Summertime Sadness .4.

summertime sadness .4.

tgif

Sequel to kiss me in the d-a-r-k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 (masterlist under construction)

Warnings: dub con sex (oral)

This is dark!(dad)Steve and dark(professor!)Bucky explicit. 18+ only. I know they aren’t super dark, but like questionable so I’m keeping those tags just to be safe.

Summary: You settle into your new job but can’t get too comfortable.

Note: Okey, dokey. Here’s the fun part (for me at least). Still tryna figure out how exactly this one will pan out by part 6 but we’re all having a ride together, eh. Thanks everyone for their support and I love you all! 💋

<3 Let me know what you think in a reblog, reply, or like. I’m loving the feedback from y'all and the enthusiasm! Also as always, memes accepted.

💋💋💋

It had only been a few weeks since your last visit to the university but it felt longer as you walked onto campus. Just as planned, you were due to meet Bucky in his office. He texted you as you rode the subway. He was eager to start his ‘marking’. You smirked and wondered how long he’d last at that.

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Monster Under The Bed Boyfriend - Nybras (NSFW)

This train takes too long, you feel. Tired after work you want only one thing - to come home, eat dinner, change into something comfy, jump between the sheets and let your boyfriend make you forget everything else. Your monster boyfriend, that lives in the shadows under your bed.

You have to smile when you remember meeting him. You moved into a new house and one of the rooms already had a bed in it. An old, massive antique, carved from walnut. You fell in love with it on the spot. After the move was finally over and you were done with decorating the house, it took a couple of weeks for you to notice you were not alone. At first, it was the little things, like noises coming from upstairs, or finding a door open after you were sure you closed it just a few minutes ago. Things were going missing and you kept finding them different places. At first you thought your memory was just that bed, that you kept forgetting where you put things, but the noises were a different story. Steps, the sound of closing doors, and sometimes breathing. You were never afraid of ghosts, and up until now, it didn’t seem to be hostile, so you continued to ignore everything that was happening. You also thought that ghosts didn’t care about humans and what they did, so you continued to walk around the house half naked, and sometimes when you wanted to let some steam off and masturbated in your bed, moaning loudly. But sometimes you could swear that when you reached your climax, you heard a growl from under the bed and felt it vibrate a little, but it could’ve been just the blood roaring in your ears, and your muscles spasming, so you brushed it off.

Until you saw him. 

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medic!reader and sniper!bucky first meeting please! with the prompt “let me take you out on a date”

      —— first meeting between the medic!reader & the howling commandos, ft. not-sold bucky and a lot of lovesick steve/peggy feels. 

      i’m glad so many of you liked this! my wwii!bucky is not so stereotypical – a little colder, a little bit more distanced and not so womanizing. i’m excited to develop the #duckandcover ship!

“She’s good, Steve – really good. I can’t say enough about her.”

Peggy matches his stride, fingers clutching the docket on the woman in question. Her lips, red and smirking, move quickly as she speaks outside of tent of C.P. and she hands the manila folder off with graceful ease. Her boots sink into the mud.

“And what am I supposed to do with this?” Steve asks, brows raised. He thumbs through the pages, eyes your record and your enlistment photo. The rain makes the pages curl.

You’re pretty.

Bucky’s type.

Peggy smiles, bright and dizzying and it makes Steve’s heart sing. 

“Think about it. The Commandos need a medic.”

And they did. They really did.

The growing reliance on field hospitals was getting a little pitiful, actually, and Steve’s growing concern about his men was getting out of hand – it was well warranted, though. After all, Falsworth had managed to duck through sniper fire only last week and come out of it with only a shred of shrapnel lodged in his left ass-cheek. 

It had made for laughs, but the Howling Commandos needed someone to keep them together; stitches and morphine and bandages included.

And you. 

Phillips was impressed, Peggy was impressed – hell, you’d made this camp your own a week in; going off book and ducking into the forest surrounding Marigny to haul wounded men back in a crumbling jeep, dodging sniper fire and German artillery in the meanwhile. The stunt had gotten you a stamp of approval, earned you an accommodation and a shiny medal and a letter from the president. 

And a reference for the Howling Commandos.

Steve finds Peggy later that week – Operation Cobra was slowing rolling, but every inch was proving worth it, and if the boys could barrel past the Germans this fast, maybe there was hope they’d be home for Christmas.

But, after the company is looking worse for wear.

Peggy seems proud he puts in word for this new medic’s reassignment, promising she’ll be worth it.

You get your re-assignment on a Friday, and that night you’re shipped back from the front-lines to the cozy position within Marigny. You ride back with a quiet Corporal named Turner who says nothing, only waves you off with a salute after dropping you in the stirring Ally-occupied town. 

The villas are crumbling from the bombardments and warfare that’s swept through this area as part of Operation Cobra, but part of you is thankful to be back – it’s quieter here. No mortar fire or screaming or shots in the night.

Just soldiers trying to get by.

Peggy nearly bursts at the seams when she sees you, sweeping you into a mutually respected salute and a soft squeeze of the arm. 

“Come on,” she says, “Let’s get you settled with your new company.”

The thrown-together tent that the Commandos called home was empty, save for some tossed sheets over cots and bags and stray ammo – and you snag a cot by the end of the row that’s empty. Your bag doesn’t have much in it – supplies and a journal and a handkerchief for your hair – so you drop it and your helmet before following Peggy.

She’s slow walking as she talks.

“The men are in the pub, I believe,” she says, “Celebrating, no doubt.”

“Oh,” you breathe, “Pub?”

“A gutted out bank turned watering hole. The 107th like to think themselves the hosting types.”

You laugh, soft and controlled, fingers knitted into your pockets as she swings a hand out and catches the door open. 

You have to admit you feel a bit small standing next to Agent Carter.

She’s gorgeous, really, swathed in victory curls and a red lipstick and here you are, straight off the front-lines looking like hell – your hair is bundled under head scarf, white like the medical patch burning across your shoulder. It’s not so white anymore, though. 

You toddle, shifting your weight for boot to boot – eyes sweeping across the room. 

The not-really-a-pub grows quiet at the entrance of Peggy; no doubt a call to her rank, and she dismisses to the respective silence with a wave. 

It’s warmer in here, and the winter air doesn’t bite so hard through your uniform. The lull of a piano in the back calls to the two of you.

She weaves through the crowd, through the raucous cheers and drinking and straight to the bank of the room – there, a gathering has started over a game of burn and turn. A group toddles around the piano, singing some off-tune hymn about ribbons and being far from home. You recognize Steve Roger’s nearly immediately; he’s draped over the back of the piano, chattering with the dark hair man in the blue jacket tittering on the keys.

Steve’s busy looking at Peggy – openly admiring, actually – to notice you.

The crowd erupts into laughter and whistles at the realization of Steve’s affections and Peggy’s spontaneous appearance in the wolf’s den. The Howling Commando’s are elated to see her. She has to wave them off to calm them down. 

It’s… sweet.

“Gentlemen.”

Peggy gestures to you with a well-manicured hand and you blink, clearing your throat before stating your name and rank fast – smile cautious and slow.

“Your new medic, boys.”

A beat of silence.

“No shit.”

It’s the man by the piano with the dark hair and dark eyes that speaks first – he pushes himself upwards from the bench, leaning against the grand piano with a glint of interest in his eyes. 

He shares a look with Steve. It’s guarded. They’re both thinking the same thing.

Bucky Barnes has never seen a broad in the field before.

He’s heard rumors about nurses getting shipped in after D-Day, there to clean up the mess, but… you? You seemed… very different from Peggy in all respects. 

Pretty, though – not very delicate looking but bright-eyed and strong. 

Dum Dum Dugan is falling over himself, tripping really, to stand and shake your hand and smile. He’s laughing, a bit drunk and face twisted into a genuine grin. It’s funny, and Bucky spies Jim trying to muscle a laugh down.

“God, you look exactly like my girl back home, you know,” he says, “Jenny is her name. Sweet girl. Where you from?”

“New York, sir.”

“No shit!” Dum Dum mimics Bucky, waving to the duo, “Those boys are Brooklyn through and through, you know.”

You blink at Captain America, that poster boy, and the tall man by the piano – when you cock your head and flash a grin, they cross their arms. “Queens.”

Steve likes you. Already. Bucky can tell.

“You’re… You’re that nurse that saved those men a couple of weeks ago, aren’t you?”

It’s Pinky that speaks next, froth from his beer littering his upper lip. 

You seem to stiffen at the question, shrugging. Blinking at Peggy, she gives a nod of approval – as if it was classified, half the town had heard you barking out orders in the field hospital and seen you tear out with that stolen jeep like a bat-out-of-hell. Everyone knew about it.

Not everyone approved.

Not every man approved.

“I got a shiny medal from it if you wanna see,” you chirp, “I asked for a decent pair of skivvies but the President said no.”

A beat of silence.

And then a roar of laughter that buckles your own sense of walls – you laugh a bit as Dum Dum slaps the table and muscles Falsworth around.

“You oughta let me take you out some time,” says Jim, “Pretty girl with a medal? Doesn’t get any better than that.”

“That’s a girl worth fightin’ for, huh, Buck?”

“S’pose so,” Bucky, the one by the piano, says slowly, “So long she don’t get in the way. No room for stunts here.”

Steve nudges his friend, quelling the swell of skepticism. 

“Ignore him,” Falsworth says, adjusting his beret and standing, “Our lovely James is just in a mood because he was hoping the new medic would be someone he could boss around – and with a repertoire like yours, miss, I doubt you’d allow something like that.”

“Maybe if he asks nicely.”

“Not likely.”

You smirk and his lips quirk enough.

“Play the piano?” you ask, head tilting.

Bucky stiffens, stepping away from the keys. “If you buy a ticket.”

“Shame,” you mutter, “Don’t have any cash – god know the army doesn’t pay me enough anyways.”

His laugh is ducked to his chest as he shifts from foot to foot, and Steve couldn’t be happier, really – it shows, and Peggy shares the same sentiment. 

And so the Commandos got their medic.

summertime sadness .5.

work day

Sequel to kiss me in the d-a-r-k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 (masterlist under construction)

Warnings: dub con sex (fingering)

This is dark!(dad)Steve and dark(professor!)Bucky explicit. 18+ only. I know they aren’t super dark, but like questionable so I’m keeping those tags just to be safe.

Summary: Loki adds to your workload.

Note: Right, here we go, here we go, here go again. Girls, what’s my weakness? Men! Sorry, minor detour there but are we ready for the darkness? Y'all hold onto your panties. Thanks everyone for their support and I love you all! 💋

<3 Let me know what you think in a reblog, reply, or like. I’m loving the feedback from y'all and the enthusiasm! Also as always, memes accepted.

💋💋💋

You didn’t sleep much. Every time you closed your eyes, the scene flashed behind your eyelids. Loki standing over you, the image on his phone, his hand on your chin. And then you thought of Bucky. It was hard not to; your phone buzzed all night as you ignored his messages. Steve’s too. It had finally caught up to you and it felt worse than you could imagine. A man you admired thought you nothing more than a floozy. Well, maybe you were.

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In a Sleepy Town [Headless Horseman x Reader][pt 6]

Summary: “The horseman who rides atop his alabaster steed, cloaked in crimson without a head.”

In the sleepy town of Moorwick, you are drawn into the legend of horseman when you learn it is associated with your father’s disappearance twenty years ago. When the local ghost story turns to be anything but that, and a bargain goes awry, you delve into Moorwick’s dark history with hopes of saving more than just yourself.

———

Chapter Six: You are determined to get answers from the horseman regarding the whereabouts of your father. It goes horribly awry. To make matters worse, new information comes your way about the peculiarities of Moorwick, making the search for the horseman’s head far more complex and there are some people determined to keep it that way.

———–

The rumpled picture of Colson and your father stayed with you from that day on, laid flat against your chest in the breast-pocket of your coat. Having a piece of him so close to you meant something that you couldn’t place into words, only knowing that it had a heftiness to it, a presence so near to your heart that you could never forget it was there. The horseman had scared you that night when he took it, sent the blood racing into your ears loudly and your mind festering with anger.

You could not recall another moment where you felt so compelled to hurting. Just as an itch beneath the skin was unbearable, you thought fire burned in your veins through your fingertips. That anger did not belong to you, it felt almost as though something else wished to guide your hand.

Doubtlessly, the horseman was unflappable and you would have gained nothing in return. Your wrist would shatter and he would remain pristine, strength boundless, and your death imminent any time he so chose it to be. It made you wonder if there was a lingering piece of him that wished to destroy you still, after these long months nurturing something with him.

Your thoughts spiraled wildly, deteriorated at the notion of what could be. When he helped you find your father; when you returned his head to him, would he draw his blade on you again? Could you even manage to return to an office job in the city after all of this?

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Virion & the #3 Sandwich (Part One)

Characters: Female Reader/Male Moth Monster, Male Bat, Genderless Forest Spirit Content: NSFW, Financial Stress, Pining, Masturbation, Illness, Sandwiches Wordcount: ~6600 Notes: Patrons got this about two weeks early, so take this as a reminder that “early stories” are one of my Patreon perks (they also got to see it while it was in WIP form). I haven’t finished the entire story, so tags are subject to change, but I’ve made a dent in Part Two. Many thanks to @monster-bait​ for encouraging me to keep going and being so enthusiastic about getting to read the moth story. Without her I probably wouldn’t have a story to share.

This was inspired by a @monsterkinkmeme​ prompt. Specifically this one.

It’s pushing midnight, and you’re sitting in the gas station parking lot crying softly to yourself. You’re counting your tips and then counting them again, as though the number is going to change and you’re magically going to have even another dollar. You know that’s not how any of this works, but you keep doing it with a silent urgency as you struggle to decide what to do.

There’s a soft tap at your window. A hulking form fills the space outside, and you’d be scared, except you know who this is. It’s the attendant at the local-grocery-slash-gas-station you’re parked at. He’s a large, fluffy, humanoid moth, and you think he’s adorable.

You’re mortified that he’s seen you like this.

“I’m so sorry for loitering–” you begin as you roll down the window. You rub your hands quickly over your face, determined to look more composed than you are.

It’s been a rough month. Rent had put your account in the negative, and you’ve only got enough cash to either eat or put a gallon of gas in your car to get home, but not both. Your stomach is growling, and you’re not sure whether you’d rather go home to empty cupboards or get something from the convenience store here and sleep in your car.

“That’s not why I’m here,” He says, his voice gentle, warm, and soft as always.

“It’s not?” You ask, glancing around the empty parking lot. You’re pretty conspicuous; your car is the only one here, and you’ve been sitting here for an hour. He has every right to ask  you to move along.

“I wanted to check on you.” He tells you. “Make sure you’re okay.”

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