Empires

Empires

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers X Reader Apocalypse AU

Summary: Humanity is dead. The world has ended and there are few survivors left. But the ones left have been divided into two groups: The Silencers and the Fighters. HYDRA, the new self-proclaimed government is taking over what’s left of the world. There are very few groups of people left to fight them. But they’re there. And they’re fighting.

Warnings: Language, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Fluff, Violence, Injuries, Love Triangle (Wink wonk)

Word Count: 1.5K

A/n: I have a playlist for this series that I might add to the Masterlist… I hope you guys like this. and if you don’t idc

~*~

The world ended four years ago.

Four years ago, over half the population of the planet was wiped out by what scientists call ‘the snap’.

The snap was bound to happen at some point. But no one ever thought it would happen so soon.

Intense volcanic eruptions, tsunamis, hurricanes and tornados, and earthquakes that would level a city. Acid rains, intense windstorms, and of course, HYDRA.

HYDRA is a group of men and women determined to take control over what’s left of the world. They killed off the politicians that survived the snap, destroyed any evidence of them, and wrote a new rule book that survivors of the snap have to follow. And if you dare not follow the rules? You’ll be killed, or worse. HYDRA’s methods of persuasion are painful at best.

There are those who fight back, though. Small groups of people who’ve acquired weapons of their own and refuse to follow the rules set by HYDRA. People who fight tooth and nail to survive. They refuse to bow and refuse to die.

That’s where you find yourself. More or less.

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The Recruit (5/?)

Summary: Becoming a SHIELD agent had been your dream and finally, you’ve achieved it. You’re at the top of your class in every field except one—hand to hand combat, and it doesn’t impress Captain Rogers in the slightest. Instead, it seems to convince him you’re useless, setting off a tense relationship between the two of you. In an effort to bridge the gap, Bucky offers to help you train to earn your way back into Steve’s good graces. What could possibly go wrong?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader x Bucky Barnes (not Stucky)

Warnings: Probably some incorrect fight-speak.

Notes: Yikes, I’m sorry for the wait on this. The holidays thoroughly kicked by ass, but now that they’re over, I should be back to regularly updating! Enjoy. x

Training begins the day the cast comes off your wrist. An exact two weeks later, and Bucky’s pounding on your door at four AM, hair tied back and biceps - both flesh and gleaming black metal - on full display in his compression tank. Coupled with your sleepiness and just how unfairly attractive he is, your brain short-circuits for a minute when you first open the door.

“Up and at ‘em,” he orders, every bit the Sergeant you’d read about.

“Huh?” you reply dumbly, wiping the sleep from your eyes.

“Time for training, rookie.” The gleam in his eye lets you know he’s teasing, but still his face remains stoic. You glance over your shoulder.

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“Is that right? You didn’t mean to watch me like a little pervert?” he speaks in faux apology, the façade eviscerated as his attention flickers to where your dress is ruffled and there’s a glistening trailing down your inner thighs. The man you known to be your best friend’s happy-go-lucky father has been unhinged into a beast of carnal hunger as a result of you. “Is that why you’re making a mess on my floor?” His jaw ticks. “No, you enjoyed it. You enjoyed watching me jack off, wondering if it’d be even half as good as being buried inside you—but we both know it isn’t.”

part one of two. in which you watch your best friend’s father masturbate, and he catches you. (includes best friend’s father!bucky x you, age gap mention, masturbation, voyeurism and exhibitionsm, dirty talk, blowjob—part two will include daddy kink by request of kat @angel-fire, reader receiving oral, size kink, dirty talk, unprotected sex.)

—

“Are you sure I can’t tempt you to stay in tonight?” your best friend’s father, James call-me-Bucky Barnes, calls out when he hears the click of heels descending down the staircase, and silences the rumble of his mixer. “I mean, what sounds better, some stupid nightclub or my super awesome brownies?” 

“Some stupid night club,” his daughter answers immediately with a cheeky grin, sashaying ahead of you in a modest but flirty outfit to grab her clutch from the kitchen island. The last thing she needed to go out acquired, she glances at you for additional support in the evening plan. “Right?” 

Strolling behind her, you give an unsure hum. “I don’t know,” you say with an upturn at a corner of your lips. “Your daddy’s baking is pretty convincing.” 

Sinful in a stained apron and chocolate smeared on a high cheekbone, a likewise dripping whisk in one hand, he turns around to face you. His innately affable blue eyes are bright with flattery until landing on your scantily-clad form, then the initial shock darkens to something that lances satisfaction in your gut. 

But he hides fairly quickly, dissolving back into his easy going demeanor (you know, like he isn’t imaging that tiny dress in a puddle around your ankles). He clears his throat with a reinforced smile. “See! Thank you,” he addresses graciously before hastening to divert his gaze. “C’mere, and taste it, kid. Then tell me you’d rather go out.” 

The twenty-one-year-old chuckles at the lame attempt and shakes her head. “No, thanks, dad,” she speaks as she checks her things and ruffles through to ensure she’s got her phone charger, pepper spray and condoms. When it turns out she does, the bag clips close with a clink. “I’m sure you’ll have a great time by yourself,” she says absentmindedly before heading into the den for her car keys.

“Could I, Mr. Barnes?” you ask innocently with a step forward, blinking up at him. 

Seemingly no longer unaffected by the jut of your chest in a black halter top, he regards you warmly. “Of course!” He beckons you over and picks up a wooden spoon to dip into the concoction; in the process, he spills a drop on his opposing thumb, but he pays it no mind. A sample on the spoon, he offers it to you with a beam. “And, you don’t have to be so formal. Call me—”

Instead of taking the utensil, your hand curls around his and pulls down, cutting him off when your lips wrap around his thumb. Doe-eyes locked on his, you sink low to the webbing as your cheeks hollow. Rich sugar explodes on your tongue, invoking a soft moan that has his pupils dilating black. 

Oh, God, you think with a shiver down your spine. 

The look on his face is unlike what you’ve witnessed in the wholesome thirty-nine year old. It’s hungry and desire ridden like his next course of action is to hike up your dress and bend you over the counter; like he’s willing to risk it all to see if the treat between your legs is as sweet as his baking. 

You finally ease off him with a soft pop, lashes fluttering with a barely suppressed smile. “That is really good,” you murmur mischievously, and for added effect, you trail your finger down his chest, through two layers of cloth to feel the hard muscle beneath. “If it were up to me, I’d spend the night with you.” 

Before he can react, a call rips through your interaction: “Yo, let’s go!” his daughter sing songs from the foyer. “Time is wasting, and I would like to get on the dance floor while the night is still young, thank you very much!” 

Disappointment deflates your shoulders as you backpedal. “Have a good night, Mr. Barnes,” you intend to part with: you spin to follow out, but your wrist is caught, tugged firmly so you stumble into his strong embrace with a small squeak. “Mr. Barnes—!”

Two big hands steady you roughly, and he’s flushed you against him. Then he slides down your backside to knead your ass, pawing at you through the soft fabric. His fingers crudely squeeze your cheeks; his pads dig in low and spread, rasping over your puckered rosebud repetitively until he’s dwindled you into a gasping mess. “F - fuck,” he breathes in a borderline growl, jaw clenching as you shudder against him and the sensations deluging you. 

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tapestry 👑 XXII

Warnings: dark elements (non/dubcon, oral)

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: King Steven had a wandering eye but you never thought it would fall upon you.

This Chapter: The reader faces the king.

Note: In general on the shorter side of the chapter scale but not the shortest one I’ve posted. I hope you all enjoy it regardless. Hope I have some time tomorrow to work on the next part but we’ll see. <3

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply! Love ya!

masterlist

You could see the capital. Lord Barnes had kept the pace pressing. He claimed so that the king had less time to seethe. You suspected it was as much to have his task over with. That’s what you were; a goal. An order given to him by his master.

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The Gunslinger Chronicles (7)

Warnings: 18+ Only! Extreme Violence, Graphic Depictions of Gore, Alcohol Abuse, Smut - M/F, Smut F/F, Bisexual Reader, NSFW.

Pairings: Loki X Reader, Bucky X Reader, Steve X Reader, Natasha X Reader

Summary:

“There was a rule in Shield. Never send in The Gunslinger unless the situations already gone south. She’s a ‘break glass in case of emergency’ kind of agent. Or she was.” Natasha elaborated.  

“What is she now?” Steve asked.  

“A fucking corpse is what she’s supposed to be. We thought she went down with The Triskelion, found her body and everything. Even fooled me and Nat.” Clint sighed.  

Steve tilted his head at Natasha questioningly and she shrugged like it was no big deal, but there was a flicker of darkness in her eyes that betrayed her nonchalant attitude.  

“Ok, so why the Gunslinger? Not that it isn’t a cool name, but why?” Sam asked.  

“Because every mission she did was like the Wild West. She wasn’t refined or precise, but she was damn good at fucking shit up. Give that woman a gun and a day, she’d create enough anarchy to bring down a small country.” Clint snorted.  

“And she’s a crack-shot. She is to a gun what Clint is to a bow and arrow.” Natasha added.

Series MasterList

Part Seven - Resurrection 

~~~Somewhere in a Top Secret Location~~~

“Sir, we’re under attack!”

Fury didn’t move from his seat, calmly tapping at the computer to bring up the security feed. Apparently someone had crashed an SUV right through his front doors. He shook his head as his supposedly highly trained agents descended on the vehicle, barking threatening orders at it.

“Tell them to stand down. The vehicle is empty.” He said coldly.

Anyone who knew him at all would be able to see how angry he was. Anyone who knew him well would be able to tell he was amused.

“Sir?”

“She’s already half way up here by now.” Fury pointed out.

Right on cue, there was a knock on his office door.

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It’s my personal headcanon that chaoticdumbass!reader pulls a jake peralta when interrogating difficult hydra operatives by playing the guitar and screeching at them. She prefaces it by telling them she’s had two 5 hour energy shots and gives zero fucks as to how long it’s gonna take. The field where she grows her fucks is BARREN.

YOU WANT IT, YOU GOT IT.

-

The metal door crashes open, rattling the steel cage of the room. You spin in—triple axel with no clear trajectory—and barely stick the landing.

Handcuffed to the reinforced table is Someguy Whatshisface. A Hydra waterboy or something.

“Close the door.” The intercom buzzes with Steve’s voice. Two-way glass and all, this guy’s gone through the ringer with Natasha and she got fuck-all. Bucky already pulled out the cyanide capsule embedded in his incisor, so…

Now it’s your turn.

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