Thanks for stopping by! Enjoy the journey through these stories as much as I enjoyed writing them❤️
Events:
AA Bucky's 108th birthday Bingo
AA Kinky Bingo
Sexy September Scribbles Challenge 2025
Kinktober 2025
January Jumble Scribbles 2026
Writer in a Cryofreeze 2026
Series:
Roots and Branches (Lumberjack AU.) Ended
Summary: Bucky has built a quiet life in the woods, content to keep the world at arm's length. But when a new neighbor moves to town, her presence ignites emotions he’s hesitant to face.
Toy Soldier (Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Smut) Ended.
Summary: She had been the tool Hydra used to keep him operational; he, the weapon manipulated by their tendrils to execute their ambitions. Years after breaking free, fate Sam Wilson brings them together once more. Now, they must navigate the challenges of forging a connection beyond the twisted dynamic that once bound them in the past.
The Price of Silence (Blue-collar!Bucky AU.) On Hold.
Summary: Porn with a little plot. In this AU, a cynical and disenchanted Bucky finds a job at a construction site after the blip. Tasked with retrieving lunch from a local bakery, he never expects to fall into a fuck-buddies situation with the clerk.
A Hand in the Dark (Angst. Hurt/Comfort.) Ended
Summary: Somewhere in the 1950s, in a brief moment of lucidity, Soldat makes a choice: he saves a stranger's life. Decades later, that stranger's granddaughter finds him bleeding out in an alley, and chooses to save him back.
Foundations (Dad!Bucky AU.) Ended
Summary: Bucky is doing his best to build a stable life for his newfound son, rescued from the guts of a Hydra facility. As he struggles with unexpected fatherhood and his own circumstances, he meets someone who slowly becomes part of their lives, establishing a connection he never saw coming.
Tangled (Cecaelia!Bucky AU.) Ended
Summary: Between fear and fascination, a solitary creature struggles to protect his hidden world -and himself- after an unexpected encounter with a curious human woman makes him question everything he thought he knew about trust, danger, and boundaries.
A Star Without a Sky (Western AU.) Ended
Summary: A wounded Sheriff Barnes seeks shelter in a young widow’s home, and finds himself wrapped in a warmth he no longer believes he deserves, and longing for something he thought long buried.
The Domestic Clause (Congressman!Bucky) Ended
Summary: Bucky agrees to a discreet cleaning service to tend to his apartment while he’s away. He never expected the care of someone he’d never met to become the gentlest part of his daily life.
Prometheus (Frankenstein AU.) Ended
Summary: Forged in darkness and marked by scars, Soldat is freed by chance. Wounded and lost, he follows the hand that touched him without command.
Plump & Ripe Collection. (Chubby! Bucky)
Three Miles to Willow Street (Alpha!Lumberjack!Bucky) Ended
Summary: Three miles from town and a world away from the life she knew, she finds herself relying on a reclusive stranger whose measured distance and iron self-control may not be enough to resist the pull he feels toward her.
The Fifth Kennel (dog-hybrid!Bucky AU) Ended
Summary: She brings home a cynical hybrid no one wanted: a missing limb, a brutal past, and zero interest in making things easy. He didn't ask to be rescued, doesn't want her pity or her stubborn refusal to back down. What begins as an act of conscience becomes a tense dance of boundaries, old instincts, and... unexpected connection.
2A&3B Collection (slice of life) Ongoing
Summary: Bucky is free, depressed, and has no idea what to do with himself. Post-Endgame slice of life oneshots, where his upstairs neighbor keeps showing up at the right -or wrong- times. He's not sure which.
SoftDark! AU (SoftDark! Winter Soldier) Ended
Soldat gets kindness for the first time since it can remember, and it deals with it the best way it can.
Crumb by Crumb (Chubby! Baker! Bucky) Ended
Summary: A fresh start in a small town brings her to a quiet bakery and a man who's built his life around routine and distance. Bucky Barnes doesn't do charm, and certainly doesn't do people, but small towns have a way of pulling strangers into orbit, and something neither of them planned for begins to bloom.
Against Protocol (handler!Reader) Ongoing
Summary: A handler, her Asset, small mercies, and all the lines they shouldn't cross... but do.
Wanted (Western AU) Ended
Summary: She came to White Creek for a teaching position that didn't exist. He needed a wife but never expected to find one like this.
Brown Sugar and Gunmetal (ABO AU)
Summary: Who would have thought that an inconspicuous vent in a bakery alley would be what brought them together: the omega who never felt right with any alpha, and the asset who wasn't supposed to want at all.
Oneshots:
The Weight of Choices (Slight angst. Smut.)
Summary: Torn between his instinct to protect his family and his desire to be a part of their lives, Bucky tries to deal with the reality of his ex-wife going on a date while he stays home caring for their son.
An Unfinished Goodbye (Slight Angst. Side-story of The Weight of Choices.)
Summary: Bucky tells himself he’s only watching over his ex-wife and son for their safety. But when someone threatens to alter the status quo, his quiet vigilance falters.
What If?... (Fluff. Smut.)
Summary: Bucky navigates his insecurities and guilt from his past as he grows closer to his new neighbor, a nurse.
The Memory Remains (Fluff. Smut.)
Summary: An unexpected encounter brings Bucky face-to-face with someone from his past, stirring memories he thought were long buried.
Wounds and Walls (Slight angst. Smut.)
Summary: Bucky starts to walk into his new civilian life but struggles with his painful past, while slowly building a connection with someone who sees through his walls. As the relationship deepens, he must decide if he’s ready for something more, or if he’ll hide and push it all away.
Crumbs of Connection (Fluff.)
Summary: When Bucky wanders into a quirky late-night bakery, he doesn’t expect the warmhearted owner to challenge his defenses.
Spells and Fangs (World of Warcraft AU)
Summary: Bucky, a grumpy worgen warrior, and his sharp-tongued mage partner are sent on a relatively simple quest that quickly spirals into chaos.
A Heart in Hiding (Angst-Hurt/Comfort)
Summary: Caught between the shadows of his past and an unexpected connection, Bucky wrestles with his demons and his growing feelings for a new Avenger.
To Mend a Soldier (Slight angst. Comfort. Fluff.)
Summary: Pressed by a worried Sam, Bucky reluctantly agrees to try an alternative -and, if you ask him, weird- therapy program: rent-a-mom. What starts as an obligation soon turns into something far more meaningful than he ever expected.
The First Star (Slight angst. Comfort. Fluff.)
Summary: Christmas has never been easy for Bucky. But this year, he's trying. When she notices his minimal attempt at holiday cheer, she brings something to make him smile. It's a small gesture, nothing grand. But for someone who has so little, sometimes small is everything. Extra-story for To Mend a Soldier
Terms of Attraction (CEO AU. Fluff. Sexual Tension.)
Summary: Long hours, sharp tongues, and unbreakable trust have defined Industrial Inputs CEO Bucky Barnes and his secretary’s dynamic, always walking a fine line. But some lines aren’t meant to be left uncrossed.
Built to Last (Fluff)
Summary: Bucky took up carpentry to keep himself busy, but didn't expect a hardware clerk to make him want more.
Behind Closed Doors (Slight angst. Mommy Kink)
Summary: Most days, Bucky is a functional, dependable, and even deadly man. Others, when the noise in his head gets too loud, behind closed doors, he becomes Jamie.
The Trouble With Saturdays (Mutual Pining. Fluff)
Summary: Life at the Thunderbolts Tower is loud, chaotic, and full of questionable moral choices. Bucky’s used to keeping to himself, until one night, after one of those questionable moral choices was made, the guys got him high.
The Trouble With Feelings (Mutual Pining. Fluff)
Summary: Bucky wakes up with a hangover and a flood of regrets. Avoidance, assumptions, and one gala set the stage for everything to finally reach the surface.
Christmas Cheers (Smut)
Summary: Who would have thought that Santa helpers were real, not so little, and had a big appetite?
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Warnings: Mild Violence. Maybe I'll add more in the future.
Summary: A knight from another century crashes -literally- into a florist’s life and turns her world upside down.
Word Count: 6.1k
Previous Chapter - Masterlist
The street outside the shop wasn't like any street he had ever known: too wide, too clean, and yet unbearably loud despite the sparse crowd, cut through by monstrous metal carriages that moved without horses and coughed smoke into the damp morning air.
One passed close enough that the wind of it tugged at his tunic.
He started walking.
His gaze roamed over everything: the glass fronts of the shops, the painted signs, the wires strung between buildings like black veins against the grey sky. And the people.
Lord, the people.
Men in strange short coats and narrow hats. Women with bare legs, bare arms, painted mouths, walking alone as though the world had not lost its mind.
Another contraption rolled past him.
A man balanced on a device with two impossibly thin wheels, propelling himself forward with his own legs pumping at metal arms near the ground. No horse. No visible engine or magic. Just the man and the skeletal black frame beneath him, moving at a speed no human should manage on foot.
Bucky stopped dead.
The thing came at him with no reins, no visible means of being controlled beyond the rider's boots working those narrow metal arms. Its wheels were impossibly thin, its bell giving a sharp little trill that cut through the street noise like a thrown knife.
The rider leaned around him at the last possible moment, coat flapping, one hand lifted from the handlebar in furious accusation.
"Watch it, pal!"
Bucky turned with him, tracking the motion, the insult, the impossible narrow-wheeled thing as it shot past his shoulder close enough that he felt the brush of air against his sleeve. His boots moved half a step off the curb before his mind had decided anything useful.
A horn blared. A flat, mechanical scream that didn't belong to any animal he'd ever heard.
He turned back just as one of those horseless carriages -wide and green and shining like a beetle's carapace- bore down on him with two round eyes burning pale through the grey morning. For a heartbeat, he stood rooted to the ground, unable to make his legs obey.
Then, a hand closed around his left wrist.
The contact went through him like a struck bell, and his whole body answered before thought could intervene, muscles jerking in the direction of the grip, boots scraping over wet pavement as he stumbled backward.
Pain lit up his ribs, white and vicious. The green beast roared past close enough that its wind slapped cold against his face, horn still bellowing as the driver shouted something filthy through an open window and did not stop.
Bucky hit the edge of the sidewalk hard enough to jar his teeth.
The woman struck him in the arm a second later with her free hand. Not hard, exactly, but sharp enough to snap him back to his senses.
"What is wrong with you?"
He stared at the place where the carriage had been, watching it disappear down the street.
The traffic kept moving as if nothing had happened.
Another one followed behind it. Dark blue this time. Smaller. More of them farther down the road, parked along the curb like sleeping beasts, their windows reflecting pieces of the sky in impossibly clear glass.
His wrist was still held.
He looked down at it.
Her fingers were wrapped tight enough to blanch the skin beneath her own knuckles. She seemed to realize it at the same moment he did and let go at once, as if his skin had burned her.
Her mouth moved. Red. That impossible red, angry now.
"Do you have a special wish to die this morning?"
He heard the words. Understood them individually. Could not make them gather into meaning.
His hands were empty. He had no sword. No shield. No idea what kingdom this was, what laws governed it, what god had built machines to transport people without horses as though it were the most natural thing in the world, people walking past in their strange attire as if nothing remarkable had happened.
His chest worked once.
Then again.
The breath would not settle.
He tried to force it down into the place where his discipline lived. The old place. The trained place. The place that had carried him through broken ribs, frozen marches, cells too dark to measure time in, men asking questions with tools because words had failed to satisfy them.
It was there.
He could feel its shape, familiar as the weight of a sword, but he simply could not reach it.
The street stretched wide before him, slick and grey, full of motion. The wires overhead trembled in the wind. Somewhere nearby, unseen machinery thudded and clanged. A woman laughed. A dog barked. Another horn sounded in the distance, and his shoulders flinched before he could stop them.
----
She saw the flinch.
It was small, almost nothing, just the quick betrayal of his shoulders at the distant horn, but it made whatever else she had been about to say die behind her lips.
Her question was still there between them, and he had not answered it.
Not that he was ignoring her. Not exactly. Men ignored women in a variety of ways, and she had developed, over the course of owning a business and being alive in general, a fairly extensive catalogue.
This wasn't that.
This man was not ignoring her.
He was… not there. Not properly.
He stood six inches from her on the sidewalk outside her own shop, broad and filthy and absurd in those boots, and looked past her with eyes that had gone distant in a way that made the back of her neck prickle.
The color had drained from his face.
The bruise along his cheekbone looked darker for it, purple-black against the sudden pallor. The cut above his brow, which she had almost forgotten in the general catastrophe of him, had opened again somehow; a thin line of red slipped down toward his temple.
His body was trembling.
Not dramatically. Nothing anyone passing by would notice unless they were close enough to see the tiny, involuntary shiver running through his hands. Through his jaw. Through the tendons in his neck, standing out like rope under skin.
She saw it because she was standing too close.
Because she had grabbed his wrist and felt the shock.
Because for one terrible second, when the car had come at him, and he had simply stood there, she had known with absolute certainty that he was about to die in front of The Sweet Briar before the shop had even opened for the day.
Her own heart was still beating in her throat.
"You could have been killed," she said, quieter this time.
He did not answer.
His gaze flicked once to the street, then to the cars, then upward to the wires, then back to the place where the green car had disappeared around the corner. Too much. That was what his face said now, beneath the stubbornness, beneath the absurd severity of all that knight-of-the-realm nonsense.
Her anger lost its footing.
Damn him.
Damn him for being frightening, and rude, and possibly insane, and then standing there looking like a lost thing that had wandered too far from wherever it belonged.
"Mr. Barnes," she said carefully.
His eyes moved to her face. Not focused, at first.
She lifted both hands a little, palms angled toward him in what she hoped was a calming gesture.
"Listen to me," she said. "You need to come back inside."
His jaw shifted.
"No."
Of course.
Of course the man who had nearly been flattened by a sedan five seconds ago still had room in him to be obstinate.
She took a breath and counted to three.
"Fine. Stay out here. Get yourself killed. But do it after lunch hour, so at least my customers don't have to step over you to buy lilies."
Something passed across his face. A flicker. Not amusement, exactly, but something close to it. Then his attention cut past her shoulder.
She followed it automatically.
A patrolman was coming down the opposite side of Camden Street from the corner near Levinson's pharmacy, where the sidewalk opened into a clear view of the street in front of her shop.
He must have seen the bicycle swerve. Must have seen the car skim by close enough to make two women outside the bakery gasp into their gloves.
And now he was looking directly at her companion.
At the strange clothes. The long hair. The bruising on his face. The blood at his brow. The size of him. The way he stood there, pale and shaking and not quite oriented toward the world around him.
The patrolman adjusted his cap and crossed the street at an angle, long strides eating up the wet pavement with purpose.
Oh, wonderful.
Perfect.
Exactly what the morning needed.
She turned back to Mr. Barnes.
Something in him changed. The trembling did not stop, but it went underground, forced beneath a sudden hardening of posture. His shoulders squared. His chin lifted. The lost look vanished so quickly that if she had not been watching, she might have thought she'd imagined it.
A mask, she realized.
No. Not a mask.
An armor.
He didn’t have one, so his face became it.
"Don't," she said under her breath.
His eyes did not leave the approaching patrolman. "Don't what."
"Whatever it is you're about to do."
"I am doing nothing."
"You're standing like you're about to challenge the entire police department to single combat."
His gaze cut briefly to her, offended despite everything. "I don't know what that is."
"That," she said, pointing with one discrete motion of her head toward the uniform, "is a policeman. He keeps order. He asks questions. He carries a gun. And if you call him a knave or try to throw him to the floor, this morning is going to get much worse for both of us."
The word gun did something. His eyes narrowed slightly.
"A guardsman."
"Close enough."
"Yours?"
"What?"
"Is he yours?"
She stared at him. "No, he is not mine. I don't keep policemen."
The patrolman was halfway across the street now. She had perhaps eight seconds before he reached them.
Eight seconds to decide whether to tell the truth -which would sound insane- or lie.
This strange, injured man appeared in my locked stockroom. He says he's a medieval knight and believes I'm a witch. Oh, and he almost died because he doesn't understand automobiles.
Yes, officer, please take him somewhere kind.
But there was nowhere kind, and that was the problem.
She knew enough about the state institutions to know that. A man like him was not gently escorted to a warm bed and a sensible doctor. A man like this would get handcuffed if he startled the wrong person. A cell if he argued. A hospital ward, if someone felt charitable. An institution, if someone with authority decided his mind was more inconvenient than treatable.
The officer stepped up onto the curb.
"Morning, ma'am," he said, though his eyes stayed mostly on Barnes. "Everything all right here?"
She smiled.
It was not a good smile. It arrived quickly and had too many teeth, the kind of smile that fooled absolutely no one but was required by the social contract.
"Good morning, officer."
Barnes looked at her.
She felt it rather than saw it, the sudden sharp turn of his attention. Suspicious. Assessing. Probably wondering if she was about to have him arrested, detained, executed, or whatever else knights expected from guardsmen in impossible cities.
She kept smiling.
"Had a little scare, that's all."
The patrolman's gaze moved over the man beside her again, slow and professional, cataloguing details. "Looked like your friend here nearly stepped in front of a car."
Friend.
The word hung there, wrong and convenient.
Barnes's expression did not change, but she could feel his objection forming between his brows like a gathering storm.
She stepped on it before it could speak.
"My cousin," she said.
The patrolman blinked. So did the man beside her.
She did not look at him.
"My cousin," she repeated, silently kicking herself for the flimsy excuse even as she committed to it. "From up north."
The patrolman's brows lifted slightly.
"Up north."
"A little town near Mount Katahdin. Very remote, really. Hardly any roads to speak of."
Behind her, he drew a slow breath through his nose. She could feel judgment radiating from him like heat from a stove. She ignored it.
"He came in early this morning, he’s looking for a job, you see," she continued with a bright tone. "He's had a long trip and hardly slept. He’s a stubborn backwoodsman with no sense around traffic. He was bewildered by the view, and then that bicycle startled him, and- well. You saw what happened.”
"I saw him walk into traffic."
"Yes. He does that."
The patrolman squinted at her, and she immediately regretted having a mouth.
"I mean," she amended quickly, "he doesn't usually do that. Obviously. That would be very troubling as a habit. He's just tired. Disoriented. And he took a fall yesterday, so he's not entirely himself."
The officer's gaze went to the bruise on Barnes's cheek, then the cut above his brow, lingering there with professional interest.
"A fall."
"From a horse," she said.
That, at least, felt thematically appropriate.
Barnes's head turned very, very slowly toward her.
She gave him a look that she hoped communicated several things at once, including but not limited to: be quiet, I am saving you, and if you ruin this, I will personally murder you with a pair of pruning shears.
Miraculously, he said nothing.
The patrolman studied him for a long moment.
"That true, sir?"
His eyes moved from her to the officer.
A pause. Too long. Much too long.
Then, with grave reluctance, "I was unseated."
Her eyes nearly closed with relief.
The patrolman seemed to accept this, or at least failed to find the obvious hole in it quickly enough to press. Maybe it was too early in the morning for him, too.
"Looks like you ought to have a doctor look at that."
"He will," she said firmly.
"I do not require-"
"He will," she repeated, louder, and smiled harder at the patrolman. "As soon as I get him inside and settled. He also needs a change of clothing, as you can see. Can't have him walking around looking like he lost a fight with a hay wagon."
The officer looked between them, considering.
The moment stretched.
Someone across the street had stopped pretending not to watch. Mrs. Kaplan from the bakery stood with one hand on her door, eyes bright with the terrible appetite of neighborhood gossip that would fuel conversations for a week.
No.
Absolutely not.
She could not have this become a story before mid-morning.
The patrolman finally nodded once, seeming to decide the situation was odd but not dangerous.
"Best keep him out of the road, then."
"That is very much my plan."
The man's gaze flicked to Barnes one more time. "You take care, sir. City streets aren't forgiving."
He looked at the road, then back at the officer, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet and oddly sincere.
"No," he said. "They are not."
Something in his tone made the patrolman pause, a flicker of concern crossing his features. But then he simply tipped his cap to her.
"Ma'am."
"Officer."
He moved on, though not quickly. She watched him walk back down the block toward the pharmacy, glancing back once before he reached the corner.
Only when he had turned out of sight did she let the smile fall off her face like an abandoned coat.
He was staring at her.
"What," she said flatly.
His expression was unreadable again, which she was beginning to suspect meant he was feeling several things at once and had decided none of them were fit for public display.
"Your cousin," he said.
"It was the first thing that came to mind."
"From up north."
"It seemed plausible."
"It did not."
"Well, he bought it, didn't he?"
"Did he?"
She looked toward the corner where the patrolman had disappeared. Then at Mrs. Kaplan, who was still watching from the bakery window like a hawk spotting a rabbit. Then at the two women whispering near the bus stop. Then at him, standing there like a brawl in human form, bleeding gently onto the collar of his impossible shirt.
"Maybe," she admitted.
A horn blared somewhere down the street, and he flinched.
Small, contained and brutally fast.
But she saw it.
His jaw clenched afterward, as if he could trap the reaction between his teeth and kill it there.
She sighed, feeling what was left of her anger drain away and leave behind something uncomfortably close to pity. And the very reasonable desire to shove him back into the street herself and let nature finish what the sedan had started.
But beneath all of it was the fact of him: pale, shaking, hurt, completely unmoored, and looking at Camden Street as if it were a battlefield he'd stumbled onto without armor or weapons or any idea which side he was meant to be fighting for.
"Inside," she said.
His eyes narrowed.
She pointed at the shop door behind them.
"Now."
"I told you-"
"I lied to a policeman for you, Mr. Barnes, so unless you'd like me to call him back and explain that you are not, in fact, my cousin from up north, you are going to walk through that door, sit down somewhere that is not my begonias, and let me clean the blood off your face before Mrs. Kaplan decides to come over here and ask questions I cannot answer."
He stared at her.
For one second, she could almost see the refusal rise in him, proud and immediate and utterly stupid.
Then another car passed, and he did not look at it; that was how she knew it had frightened him. Then, he turned toward the flower shop without another word.
The bell above the door gave its bright chime as he stepped back inside.
She followed, locked the door behind them, and flipped the sign to CLOSED with more force than strictly necessary.
----
Bucky heard the bolt slide into place with a soft, final click.
A small sound. Ordinary, probably, to her. To him, it landed with considerably more weight. The sound of a cell door, a gate closing, an exit sealed.
He turned his head to her.
She reached up and drew down a strange fabric stretched between narrow wooden slats that clattered softly as it descended, stopping halfway down the window. Not a curtain, exactly. Something that rolled and caught on a mechanism he couldn't see.
He noticed everything, apparently, except the things that might keep him from nearly being killed by horseless carriages.
"Come on," she said and walked past him toward the rear of the shop.
There were, at present, too many questions in his head. They had gathered in his head like crows on a battlefield fence, black and loud and waiting for something to die.
So he followed.
The shop looked different from behind her.
That was not a thought he should have had.
It arrived anyway, unbidden and unhelpful.
Her skirt moved when she walked, a soft, hypnotic sway that drew the eye and then punished the man attached to it for having one. The fabric brushed the backs of her knees with each step, and below that -God help him- her calves were bare, the skin catching the morning light filtering through the half-drawn shade.
The sight shouldn't have affected him the way it did.
He'd seen far worse immodesty in camp followers, tavern girls who unlaced their bodices for coin, even a countess once who'd been shameless enough to receive him in his own chambers in nothing but a loose shift that left very little to imagination.
But this felt different somehow.
Deliberate in its casualness. Ordinary in its brazenness.
As if every woman in this godforsaken century simply walked around like this, and he was the fool for noticing.
He wrenched his gaze toward the nearest bucket of flowers with such determination that he might as well have been preparing to duel it.
Roses.
White ones, their petals just beginning to unfurl, with the faintest blush of pink at the heart of each bloom. Innocent. Chaste. Entirely safe to look at.
Unlike certain other things in this room.
She reached the back room and stepped aside, pointing toward a chair beside the worktable.
"Sit."
He looked at it with immediate suspicion.
The chair was made of metal. Thin silver legs bent in a precise curve, holding up a seat covered in some smooth green material that was neither leather nor cloth. It shone faintly under the light overhead, reflecting the ceiling in a way that seemed unnatural.
Bucky stared at it for a second too long.
"It's a chair," she seemed fit to clarify.
"I can see that."
"Wonderful. Then use it."
He should not have.
There were several reasons he should not have.
For one, it was unwise to place himself at a disadvantage in a room he did not understand, with a woman he did not know, in a century that seemed very committed to making a fool of him at every opportunity.
For another, it was utterly inappropriate.
There was no servant. No matron tucked into the corner with her embroidery and her sharp little coughs to remind them of propriety. No chaperone at all to lend respectability to the fact that this woman was about to put her hands near his face, possibly his body, while the two of them were alone behind a locked door.
A decent man would object.
A prudent man would leave.
He sat.
The metal chair gave a faint protesting creak beneath his weight but did not collapse, which was more than he had expected from something built with legs that narrow. The act of lowering himself was unpleasant. His ribs had apparently chosen this moment to remind him -in exhaustive detail- that they had been cracked before the universe had lost its mind and had not improved during the intervening catastrophe.
His breath caught despite his best efforts.
She noticed. Her gaze flicked down to his side, then back up, too quick to be called staring and too sharp to be accidental.
"You hurt your ribs?"
"No."
She gave him a look that suggested she had heard better lies from children.
He met it stubbornly.
A pause.
"Yes," he admitted.
"Thought so."
She turned toward a small wooden cabinet mounted low on the wall and crouched down. From inside, she pulled out a metal case. Small, rectangular, with a hinged lid and a painted red cross on the top.
A coffer, his mind supplied automatically, though it was made of metal rather than wood, and far too uniform in its construction to have been hammered by any smith he knew.
She set it on the worktable and flipped the latch.
The cross should have been reassuring.
It was not.
Inside were bottles, tins, folded cloths, strange implements he had no names for. She began sorting through them, and he watched her hands move.
Competent hands. Not delicate, though they looked as if they could be when they wanted to. She knew where things were, even in the disorder. She found a clean cloth, a small brown bottle, and a roll of white bandaging and set them on the table.
He cleared his throat and she glanced over her shoulder.
The words should have come easily. Courtesy did, when one was raised with enough of it beaten in by tutors and lords and the general expectation of civilized behavior.
He had thanked lords he despised, maesters who'd prodded at wounds, servants who'd brought water, boys who'd held horses, women who had done far less for him than lie to an armed city guardsman.
Still, it took him a moment.
"For what you said to the guardsman," he began carefully. "Outside."
Her hands stilled completely. She turned to face him, the cloth still held loosely in her fingers.
"The policeman," she corrected gently.
"The policeman," he repeated, the word still feeling foreign on his tongue. He met her eyes. "For that. You have my thanks."
Something in her expression softened. The wariness didn't disappear entirely, but it eased.
"You're welcome," she said simply.
She set the cloth down on the worktable and leaned back against it, her hands bracing on the edge behind her. The posture was less guarded than before.
"Though for the record," she added, and there was the faintest hint of amusement in her voice now, "you made that more difficult than it needed to be."
He shifted in the metal chair, wincing slightly as his ribs protested. "I said very little."
"You said it with the face of a man about to fight." She tilted her head, studying him.
“I was inquired by a law enforcement."
"You were asked whether you fell off a horse." She crossed her ankles, settling more comfortably against the table. The motion drew his eye briefly to those impossible shoes before he forced his gaze back to her face.
"I was unseated," he corrected with careful dignity.
She blinked at him for a moment.
Then her lips curved into something that was almost a smile, warm in a way that made something in his chest tug unexpectedly.
"Fallen, unseated…" she said softly, waving her hand.
The strange thing was, he almost wanted to explain. Wanted to tell her that it was not the same thing at all.
That falling could be clumsy, careless, the result of poor seat or a man who didn't know his business. Being unseated meant impact, skill, another man's force meeting yours at the exact angle required to take you from the saddle despite everything you did to prevent it.
There was dignity in the distinction.
But she was looking at him with something gentler than he'd seen from her yet. So he did not explain. He was, as she had said, trying not to make things more difficult than they needed to be.
Also, and more pressing, he was hungry.
The realization came with embarrassing force now that he was seated and no longer fighting for his life against bicycles and automobiles. He had not eaten since before the tournament.
Had meant to, after. Had meant to remove his armor, find bread and stew at the tavern down the street, and perhaps sleep for half a day if his luck could be persuaded toward mercy for once.
Instead, he had put on a cursed ring and been thrown into a florist's back room nearly six centuries from where he belonged.
His stomach gave a low, traitorous growl that echoed in the stockroom with all the subtlety of a church bell at matins.
The woman paused mid-motion.
He closed his eyes briefly.
Lord.
When he opened them, she was looking at him with something that might have been concern or exasperation or both.
"When did you last eat?"
He considered lying.
His stomach, apparently tired of his pride, made the answer unnecessary by growling again, louder this time.
She set the cloth down with a soft sigh.
"Right," she said. "Blood first. Food after."
"That’s not-"
"Mr. Barnes."
He stopped.
Her tone had changed. It was the voice of a woman who had discovered the exact amount of patience she possessed and found him standing at the far edge of it with his boots on.
"You are bleeding, you nearly got killed by a car, and I have already lied to a policeman before midday.” She gestured at the chair, less sharp than simply direct. "Sit still and let me clean that before you pass out and make this morning worse than it already is. Then, we'll figure out food."
He was opening his mouth to object-
"Please," she added, and something about her tone reached him. So he leaned back in the metal chair and said nothing.
She seemed to take that as victory.
Perhaps it was.
She stepped closer, and the air between them shifted. He caught her scent more clearly now: flowers, yes, but also something faintly powdery and sweet that he couldn't name. Soap, perhaps. Or some cosmetic concoction women of this time favored.
The cloth in her hand was damp; he could see the darkness of moisture against the white fabric.
He kept perfectly still.
She bent toward him, close enough that her breath would have touched his face if she'd spoken, and then her fingers touched his jaw.
The contact was brief, impersonal, the gesture of someone accustomed to arranging things precisely.
It went through him like a strike of flint.
His breath caught with the sudden, with the unwelcome awareness of how close she was. How warm. How the neckline of her dress sat just low enough that if he dropped his gaze even slightly-
He locked his eyes on the ceiling and kept them there.
"Hold still," she said quietly.
He was already still. Rigid as a man in armor, every muscle tense by the maddening fact that her thumb was resting just below his jaw, her fingertips cool against the edge of his beard.
The damp cloth touched his brow.
Cool. Clean. It stung where the cut was, a sharp little bite that he barely felt through everything else.
What he felt was her.
The bend of her body as she leaned in. The brush of her skirt against his knee. Brief, accidental, gone before he could react. The small crease of concentration between her brows as she worked, utterly focused, utterly unaware of what the simple act of touching him was doing.
She tilted his face slightly toward the light.
His jaw shifted under her hand, and the movement made her fingers slide -just barely- along the line of bone and muscle beneath his ear.
Heat crawled up the back of his neck.
This was absurd.
She was cleaning a wound. Nothing more. She had shown him no interest beyond the bare minimum of human decency, and even that had been grudging. She thought him mad, or damaged, or some combination of both. She had called him cousin to a lawman to avoid further inconvenience.
And here he sat, breathing too carefully, thinking about what it would feel like if those hands moved with intent instead of practicality. If they slid into his hair. If her thumb pressed just a little harder against his throat. If she leaned closer and-
Fuck.
He was acting like some green boy again.
Worse. He was acting like a man who hadn't been touched by anyone in far too long, and whose body had decided now -of all the godsforsaken moments- was the time to remind him of it.
The cloth moved to his cheekbone, gentler now, following the edge of the bruise.
"It's not deep," she said after a moment. "Won't need stitches. Just needs to be clean."
"I've had worse." He managed.
"I don't doubt it."
She stepped back, and the absence of her touch was immediate and disorienting. She studied her work, then reached for the brown bottle, uncorking it with a soft pop.
The smell hit him immediately. Sharp. Medicinal. Something that burned the inside of his nose and made his eyes water.
"This is going to sting," she warned.
"I can-"
She dabbed it on before he could finish.
It did not sting.
It burned like the fires of hell had been distilled into liquid form and applied directly to his face.
He did not move. Did not make a sound.
His hand, however, gripped the edge of the metal chair hard enough that he heard the frame creak.
"Sorry," she said, and she actually sounded it. "It's awful, but it'll keep it from getting infected."
He managed a nod, not trusting his voice.
She corked the bottle and set it aside, examining the cut again, and then stepped back fully, putting a respectable distance between them, and he could breathe again.
Then his stomach growled. Again. Loud and shameless.
She paused.
He watched something shift in her expression, watched her think. Her gaze went to the little corner table where the tin of those dried herbs sat, and her mouth pressed into a thoughtful line.
"I don't have much here," she said slowly. "It's a stockroom, not a kitchen. Tea and stale biscuits in some corner, mostly."
He opened his mouth to tell her it didn't matter, that he required nothing-
"Wait here," she said abruptly.
Before he could object, she was already moving toward the front of the shop, pulling a key from somewhere in her skirt and unlocking the door.
"Don't touch anything," she added over her shoulder. "And for God's sake, don't go outside again."
The bell chimed.
The door closed.
He sat alone in the stockroom, surrounded by buckets of flowers and incomprehensible objects, with no earthly idea where she had gone or whether she would return.
For a brief, ungenerous moment, he considered the possibility that she had simply gone to fetch the authorities after all. Left him here to be collected like a stray dog.
He could not have blamed her if she had.
But he stayed.
Partly because his ribs ached and his legs felt unsteady, and the metal chair, absurd as it was, held his weight. Partly because the door to the street terrified him in a way he was not prepared to examine.
And partly -mostly- because some quiet, exhausted part of him had decided to trust her, and he was too tired to argue with it.
Time passed. He did not know how much. Somewhere beyond the walls, the muffled sounds of the impossible city continued: horns, voices, the rumble of those horseless carriages.
Then the bell chimed again, and he heard the click of her heels through the shop. She reappeared through the storage door with a brown paper sack clutched in one hand.
"Here," she said, crossing to him and holding it out. "Eat this before you fall over."
He took it cautiously.
The sack was warm. And the smell…
God, the smell.
Something rich and savory drifted up from inside, meat and bread and something he couldn't identify, and his mouth flooded with saliva before he'd even looked inside.
He opened it.
Within was a strange construction: two thick slices of bread pressed together, and between them, slices of roasted meat layered with melted cheese, what appeared to be a cooked egg, and some green leaves he didn't recognize.
He turned it over, examining the oddity from several angles.
"It's a sandwich," she said, watching his confusion with poorly concealed amusement. "Roast beef. From the diner on the corner. You eat it. With your hands."
A sandwich.
He had never heard the term. Never seen meat and bread arranged in such a deliberate, portable fashion. In his world, meat was served on a trencher, or in a pie, or skewered over a fire. Not... stacked.
The smell did not care about his confusion, and his stomach growled a third time, traitorous and insistent, and he abandoned his examination in favor of simply eating.
The first bite was a revelation.
Warm bread. Tender meat, properly seasoned. The richness of the cheese, the unexpected softness of the egg, the crunch of whatever green leaves she'd called them.
It was, without exaggeration, one of the finest things he had ever tasted.
He ate with more control than he felt, forcing himself to chew, to pace himself, to not devour the entire thing in three bites like a starving animal.
She watched him for a moment, then turned away to give him privacy.
He was grateful for it.
When he'd finished -every crumb, every scrap, the paper sack reduced to a crumpled ball in his fist- he set it down carefully and cleared his throat.
She turned.
"Better?"
"Yes." His voice came out rough. "Thank you. That was..."
He didn't have words for what it was.
A sandwich, apparently.
"...generous of you," he finished.
She nodded, accepting it, and for a moment neither of them said anything.
The silence stretched, not quite comfortable but not hostile either. Finally, she crossed her arms over her chest in a way that was becoming familiar.
"So," she said. "What are we going to do with you, Mr. Barnes?"
He looked at her standing there in her scandalously short skirt and her impossible shoes.
Welcome back to another fun-filled week at Writer in a Cryofreeze! We have nine nifty drabbles for you today, all written to the following prompt:
This Will Not Happen in Doomsday!
That's right, folks--take all the spoilers you may or may not have read about the upcoming Avengers movie and throw 'em out the window, because this week, it's about what WON'T happen!
Once again we have a split post today: eight amazing drabbles are rated General Audiences and can be found below the cut. One sexy explicit drabble has been posted on its own over here. Be sure to read as many drabbles as you are able and feel comfortable reading before voting.
YOUR JOB is to vote for up to TWO of your favorite drabbles. Voting will be open until about 4pm NY time on Friday afternoon. The two authors of the drabbles with the fewest votes will get their own shiny Cryofreeze, from which they can watch the premier of the movie when it's finally released!
Ready to read? FANTASTIC (four, that is)!!!
Thanks for reading!
Drabble #1 - Hope
Rating: General Audiences
The battle ended without fanfare. No portal in the sky, no impossible odds, no incursions. The multiverse was safe.
Weeks later Bucky was at an animal shelter, standing in front of a white kitten in the cage.
Retirement wasn’t what he’d expected. He imagined boredom, restlessness. His days became wonderfully ordinary: coffee, aimless walks, reading, sitting with Alpine on the balcony, watching the sunset.
He started imagining a different future: go back to school, reelection.
Perhaps, settle down, start a family.
It felt unbelievable. The universe had stopped asking from him or taking from him.
Bucky was allowed to live.
🚫
Drabble #2 - Shots Fired
Rating: General Audiences
"This is stupid!" Sam yelled, waving his gun in the air.
"The games the game." Bucky chuffed with a smirk.
"You're the one who suggested this." Yelena chuckled alongside Bucky.
"Yeah a nice normal game of Lazer tag. Not Lazer tag with the world's best assassin!" Sam continued.
"Look man," Joaquin huffed as he joined Sam's side, "Maybe we just call it quits, we've gone 5 rounds, we keep losing."
"No we go again." Sam replied sternly, pointing at Bucky with narrowed eyes, "You, left hand only."
"Fine by me." Bucky grinned before jogging back into the darkened zone laughing.
🚫
Drabble #3 – Do This All Day?
Rating: General Audiences
Sam laughed once humorless. “Trust? Don’t start with me on trust, Buck. I had to hear about your new team from the evening news.”
“That’s not what happened.” Bucky groaned
“No? ’Cause it sure as hell felt like it.” Sam's tone cold.
Bucky stepped closer, jaw tight. “They have information. Information that can help.”
Sam opened his mouth, anger ready.
Another voice beat him to it.
“You two gonna do this all day?”
Everything in Bucky locked up. He turned too fast, breath catching painfully.
Steve stood there, steady and impossible.
For one stunned second, Bucky only stared. Disbelieving.
“Steve?”
🚫
Drabble #4 - Doomsday, Declined
Rating: General Audiences
Bucky is trying, with effort, to understand a tax-credit rider. It’s not going well, but it is going privately, which seems important.
You’re halfway through explaining depreciation when his phone rings.
YELENA BELOVA
Decline.
Again.
Decline.
YELENA: Stop being dramatic. Is only maybe end of world.
Swipe.
SAM: don’t be like this.
His jaw shifts.
Swipe.
DEADPOOL: Winter grandpa, Kevin says assemble.
Swipe.
You lower the bill.
“James.”
“No.”
“Could be important.”
“It’s always important.” Bucky’s phone flips facedown. “I’ve appeared in every MCU phase. The other guy who managed that turned into a tree. Let me legislate in peace.”
🚫
Drabble #5 - Apocalypse Meow
Rating: General Audiences
Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Steve, preparing to face the end of the world was familiar. Everything after that was not.
“That was anticlimactic,” Steve said.
“They can’t all be Thanos,” Bucky agreed.
“Hardly worth coming out of retirement. This happen a lot since I left?”
“Fury’s cat’s saved the day before, but it’s a first for Alpine.” After a beat, Bucky added defensively, “She’s still a kitten.”
Kitten or not, her purrs almost drowned out Doom’s booming admiration while he pet her rather than lay waste to the world.
“Come on, Steve. Fight’s back on if I can’t rescue my cat!”
🚫
Drabble #6 - Them
Rating: General Audiences
The ozone on his tongue was sharp and growing sharper by the second.
Something was wrong.
More than the battle chaos amidst the ruins of the Stark Expo grounds.
Bucky turned slowly, surveying his surroundings.
Then he saw them.
Each wore his face but not his history. One in a crisp, white uniform from some alternate century, a stillness to him like a wolf that knew every trick in the book and didn’t need to snarl. The other a grizzled wreck: gray at the temples, sleep deprivation tattooed under his eyes. Both sported the arm—his arm, that ugly, magnificent thing.
🚫
Drabble #7 – Tumblr to the Rescue
Rating: General Audiences
He was dying. Fine. He'd done it before.
Then the portal opened. Blue. Tumbling. Chaos shaped like small circular portraits of strangers, cats, anime characters, and— unsettlingly— him. Long hair. Short hair. One arm. Two. Smiling, something he didn't remember doing.
One handed him a juice box.
Bucky stared at it. Stared at himself, multiplied, in eras he couldn't fully account for.
"This," announced an icon of a small white blue-eyed cat, "will not happen in Doomsday."
He had no idea what that meant.
Something about the cat felt familiar. He couldn't place it.
He drank the juice box anyway.
🚫
Drabble #8 – Fix It
Rating: General Audiences
Bucky sheathed his knife when you walked in.
“Bucky,” you began softly. “What are you doing?”
“I’m gonna make the writers fix it.”
“Fix what exactly?”
“Everything,” he answered through his teeth. “Like Natasha dying.”
“Bucky…”
“And Steve’s ending.”
“Bucky.”
“And Sam and I being on the outs again.”
“Bucky!”
He paused to look at you.
“You can’t fix it,” you whispered. “You’re not supposed to be aware that you’re in a movie, and I shouldn’t even be here.”
He blinked, confused. “Then… what do I do?”
You smiled. “Leave it to the fanfiction writers. They’ll know what to do.”
🚫
That's all the General Audience drabbles for today!
Be sure to read the Explicit Drabble if you haven't already.
Otherwise, please head over to the voting poll to choose your two favorite drabbles.
Check back on Friday afternoon for the author reveal, and thanks for reading!
Welcome back to another fun-filled week at Writer in a Cryofreeze! We have nine nifty drabbles for you today, all written to the following prompt:
This Will Not Happen in Doomsday!
That's right, folks--take all the spoilers you may or may not have read about the upcoming Avengers movie and throw 'em out the window, because this week, it's about what WON'T happen!
Once again we have a split post today: one sexy explicit drabble is posted under the cut here, and eight amazing General Audience drabbles are located on the post at this link. Be sure to read as many drabbles as you are able and feel comfortable reading before voting.
Your task is to vote for up to TWO of your favorite drabbles. Voting will be open until about 4pm NY time on Friday afternoon. The two authors of the drabbles with the fewest votes will get their own shiny Cryofreeze, from which they can watch the premier of the movie when it's finally released!
Ready to read? FANTASTIC (four, that is)!!!
Ready for some sexy probably-won't-happen-in-Doomsday goodness? Here you go!!!
Drabble 9 - End of the World
Rating: Explicit
The world was ending. Again. Bucky didn’t care.
He’d booked the lakeside cabin to spend this weekend with you six months ago. The apocalypse could wait.
His phone kept buzzing.
Bucky dipped his head, tongue dragging slow and filthy through your soaked folds, sucking your clit until your back arched.
“Doomsday can wait until Monday. I’m busy," he murmured against your cunt, pushing two thick metal fingers inside you. You shattered with a cry.
Bucky lapped up every drop, drawing out your orgasm until you were sobbing. His belt clinked open.
“Good girl, now turn over, we’ve got all weekend.”
🚫
That's all the General Audience drabbles for today!
Be sure to read the General Audience Drabbles if you haven't already.
Otherwise, please head over to the voting poll to choose your two favorite drabbles.
Check back on Friday afternoon for the author reveal, and thanks for reading!
Welcome back to another fun-filled week at Writer in a Cryofreeze! We have nine nifty drabbles for you today, all written to the following prompt:
This Will Not Happen in Doomsday!
That's right, folks--take all the spoilers you may or may not have read about the upcoming Avengers movie and throw 'em out the window, because this week, it's about what WON'T happen!
Once again we have a split post today: eight amazing drabbles are rated General Audiences and can be found below the cut. One sexy explicit drabble has been posted on its own over here. Be sure to read as many drabbles as you are able and feel comfortable reading before voting.
YOUR JOB is to vote for up to TWO of your favorite drabbles. Voting will be open until about 4pm NY time on Friday afternoon. The two authors of the drabbles with the fewest votes will get their own shiny Cryofreeze, from which they can watch the premier of the movie when it's finally released!
Ready to read? FANTASTIC (four, that is)!!!
Thanks for reading!
Drabble #1 - Hope
Rating: General Audiences
The battle ended without fanfare. No portal in the sky, no impossible odds, no incursions. The multiverse was safe.
Weeks later Bucky was at an animal shelter, standing in front of a white kitten in the cage.
Retirement wasn’t what he’d expected. He imagined boredom, restlessness. His days became wonderfully ordinary: coffee, aimless walks, reading, sitting with Alpine on the balcony, watching the sunset.
He started imagining a different future: go back to school, reelection.
Perhaps, settle down, start a family.
It felt unbelievable. The universe had stopped asking from him or taking from him.
Bucky was allowed to live.
🚫
Drabble #2 - Shots Fired
Rating: General Audiences
"This is stupid!" Sam yelled, waving his gun in the air.
"The games the game." Bucky chuffed with a smirk.
"You're the one who suggested this." Yelena chuckled alongside Bucky.
"Yeah a nice normal game of Lazer tag. Not Lazer tag with the world's best assassin!" Sam continued.
"Look man," Joaquin huffed as he joined Sam's side, "Maybe we just call it quits, we've gone 5 rounds, we keep losing."
"No we go again." Sam replied sternly, pointing at Bucky with narrowed eyes, "You, left hand only."
"Fine by me." Bucky grinned before jogging back into the darkened zone laughing.
🚫
Drabble #3 – Do This All Day?
Rating: General Audiences
Sam laughed once humorless. “Trust? Don’t start with me on trust, Buck. I had to hear about your new team from the evening news.”
“That’s not what happened.” Bucky groaned
“No? ’Cause it sure as hell felt like it.” Sam's tone cold.
Bucky stepped closer, jaw tight. “They have information. Information that can help.”
Sam opened his mouth, anger ready.
Another voice beat him to it.
“You two gonna do this all day?”
Everything in Bucky locked up. He turned too fast, breath catching painfully.
Steve stood there, steady and impossible.
For one stunned second, Bucky only stared. Disbelieving.
“Steve?”
🚫
Drabble #4 - Doomsday, Declined
Rating: General Audiences
Bucky is trying, with effort, to understand a tax-credit rider. It’s not going well, but it is going privately, which seems important.
You’re halfway through explaining depreciation when his phone rings.
YELENA BELOVA
Decline.
Again.
Decline.
YELENA: Stop being dramatic. Is only maybe end of world.
Swipe.
SAM: don’t be like this.
His jaw shifts.
Swipe.
DEADPOOL: Winter grandpa, Kevin says assemble.
Swipe.
You lower the bill.
“James.”
“No.”
“Could be important.”
“It’s always important.” Bucky’s phone flips facedown. “I’ve appeared in every MCU phase. The other guy who managed that turned into a tree. Let me legislate in peace.”
🚫
Drabble #5 - Apocalypse Meow
Rating: General Audiences
Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Steve, preparing to face the end of the world was familiar. Everything after that was not.
“That was anticlimactic,” Steve said.
“They can’t all be Thanos,” Bucky agreed.
“Hardly worth coming out of retirement. This happen a lot since I left?”
“Fury’s cat’s saved the day before, but it’s a first for Alpine.” After a beat, Bucky added defensively, “She’s still a kitten.”
Kitten or not, her purrs almost drowned out Doom’s booming admiration while he pet her rather than lay waste to the world.
“Come on, Steve. Fight’s back on if I can’t rescue my cat!”
🚫
Drabble #6 - Them
Rating: General Audiences
The ozone on his tongue was sharp and growing sharper by the second.
Something was wrong.
More than the battle chaos amidst the ruins of the Stark Expo grounds.
Bucky turned slowly, surveying his surroundings.
Then he saw them.
Each wore his face but not his history. One in a crisp, white uniform from some alternate century, a stillness to him like a wolf that knew every trick in the book and didn’t need to snarl. The other a grizzled wreck: gray at the temples, sleep deprivation tattooed under his eyes. Both sported the arm—his arm, that ugly, magnificent thing.
🚫
Drabble #7 – Tumblr to the Rescue
Rating: General Audiences
He was dying. Fine. He'd done it before.
Then the portal opened. Blue. Tumbling. Chaos shaped like small circular portraits of strangers, cats, anime characters, and— unsettlingly— him. Long hair. Short hair. One arm. Two. Smiling, something he didn't remember doing.
One handed him a juice box.
Bucky stared at it. Stared at himself, multiplied, in eras he couldn't fully account for.
"This," announced an icon of a small white blue-eyed cat, "will not happen in Doomsday."
He had no idea what that meant.
Something about the cat felt familiar. He couldn't place it.
He drank the juice box anyway.
🚫
Drabble #8 – Fix It
Rating: General Audiences
Bucky sheathed his knife when you walked in.
“Bucky,” you began softly. “What are you doing?”
“I’m gonna make the writers fix it.”
“Fix what exactly?”
“Everything,” he answered through his teeth. “Like Natasha dying.”
“Bucky…”
“And Steve’s ending.”
“Bucky.”
“And Sam and I being on the outs again.”
“Bucky!”
He paused to look at you.
“You can’t fix it,” you whispered. “You’re not supposed to be aware that you’re in a movie, and I shouldn’t even be here.”
He blinked, confused. “Then… what do I do?”
You smiled. “Leave it to the fanfiction writers. They’ll know what to do.”
🚫
That's all the General Audience drabbles for today!
Be sure to read the Explicit Drabble if you haven't already.
Otherwise, please head over to the voting poll to choose your two favorite drabbles.
Check back on Friday afternoon for the author reveal, and thanks for reading!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Welcome back to another fun-filled week at Writer in a Cryofreeze! We have nine nifty drabbles for you today, all written to the following prompt:
This Will Not Happen in Doomsday!
That's right, folks--take all the spoilers you may or may not have read about the upcoming Avengers movie and throw 'em out the window, because this week, it's about what WON'T happen!
Once again we have a split post today: one sexy explicit drabble is posted under the cut here, and eight amazing General Audience drabbles are located on the post at this link. Be sure to read as many drabbles as you are able and feel comfortable reading before voting.
Your task is to vote for up to TWO of your favorite drabbles. Voting will be open until about 4pm NY time on Friday afternoon. The two authors of the drabbles with the fewest votes will get their own shiny Cryofreeze, from which they can watch the premier of the movie when it's finally released!
Ready to read? FANTASTIC (four, that is)!!!
Ready for some sexy probably-won't-happen-in-Doomsday goodness? Here you go!!!
Drabble 9 - End of the World
Rating: Explicit
The world was ending. Again. Bucky didn’t care.
He’d booked the lakeside cabin to spend this weekend with you six months ago. The apocalypse could wait.
His phone kept buzzing.
Bucky dipped his head, tongue dragging slow and filthy through your soaked folds, sucking your clit until your back arched.
“Doomsday can wait until Monday. I’m busy," he murmured against your cunt, pushing two thick metal fingers inside you. You shattered with a cry.
Bucky lapped up every drop, drawing out your orgasm until you were sobbing. His belt clinked open.
“Good girl, now turn over, we’ve got all weekend.”
🚫
That's all the General Audience drabbles for today!
Be sure to read the General Audience Drabbles if you haven't already.
Otherwise, please head over to the voting poll to choose your two favorite drabbles.
Check back on Friday afternoon for the author reveal, and thanks for reading!
"She says she doesn't have anything to do with that debt." He paused, letting that sink in. "I believe her. And if I believe her, you believe her too."
The man swallowed. Bucky felt the movement against his palm.
"Because if you don't," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper now, "we're gonna have a problem. And you really don't want to have a problem with me."
Behind her, he drew a slow breath through his nose. She could feel the judgment radiating from him and decided to ignore it.
"He came in early this morning, he’s looking for a job, you see," she continued with a bright tone. "He's had a long trip and hardly slept. He’s a stubborn backwoodsman with no sense around traffic. He was bewildered by the view, and then that bicycle startled him, and- well. You saw what happened.”
Eight seconds to decide whether to tell the truth, which would sound insane, or lie.
This strange, injured man appeared in my locked stockroom. He also says he is a medieval knight and believes I am a witch. Oh, and he almost died because he doesn't understand automobiles.
Yes, officer, please take him somewhere kind.
Thank you so much for the tag, @elixirfromthestars !🧡 I know it's Thursday but my daily life is a mess right now, so I'm posting this today🙈
rules: send me an emoji in an ask, and I’ll write 3-5 sentences from that wip. You can send me more than one emoji in an ask or multiple asks! My wips right now are:
🏰 Knight of Briars -ch.3-
A knight from another century crashes -literally- into a florist’s life and turns her world upside down.
🏬 Unnamed Neigbors AU oneshot
Her shitty ex involves Reader in shady business, and a thug comes looking for her. Luckily, our depressed and cynical supersoldier walks by the scene after buying a shitty dinner.
I don't know if this could even be called a list, but that's what I have right now!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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🧚🏻♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now (if you feel inspired) you must share a hoe thot about: CE!babe + “Ohhh, sweetheart, you fucked with the wrong person.”
ahh thank you so much for this prompt, Siri!!! the Shameless Hoe Fairy has given me more inspiration than i expected, and this prompt gave me three very different ideas, so i figured i'd do a poll!
the ideas:
mob underboss!Curtis Everett x journalist!reader - you're trying to take down Curtis's boss and the two of you form a tentative alliance, one that he insists on christening with a bj. dirty, mean smut.
Lloyd Hansen x pixie!reader - you're a pixie who loves to make mischief for our favorite mustachioed man, but he catches you and cages you and makes you his own personal sex toy. supernatural smut (potentially with a fully pixie-sized reader, i haven't decided yet so if you vote for this option, please weigh in!)
Steve Rogers x Avengers!reader - you win a game of air hockey against Steve at the Coney Island arcade, and as the loser, he has to go skinny dipping in the ocean—and you eventually join him. sweet smut ensues!
Warnings: Period expected misogyny. Mild Violence. Maybe I'll add more in the future.
Summary: A knight from another century crashes -literally- into a florist’s life and turns her world upside down.
Status: Ongoing
note: This is a silly time-travel story written purely for entertainment and to get out of my author's block. I won't be diving into complex timeline theories here. Let's not overthink the logistics and just enjoy the ride(?)
Pairing - arranged marriage husband x Female!Reader
Summary - Your husband doesn’t understand that not all wants are material.
Prompt - Somebody That I Used To Know - “But felt so lonely in your company."
Warnings - feelings of isolation , arranged marriage
Word count - 300
A/N - My ninth entry for the June Jukebox Scribbles. Mjolnor and Stormbreaker decided to duke it out in my head before I could finish this. It’s a start to a bunny I have. The husband and the bodyguard are yet to be determined.
A/N 2 - Society made the banner
“What more could you possibly want? I’ve given you everything you could ever ask for! Anything your heart desired. You are the one who is always with me!”
“But felt so lonely in your company." Fingers ghosted over your heart that ached. “At night when we go to sleep. We might as well be on opposite sides of the world with the space between us. Surrounded by a sea of people when we were invited to an event and I am drowning in isolation.” Tears threatened to spill but you fought to hold them back. “Any time we spend together felt like a courtesy with an expected minimum time length and topics discussed.”
“Ridiculous.”
His scoff didn’t hurt. You’d become numb to the indifference. “Really? Tell me the last thing we discussed that didn’t involve making an appearance somewhere or how the household is run?” When he could only stare you shook your head. “Thank you for making my point. You don’t know anything about me or our life except when it suits you.” Sighing you turned to face your husband. “People are starting to notice. We can’t keep this up.”
You prayed with every fibre of your body that he might finally see sense. The two of you were not a couple except on paper. If he let you go he could find a woman who’d be thrilled by the lifestyle he could offer while you could find someone who saw you.
“You’re right. We can’t.” The spark of hope was snuffed when you saw his calculating smile. He clicked his fingers and someone entered the room. “Meet your new bodyguard who will tell me everything I need to know.”
You weren’t sure if it was his words or the unfamiliar blue eyes that caused a tear to fall.
Summary: Three miles from town and a world away from the life she knew, she finds herself relying on a reclusive stranger whose measured distance and iron self-control may not be enough to resist the pull he feels toward her.
valeriiaaaaaaaa ! dunno if ur taking questions rn but if u are— 🎤
how the HELL do you make ur chapters so long & yet so fulfilling ? like it doesn’t feel as tho i’ve wasted time reading it & we never are w ur stories !! i wanna do something like that for my stories but at most i get to 5k words , & that’s at most .
thanks for sharing your lovely art , & thank you so much for continuing to despite the hellscape the internet can be 💙 we love you /p & may art block never stand in your way !
Ahhh thank you so much for your words!!!♥️♥️
5k words is a lot!!! Honestly, I don’t think I set out to make them a certain length. I usually know I want a chapter to cover this and that, and think about the dialogues, but also the body language. I think it's super important, people are always doing something while they talk. They look away, they fidget, they get defensive. I consider sensory details a must; I try to use them to build emotion rather than just describe the setting.
I used to dissociate A LOT and used all my free time to pour that into writing, even cutting hours of sleep. It's been a couple of months since my medication was redosed, and now I'm struggling with inspo, in fact, writing the 4k words of the new story's chapters is a struggle -so I think the secret was the low dose of antidepressant and anxiolytic lol-
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loving the new story and chapter two is awesome. i laughed out loud at his reaction to her outfit. he sees her calf and a suggestion of cleavage and is shocked by how scandalous it is meanwhile she is wearing a perfectly modest and respectable outfit that one could wear to dinner with their grandmother. hilarious!! i think about her putting on this outfit that morning, not thinking anything of it as it’s a normal and appropriate dress to wear to work, fully unaware that this random man is about to see her legs and think she’s a prostitute and I laugh again. really enjoying this so far!!
Hi Anon! thank you for reaching out! and yes, the cultural shock is going to be huge. He's not even victorian, the guy jumped five centuries into the future. So obviously, everything utterly alien to him and that’s part of the charm🤣.
I have received some comments about his behaviour, but he will conduct himself as a man of his time until he is taught better. He is not going to be a feminist ally or have modern values overnight, it's not realistic -not that time traveling is, but I'm playing with magic realism here-
For me, part of the fun is exactly that clash: he is not malicious, but he is ignorant of the new world. He is going to misunderstand, say the wrong things, make assumptions that are wildly unfair by modern standards, and then have to sit with the fact that the world does not work the way he thinks it does. That growth is part of the story.
Summary: Bucky is doing his best to build a stable life for his newfound son, rescued from the guts of a Hydra facility. As he struggles with unexpected fatherhood and his own circumstances, he meets someone who slowly becomes part of their lives, establishing a connection he never saw coming.
note: In this universe Steve didn't leave, Tony doesn't know that the Winter Soldier killed his parents, and everything is relatively ok.
