Content Warnings: Angst, implied threat of violence, gender neutral reader.
A/N: Swapped day three of June Jukebox Scribbles. This might be the most angsty piece I’ve ever actually written, and it’s just the start for what I have coming in terms of angst later this year 😈 I think I see the appeal?
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The room is deafeningly quiet. The floorboards beneath your knees are cold and unforgiving, but not more than the glare currently beating down on you.
Bucky looms over you, hands clenched in fists of flesh and metal, and jaw locked so tight it's a wonder his teeth haven't cracked.
"You almost had me fooled."
You silently avoid his gaze, heart pounding against your ribs and focusing on trying to breathe. There's nothing you can say that would fix what you've done.
"How far were you planning for this to go?" he growls. "Have you had enough yet?"
When you don't answer, his vibranium hand reaches out and grabs your face, forcing you to look up at him.
"Answer me."
There's a hint of hurt in his tone, something you know he's fighting not to show, and it makes your heart ache.
"James," you start, voice trembling. "Please, I love you—"
"Love?" he spits. "You're really throwing that in my face right now? After everything I've done for you—given you—this is how you repay me? Working for Rumlow…I can't believe you'd stoop so low."
Your heart stops when he releases you and lowers himself to your level.
"How did you know?"
"You're too sweet. Too pure. Too…goddamn perfect. Something was off. Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"
You shake your head, uncertain, looking through increasingly blurry eyes at the man that rules the city with a vibranium fist. There's no good excuse. Caught red-handed in a web of lies that's now threatening to destroy everything you've quickly learned to care about.
He stares at you, eyes cold and calculating, but when you don't answer, he stands back up and turns away.
"Get out," he grits, voice dangerously low. "Before I do something I'll regret."
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Characters: 40’s!Bucky Barnes x Jazz Singer!Reader
Word Count: 300
Now Playing: Don’t Stop Believin’ by Journey
Content Warnings: Fluff, love entranced at first sight, fem!reader.
A/N: Swapped out day two of June Jukebox Scribbles. There’s not much I love more than loverboy Buck, especially if it’s 40’s loverboy Buck! Divider by me.
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The jazz club is dim, smoke filling the room in a lazy haze. A smell of wine and cheap perfume fill Bucky's nose as he steps inside, the air almost suffocating beneath the tight collar and tie of his uniform.
Red velvet curtains drape across the back of the instrument-filled stage, centered perfectly in the room. Men are scattered around at different tables; some in small groups murmuring quiet conversations while others fidget with the white tablecloths, their eyes darting around the room.
Bucky takes a seat near center stage, one of the only spots available, and removes his hat, carefully placing it on the table. The stage lights flip on, the chatter hushing reverently, illuminating the pine floorboards as the musicians step into the light.
But that's not what gets his attention.
You move gracefully onto the stage, each step careful—almost floating—until you reach the microphone. Lips painted a soft shade of red that perfectly compliments your skin tone, dress draped elegantly over every curve.
He's never seen anyone so beautiful.
Then the music starts and your lips part as you begin your song. If he didn't know any better, Bucky would think you're a siren, luring all these men in front of you to their doom.
Your eyes trail across the room, meeting everyone's gaze, but when your eyes meet his, Bucky's heart stops. For just a moment, the whole world fades away—war, stress, the other patrons—and it's just the two of you.
Your eyes sparkle in the spotlight. Then with a wink, you turn, the hem of your dress brushing against the floor as you continue your song.
It ends far too soon. Bucky's on his feet before the curtain even sways closed behind you, hoping to find a way to meet you.
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Content Warnings: Angst, implied threat of violence, gender neutral reader.
A/N: Swapped day three of June Jukebox Scribbles. This might be the most angsty piece I’ve ever actually written, and it’s just the start for what I have coming in terms of angst later this year 😈 I think I see the appeal?
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The room is deafeningly quiet. The floorboards beneath your knees are cold and unforgiving, but not more than the glare currently beating down on you.
Bucky looms over you, hands clenched in fists of flesh and metal, and jaw locked so tight it's a wonder his teeth haven't cracked.
"You almost had me fooled."
You silently avoid his gaze, heart pounding against your ribs and focusing on trying to breathe. There's nothing you can say that would fix what you've done.
"How far were you planning for this to go?" he growls. "Have you had enough yet?"
When you don't answer, his vibranium hand reaches out and grabs your face, forcing you to look up at him.
"Answer me."
There's a hint of hurt in his tone, something you know he's fighting not to show, and it makes your heart ache.
"James," you start, voice trembling. "Please, I love you—"
"Love?" he spits. "You're really throwing that in my face right now? After everything I've done for you—given you—this is how you repay me? Working for Rumlow…I can't believe you'd stoop so low."
Your heart stops when he releases you and lowers himself to your level.
"How did you know?"
"You're too sweet. Too pure. Too…goddamn perfect. Something was off. Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"
You shake your head, uncertain, looking through increasingly blurry eyes at the man that rules the city with a vibranium fist. There's no good excuse. Caught red-handed in a web of lies that's now threatening to destroy everything you've quickly learned to care about.
He stares at you, eyes cold and calculating, but when you don't answer, he stands back up and turns away.
"Get out," he grits, voice dangerously low. "Before I do something I'll regret."
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Prompt day 3 swap: Wherever You Will Go - The Calling
Summary: space angst
Here's the prompt list if you want to join in
We stan AO3 in this house
Beck honestly knew he was not the biggest asshole on the planet because he wasn't on the planet. He hadn't been for some time and he still had a long time before he'd be back on Earth once they rescued Watney. If they could rescue him. If they could get back safely.
He was admittedly the biggest asshole in space though. All because he decided that the best course of action of your life and his life was to end the relationship of two years. He was logical about it. This whole venture was going to be two years now. That would have been two years of the most extreme long distance relationship. It wasn't fair to you. So, with NASA reading his emails, he ended things. The response was the most professional fuck you he had ever read because again, NASA was reading things.
He didn't know what the future held. He didn't know if they could save Watney. He didn't know if they would come home. At least you could get a goodbye this way. But now in the aftermath and the hurt, because it did hurt him, he remembered the lyrics of an old song his parents played.
‘Who will be there to take my place…’ would you move on? Who would be the next guy? Would they be more successful than him? He was a doctor and an astronaut. How do you compete with that? Well, he figured, they wouldn't leave the damn planet. Would you wait for him to come home and rekindle things? Maybe he could find a way to make it back to you someday. Maybe you'd let him be friends and exist in the periphery of your life.
Lots of maybes. Lots of unknowns. He wished he could go wherever you’d go.
Content Warnings: Angst, implied threat of violence, gender neutral reader.
A/N: Swapped day three of June Jukebox Scribbles. This might be the most angsty piece I’ve ever actually written, and it’s just the start for what I have coming in terms of angst later this year 😈 I think I see the appeal?
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The room is deafeningly quiet. The floorboards beneath your knees are cold and unforgiving, but not more than the glare currently beating down on you.
Bucky looms over you, hands clenched in fists of flesh and metal, and jaw locked so tight it's a wonder his teeth haven't cracked.
"You almost had me fooled."
You silently avoid his gaze, heart pounding against your ribs and focusing on trying to breathe. There's nothing you can say that would fix what you've done.
"How far were you planning for this to go?" he growls. "Have you had enough yet?"
When you don't answer, his vibranium hand reaches out and grabs your face, forcing you to look up at him.
"Answer me."
There's a hint of hurt in his tone, something you know he's fighting not to show, and it makes your heart ache.
"James," you start, voice trembling. "Please, I love you—"
"Love?" he spits. "You're really throwing that in my face right now? After everything I've done for you—given you—this is how you repay me? Working for Rumlow…I can't believe you'd stoop so low."
Your heart stops when he releases you and lowers himself to your level.
"How did you know?"
"You're too sweet. Too pure. Too…goddamn perfect. Something was off. Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"
You shake your head, uncertain, looking through increasingly blurry eyes at the man that rules the city with a vibranium fist. There's no good excuse. Caught red-handed in a web of lies that's now threatening to destroy everything you've quickly learned to care about.
He stares at you, eyes cold and calculating, but when you don't answer, he stands back up and turns away.
"Get out," he grits, voice dangerously low. "Before I do something I'll regret."
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Warnings: Cocky Lance, flirting, suggestive tension
Words: 290 words
A/N: Entry for June Jukebox Scribbles over @societynsoelsscribbles
Prompt: June 1st - “I never understood a single word he said.”
“So there I am,” Lance went on, arms folding across his chest, “international meet, crowd going insane, cameras everywhere and this official comes storming up to me.”
“Storming?” you questioned, not so sure..
“Storming,” Lance confirmed. “Red in the face. Hands everywhere. Shouting.”
You bit the inside of your cheek. “At you?”
“At me.” He looked deeply offended you’d even ask. “Like I’m not Lance Tucker. Like I didn’t just put three of their countries gymnasts to shame just by existing near a pommel horse.”
“Devastating for them.” God you couldn’t believe him sometimes..
“Exactly.” He pointed at you. “You get it.”
You absolutely did not, but his confidence was doing unfair things to your concentration at times, and even more to that empty place between your legs.
“What was he saying?”
“No idea.” Lance shrugged, completely unbothered. “I never understood a single word he said.”
You blinked. “So.. You just let him yell at you?”
“No, sweetheart.” He pushed off the wall, closing the space between you. “I stood there. Toe to toe. Let him get it all out while I looked him dead in the eye.”
“That was your power move?”
“Then I walked away.”
You tried not to laugh. Truly, you tried. But your smile gave you away.
Lance noticed.
His hand came up beside your head, palm pressing flat to the wall. Suddenly, all that ridiculous confidence had weight. Heat. Direction.
At you.
“You think that’s funny?” he murmured, leaning in until his voice dropped against your face.
“A little.”
His grin softened into something worse. “That’s okay. I’m sure when it’s you screaming, I’ll understand every word that leaves those pretty lips.”
Your cheeks went hot
Lance’s smile turned victorious. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
Words: 300 words
A/N: Entry for June Jukebox Scribbles over @societynsoelsscribbles
Prompt: June 3rd - Season of the Witch – Donovan/ “What do you think I see?”
The worn leather of the couch creaked beneath you, a sound easily drowned out by the ragged, trembling breaths slipping from Bucky’s lips. You were straddled over his lap, the thick, aching weight of him stretched deep inside you. But as you set the pace, sinking down to take him fully, his hands suddenly slid away from your hips.
He gripped the cushions, white-knuckled as his head tilted back, his jaw clenching. That familiar shadow of doubt was creeping in a sudden, fierce wave of vulnerability making him want to pull back, to shield you from his own intensity. But you weren’t going to let him retreat.
“Look at me,” you whispered, leaning forward until your chest brushed his. You rode him with a slow, agonizingly deliberate tilt of your hips, forcing a low, wrecked groan from his throat. When his blue eyes finally met yours, they were clouded with quiet panic.
"You gotta stop... I don't want to hurt you," he mumbled, trying to shift beneath you, trying to deny what you were so eager to take.
Anchoring yourself, you cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to hold your gaze. "What do you think I see?" you asked softly, pressing your forehead to his. He swallowed hard, silent.
"Answer me, please," you purred, rolling your hips. The slick, friction-heated contact drew another aching groan from his chest. "I want you to watch me, Bucky. See exactly how much I love having you inside me."
Your hand slid down to his shoulder, rising up before sinking down slowly. The breathless sound that left you both was pure sin.
Bucky’s eyes darkened, the shy retreat instantly evaporating. "Fuck... remember, you asked for this." His hands locked onto your hips and he bucked upward, taking fierce control of the rhythm.
Warnings: Flirting, suggestive banter, outdoor sex jokes
Words: 299 words
A/N: Entry for June Jukebox Scribbles over @societynsoelsscribbles
Prompt: June 3rd - “When I look out my window.”
June was suffocatingly warm, Chris was leaning back in the grass, his bare chest catching the silver glow of the moon, looking incredibly handsome and he knew it. He was leaving for training in a few weeks, and it was becoming too real.
He turned his head, a devastatingly charming, lopsided smirk playing on his lips. He leaned down, his voice dropping to a low, seductive rumble against your ear.
"When I look out my window and see all those stars," he started, fingers tracing slow, maddening circles on your hip, "I want to think about your eyes... and how they looked when you were your, wrapped around me. Squeezing me.”
You let out a soft snort, though your chest did a stupid little flutter. You poked him squarely in the center of his chest. "I'm not fucking you outside... so you can be all dreamy while in space."
Beck groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against your collarbone in a silent, warm plea. "Come on, that way when you look up at the stars when I'm gone you'll think of this moment too. It'll be romantic."
"Still not going to fuck you outside," you repeated, though your voice lacked any real bite as his hands slid lower, reaching your thighs.
To be fair, the mental image did have appeal. Chris over you under the canopy of the midnight sky, his body driving into yours on a soft blanket in the grass. But it was June.
You absolutely refused to get your ass eaten alive by mosquitoes just so your dorky astronaut boyfriend could have a rope under the stars.
"Inside," you negotiated, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling his mouth down to yours. "But I'll leave the blinds open."
The way I would’ve agreed so fast is actually embarrassing lowkey 👀 but I’m a hopeless romantic who also loves the stars. I see his point very clearly hahaha
Pairing: Jester!Jefferson x Princess!Female Reader
Warnings: Dark fairytale court vibes, captivity themes, implied cruelty, tension
Words: 300 words
A/N: Entry for June Jukebox Scribbles over @societynsoelsscribbles I have been thinking on these two for a while.. so happy to have something down!!!
Prompt: June 3rd - “And he shows them pearly white.”
“Bring out the jester.”
The words rolled from your father’s mouth, rich with wine, your fingers tightened around the stem of your goblet.
Already, the court began to stir.
Lords shifted forward. Ladies hid smiles behind jeweled hands. Somewhere down the table, a man chuckled before there was anything to laugh at.
You stared at your plate, dreading what came next.
Him.
The side doors opened. Jefferson tumbled out in a flash of motley silk, bells snapping bright at his wrists. He landed in a low bow, one hand pressed dramatically to his heart.
“My king,” he lifted his head just enough for dark curls to fall from his face. “I rushed here the moment I heard the room had grown dull. Naturally, I assumed someone had begun discussing taxes.”
Laughter burst around the hall.
Your father laughed loudest.
Jefferson sprang upright, light and quick as a thrown knife. Plucking an apple from a passing servant’s tray, tossed it high, catching it between his teeth.
The court roared. Jefferson smiled around the fruit.
And he showed them pearly white.
Your stomach tightened.
They saw a fool. A trick. A pretty captive trained to amuse them between courses. You saw the stretch of that grin. Too sharp. Too full of teeth. A tiger in silk, baring warning after warning while everyone praised the shine of his cage.
Jefferson bit into the apple with a wet crack, juice sliding down his wrist. His eyes swept the hall as he chewed, passing over flushed faces.
Then he looked at you. the smile did not soften.
Something stirred beneath your ribs, dangerous and nameless, as though some foolish part of you had heard the growl and stepped closer anyway.
PAIRING: congressman!bucky barnes x female reader
WORD COUNT: 300
WARNINGS: slight suggestive content(?), bucky really loves his girl, no use of y/n, established relationship.
SONG PROMPT: i wanna be bad by willa ford
LYRICS: “i won’t do that.” / “i wanna be bad.”
NOTE: so did we all see the photos of mr. stan looking too hot for his own good as soon as we woke up yesterday? because i did and crashed out and this was the outcome.
event masterlist | day one | day three | main masterlist
"Hey, baby."
You turn at the sound of Bucky's deep rumble and his keys hitting the trinket dish you keep near the front door.
"Hi," You greet softly from the couch.
He tilts his head back, throat bobbing and his eyes close for a second, resting briefly against the door like he's relishing in the sudden quiet of your shared apartment. You watch him with your bottom lip pulled between your teeth as he loosens his tie.
"Rough day?"
Bucky huffs a tired laugh, "Rough life."
He toes off his shoes, leaving them on the hazardous pile by the door and walks towards you, dropping down next to you— slouched, legs spread, his head resting against the back of the couch.
You give him a moment to settle, let the silence stretch, and before you could say anything he reaches for you. Bucky's hand grasps your hip and tugs, gentle but insistent, guiding you over until your astride his lap, enveloping you in his strong arms.
His eyes track your hands as they curl around his tie.
"You should get some sleep."
"No," Bucky rasps with a slow shake of his head, leaning up with his metal hand cradling the back of your head to kiss you— languid, unhurried, sensual.
"You're tired," His fingers tangle in your hair, "You should."
Bucky kisses the corner of your mouth, tucking your hair behind your ears as he cups your face, thumbs swiping across your cheekbones, "Won't do that."
"Bad boy." You tease softly, tugging him towards you, silk wrapped around your fists.
His lips twitch into a small, tired smile— something private and just for you, resting his forehead against yours and gently nudging your nose.
"Maybe I wanna be bad." He whispers as he leans in to steal a second kiss.
🏷️: @metal-armed-muse @juniebjonesin @kileyking @nightfirecomit @chocolatemilkshakex @spring-soldier @spideyskywalker + to be added to the tag list? comment on this post or send in an ask!
♪ Prompt | Mack the Knife by Bobby Darin | Scarlet billows start to spread.
♪ Summary | Maybe...grabbing a cast iron skillet wasn't the best idea...
♪ Warnings + Tags | Mature fic warning!!! Mentions of Stockholm Syndrome, blood mention, death briefly mentioned, talks of cannibalism
♪ Phoenix Chirps | Please heed the warnings! This one's a tad dark. Steve Kemp, where do I begin? I know it makes me an awful person, but I would've gladly adopted to his lifestyle...also three days of staying UNDER the word limit. Let us rejoice!
♪ Word Count | 300
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This was supposed to be easy. Or at least a way to prove that you no longer needed to be kept in a cell like a lamb awaiting slaughter.
The parameters Steve Kemp had set forth were two fold. One, find a victim. Two, bring her to him. As a reward, your shackles would be loosened - both physically and mentally.
Maybe you shouldn't have let Stockholm Syndrome take over. But you knew that the man that courted you for months and slept in your bed before he kidnapped you to upstate New York was still in there. And if by bringing him a victim you would be able to live in domestic bliss? Well, there was shockingly little that would stand in your way.
"Steve, I - I fucked up," your voice trembled, watching scarlet billows start to spread onto the stark white tiles. That was going to be a bitch to clean. Your weapon of choice, a cast iron skillet, clattered to the floor as the events of what transpired caught up to you.
Okay, maybe a skillet shouldn't have been the first thing to reach your grasp, but you were desperate. Days of trying to convince your new 'friend' to take a trip with you was making you grow impatient. And with Steve dangling the promise like a carrot, you…snapped. In a panic, you called the only person you could for help.
A deep sigh sounded on the other end of the line. "Was she scared when you hit her?"
"No…no, she didn't even know it was coming."
A hum of approval had your heart leaping. Maybe you hadn't fucked up too terribly. "Then the meat is still salvageable. I'll be there soon to help you, sweets. I'm so proud of you for doing what I asked."
Pairing: Lee Bodecker x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 296
Audience: Teen+
Synopsis: You make Lee jealous when you tell him about your day.
A/N: June 3rd submission for June Jukebox Scribbles with the song prompt Mack the Knife by Bobby Darin. Lyrics in bold.
Event Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3
You stir a pot of green beans on the stove before wiping your hands on your apron. Working part-time as a bank teller at Knockemstiff Savings & Loan keeps you busy, and you love sharing town gossip with Lee when he comes over.
"Now did ya hear 'bout Louie Miller? He disappeared, babe, after drawin' out all his hard-earned cash."
Lee shakes his head where he's stationed at your small dining table with a beer. "Louie Miller hasn't earned a dollar through God's honest hard work a day in his life. He's a trust fund kid suckin' on a silver spoon."
"Well, I heard he's headin' up North. Gonna buy some real estate," you say as you check the temperature on the chicken. You're making one of Lee's favorite dinners in the hopes that he'll stay the night.
"I never liked the guy," he spouts, narrowing his eyes at you.
"Well, he was awful nice to me today," you say, poking at Lee's jealous buttons.
"What do ya mean by that, darlin'?"
"Oh, just complimentin' my dress. I wore that new red one my mom sent me. Sayin' "you're too pretty to be workin' somewhere so dull"," you tell him, tasting mashed potatoes from your index finger.
"Well, if he hadn't already hit the road, I'd be pullin' that smarmy son of a bitch over," he huffs. "No one talks to my girl like that."
You hum, satisfied. "Didn't realize I was your girl, Lee."
He stands up and boxes you in against the kitchen counter. "Not sure what got you thinkin' that you aren't mine," he breathes down your neck, hands exploring under your apron before pulling back and assessing the pots and pans on the stovetop. "Dinner looks good. I think I'll stay here tonight."
Content Warnings: Angst, implied threat of violence, gender neutral reader.
A/N: Swapped day three of June Jukebox Scribbles. This might be the most angsty piece I’ve ever actually written, and it’s just the start for what I have coming in terms of angst later this year 😈 I think I see the appeal?
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The room is deafeningly quiet. The floorboards beneath your knees are cold and unforgiving, but not more than the glare currently beating down on you.
Bucky looms over you, hands clenched in fists of flesh and metal, and jaw locked so tight it's a wonder his teeth haven't cracked.
"You almost had me fooled."
You silently avoid his gaze, heart pounding against your ribs and focusing on trying to breathe. There's nothing you can say that would fix what you've done.
"How far were you planning for this to go?" he growls. "Have you had enough yet?"
When you don't answer, his vibranium hand reaches out and grabs your face, forcing you to look up at him.
"Answer me."
There's a hint of hurt in his tone, something you know he's fighting not to show, and it makes your heart ache.
"James," you start, voice trembling. "Please, I love you—"
"Love?" he spits. "You're really throwing that in my face right now? After everything I've done for you—given you—this is how you repay me? Working for Rumlow…I can't believe you'd stoop so low."
Your heart stops when he releases you and lowers himself to your level.
"How did you know?"
"You're too sweet. Too pure. Too…goddamn perfect. Something was off. Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"
You shake your head, uncertain, looking through increasingly blurry eyes at the man that rules the city with a vibranium fist. There's no good excuse. Caught red-handed in a web of lies that's now threatening to destroy everything you've quickly learned to care about.
He stares at you, eyes cold and calculating, but when you don't answer, he stands back up and turns away.
"Get out," he grits, voice dangerously low. "Before I do something I'll regret."
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