#seb characters

You knew you shouldn’t have, you were playing with fire. Bucky’s meals were extravagant and over the top but extremely important to his business, a long table full of men and their ladies all wishing to discuss deals and arrangements with your husband. But to you, they were like watching paint dry. You downed your third wine listening to incredibly dull trips to the Maldives or men competing passive aggressively for the title of wealthiest idiot at the table.

By the time dessert rolled around you could’ve cried due to lack of entertainment, not even Bucky’s conversation was keeping you satisfied and with no excitement seemingly on the horizon you took matters into your own hands.

“Buck” you trill into your husband’s ear, trailing manicured nails up the thickness of his thigh before he rests his veiny hand on top of it halting your path to the finishing line between his legs. The brunette turned, flashing you a soft pearly white smile and kissing your cheek, murmuring about how beautiful you looked. Just when you thought you had your man’s attention he averted his gaze back to the balding man and his much younger bride. The things money could buy

You huff, a teeny kiss wasn’t good enough. You’d have to pull out the big guns.

“Bucky” you whine in his ear, making sure your lips brushed over the shell. With a quick look at the man, he excused himself from the conversation and turned to you again.

“What is it dove?”

The sound of his deep voice rumbling out the petname sent an involuntary shiver down the length of your body.

“I’m bored”

“It won’t be too much longer Angel, then we’ll take you home alright?” He chuckles at the way you bat your eyelashes at him, your lips pushed out in a soft pout which he gladly kisses.

No, it was definitely not alright. You wanted to go home and have fun with your man now, not in an hour. With the way Gemma kept prattling on about her one hundred thousand dollar ring you were sure you wouldn’t even be cognitive enough to breathe in an hour much less do what you wanted alone with Bucky.

“But-“

His blue eyes steeled quickly, his hand squeezing yours with a looming threat,

“No buts Dove, I’m warning you.”

Bucky should’ve known you weren’t one to heed his warnings, he’d spanked your ass raw enough times for him to know that you simply did not care for his threats — in fact, you quite enjoyed the feeling of his handprint on your ass. So why would you listen to him now?

You waited until his guard was down, sipping your drink silently, pretending to listen in on another conversation while he immersed himself back in his. He didn't bat an eye when you moved your laced hands from his lap into yours, your thumb tracing over the webbing veins.

He almost choked when his fingers dipped into something wet and hot, your thighs securing around his wrist telling him all he needed to know. He stood up so quickly that his chair almost fell, startling the guests around him. His hand grabbed at your arm, slick digits pressing into it almost painfully but you only smirked. You were getting what you wanted.

“Sorry for the suddenness but my wife…” he glared over at you, the muscles in his cheek twitching sad he clenched his jaw tight, “isn’t feeling too good. My assistant will reach out to you all about our agreements and the date for our next meal.”

With a wave he commanded all of his men out of the restaurant, each suited man making their way to the blacked-out SUVs parked outside. You stumbled as he dragged you along, his hand dropping to your ass and squeezing tight.

“You are such a fucking little whore, just you wait” It should’ve been embarrassing how wet you got at his growl. The ride home was tense and silent, you remained as still as the air around you, fearing that a single movement would bring about Bucky’s wrath in the backseat of the car. Not that you would’ve minded but you liked the old driver too much to put him through something like that.

Everything blurred as the car parked outside the house, Bucky slipping out first before helping you out too. He dragged you quickly to the huge master bedroom and rummaged around the closet for a box. You gulped at its sight, it could only mean one thing.

You whine, tugging on the pretty pink rope tied expertly around your wrists and thighs, keeping them closed. The rope makes sure your wrists are tied to the length of rope around your thighs so that you can’t touch yourself or Bucky. The bell on your collar rings softly as you lurch a little closer to the man not even a foot away from you.

His legs cage you into your chair, spread wide leading up towards his leaking cock, freed from its confines and dribbling profusely over his navy slacks. He doesn’t seem to care about soiling himself though, his bored eyes bore into you, one hand rests against the side of his head while the other drums against the hardwood of the chair.

“So desperate” he tuts, chastising you for squirming around under his eyes. His thigh knocks into your knee when you move around again.

“Sit still brat. You wanted this, the second you opened that slutty mouth you were begging for it.” He chuckles darkly as you hang your head at the nickname, hiding the deep blush on your cheek and glossy, lust-filled eyes. Bucky had spent years studying you, he could read you like a book; your body may as well have been his own he knew it that well.

The brunette gripped your cheeks in a bruising vice, forcing you to look up at him with pouted lips. Your faces were so close that your nose brushed against his, whining deep in your throat bubbling forth at the minimal contact.

“You keep those fucking eyes on me, at all times. Or I’ll bring out the paddle” he warns and you whimper at the thought. A long dark leather paddle Bucky only used when you misbehaved, he knew you hated it with a passion, not because it hurt but because it didn't have the right shape — you much preferred Bucky’s handprint against your cheek than that thing.

“Aww, don't want the paddle?” He mocks, pouting his lips before laughing and pushing you back into the chair by your face. “You better behave then slut.”

He groans as his big hand wraps around his length, sucking his lip into his mouth at the little pleads and whimpers you let out when he began to jerk himself slowly, almost too slowly but he knew how much you hated it when he played with himself. Especially if you couldn’t help.

“Da-“ you mewl, slumping into your seat when the only response you receive is a sharp grunt as his hand twisted over his raging red tip.

“Fuck baby feels so good. Wish it was your hand — mmm yeah. But bad girls don't get what they want, do they? And I know you fucking want this.” He continued cursing and moaning. His hips thrust up to meet his hand, his eyes squeezing shut and his head lulling back.

“You soaking that fucking chair angel hm? Bet you are, don't even try shaking that head — not that you could — you’re too busy drooling for daddy’s cock ain’t you?” He smiles wickedly at the soft slurping sound you made when you realised you were actually drooling for him.

“Daddy need you please, I’m sorry for teasing you but I was so bored and horny. Needed you so bad…please” you beg, your eyes wide and tits jumping as you bounced in desperation on the chair. Bucky had never met a bigger cock slut, your whimpering and begging shooting straight to his balls, sending him over the edge.

“Ohh shit, fuckfuckfuckfuck” he continued to fist his cock as white-hot pleasure seeped into his veins and out his dick, spurting all over his hand. You sob, mouth opened instinctively but you couldn’t taste it. That’s what you got for being a bad girl.

Bucky wasted no time, standing and making his way to the bathroom. When he returned he was completely clean, save for the stain on his slacks. You wanted to cry at all the cum he wasted when you could’ve had it. Your husband's hand settled on the top of your head, his worst soft and almost intelligible as he cooed his praises.

“There we go angel you did so good” you preen at his sweet nothings, nuzzling your head into him. “But daddy’s still gotta teach you a lesson okay?” With a swift tug, the ropes fell from around your wrists and thighs. He gave you a little minute to rub any pain from them before ordering you around again.

“Turn around, hands on the back of the chair and stick that pretty little ass out for me” he spoke, grunting at the sight of you sitting all obediently, one of his hands spread your cheek wide, giving him the perfect view of your creamy folds.

“Such a horny little baby. That’s alright Daddy will help soon.”

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“Again,” he commanded, his voice low but unyielding. Filling your lungs, the morning air was sharp and biting– a cold that matched your father's gaze. His hands were clasped behind his back, standing across from you with a steady stance. His eyes scanned your body with critical precision, taking in every detail and making mental notes of every flaw as you gripped the wooden training staff in your small hands. 

You shifted your feet, breathing calmly and bracing for the strike you knew would come. He never held back, not when it came to you– his only daughter, his favorite. He trained you to be better and pushed you the hardest. You had to be faster, and quieter– a weapon sharper than his older children, his sons.

He nodded, signaling for you to begin, and you did. Your small frame moved with precision and instinct, straining every muscle. You kept up with the grueling pace he demanded. Beads of sweat rolled down your forehead, not once did you falter. He expected excellence, so you were nothing less than perfection. 

“You’re not like your brothers,” he said, his tone softer after the hours of drills. Yet, there was still that edge that kept your attention. “You’re sharper. Smarter.” The tiniest glint of pride flashed in his eyes, so brief that for a moment, you doubted if it was real. But, it was still enough. It was everything.

Outside the Hansen family, you were known as “The Child.” A shadow, a whisper. A name spoke in fear. But to your father, Lloyd Hansen, you were his creation– the exception. And, as the early morning sun rose over the estate, a pale light shining over the training yard, the weight of his expectations settled over you. 

You promised yourself one thing at that moment: You would never let him down.

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Prompts:

*feel free to adjust them accordingly to work better in your fic

- pick your favorite summer song and use it to inspire your fic (optional, and very much not necessary, but encouraged. I love the songs of summer)

Scenarios:

- a character gets a sunburn

- someone lost their bathing suit in the ocean/pool

- a popsicle dripping down someone’s skin

- sand. Sand everywhere.

- beach games got a little too rough

- reading and someone gets the book wet

- putting a flower behind their ear

- babe is a surfer

- watching a sunrise/sunset together

- a long drive together

- putting sunscreen on one another

- rain spoils your summer outdoor plans

- bonfire

- catching fireflies

Quotes:

- “it hurts when I _____” “then stop doing that”

- “I wore this purposely because I thought the tan line would drive you crazy.”

- “what do you mean you didn’t pack snacks?”

- “here, you can share with me”

- “aw man, that was the last one”

- “I’ve got something else you can lick”

- “ew, gross. That’s not what I thought would happen today”

- “who thought a place with mosquitoes was a good idea?”

- “yeah. I know” “I didn’t mean I was hot in that way”

- “you know that one’s my favorite”

- “we’re not supposed to be in here” / “not here”

- “why’s it…sticky?”

Kinks:

- praise

- size

- daddy

- equal partnership? That’s my kink.

- breeding

- oooo! hand

- public sex/trying not to get caught

- overstimulation

Tropes:

- friends to lovers

- enemies to lovers

- hurt/comfort

- last summer together before going separate ways🥺

- vacation fling cut short by having to go home

Environments:

- beach

- pool

- lake house

- ice cream shop/stand

- inside in the ac

- a bar

- resort/hotel

- out on the water/ in a boat

Rules/How to Play:

- Character/love interest must be a CE babe/Bucky (no other Seb babes, however you may be able to make a case for boedecker or destroyer Chris)

- No deeply dark themes, including noncon, murder and death, toilet stuff, incest, or anything you think would be too intense for my poor heart. Dubcon, stepcest, and soft!dark are allowable if you just keep it light and find it necessary, but use your discretion please

- Posts should be at least 300 words, with no upper limit! Please us a ‘read more’ past 150

- fics should be stand-alone. If they are part of a series, they should be able to be read alone.

- tag me @bigtreefest and put the tags #essie’s summer lovin’ 300 follower celebration #summer lovin’ celebration and #essie’s 300 follower special so I can reblog you and add your fic to the Masterlist!!

- be inclusive and considerate!!

- make/write as many posts as you’d like!

- this will run from Sunday, July 13 to Wednesday, July 31, 2024. Late entries will be accepted through the end of summer.

- happy writing and thank you for celebrating with me!!

Tagging those who interacted with my post gauging interest, but all are welcome to join!!

Neon and noise filled the city, but Nick Fowler tuned it all out as she stood in the small, dimly lit bar on the edge of town. He hated meeting in a crowded area, but his handler insisted on meeting face-to-face for this mission. Nick wasn’t in the business of asking questions.

The door creaked open, and a man sat on the stool beside him—a middle-aged, cheap-suited, and slight-framed man—Nick’s handler, Elijah. He always had a way of blending into the background. No one would give Elijah a second glance, which was exactly why he was good at what he did. 

“Fowler,” Elijah greeted, placing a thick envelope on the bar with a nod. 

“Clarke,” Nick replied, side-eyeing the envelope. It was always business with the pair, no small talk or pleasantries. 

Sliding the envelope closer, Elijah tapped it once with his finger. “We need someone with your particular skill set. A high-profile target.” 

Nick flipped through the papers inside as he lifted the envelope. His blue gaze scanned the contents. It included a name, blurry surveillance photographs, and a list of recent movements– the standard information. He knew this target was protected, well protected, and heavily involved in the underground dealings overseas. 

“The weapon broker?” Nick asked, his voice flat as he paused on a few details in the file. 

“Among other things,” Elijah replied. “Supplying hardware to the groups we try not to speak of. And, other intel suggests there are plans of a major deal within the next month, and we want to intercept him… discreetly.” 

Already mapping the logistics in his mind, Nick nodded along. “Where is he?”

“France, there’s a private compound in Chantilly. Security is tight– high walls, and heavily armed guards. No one gets in or not without the right level of clearance.”

Nick took a sip of his drink, raising his brow with a smirk. “Sounds like my kind of job.” 

Elijah’s expression remained serious. “Fowler, this isn’t a typical job. A source says the broker is working closely with someone we’ve been watching– Lloyd Hansen.” 

Something shifted in Nick’s expression as he looked up. Lloyd Hansen was a whispered name within their circles and an air of mystery and menace. He was a dangerous man to cross– a former military contractor, rumored to have high-level contacts and a network of operatives. 

“Lloyd’s got a stake in this deal?” Nick asked, intrigued more than ever, now. 

“We aren’t sure for now,” Elijah retorted. “It is reported the broker is close to him. It’s believed that if we can take the broker out, it could disrupt any of Hansen’s plans and force him to make a move.” 

The pieces of the mission slotted into place in his mind as Nick processed the intelligence. He had heard all of the rumors, hundreds of times– the elite soldiers who were trained to move in shadows, their loyalty bound only to him. Most governments could only dream of the kind of network he had created, and Hansen was a master at wielding it like an empire. 

“So I go in, eliminate the broker, and see if Mustache rattles?” Nick questioned, more to himself than Elijah. 

“Exactly,” the man replied, his voice steady. “We hope that if Hansen is invested, he’ll come out of the shadows.” 

Closing the file, and placing it back in the envelope, Nick gave Elijah a brief nod. “Consider it done.” 

“Good.” Elijah narrowed his eyes. “And Fowler– watch your back with this one. Lloyd Hansen is not the kind of man to take such interference lightly.” 

A smile tugged at the corners of Nick’s mouth. “I’m counting on that.” 

Elijah rose, leaving the bar without another word and disappearing into the crowded city. Rubbing his hand down his face, Nick let the weight of the mission settle over him. France, a fortress compound, and a target tired to one of the most dangerous men. The job was risky, there was no denying that. But, that was what made Nick interested.

Pocketing the envelope, the agent finished his drink and slipped out. He had a flight to catch.

---

The silence of the training room was only broken by the sound of shuffling feet and your controlled breath. Your stance was grounded, focus sharp as you stood in the center. Though you were known as ‘The Child’, the label had never truly captured your strength. And yes, you were silent but your brothers knew better than to underestimate you.

Jack and Johnny, your older brothers pulled themselves up from the mat and began circling you, moving with a cautious energy. A few paces back, your eldest brother, James, stood watching the three of you closely. All the Hansen children were powerful fighters, trained to be precise, fast, and deadly since childhood. But you were different. 

Johnny made the first move, lunging toward you, his hand reaching out. You sidestepped, making his attempt look almost clumsy. With a sharp kick, you clipped his side and sent him back, wincing. 

Immediately after, Jack aimed to catch you off-balance. You anticipated his strike, ducking low and sweeping her leg in a quick arc. His speed was impressive, but his legs buckled and he hit the mat. Rolling to the side, he avoided your next move with a grunt. 

You couldn’t relax. Your head snapping up, sharp as one of your blades, your instinct picked up and caught the movement in your peripheral vision. James. He was closing in, stealth and prevision in his movements that the other brothers couldn’t match.

Narrowing your eyes, you turned just in time to block his arm. Your limbs met in a sharp clash. James was the only brother to give you a true fight. 

His gaze was focused on you, his jaw set under his mask as he tested her defenses. Fast and careful, each strike was calculated. Deflecting his blows one by one, each one of your moves was a reaction to his,

Shifting suddenly, James aimed low. You dodged to the side, throwing him off-balance with a twist but he caught himself– pivoting to meet you again. You moved together in sync, an intricate and unrelenting dance filled with counters and strikes. You met him beat for beat, neither of you could gain the upper hand. 

A silence fell over the room, save for your movements, and the tension grew as you pushed each other. Sweat gathered on your brow as your eyes remained fixed on his shift and feint. 

Johnny and Jack exchange looks, regrouping and circling you again. They attacked in unison with the hope of catching you off guard. But you were fast, and you were ready. Using their momentum again, your body ducked, twisting between their strikes, and within seconds, they were back on the mat. 

As you stood over them, untouched, James attempted a feint to your left. You saw through it, stepping to block him, and your arm hooked around his. In a swift, practiced motion you threw him over your shoulders in one seamless turn. He was sent to the mat with a hard thud between your brothers. 

For a moment, your brothers lay there, catching their breath. You knelt beside them, and moved your hands toward James, signing: Give up yet?

The shared moment was abruptly interrupted by heavy footsteps approaching. The siblings turned as Lloyd Hansen, your father, entered. His icy gaze swept over the training room, and he took in the sight– his undefeated youngest, his daughter, looming over his sons. His expression was as impassive as ever, but you could see the small glimmer of pride in his eyes as they passed over you. 

He gave you a small nod, and you inclined your head in return for his rare acknowledgment. James pushed himself up first, and he didn’t bother responding to the sign but his quick glance at you was enough communication. Johnny and Jack followed suit, only slower, and exchanged a rueful glance to the other as they stood.

“Not good enough,” Lloyd spoke, his tone even though his eyes lingered on James for a moment longer. You straightened as his focus returned to you, the weight of his scrutiny hung heavy, but you met his gaze without a flinch. “Again.” 

Uncertain glances were exchanged between the two younger brothers, and Johnny shifted on his feet– hesitation was clear in his body language. “Now?” he asked, the exhaustion and apprehension in his tone betraying him.

Your father’s gaze snapped to him. “Did I stutter?” 

Johnny swallowed hard. “No, father.” He moved back to his position on the mat, Jack following. James remained still, flicking his gaze toward you for a brief moment before returning to his place. 

You knew what this was. It was a test. Your father watched, measuring every decision you and your body made. Every strike, every dodge.

The second round began without warning.

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