One Shots And Mini Fics

in case it hasn’t been clear, this blog is firmly and unwaveringly pro-choice.

Bucky Barnes + smiles, smirks, laughs, etc

Signal boost!

Now that I’m at 2K and my birthday is here (April 27), I thought I’d celebrate with my very own challenge!!! The theme is:

💖 Brat 💖

Tbh this can mean whatever you want it to mean. I just think it’s cute. Just trying to keep it fun, ya know. Don’t worry about reader not being bratty enough. Do whatever feels right.

But, you do have to choose a 90’s or 00’s R&B song to go with your story. Below is a list of recommended songs. Now you can choose something off list, but please keep it within the genre.

This is open to Chris Evans & Characters (Steve Rogers, Ransom Drysdale, Andy Barber, Ari Levinson etc. (except Mr. Freezy I swear to god I do not want to be attracted to that man this website is trying to poison me.)) RPF is welcome.

THIS IS A SMUT CHALLENGE

Deadline is June 27

Disclaimer:

All writers must be 18+ minors do not interact.

I reserve the right to not reblog any story.

Rules:

No minors, incest, DDLG, or bathroom related activities.

Please tag your work properly especially if writing non/dub con. Maximum amount of stories is 4. Daddy kink is alright, but not required. Please tag your kinks.

Stories have to have a minimum word count of 500. No max word count, use a cut at 150. Not accepting any stories that are already part of a series unless it works as a standalone. HC’s and Drabbles are also accepted. Accepting reader’s inserts only.

Tag me in your author’s notes and use #afbhbratchallenge in the tags below. I will be creating a masterlist.

Keep reading

i needed this skin in marvel rivals so badly that i finally decided to make it myself

but I really can't decide whether he should have the raccoon eyes or not 🦝🦝🦝 thoughts?

I want someone with secrets,

That nobody know,

I need a gangsta,

To love me better,

Than all the others do,

To always forgive me,

Ride or die with me,

That’s just what gangsters do♥️♥️♥️

The chibi Winter Soldier keychains arrived! They come in clear or rainbow holo, and with reversible sides. DM if you're interested in one!

Literally someone just said to me “don’t give your reader insert a name or race because I can’t put myself in the situation and I’m not trying to play a role like an actress”

Okay so you’re blind? So you’re a spy? You’re ex military? You’re a nurse? You’re a superhero? You were experimented on by a secret nazi sect?????

Bitch shut up, you’re just fucking racist

The stalking game

Pairing: dark!Black Female Reader x dark!Steve Rogers (pre-serum)

Summary: sometimes watching from a distance just makes you want it more💜💜💜

Warnings: kinda dubcon(male receiving),very slight mentions of war, being held at gunpoint

A/N: ive been perusing and reading stories on here forever and writing but keeping it to myself. @sapphirescrolls convinced me to finally share something after this little bugger wouldnt leave me alone until I wrote it! Thanks especially to my editor @whitepeach-whiteowl !

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You had seen him before. He was a skinny little thing, but the way he got into fights, the way he dove into danger are what made you look at him and kept you looking. That sweet little face, that soft looking blonde hair, and those brilliant blues. But mostly it was his stature; you could never see too much of him because of his baggy clothes. But what you could see were those wrists. Dainty was the only word for them. What you wouldn’t do to put your hands around those wrists of his.

Your mama was sick of you putting off meeting the neighbors’ boy who worked on the docks and attended her church. she wanted you to start thinking about settling down and having a few kids of your own; it would break her heart if she knew the kind of men who wet your drawers. Men like this frail little fighter who you watched and watched in all your free time and not so free time. Miss Maisy at the factory was starting to catch wise about your frequent “bathroom trips.” Maybe your choice of beau wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t a white boy. Lord knows you could never walk down the street holding his hand--your brown skin made certain of that. You knew that whatever it was about this boy that drove you out your rabbit ass mind wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

It had been months--already nearing a year--and you were still following him as he went about errands for his mother. A few times you would even get brave enough to follow him through the Italian and Irish neighborhoods in Brooklyn where the poor white folk lived. You were always careful, keeping a good little ways between the both of you, but a few times a big brown haired man had met eyes with you as you scrambled to look away. They seemed to be friends, which was a relief; at first you had thought the man of your dreams was a poof which would put a stall in your plan.

You were tired. Tired of waking up with soaking drawers. Tired of almost catching the tips of your fingers in the machines at the factory because of your daydreams. Tired of this man who could walk past you like a black alley cat and never even notice your existence; this man who drove thoughts that would surely send you to hell if the good Lord took a peep into your mind. Lord knows the Devil had seen them and left behind even more twisted ideas.

At first you were content, content to follow him; sometimes watching as he sat in the park scribbling those beautiful pictures of his. Watching as the brown haired man dragged him out on a Friday night to all the honky hoedowns. You never knew why no other woman seemed as impressed with him as you did; they all seem to ignore him at best or shun him for his brown-haired associate at worst. But that was all right and good with you. This man, this thin frail beautiful artist of a man would be yours. Maybe not forever;maybe he would never know her face. Maybe he would never know the dame--the dame who would bring him a night he would never forget.

Tonight was the Night to set your plan in motion. Before, your idea was to go with a kitchen knife taken from your mama’s drawer, but one of the girls at the factory decided to show you her man’s gun. He left it with her for safe-keeping while he was off at war. It even had her name on the side: “ Bernice,” it said, engraved right on the barrel. Well, tonight Bernice the Gun would be accompanying you to make your own dreams come true. Maybe not to keep you safe, but to keep things runnin’ smooth.

By now you know his patterns. His friend with the brown hair was going to pull him from the safe apartment he shared with his mother out to the streets to try and catch some tail. His friend had all the luck and by the time the Clock Struck 10 he would have two dates in his arms, one stickin’ her hand down his pants. With his friend occupied, your artist boy would take the chance to slip away and take The Lonesome walk home. He would walk through dark, anonymous Alleyways, taking the quicker way home past night time delivery trucks, no one really bothering or seeing him. Except you. You hid behind a stack of barrels on the corner of Brooks and Dursley. You had borrowed a few items of clothes from random drying lines around the neighborhood. You didn’t need anyone recognizing any of your dresses. You could be mistaken for an errand boy right now if not for the gun and scarves in your bag.

Just as you thought--around 10:15 Here comes your man looking sullen and dejected. His cheeks were slightly red, maybe from the chill, maybe from having seen his friend with another Dame. No matter. Tonight there was going to be a big change. You started following him at ten Paces back. He was heading onto a street where the streetlights were few and far between. This was going to be your chance. You sped up a bit and followed him at five paces now. He seemed to hear me and his pace increased. So you speed up even more and begin to walk past him. You took a sharp turn into an alley behind and hunker down among the garbage bags, feeling the cold of Bernice as you slip her out of your bag. Listening for his footsteps you feel your thighs begin to tremble.You cover your nose and mouth with a scarf and tie the knot tightly with shaking fingers. As his steps become louder, you prepare, inching closer to the mouth of the alleyway.

You raise the pitch of your voice, imitating the boy who delivered your mother’s newspaper every morning, sobbing, “Mr. Harris is going to kill me! Where are those papers? Please, I have to find them.”

The boy stopped and cautiously glanced into the alley, observing your performance, as you pretend to search desperately through the cans and bags of trash. “Hey kid, do you need help?”

Swinging around, you raised Bernice. “Yeah, I need you to get over here. No funny business now; quick steps!” His face became ghostly pale.

You shouldn’t be so giddy, but, God, did you feel it. He looks so scared, so jumpy--truly afraid of losing his life. But the best part--the part that would fuel your dirty Daydreams and your nighttime fantasies--was his eyes. he was looking right at you all bug-eyed scared. Then again, maybe he wasn’t so scared...he actually looked kind of angry, as he shouted, “You serious? Kid, I’m probably just as poor as you!” He started backing away slowly. “Put the gun down and lemme walk away. We’ll forget this whole thing ever happened.”

“Or you can get over here and do as I say and avoid getting some holes blown in your chest,” I said, motioning to him with my gun to come deeper into the alley. He frowned but began walking towards you. He might have been on the skinny side, but he was about an inch or two taller than you, so you were real careful to keep a few paces away. You didn’t want him lunging for the gun and ruining both of your lives. You stood with him in a little alcove between the buildings big enough for both of you to stand in and concealed from prying eyes of fellow city-dwellers.

Keeping one hand on Bernice and your eyes on him, you reach into your bag. You smiled beneath the bandana. “Turn around, pretty boy, and hands behind your back.” 

He did as you said with little more than a grumble about being called “pretty boy.” He turns slowly, his eyes focusing on your gun. When his hands are behind his back, you scurry over, a little giddy, and tie his hands behind his back. You’re moving slower than you probably should; you can’t believe that you are finally touching those wrists of his: soft, slight, very delicate. The skin there is even smoother than you thought. It was obvious that this man had never worked a hard shift in all his days. you caught yourself stroking his wrists. His back was ramrod straight with discomfort. Instead of backing away and maybe giving him a reprieve, you decide to kiss his back through his shirt then take a step back. You’re breathing a bit heavier than before.

He shivered and blurted, “Look, pal, I’m not lyin! Check my pockets! Why do ya think I’m walking the back alleys! I don’t even have bus fare!”

“ You’re right,” you say, “I will check those pockets a yours. Keep flappin your lips and you’ll give me more good ideas.”

Pocketing Bernice, you take a step forward, inhaling. He smells a little medicinal, a little like the sticks of colored sidewalk chalk kids play with. It’s a good smell; a smell you won’t soon forget. You slide your hand a little too slowly into his front pocket. You’re not really checking for anything anymore; you just want to feel the contours of thighs. He’s all lean muscle; no spare fat on ‘im. Your breath is coming quicker now; your excitement is growing. Pressing even closer you stand on your toes to get a whiff of his hair and feel him pressed against your front. Your left hand in his front pocket, no longer content to grope his thigh, moves closer to his groin. 

"Hey, hey, watch the hand!“ Ignoring his shout you delve deeper; god what a find! You’d never suspect this on a sickly thing like him! His pecker was only a little stiff, probably from fear and friction alone; you weren’t vain enough to think it was all from you.

"God Stevie,” you breathe, “Warn a gal before you let her touch a snake like this! You could use this fella to bludgeon someone to death!”

He stiffened again. "What makes a lady resort to gropin in a back alley like this? And how do you know my name?"

He was getting stiffer by the second and you wanted a better feel. Abandoning his pocket, you slide your hand up to the button on his pants and pop it open. You laugh and say, “I’m no one special, hun. Just a secret admirer who got tired of admirin’.”

His knees buckled a bit when your hand met semi hard flesh. Since the jig was up, you pressed yourself fully against him now and allowed your body to hug his. For so long you’d dreamed of this and it was going so good. Even better is he wasn't trying to stop you. Sliding your hand up his back, you grip his head and make him face the sky. 

With his hair clutched in your fingers you say, "Instead of fighting this or asking for reasons, just look at the sky and enjoy what im giving you, 'kay, hun? Here, I’ll make it even better for you."

Wiggling your hand out of his jockeys, you slide it into your own and dip your fingers into your own wetness. Moaning a bit at the stimulation, you felt him move his head a bit to see what you were doing. Turning his head back, you grip his hair tighter. When your hand is wet enough, you wiggle it back under his waistband and feel his whole body shudder.

You wanted so badly to be in your skivvies right now, but you would make do with what you had. Nosing his collar down, you start kissing him from the nape of his neck to the hollow at the base of his throat. Always pulling his head so he couldn't see your face, only feel what you were doing.

“Christ, doll, you don't have to do this. If you like a fella, just tell em’! Ambushing me like this isn't fair. Untie my hands and lemme look at ya. Please, I'm begging now!”

His breathless stuttering, pleading was cute. You may have made it harder on him purposely by stroking him a little faster and holding him tighter. God, his cock was a dream; it would fill you so good and god knows you were ready for it. Gliding your tongue up the side of his neck, you whisper close to his ear, “No can do, love. This is it for us. You don't know how badly i want more…maybe a little more wont hurt though. Tell you what, Stevie. If you promise to be good and let me cover your eyes, I’ll give you an even better treat! How's about it love?” 

Nipping his ear, you feel him give an enthusiastic jerk of his head, “Yes, yes, god yeah, I’ll be good.”

Smirking at his breathy voice, you let his hair loose and reach into your satchel. You pull one scarf free while caressing the tip of his cock. He hisses through his teeth as you release your new favorite toy. You slide one of his suspenders off his shoulder and pet the sliver of hip skin suddenly revealed to the air. After pulling his cock free, you hurriedly pull the scarf over his eyes and knot it.

For the first time since you started, you took stock of yourself and felt how keyed up you were. Your breath came in ragged pants matching Steve’s and your core throbbed and leaked, begging to be touched again. Soon enough, you would take care of yourself, but first just a taste of him was what you really yearned for. Pulling his shoulder to swing him around, you could finally see the effect you had on him.

The parts of his cheeks you could see were flushed a vivid red and his breath was coming so quickly you were a little worried. Petting his chest to calm him down, you press your front against him and give fluttering kisses to his throat. You purred, “Calm down, lover. I don't want you going belly up before I fulfill my promise now.” He listened well enough and took a few gulps of air. Glancing down, you noticed his Johnson is not nearly as hard as before. No matter, you'd fix that soon. Kissing the little bit of his chest bared above his shirt, you start descending to your knees.

For a second, you felt a little bad. Someone put good work into repairing the knees in these pants and here you were ruining them in a back alley. Oh well, you’d put a nickel in the pocket later when you put them back. Nothing was going to stop you from getting a taste of the one eyed drooling monster your artist boy was slinging around.

Your first kiss to his tip was met with the sound of gnashing teeth and a sharp curse. Grinning, you start licking and lightly sucking the shaft. Remembering some girl talk, you pull away and spit into your hand before bringing it to his balls and softly rolling while going back down as far as you can manage. “Oh fuck, oh, Jesus, fuck yes, there, just like that, fucking Christ.” You laugh, but with your mouth full it just makes him buck into your mouth, gagging you a little. You had no doubt he'd be pulling your hair if his hands weren't still tied. You almost wanted to untie them just to feel him touching you.

You didn't know sucking him like this would have such an effect on you as well. You could hear his panting and bitten back curses, feel his hips twitch as he tried to be a gentleman and not buck into your mouth again. Letting his balls go, you slide your hand back into your trousers to find your aching wetness again. Using your two middle fingers to massage your clit you could tell this wouldn't take long. By the throbbing of the cock in your mouth, Steve wouldn't last much longer either. He was leaking so much now and every pass of your tongue gave you a new burst of salty tang to swallow.

You were so distracted trying to focus on pleasuring the both of you, you missed the jerking of his arms. But you surely noticed when a hand knocked the hat off your head and grabbed your hair to hold you steady. Suddenly you were taking much more of him in and you could feel the sore throat that would come tomorrow. Looking up, you see he hasn’t bothered to take the blindfold off; he’s more concerned with fucking into your throat like a man possesed. The gurgling sounds from your mouth seemed to excite him even more. You couldn't stop pressing your fingers deep inside your achy center with your palm pressing on your clit. This was what you wanted and craved all these long months. There was dripping spit from your lower lip wetting your top and all you could think was how you wished he was using your aching cunt this way instead. 

Grasping his leg with your free hand for stability was a bad idea.

Steve tumbled back into a pile of garbage bags, taking you with him. The momentum was enough to force his cock fully into your mouth and to set him off. Choking on his spunk finally gets your wits back, making you throw yourself away from him.

Seeing him laying there panting, blissed out with his johnson soft against his thigh makes you wish you were able to draw him like this. Coughing up the rest of his leavings, you stumble to your feet. Your legs are stiff from kneeling for so long, not to mention the tumble you took. You’d love to stay, to kiss that red mouth and comfort him, to keep the night going until you were both shaking like leaves in the wind. But this had to be enough.

You wipe the slick from your hand onto your borrowed pants (maybe you’ll leave a quarter instead) and start backing away. Your foot falls rouse steve. “Wait! Stop, doll! Lemme-” 

You turned around and said in a quavering voice, “If you get up….. I’ll shoot you!” You didnt sound convincing to your own ears let alone his, so you picked up the pace. “This was fun,” you smirked as you pick up your bag and satchel. “Dont look for me. Just forget me, lover.”

“...I don't think I can do that doll. Not now, not never”

“Well...try!”

Seeing him fumble for the blind fold, you turn and take off. He shouts something at you but the hammering of your heart in your ears blocks it out. You run to the back of the shelling factory where you work and take out the bag of clothes you had hidden behind a large drain pipe. You stashed the stolen clothes and Bernice into the satchel. You'd come back for it all after your shift tomorrow. Sneaking around the front of the building, you blended in with the night time workers getting off and huddling together near the bus stop. Once you were on it and safely on the way home you lost it. It started as giggles which earned you a few looks, so you tried to muffle yourself so you didn't look like a cook. By the time your stop came, you were hit with a wave of euphoria and giggling like you belonged in a Looney bin. You did it! You pulled it off. Crashing into your bed you wondered….how soon could you do it again?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a year since your stint as a would be “burglar”. You had stopped trailing your sweet artist man. You'd attempted to keep your little hobby going, but it was obvious he was now looking for you. 

You had walked past that fateful alley once to relive your triumph and had almost run into his big brown haired friend. Apparently Stevie himself had been frequenting this spot and was starting to worry his buddy. “You don't get it, buck. I gotta find her! I need to-” Stevie would exclaim. 

“You dont even know what this hellion looks like rogers,” the brown haired friend replied. “How you gonna sniff her out from any ol’ dame!” 

“I’ll know its her buck. I’m not lettin this go!” From the mouth of the alley standing in the shadows, you made the decision. Things were getting too hot and your mother was pressing you even harder lately. It was time to skip town. Thankfully, with a war on, the army was desperate enough to take in negro gals with skills. Your mom was a nurse and her mother before her; you'd grown up learning to heal and help. With a bribe to your cousin who worked at Saint Catherine’s in the colored ward, you had the papers to prove you had a background as a nurse. Soon enough, you were taken on as a field nurse. The Front lines of war were worse than any picture shown at the cinema, but thankfully you weren’t there for much of the action, only after, when all the bodies of torn up soldiers were hauled into camp and the nurses were rushed out to save as many as they could. 

Today was a calmer day than you'd seen in awhile. There was even gonna be an ssr show with the fabled Captain America coming. Your group of nurses who had seen some of the worst of the war were sent in to the 107th infantry a fortnight ago. There had been some sort of ambush and half of the soldiers were killed with a significant amount still in need of care. As bad as you'd like the distraction of a morale show, you had too much on your plate and decided to skip it.

After doing your rounds through the urgent care tents, you almost crash into a brick house of a man you don't recognize from your time with this regiment. “Sorry, sir. It won't happen again,” you mumble, ready to keep going on your rounds. But his clutch on your wrist isn't budging. He shakes you a little and you look up with a grimace. His eyes were a big wide blue and his hanging fringe seemed …familiar. Moving faster than you could see, he snatched your cap away, pins and all, ignoring your pained gasp. Through your spilling coils of hair you saw an almost feral smile spread across his face.

“It's you! I fucking found you! Here of all places!”

Your chest was starting to feel tight the more you stared into his eyes and beaming toothy smile. But it couldn't be. Not him… not here! How had he changed! Your thoughts racing, you attempt to thrash and race away. To where you had no clue; you were in a foregin country with a war raging around you, but the need to run away and not face this was strong. But he was stronger.

“No, doll. Your days of running are over. No gun to ward me off this time. I've got a private tent….we need some time alone, you and I. Yeah, lots of private time.”

With that he begins to drag you through the silent encampment while you prayed to every ancestor and god listening: "Please god! Please let him be the same size down there as before! I don't know if I’ll survive if it all got bigger!”

@sapphirescrolls!!! I did it