t ask.

You write on autopilot and hand in your exam. You don’t care if you do well. There’s more important things than twenty percent of your grade.

You don’t know what to do. You can’t go back to that apartment. You’re too nervous to be alone.

You call Everly. She answers. Surprising considering it’s before noon, even during midterms season.

“There you are!” She chimes. “All done with daddy?”

“Everly,” you warn. “Please.”

“I didn’t mean it like that but… nice to know what’s on your mind,” she giggles.

You roll your eyes. “Just finished my last midterm.”

“Yay!” She trills. “So does that mean you want to get hyped on vodka?”

“Not exactly. How about a latte?” You offer.

“Do you have daddy’s card? We could go to the sushi buffet.” She suggests. You sigh. She laughs again. “Oh, you’re starting to sound like him.”

“Oh my god. Don’t say that.”

She cackles. 

“I need some sashimi.” She whines.

You chew your lip. Well, you need the distraction. You shrug and shuffle along the campus sidewalk.

“Sure, should I meet you at your place?” You ask.

“Uh, probably. I need to get myself together.” She yawns. “Do you remember Chase?”

“You didn’t…” You hiss.

“A girl needs to rebound!” She preens.

💗

After sushi, you go back to Everly’s. You try not to make it too obvious that you’re avoiding leaving or being alone. Sometimes her lack of perception is an advantage.

She’s too focused on begging you to upgrade her wardrobe as she shows you her ‘out of season’ pieces. You cross your arms as you sit on the couch and she presents shirts that look brand new and skirts you’ve never even seen her wear. You squint.

“I think that’s cute.” You argue at the mini skirt with the little tassels sewn into it.

“It’s totally last year!” She throws it down. “You can have it… and buy my a new one with daddy’s card.”

“Everly, it won’t fit me.” You chide.

“Sure it will. It’s got give.”

“You don’t need new clothes.” You rebuff. “Your dad said for emergencies only.”

“My dad? Your sugar daddy.” She laughs.

“Ew, stop doing that.”

“It is kinda weird.” She sticks her tongue out. “Are you like… my mom now?”

“Stop!” You shriek.

She laughs even louder. “Well…” she comes around the couch and pushes aside the clutter of clothing. She sits across from you. “You know… dad hasn’t dated since… mom. Hasn’t even tried. I actually was starting to think he was ace or something. Which like, no judgement to him, but he’s so wound up.”

“He’s a bit… uptight.” You say quietly.

“It’s so weird to see him… soft. Like, he’s my dad, of course he cares about me but he’s always been so strict, you know. But with you… I don’t know.” She pouts and her eyes brighten. “Do you think you could sweeten him and get me a car?”

You scoff. “Everly.”

She shivers dramatically. “Oh, you’re worse than him. Scarier.”

“Don’t,” you chide.

She winks and giggles again. She stands up and turns to scrutinise her clothes again. She holds up a pair of holographic heels. “I really need the new Manolos.”

You shake your head and huff. Despite the distraction of her bartering, you can’t settle. You just keep thinking about that look in Andy’s eye when he walked in this morning. That stone in his voice. The resignation in his face.

Andy can be nice, but you can’t change the part of him that isn’t. Or control it.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Off the Tracks 4

Warning: age gap, gaslighting, manipulation, dark elements….

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes (short!reader)

Summary: You meet a man who makes you realise your life isn’t exactly what you thought. Based on this.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your nerves are fried. You can’t stop squirming. Your mind is racing. You retrace every word, every single thing you did that day. Oh why can’t Kirstie just tell you what you’re doing wrong?

You can feel your manager’s derision roiling off of her. It pools in your stomach like bile and boils. Self-awareness tempers your every thought, your every move. You’re doing it wrong, you just know it!

If you lose this job, your parents will be so disappointed. So will you. You just want to do well but how can you when no one tells you what you’re missing?

And she didn’t like the skirt. Of course she didn’t. It’s juvenile. Cherry blossoms? It must make you seem like even more of a child. You’ll ask your sister if she has something you can borrow for tomorrow; if you get home before she’s asleep.

You frown as you get off the subway and run to the second platform. You heard the last train depart and the sign assures your worst fear; ‘departed 2 mins ago’. Great!

None of this is working out and you can’t help but blame yourself. Grow a backbone. Ask Kirstie if you can skip lunch so you can leave early. It’s not like she lets you go on break anyway.

You pout and look around. You’ll find somewhere to tuck into your book until the next train comes. Or maybe you can find a different connection. You could probably take a train to a midway point then switch over… or a bus. That would take a bit longer but still better than the late train.

“Too bad,” Bucky’s voice startles you before you can find a bench.

You turn to him and wipe away your chagrin. “Oh, hi. You’re back.”

“And you missed your train.”

“Um, yeah. I… I’ll get the next one.” The glumness sticks in your voice despite your efforts.

“Not too fun after a hard day’s work.” He clucks. “You thinking of moving closer? Or to the city?”

“Hm. Maybe. But it’ll be a while before I can afford to. If ever.” You shrug.

“Right. Makes sense.” He accepts. “Well, I guess the important thing is you’re trying. Got a good job. You show up.”

“Hm, doesn’t feel good enough…” you mumble then sniff and shake your head. “I… It doesn’t matter. It’s whatever.”

He looks you over and his cheek dimples as he thinks. “Something bringing you down? Or someone?”

You scoff. “It’s really not your problem. Or a problem at all. I know you must have bigger things to worry about.”

“I’ll make it my problem.” He insists. “What’s up?”

Your phone jitters before you can deflect him again. You reach for it and smile sheepishly. “Sorry, one sec.”

You check the notification. By the first few words of your mom’s text, you know it’s not good. You’ll deal with that later.

“Is that the problem?” He points to your phone as you put it back in your pocket.

You rock and look away. “It’s just… me. That’s all.”

“I know you’re not a liar but you shouldn’t do that. Keep all that inside and you'll boil over.” He girds. He subtly motions you over to the bench. He waits for you to sit before doing the same. “So, who's texting up a storm? Boy troubles?”

You scoff. Then snort. You roll your eyes and stare across the platform.

“My mom. She's just… very concerned, I guess. I've barely been working a week and… I don't know.” You pout.

“You said you live with her?”

You nod. “Her and dad. And my sister.”

“Can get a bit stir crazy when you're all crowded in.” He says as he leans his elbows on his knees, trying to look you in the face. “Trust me. I've been stacked in steamers like a sardine with a hundred other soldiers, shared a foxhole with men who can't stop kicking my shins…”

“You're right. It could be worse,” you drop your shoulders.

“That's not what I'm saying. I'm… empathising.” He leans over and pushes on your arm with his.

“Yeah, well…” you trail off and shake your head again, trying to shed your self-pity.

You look down as your phone lights up again. It's your mom. She's calling.

“Sorry. Excuse me.”

You wiggle your phone awkwardly then stand. You traipse away from Bucky and answer the call. You keep your back to him and brace yourself.

“Are you on the train?” She asks. “I'm on Life 360. It says you're at the station.”

“I… I missed it.” You admit.

“Again?”

“Mom, I'll get the garbage out–”

“You're not going to get very far if you can't be on time. I sure hope you're not this late for work every morning–”

“No. It's just the way home–”

“You need to figure it out. You need to start pulling your own weight around here. Maybe help with dinner and no one's going to wait till nine to eat.” She snips.

“I know. I'm sorry–”

“The least you can do is lend a hand. Me and your dad have been very lenient. We let you stay here and study.” She tuts.

“I'm working on it, mom.” You insist.

“One day you'll realise the world isn't going to wait on you.” She huffs. “I'll see you when you get home. If I'm awake.”

She hangs up before you can say anything else. No matter what, you're always wrong. You got a diploma. Not enough. You got a job. Not enough.

You put your phone in your pocket and sigh. You drag your hands down your cheeks and sink down. Your name startles you as Bucky nears, gently touching your sleeve.

“Everything okay?” He asks. Again.

“It's fine. My mom is just… disappointed.” Again.

“Ah. Well, you know, trains are never on time. Always too early or too late.” He chuckles. “But you'll get where you're going.”

You nod and sway.

“Don't let me keep you. Please. I'll just wait until the next–”

“Maybe I wanna be here.” He interjects. “Maybe I got nothing better to do.”

“Uh huh.” You sniff. “You don't have to lie.”

“I'm not.” He nudges your arm playfully. “How about another meatball sub?”

“I should stay… wait for the train.”

“You got at least two hours. Get a small sandwich…” he coaxes.

You chew your lip as you look at him. “Why are you being so nice?”

He arches a brow and his cheeks dimple. “I see. My reputation precedes me.”

You laugh and shake your head. “No, it's just… I don't know.”

“Got you,” he softly swipes a fingertip along your chin. 

“What?” Your eyes widen and your face falls.

“You smiled.” He preens.

“Oh…uh.” You smile again, this time you can't hold it back. “Yeah…”

“Come on. You had a long day. You needa eat.” He says.

You exhale. “Twist my arm.”

“I don’t wanna, but if I have to…” he winks.

“Maybe I’ll try something else though. How’s the teriyaki?” You ask.

“Never tried it but you got me intrigued,” he grins.

🚃

The chicken is good. You're contentedly full when you finish the half-sub. Bucky has a much bigger appetite than yours.

He wipes his metal fingertips with a napkin and pulls his glove back on. He flinches and feels around his jacket hanging on the back of his chair. He swipes his tongue behind his lips and gives a tight smile.

“Sorry,” he pulls out his phone. “Ugh, work. Hold tight.”

He gets up and crosses the shop. He puts the phone to his ear as he pushes through the door. “Update?”

The door jingles shut behind him and you watch him through the windows. His jaw is squared and his forehead rippled as he listens intently. He rubs the stubble along his chin and nods. His lips move but you can’t make out the words. You shouldn’t try. It’s none of your business.

You look down and crumple up the wrapper in front of you. The teriyaki lingers on your tongue. You chew the inside of your cheek as you mull over the train ride still ahead of you. You just want to lay down and sleep but each night, you seem to get less and less.

The bell chimes again. Bucky clears his throat as he approaches and picks up his jacket. “All done?” He asks.

“Uh huh.” You push your chair back and stand. He holds out his hand. You hesitate.

“Garbage.” He curls and opens his fingers as he swipes up his own with his other hand.

“Oh, uh, thanks.” You hand over the wrapper.

He goes to dump it in the trash as you gather up your bag and jacket. You follow him to the door and he holds it open for you. You pass through as he stays close.

You start down the street and he shifts around you as another pedestrian marches down the other direction. He inserts himself between you and the other lane of foot traffic, penning you against the building faces. He growls at the passerby with the dragging gait.

You catch a yawn in your hands then press your palms together. You drop your arms as you twine your fingers through each other and trod along. He stays close as the streetlights flick on one by one.

“So, you work at a condo place? You move anything yet?”

“Um, no. Krista signs the leases. I’m still training.”

“That’s always the awkward part but everyone’s gotta do it. When I signed up for basic training, I nearly drowned in some mud.” He chortles.

“Really?”

“Well, sure. You’re not crawling through sh– muck every day. Well, not until you sign up for it.”

“Yeah, I guess.” You nod glumly.

“Eh, sorry, I don’t mean to bring down the mood. Tell me about one of your princesses.” He prompts as you reach the entrance of the subway.

“Well… I don’t know…”

“Tell me about a happy princess.”

“Hm. Those aren’t real.” You frown. “I like the tragic ones, mostly. Queens, too.”

“Fine, tell me about one of them.”

“Hm. Well, there’s a really sad one. Sophia Dorothea. She was married to George I but cheated on him. She was exiled, not even allowed to see her kids. But each time she heard they were in the same city, she’d dress up in case she was allowed to visit… that never happened.” You hum. “Yeah, not very happy.”

“History tends to repeat itself, at least in that sense. Good with the bad and all.” He agrees.

“Yeah, but I guess… there’s happier ones I could read about. Maybe.”

“Maybe,” he agrees lightly. “In my day, not to sound like an old man, there was Wallis Simpson. That was a big scandal.”

“Oh yeah! Yeah. She’s the one Edward stepped down for.”

“That’s the one. Must be a special woman if she’s worth all that. Any man should be as lucky.” He scoffs.

“I guess.” You utter as you weave through the station.

You reach the platform and check the time on your phone. It’ll be another hour at least. Bucky jostles you slightly. “Uh oh.”

You look up and blink. You follow his gaze to the departures screen. The late train is highlighted in red. ‘Technical Issues - Cancelled’. Your mouth falls open.

“Huh? How can… how can they cancel it?” You babble.

“I have no idea. That’s odd.” He says and shifts his weight in his shoes.

“How… what…” you can’t get the dozen questions out of your brain as they all jumble together.

“Well, that’s too bad.” He clucks. “I don’t think you’ll be making it home tonight.”

“I know,” you hook your hands around your neck anxiously. “But… what am I going to do?”

“Woah, doll. All good. Why don’t you crash at my place?” He asks.

You look at him and furrow your brow. “What?”

“Sure. It’s not too far and you won’t bother me. Be easier for you to get to work too.”

“But… but…” you look around helplessly. What other choice do you have?

“I got laundry in my place. You can toss your clothes in.” He offers. “Come on, we can make it work.”

“But… but…” You chant again.

“Hey, it’s why I do. Save people, right?”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Misfits 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a new friend as you start a new hobby, but they aren’t the only one interested in you. (best friend’s dad)

Characters: nomad!Steve Rogers

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Your fictional dungeon excavation from the table is cleared away for its real purpose. Steve doles out the pad thai on plates in a shade of rustic red. You sit patiently as Saralie gulps another toxic glass of her mermaid concoction. You couldn’t finish your first.

Steve stirs around his noodles as you use the side of the fork to cut yours into shorter, contained pieces. It’s a much different atmosphere than your family dinners. You usually just made your own dinner and ate in front of the TV or your room. Since you moved out, not much changed, though sometimes you forgot to eat.

“So,” Steve clears his throat. “You go to the same college?”

You look at him, nearly flinching at his gaze.

“Uh, yes.” You answer.

“She’s studying the world.” Saralie chimes.

Steve furrows his brow.

“Ecology.” You explain. “I think I’d like to work in a wildlife habitat but I’ll probably end up at a desk writing reports on waste risks…”

He nods thoughtfully. “Either sounds productive. Typically, I need someone to give me the same sort of context for my projects.”

“Dad builds stuff.” Saralie says. “He built my tree house and all.”

“Well, not really. I draw up the designs. Do the planning. Coordinate all the different pieces; installations, foundation work, all that.”

“Oh, right. Cool.” You say.

“It’s boring. There’s not that many things that aren’t already built so I mostly do small updates or reinstalls. Again, boring.”

“So bored he barely works.” Saralie giggles.

“I’ve scaled back. Independent projects.” He shrugs. “I’m sure it’s all Latin to you.”

“Huh, I think it’s kinda… interesting.” You insist.

“He’s pretty much rebuilt half this house,” Saralie boasts. “Made my senior year pretty annoying having the second bathroom shut off.”

“You said you wanted that clawfoot tub,” Steve clucks.

“And I love it. Thank you, dad.” She grins at him.

His expression softens and he nods as he pokes around at his plate. Saralie sucks down a long noodle with a pop of her lips and you do your best to take a tidy bite of tofu and sprouts. She swallows and washes it down with her witch’s brew.

She makes a face and wiggles around. She slides her phone out of her dress pocket and blinks wide. “Wow, it’s late.”

“You know how I feel about your phone at the table.” Steve warns.

“I know, dad. Peter was just asking… he texted.” She shrugs. “I can’t believe we worked so long.”

“Um, yeah,” you squirm as she tucks her phone away in her overall style dress. “I guess I’ll pack up after this.”

“What’s Peter asking?” Steve interjects.

Saralie sends you a look then fawns at her father. “I sent him pics of the map. He was asking when we could play.”

Steve narrows his eyes. “Kid sure knows how to invite himself over.”

“I asked him first.” She argues. “Dad. He’s my friend.”

“I didn’t say no. You’re an adult.” He twists noodles around his fork, his thick fingers dwarfing the utensil.

You can appreciate his concern. Almost envy it. With four siblings, it’s easy to get lost in the rabble. Your parents either couldn’t or wouldn’t try to keep track of all of you.

“You can join in, you know? You could be our sorcerer!” Saralie suggests. “But you give more of a warrior vibe. Or a cleric.”

Steve chews quietly as his daughter laughs.

“And you can invite Uncle Bucky.” She teases.

He swallows. “You need to stop calling him a geezer. He’s still upset.”

“Well, he shouldn’t act like one,” she retorts with a cackle.

Steve’s cheek dimples and his brow tweaks, “you got me there.”

Saralie turns her attention on you, “you’re leaving before dessert?”

“There’s dessert?” Steve asks.

“If you’re good, yes,” she sticks her tongue out at him then looks at you again.

“Um, well, I should really catch the bus…”

“Out in the dark,” Steve spreads his shoulders and glances at the window. You crane to check the dark panes.

“If you stay, I can drive you,” Saralie offers. 

You think of the man on your way over and shiver. It’s nice of her to offer but at the same time, they’ve already done so much. You chew your lip.

“It’s okay, I have my pass and…”

“It’s late. Where are your glasses?” Steve taps his fingers on the table.

Saralie blanches. “Somewhere.”

“You know you can’t drive at night without them. You should wear them more.” He chides.

“Dad, please…” she begs in frustration.

“I can drive.” He says.

“Oh! Or!” She claps her hands and turns fully to her dad. “Daddy….”

His lips slant. “What is it, princess?” He asks dryly.

She giggles. “Can we have a sleepover? Pweez?”

She pushes her lower lips out and clasps her hands tight. He considers her and a smile slowly breaks his veneer. A very subtle one.

“If you clean up after dinner and dump the rest of that toxic sludge,” he barters.

“You didn’t even try it!”

“I’d need a whole bottle of antacid,” he retorts.

“That’s not the juice, that’s your personality,” she chuckles.

His smile fades, “Love you too, Sara.”

“Love you!” She dances in her chair. “Sleep. Over!”

“Sara,” Steve hums. “You didn’t ask her…”

They both look at you. Suddenly, the room feels very small. You don’t have to work in the morning and you don’t exactly like waiting out in the dark.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” you say.

“It’s no trouble.” She chimes. “Oh, I’m so excited.”

Steve watches you. His eyes glimmer and you notice tension ease from his shoulders. You stir your noodles as you try to let go of your own anxiety. 

🎲

“We can play my card game!” Saralie shimmies in excitement. “Peter refuses!”

“Oh, card game?”

“Yes. It’s so much fun. It’s a word game. It’s silly.” She explains as she leads you upstairs.

“Uh, sure. Sounds found.” You shift the strap of your bag up your shoulder.

She skips down to a door with her name on it. Each letter is etched in painted wood in a different colour; a small upside-down handprint is the second A. It’s cute.

“Hey,” the deep timbre startles you. Steve emerges from the door at the end of the hall. “I got you a shirt.” He nears and offers the navy blue tee. “Sara’s stuff won’t fit a mouse.”

“Oh, thanks,” you stop to take the folded cotton. Your fingertips brush his knuckle. “I… didn’t even think of that.”

“Dad thinks of everything. He thinks too much.” Saralie teases. “But he’s right. I still shop in the juniors. They have better colorus and they’re cheaper.”

“Um, thank you, again.”

“No problem,” he backs up. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

You turn back to Saralie. She’s so slight that even her overall dress can’t hide her bones. Despite that, she’s a ball of energy.

“We won’t, dad!” She grabs your wrist and pulls you through her bedroom door.

Steve’s grumble is cut off by the door shutting behind you. Saralie lets you go and throws up her arms. “Welcome to my hole!”

The bed is tall. So tall, you’ll need to climb into it but you can take the floor too. The duvet is decorated with a dainty pink floral, but a neon fluffy throw is crumpled over the top, a sharp contrast to the pastel. A canopy drapes from the corners in sheer rose and several stuffed creatures line the pillows.

The dresser and vanity are white and vintage looking. The mirror is hung with pearls and various amulets, the drawer bursting with swathes of fabric. The chair is velvet in the shape of a flower with silver legs. The space is a cluttered panoply of antiques and bright colours.

“I never had a sleepover before. Well, Peter slept over one night but dad doesn’t know that…” She lowers her voice.

You’re starting to get suspicious of Peter yourself. If there isn’t something going on, or if Saralie isn’t looking for that, it seems he might be. He’s awfully persistent. Then again, what do you know about guys?

“Alright, I’ll find my cards.” She says.

You put down your bag and hang onto the tee shirt. It smells like fabric softener and something else. Something warmer… maybe cologne?

“Oh, do you wanna get changed?” She asks as she sifts through her cluttered bookshelf. “The bathroom is the door to the left of us. Or I won’t look if you just wanna do it here?”

“Um sure, I’ll throw this on quick… if you don’t mind.”

“No, no. I can’t even remember where I put this darn game…” she bends to look on a lower shelf and knocks over tin. “Ohhh, shoot.”

You turn your back to her and switch out your shirt for the borrowed one. It’s soft, comfy. Better than your work shirt. You tuck the latter into your bag and turn to find Saralie cleaning up the dice scattered over her floor.

“I went a bit crazy at the game shop,” she giggles. “I got one in every colour.”

You chuckle and go to help her. “I haven’t even bought a set yet.”

“Well, I think I got you covered,” she trills.

🎲

Saralie snores. Not loudly. Her soft breaths blow out and squeak at the end. She’s right beside you, clinging to a stuffed hedgehog, as you lay restless in the strange place. You never sleep well in new places. Or really ever. Your roommates don’t help that struggle.

You roll onto your back and keep your eyes closed, letting the steady rhythm of her slumber soothe you. Still, you can’t settle. The more you long to just sleep, the more restless you grow. Until you can’t contain the nerves in your stomach.

You sit up and slide out of the bed, careful not to hit the floor so hard. You don’t know how she sleeps so high up. You grab your phone from where you left it on the dresser and sit on the beanbag in the corner.

You flick through, scrolling the mindless feed until you realise you’re not even processing any of it. You black out the phone and get up. Maybe you should’ve just gone home.

You have to try again. You need to sleep. You put your phone down and creep to the door. You listen through it before you go out into the hall. You creep down to the bathroom and lean on the door until it shuts. It snaps louder than you mean to.

You keep the light off and go about your business. Once you have an empty bladder, you’ll be able to relax. You wash your hands in the dim light of the moon pouring through the frosted window and shut off the tap. You dry off and slowly open the door.

You step out into the hall and nearly scream as someone grabs your shoulders and pushes you against the wall. Instead, you choke on your fear and whimper. You gasp and press yourself flat, closing your eyes as you brace for the attack.

They squeeze and jerk you slightly. A growl tickles your ears and something clicks. Your eyelids light up and you sheepishly flick your lashes up.

Steve has one hand on you as his other recoils from the light switch. You gulp as his eyes flash with realisation and he lets you go. 

He steps back and pushes his messy hair away from his face. His eyes are dozy and there’s a subtle line along his cheek from his pillow. He’s in a pair of striped pajama bottoms and a loose tank that shows off the sides of his chest and muscular arms.

He rubs his eyes and drags his fingers down his cheek.

“I’m sorry. I was dead out and… I forgot…” He bats his lashes. “I thought… I heard the door. There was no light…”

“I’m sorry.” You eke out. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He sniffs and scratches his beard, his hand crawling down to rub his neck. He shakes his head.

“No, it’s my fault. I… I got a whole system and I’m here acting like some vigilante.” He huffs and drops his arm. “Are you okay?”

“I’m…” you hesitate. You feel the steel of his grip in your shoulders. “I’m fine. I just…” you glance over at the bathroom.

“Wow,” he cringes. “I’m… I’m a dummy.”

“It’s f-fine,” you assure him. “I’m just… going back to bed.”

“Of course.” He shifts. “Don’t let me keep you up.”

You nod and shrink down. You turn and scurry along the wall. You quickly dip through Saralie’s door and shut it gently.

You hear his sigh from the other side. The light limns beneath the door even as you climb back into bed. Saralie is still snoring. You stare at the bright line along the floor until it shuts off. You hear Steve’s footsteps as he retreats.

Well, you’re not too sure you’ll be getting much sleep.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Not Just a Cliche 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: society is predictable but Ransom Drysdale is not. (friend’s dad)

Special shout out to @stargazingfangirl18

Characters: silverfox Ransom Drysdale

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

"Anyone who's anyone will be here. You have to come." Jane insists. "Cliches are dumb but that's just what it is."

She snorts and checks her manicure. She curls her pretty lip and extends her arm. She examines the pointed tips.

"What do you think? I think that twerp owes me my money back... Well, Hugh's money." She rolls her eyes. "But that old man won't be getting anything else from me."

"I think they look good," you shrug. You keep a short tip, nude gloss. You try not to hide your hands as you answer. 

"I should've gone with the Paris Pink." She flutters her fingertips.

You nod and sip your pomegranate ices tea. The lime is a bit too much and the mint makes it bitter. Jane would send it back nothing short of a lecture but you can stomach it to save yourself the scene.

"You can all the way here from London? Why?" She scoffs as she drains her cocktail down to the ice for the second time.

"Family..." You utter flatly. That's all you need to say. Society doesn't care about your dying great aunt; not unless they're getting a cut of the estate.

"Ugh, don't remind me." She signals for a refill. "High is on my back about some degree. He said a gap year is usually only a year, not four."

When you first met Jane, you assumed this shadowy Hugh figure was some sugar daddy with a bag tied around her neck. It took a week to unravel the riddle. It's not that unusual for spoiled brats to call their parents by their first names. Your own mother hates being called mom or mother. You always found it awkward the way she wanted to be your friend more than your guardian.

"What would you study?" You ask.

"I don't care. He'll throw money at the dean and put me at a desk in the publishing house. But I guess I have to at least pretend I care." She scoffs. "The idiot actually went to his classes."

You nod. You did a bout at Oxford, stacking courses so you flew through a three year program in two. In America, everything feels so drawn out. Four years and not an entry job in sight. Well, not unless you have a Hugh in your bloodline.

"Giselle will just let me dip into the trust," she adds. "Wherever she's hiding now."

As detached as the quip is, the last comment suggests that her apathy is more a shield than genuine. Neither of her parents are very present and you know well how empty a big house can be. You stir your tea with the straw and hum.

"So, this party..."

"Event," she corrects you.

"Sure, is there a dresscode?"

"You're adorable," she mocks your accent. "Hon, throw on some Louboutins and a bikini under your dress. We'll be skinny dipping by the third round.”

You raise a brow and nod, sipping more disappointment from your glass. You can’t fault Jane for her conditioning; you’re not so different. You live in a bubble and you’re content enough to stay in it. Self-awareness is a double-edged blade. Another apt cliche.

“I’ll make an appearance,” you smirk dryly. She laughs.

“You’re so funny.” She shimmies her shoulders and once more frowns at her nails. “These really are hideous.”

💵

You never quite understood fashionably late. You always felt it inconsiderately selfish. Thus you arrive, fashionably on time. Not early, not late. Though your host is still in her robe and curlers.

“Are all you Brits so early?” She taunts as she welcomes you in.

“You said nine.”

“Oh, sure. That’s when the staff is expected. The important people will be here at ten. If that.” She leads you through the airy house. 

The floor is parquet; old world and polished; the walls are slightly off-white trimmed in matching wood with intricate etchings, with ornaments in brass and gold. The attempt at warmth is left frigid by the perfection of it all.

You follow her up the broad staircase and she sniffs. “Hugh’s taste is awfully gauche.” She falls back to strut at your side and nudges you with her elbow. “Giselle let him do whatever to keep him off her back. He’s such a drag.”

You nod and narrow your eyes. You hoped your time abroad might be respite from the snobs back in London. This is just a different flavour.

“I love that outfit, by the way. Very… posh. Is that what you call it?” She runs her finger down your arm.

The vest and skirt combo is nothing special. Simple knit in a powder blue with a white collar. You’re sure she has much flashier attire in mind.

“Paul is coming. He said he got me a special gift. Which is great since Halton is off in Pasadena or wherever.” She trills and leads you through an open door.

Inside, there’s a sprawling room of blush and ivory. A vanity mirror with lights around it, a velvet stool, a fluffy sofa in rose, on top of a fluffy carpet in white. There’s shelves mounted on one wall displaying a variety of designer bags, propped up to boast of their expense.

“Sadie and Sawyer will be there too.” She says as she sits in front of the vanity. “Ugh, Tanya!”

A woman appears from the next room; a peak of a glittering bathroom behind her. She apologises as she approaches Jane and picks up a make up brush. Your host admires herself as the stylist tends to her.

“The twins are always so much fun. Technically triplets but Sterling is off with his sidepiece. That means LeeLee is going to be a mess.” She laughs. “You look confused.” She turns and the stylist avoids poking her with the brush. “You’ll learn real quick, hon.”

You tilt your head. “If it’s not my business, I don’t want to know.”

“Oh, but you must. Know your enemy,” she turns back to the mirror. “Tanny! The blend is off.”

“Yes, Miss Drysdale, but I haven’t had a chance-”

“Excuses!” Jane snatches up a sponge and leans in to blend the streaks of foundation herself. “Go tell Jilly that I need some vodka soda.”

You bite your tongue. It’s not unexpected behaviour. In contrast to some, she’s really not that bad.

“Lots of rich older men and dumb boys.” She fawns at her reflection. “I recommend the first. Get a nice bag or two. Some Monolos.”

You traipse around as you consider the poster of the famed blond bombshell from the 50s. You swear you’ve seen the same image a million times. Talk about cliches.

“Welcome to society, hon,” she chirps. “It’s gonna eat you up.”

💵

You’re not surprised when Jane quickly loses track of you. You made your rounds with her and quickly grew bored of the fake accents and James Bond impressions.

 To be fair, you can’t quite place her among the sea of baby socialites. You keep clear of the cluster near the bar and the others speckled around the pool, eyeing the crystal ripples for an opportunity to show off their fresh spray tans.

The yard is lit by the pool lights and overhead lamps. The air stirs with the low drone of the Hot 100 beneath the trill of giggling and hum of deep voices. The affair is a sea of Gucci and Ralph Lauren suits paired with grey strands, and satin dress as shining as the perfectly highlighted waves and sultry black locks.

You sit on a cushions patio chair, one leg draped over the other as you mindlessly stare into the pampered wilderness. A splash breaks through your trance as a woman bursts out from beneath the surface and squeals about her extension. One of the younger men laughs and cannonballs in without stripping off a single layer. The hijinks have begun; the only one to make an early arrival.

You cup your chin in your hand and sway your foot, rolling your ankle as you take in the scene. It’s not much different than home. The same characters played by different actors. You don’t know why you expected anything different.

You check your watch. Would anyone even notice? Jane was tipsy when you got there and if you’re not playing along with the script, you’re left to the background.

A man lowers himself into the square chair close to your own. You stare off at the sky as he shifts in his chair. He leans forward as you sense him from the corner of your eye.

“You need a drink. You look thirsty.” He intones.

You ignore him and check your watch again.

“Waiting on someone?” He asks.

“Not you.” You say, tapping your fingers on the arm of the chair.

“Ooh, I like that accent. ‘Yeah, babay’.” He does his best Austin Powers, which isn’t very good.

You cringe and lean away from him, focusing on the vague face of the moon.

“You don’t gotta play shy, baby.” He reaches over and touches your hand. You snatch it away and slide forward in your chair, ready to flee.

A shadow steps up and swats the man in the ear. “Jacob, get out of here.”

“Ow! What the hell?” The younger man stands and turns on the other.; he’s older, a lot thicker than the younger one, and unaffected by his reaction.

“You’ve always been a little shit. Go.”

“Takes one to know one.” The younger, Jacob, sneers.

“Very original," the older man scoffs and steps closer, making the younger seem even scrawnier.

“Whatever.” Jacob glances at you then veers off.

You watch him run up to another girl and tug on the back of her skirt. You shake your head as you hover at the edge of your chair. The older man lingers.

“That one bugs you again, I’ll toss him in the pool.” He clucks.

“Uh… thanks. I don’t think it will be necessary.” You reply. You clasp your hands around your knee, shoulders tense, and stare off at the guests. “Appreciate you dispelling him.”

He pauses before he responds. “Anytime.”

You dip your chin and keep your gaze across the yard. You shift slightly and he exhales. His fingers trace the back of the empty chair.

“If you do… need me, I’m Ransom.” He drawls.

“Right. Thank you again.” You say stiffly.

He pushes away from the chair. “If you’re looking for an exit plan, cut up behind the hedges. There’s a side gate that leads right out front.”

You look at him. His brown hair is dusty with grey at the temples and his blue eyes gleam in the dim light. “Thanks.” You utter.

His brows lift and he winks. He turns and walks away, casually slipping his hands into his pockets. He’s not in a suit or button-up, rather a soft sweater in a shade of lamb grey and white slacks. He fits and yet he stands out.

He shoves Jacob as he passes him. The skinnier man spills his drink on himself but doesn’t fight back. He just moves on to his next target.

You skim the crowd and find Jane. She’s playing with a man’s tie as she sits in his lap in nothing but a string bikini. He’s older, slightly balding, and entranced by her. He reminds you of the banker your mother tried to set you up with.

You shudder and crane to examine the hedges. There’s a slight gap between where you could slip through and along the fence. You can’t help but wonder how that man knew about the escape. Still, you’ll keep that in mind for when things get a bit too intense.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Lot Lizards 1

Summary: your effort to be left alone are thwarted by stubborn men.

Character: Ransom Drysdale, a dash of Pete Brenner

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. ♥️❤️

The bang on the door shakes the entire trailer. You snarl and refocus on the page, rereading it from the first frame. The same jarring thump sounds again; a fist hammering five times fast. You sneer and lay the comic on the table, sprawled open.

You glare at the door. It better not be your neighbour again. He might not be very clever but you thought he could take a hint.

“Open up, bum,” an unfamiliar voice calls through. “Inspection time.”

You frown and slide off the bench. You drag your feet and pull back the curtain to peek through the small window. A man in burgundy slacks and a forest green crewneck examines the peeling screen on your door. Who is that?

You sidle along and linger behind the door. Who is the weirdo? You slide the latch back and set your toe against the door. You open it one inch. The man stands straight and squints at you through the streaked glass.

“Bout time. I’m standing out here is this dump waiting on you.” He snips.

He’s tall. His hair is parted and styled. His loafers are what looks to be crocodile or snakeskin. It’s the kind of rich stink that makes you gag.

You blink.

“What’s goin’ on? You stupid or something?” He grabs the screen door but you quickly flick the lock on the inner handle. He shakes it and growls. “Hey, new ownership. I got a right to inspect my property.”

You back up and close the door. He slams his hand on the screen, it rattles violently as you search through the stack of comics on the table. You slip out the torn envelope and tug free the crumpled page inside.

You drop the envelope and take the notice back to the door. You open it, as narrow as before and read. You wave it at the man.

“Lot is yours. Not the trailer.” You say.

“Ah, she can talk.” He slithers. “Can she listen too? Open the door.”

He shakes it again. You smooth the paper and slide the edge into the top of the screen window. You balance it there for him to read then close the door.

You didn’t think much of the letter. Big deal. They changed ownership of a few lots. Fees are still coming out of your pay, doesn’t matter to you who’s name is on it.

You sit back down and pick up your comic. You sigh as the man kicks the door. You hear him stomp down the stairs. Then the crush of his sole in the dirt.

You flip the page.

“Hey! You can’t just ignore me.” He slaps the window as he peeks in between the gap in the curtains.

You do just that. You bring the pages closer and read the speech bubbles. He pounds on the window.

“I can see you.” His voice is muffled by the pane.

You gently put the comic down and stand up. You approach the window. “Finally, goddamn.” He growls.

You tug the curtains together. He snarls and hits the window so hard, you think it might just fall out of the frame. Your neck tickles nervously but you shrug it off. You turn on your bluetooth and resume the playlist from earlier.

You can still hear him. He’s back at the door, trying to force it open. What the heck is his problem? Can’t he read? A man with his shoes and his haircut should.

“Hey. Didn’t you read the damn letter? I own this place.” He hollers through.

You hate repeating yourself, so you won’t. You turn the music up and sit back down. He continues to wrestle with the door. You’re impressed that it’s holding up.

He finally gives up. You listen to his retreat as he grumbles and promises to be back. You finish the last page and flip to the preview for the next issue. Sure he will. He must have better things to do than hang around this place.

📖

You flip shut the lid of your mailbox. You shuffle through the bills and flyers. Junk, junk, junk.

“Hey, sweetheart.” The drawl sends a shudder through you, as it does every time your neighbour speaks. “How’s it going today?”

“Mail,” you wave the handful at Pete and head back to your trailer.

He’s quick. He meets you at the bottom of the steps. You keep from rolling your eyes. He wears one of his tacky printed shirts with the short sleeves, the buttons undone a bit too far down his chest.

“Anything good? Huh? You know, I got some interesting coupons in mine.” He reaches into his front pocket and slides out the paper from behind his pack of smokes. “Can’t really use ‘em myself but think you could.”

He holds out 30% off advert from some lingerie shop in the mall. You never bother going that far and you don’t wear thongs. You frown and shake your head. He cackles.

“I could take ya down there. Got the transmission on my Camaro sorted.” He offers.

“Scuse me.” You try to side step him. He blocks you as he puts his hands on his hips, crushing the coupons.

“Ah, well, maybe that boy toy banging on your door will take ya instead. You didn’t tell me you had a daddy, sweetie.” He scoffs.

You grimace. What?

“He’s got taste, gotta give him that. Beemer, prada shoes…” He snorts.

You shake your head. “Can you move?”

“Ah, I like that about you, sweetie. You look so nice but you’re so damn… blunt.” He reaches to touch you and you swat his arm away.

“I’m busy.”

“You’re tense,” he tries again and you back out of his reach. “Come on. Petey can give you a nice neck massage. Claudia says I got the magic touch.”

“No.” You slap his hand with the mail. “Ex. Cuse. Me.”

He chortles again and sighs. He bites his lip as he looks you up and down. “When Richie Rich tosses you, I’ll still be ‘round, sweetie.” He winks. “You know where to find me.”

You stare blankly ahead as you step around him. There’s a tickle up your leg but you quickly evade it. You just as swiftly swing through the screen door and close the inside one. You twist the latch and huff.

You hear Pete laugh again. You throw the mail on the messy table and peek through the curtains. You quickly back away before he can catch you. You make sure the curtains don’t let in an ounce of light or his leer.

You make a point of minding your business. Why can’t other people just do the same?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Director's Cut 7

Warning: power imbalance, dark content, obsession, and all around sexiness.

Summary: Powerful director Nick takes interest in a new project; you. (director!Nick Fowler, plus!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 💕

There's a ripple in your nerves that wasn't there before. As you get to work, the feeling that you're missing something nips at your ears. You go through the motions as you tie on your apron and help with prep.

The familiarity soothes the unease you've felt since the day before. You take your time doling out your wares; offering water or going to fetch whatever's demanded by the stars. The distraction is welcome even if exhausting.

As you come back with empty trays from lunch, Leon squints at you. Usually you barely get a look from him as he booms at his staff or glares down his pan. You think to ask why but he speaks first.

"You okay?" He asks.

You blink as the surprise of the question plays across your face. "Sure am. What about you?"

He grumbles. "You tell me if you need anything... If you got any problems."

"Um. No... What problems?"

"Just... Tell me." He grits and turns to stack pans for washing.

You stare at his back. Did someone say something? Was it...him? No. You don't think you're that important.

You try not to let the conversation wilt you. You go back to work. There's two days left on set and the chaos only builds. As you pass by the star's trailer, you hear deep voices arguing. You think you know one...

Around dinner, you can't help but yawn. Leon tells you to stay in the kitchen. You don't ask why. You offer to help with the washing as the dishes start coming back.

As you slide another plate in the industrial washer, there's a metallic clack behind you and a sigh. Leon clucks and you crane to watch him checking berries for flaws. Across the serving counter, Nick stands and scours the catering area with his eyes.

"Can I help you? I'm working on wrap day dessert." Leon mutters dully without looking up. "Someone demanded it."

Nick growls. "If you weren't good at what you do..."

"I'd be good at something else. Probably something more enjoyable." Leon scoffs.

Nick pokes his tongue in his cheek as he spots you and tilts his head. "The girl you sent got au jus all over."

"Baking soda and water. Soak in cold." Leon suggests. "Vinegar for surfaces."

"I'm sure the cleaner knows how." Nick huffs.

"Are you seeking reimbursement?" Leon asks calmly.

"I didn't ask for the clumsy one."

"I sent who I had. It's busy day. You would know." Leon counters.

Nick tisks. You turn back to the dishwasher as Remo puts another plate inside.

"How about I deliver it myself. Princess treatment." Leon offers.

"You're an ass." Nick snarls and stomps away.

"Fire with fire," Leon chuckles under his breath.

Your nape burns as you ward off the thought that you might be in trouble. You didn't do anything, right? You were perfectly polite with Nick. You did everything he wanted.

Leon calls over his sous, Ashley, and has her finish with the berries. He calls your name. You spin around and bobble a cup.

"Here." He takes it from you and gives it to Remo. "Let's talk."

You nod and follow him out from the kitchen. He weaves around behind catering and into a maze of cables and equipment. He crosses his arms as he faces you.

"Did I do something? I know I missed yesterday but I can stay late--" you yammer.

"It's fine." He intones. "But I'd like to know why the director told me you'd be absent..."

"Um..."

"And why he requested you serve his meals. Exclusively."

"I don't... He asked me to watch one of his movies so I didn't really sleep and I don't know why he'd only ask for me. I was only being nice BC he asked and..."

"You need to be careful who you're nice to." He drawls. "I didn't bring you back here to lecture you, I'm giving you advice. Fowler is not the man to get tangled up with." He takes a deep breath and heaves it out. "Especially someone like you."

"I was only..."

"Take tomorrow. It's the last day on set anyway. I'll pay out full time." He insists.

"Sir-- Leon." You gulp.

"Rest up before the next job." He pays your shoulder. "And get outta here."

You frown. He said you did nothing wrong but it sure feels like it. You nod again and follow him back to the kitchen. You pass through to collect your things from your staff locker.

You sling your bag on your shoulder and jingle your keys as you scurry out. You can't complain for some time off but you kinda like your work. It keeps you busy and most people are nice enough... When they acknowledge you.

As you get to your car, you slump down. You should call your mom. She didn't answer yesterday. Or this morning.

As you unlock the driver's door, something taps on the roof. You look up over it and nearly squeal. You don't expect anyone, especially not him. Yet maybe you should.

"Running away?" Nick accuses.

"No. I... I'm done work--"

"Work? Does that include hiding?"

"Hiding?" You echo.

"Avoiding me." He insists.

"No, I wasn't. I was only... Doing what I was told."

"Uh huh. So you're saying..." He slowly snakes around the car to your side. "That I should've told you myself."

"Um. I don't... Know." You murmur as he looms closer.

"So tomorrow you know you'll be bringing me my meals. Right?"

"Ahem, er, I'm not in tomorrow, sir." You say. He tweaks a brow. "Nick."

"No? Well... Too bad." He brings his hand up again and braces the top of the car.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know. Really. I was just doing my work."

"Yeah, yeah," he exhales. "I know, sweetheart. I know you're not like that."

"Erm, but... I hope it didn't ruin your day."

"Kinda did, sweetheart, kinda did." He sniffs. "Well, you know how you can make it better?"

"How...?" You breathe.

"Text me back." He flicks his brows derisively.

You wince as you remember the message that came in as you waited for your mom to pick up her phone. It totally flew your mind. You give a sheepish smile.

"I'm sorry. I will. I promise." You eke out.

He grins and reaches you stroke your cheek. "Good girl. I appreciate when people take direction well."

He cradles your face for a moment then draws away. He takes a step back and drops his arm.

"Looking forward to hearing from you." He stares at you.

"You will..." You open your door. "I promise."