Elf! Calum

Words: 4.2k

Warning: smut!  

Summary: Elf! Calum who decides who's naughty and nice and know’s Y/N is always at the top of the naughty list and decides to pay her a small visit one day, after watching her masturbate for hours on end.  


*Calum’s POV*

I took a hold of the next piece of paper getting my fingers ready to type it into the crystal snow ball. I was stuck doing the boring job, most elves were off making christmas gifts getting a head start before december started. I was usually doing that but three year’s ago I had an argument with another elf and that left me in a slight grump which Santa saw, then he demoted me to the ‘bad elf’ factory. It’s where all the reject elves go and who they may be over excited or overly grumpy. I was neither, I was almost human, I wish I was a human but instead I have pointy ears and live in the north pole.

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Ties that Bind pt 5.75: Alpha Appreciation

The Sequel to Never Say Never

Pairings: Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader

Warning: Fluff

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Again another small part that doesn’t really matter to the plot, but I wanted to give you guys more fluff before I destroy your lives.

Heads Up: @blackwidovv @colt-eleven-impala-sixtyseven @theartofwriting-imagines @valynsia @missallpony1234 @thecynicalnerd @heismyhunter @waywardimpalawriter @misspadfoot02 @flowercrownsandmetallicarms @livforthegames @i-had-a-life-once @ifoundlove-x0vanessa0x @rachelle-on-the-run @justarandombanana @emilyinbuffalo @jade-cheshire @anitavalija @amazing-fandom-freak @meganlane84 @lostinspace33 @thatawkwardtinyperson @hollycornish @cookiedough1830 @minaphobia @sebatianstanisbae @buckyslion @buckyb-avengers @allyp1023 @deanskitten @chisatowa @snakesgoethe @your-puddin @lilasiannerd
@miss-mcbotty @gallifreyansass @cxffeeshxpsoundtrack @transdadlovesyou @aenna-4 @lovelydead13 @boom-boombang @pretentiousaf @kairos34 @nativesebby @ryverpenrad @bucky-slut @hardcorehippos @mae-smith99 @amrita31199 @tristinevanssss @soldierplum

Originally posted by rawmbazamba

Bucky paced back and forth while packing for his mission. He mumbled to himself quietly. He rummaged through the closet when he caught your scent. He quickly turned and the saw the door close.

“Y/N?” he asked then walked towards the door. He saw a yellow post-it note with your handwriting:

Follow me

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Royally Yours: Part One

Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: You’re unwillingly engaged to the Crown Prince of another kingdom, whom you had known as a child but then lost contact with. Time, deceit, and politics brings you two back together, but it’s a dramatic stretch to the ascension of the throne.

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: so here’s the first part of RY, and I’m pretty impressed by it, honestly. hope everyone reading enjoys it

Originally posted by bsegifs

Your mother does not touch you as you walk alongside her with Grant still holding your arm towards the throne room of the Barnes Castle. Your heart beats triple the amount of times you take steps, and you’re sure Grant can feel your heartrate in your arm, but if he does, he does not address it.

The stained glass windows of the hall leading towards the throne room are gold and silver, images of the land and past kings and queens pictured in them and shining disarrayed blends of color onto the stone floor you walk on.

“You’re a queen,” your mother reminds you, though she needn’t to. “That is one rank higher than James.”

You only look at her, blank faced and still frustrated with her, and she turns her head forward, chin raised as you three take the last turn into the throne room.
The king and his queen had greeted you upon your arrival the evening before, late into the night, but neither his son nor daughter were awake for you to meet. They stand at the foot of their parents’ thrones now, dressed equally elegantly and each as beautiful as their kingdom’s breathtaking country side.

“Your Highnesses,” King George Barnes says, rising from his throne with his wife following suite and descending the steps down onto the main floor.

“Your Majesty,” your mother bows deeply to him, and smiles at him and his wife, Queen Winifred.

“Your Highness,” you say in turn, bowing to him just as much as your mother.

“May I introduce to you to my son, the Crown Prince James, and my daughter, Princess Rebecca.”

They step forward upon being called, and the Princess grins at you and bows to you, as you do the same.

“It is an honor to finally meet you, Your Majesty,” Princess Rebecca says to you.

“It is my honor alone,” you reply, and look to her brother.

Prince James nods to you, back ramrod straight and demeanor closed off, but his chest expands when you make eye contact with him, and you do not nearly bow as low to him as you had the rest of his family.

“This is my advisor, Grant of Ward,” you introduce the man at your side, and he gives his respect to the Barnes family.

“A pleasure to meet you,” King George speaks to him.

“It is an honor, Your Majesty,” Grant responds, returning to his straight composure.

“Your Highness.” King George addresses your mother. “If you would please join myself and my wife in a discussion.”

Your mother conforms, and glances to you before stepping towards Queen Winifred.

“James,” his mother addresses him, and Prince James looks at his queen, wordlessly. “Take Queen (Y/N) on a stroll through the gardens. Reacquaint yourselves with one another.”

You open your mouth to oppose this suggestion, determined not to be alone with the Prince until you had to, but Grant’s gaze silences you, and you comply to his unspoken recommendation.

“Of course,” Prince James obeys, his voice rigid. Grant releases your arm, and James nearly looks livid with himself as he offers his own, which you reluctantly take.

“Grant,” you say, and your dark haired advisor gives you a reassuring smile, his emotions at bay as you are guided away from the throne room by the Crown Prince.

Once outside, James removes his arm from yours and reforms to locking his hands behind his back as you walk side-by-side down the path towards the garden of dying flowers. Your fingers hold each other loosely in a prayer like form in front of yourself, and you struggle to find words to say to the man next to you.

Your attention is instead drawn by a statue of a naked woman in the center of the garden, visible only now because of the dead branches of summer time plants in the labyrinth of flowers surrounding you both, and you stop, glancing between it and Prince James.

“Do you remember laughing at this statue?” you ask the prince, and he looks down at you.

“Yes,” he states.

Your family had known the Barnes since before your birth, and you had spent a few years in the company of them as a child, between the time when your father had died and day of your coronation, at age seven. Up until then, you had memories of the Crown Prince as a long haired, buck-toothed child. There were only a few, and they were distant, but you reminisced on them whenever you missed the innocence and bliss of childhood.

“Where is Prince Steven?” you ask him, remembering your second companion in those early years and Prince James’ own cousin.

“He is away,” Prince James responds flatly. “His wedding has prevented him from meeting you, again.”

You frown at this news, not having been in recent contact with Prince Steven and not having heard the news of a wife. You suppose the news had been kept from you or deemed unimportant, but it brings an unfamiliar feeling into the pits of your stomach to realize the skinny and sickly small boy you had once put flowers all over in the summer time was married, and grown.

Prince James walks on, and you follow his lead, strolling with him towards the center of the maze. He takes every right, passing blooming flowers and the dead ones alike, soundless except for his boots crunching dried branches under him.

“Prince James,” you say, trying to achieve a conversation with him. “I know this arrangement must make you as angry as it makes me, but I am not the one to blame for it.”

The prince halts, and you stop as well, waiting for his response, which comes as a bitter laugh as he turns around. His chuckle cuts through the frigid air like a sharpened sword, and his lips twist into a scowl.

“You have no idea how angry this arrangement makes me,” he tells you, voice finally adopting some kind of tone, though it is rage. “I don’t even know you, and here I am, being forced to marry you, because it is ‘for the good of our kingdoms.’”

“And you think that I approve of it?” you demand, crossing your arms over your chest. “I do not need a husband to rule my kingdom, but here I am, having to because being alone weakens my reign, in my people’s eyes.”

Damn your people,” Prince James hisses.

“Damn you!” you respond, offended by his curse. “How dare you say something like that.”

“How dare I?” the Prince repeats. “How dare you come into my country and request my hand in marriage!”

“Request your hand?” you repeat, confused. “James, I never even reached out for a marriage!”

“Really?” Prince James scoffs. “Then explain to me why a messenger came to this castle not two weeks ago, requesting that I become your king and you become my queen with your family’s seal at the bottom of the note?”

You fall short, lips parted.  “James, I haven’t sent messages to you, or this country since I was eight years old.”

Prince James falls into silence, his eyes analyzing your face for truth.

“James,” you say his name again, stepping forward to grasp his arm, believing your shared history allowed you this. “The seal on the message, did it have the dove in the crown or a wreath of laurels around it?”

He shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as he moves his body away from yours.

“A bird, a dove maybe,” he responds. “Why? Why does this matter?”

Your expression darkens and you press your lips into a firm line.

“It matters because the seal of my country, upon my coronation, is a wreath of laurels surrounding my crown,” you tell him, new anger and disbelief coursing through you. “The seal of a dove flying through the crown was the seal of my parents before me.”

Prince James meets your eyes as the understanding clicks with him.

“I didn’t send you anything,” you mutter. “My mother did.”


@a-steroides @princeofsassgard

Royally Yours: Part Two

Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: You’re unwillingly engaged to the Crown Prince of another kingdom, whom you had known as a child but then lost contact with. Time, deceit, and politics brings you two back together, but it’s a dramatic stretch to the ascension of the throne.

Word Count: 2k

A/N: happier times after this guys, I promise. enjoy (:

Originally posted by kittyseb

Originally posted by shadowing-not-smothering

     Grant is still standing with the Princess Rebecca in the throne room when you storm into it, Prince James on your heels.

“Where is my mother?” you demand, and Grant’s eyes widen.

“(Y/N),” he says, and then corrects himself, “My lady, what is wrong?”

“The Prince and I have been lied to,” you tell him shortly, not caring for the guards’ prying ears or the unawareness of the young princess. “My mother is the one that arranged this marriage behind my back, not by the necessity of my people but by her own wishes.”

Grant gapes. “I don’t…I’m unsure-”

“They’re in the conference chamber,” Princess Rebecca cuts your advisor off.

“Follow me,” Prince James says, turning on his heel and stalked out of the room, back into the hall with the stained glass. He moves quickly through corridors until you’re passing under his country’s flag as he throws open a pair of wooden doors, ignoring the guard standing at his station before them.

“Mother,” you snap, not caring for manners as you walk up to her. “How could you?”

Your mother stands taken aback, a quill in her fingers dripping with fresh ink as she leans over a document on the table in front of her and the other monarchies.

“My dear?” she asks, standing straight, and you scowl.

“You sent a message to this kingdom, to Prince James, telling him that I wished his hand in marriage, knowing that he has to fulfil this request because he is lower in rank,” you accuse her. “You deceived me, and you have tricked the Crown Prince.”

The elder Barnes look between each other and then at their son, who stands at the head of the table, arms crossed as he glares at your mother.

“(Y/N),” Queen Winifred says, drawing your attention from your mother’s face. “Your mother was not alone in making this decision.”

Prince James’ lips part, and he scoffs. “You planned this for me as well.”

King George nods his head, and gestures down at the paper your mother had been bent over moments before.

“We have agreed that in uniting our children, we would be allies under any circumstance, using each other’s resources and becoming stronger,” he explains.

“Are you mad?” Prince James shouts. “Have you even considered how (Y/N) and I may feel of this?”

“We have,” your mother answers him, “and we decided it was not in your best interests to be informed of our plans, but instead only be a part of them.”

“You used us as pawns,” you say, and your mother shakes her head.

“We are bringing conflict to two countries to an end and gaining power, (Y/N),” your mother says, reaching to touch your face, but you pull yourself away from her hands, disgusted.

“You are not the queen,” you tell her, raising your chin, rage in your veins. “You are not anything but the mother of me and my brothers and sister and certainly not the one at my side to give me my best strategies! You had no place to arrange this!”

Your mother glares at you. “And you believe Grant has those best interests in his head alongside you, as your advisor? He is blinded-”

“Grant would never betray me as you have!” you shout. “You have impersonated your queen and been disloyal to your daughter!”

“I have already signed the treaty!” the former queen declares. “Your duty is to your country to bring it peace, not to bring pleasure to yourself. Grant will never bring you as far as I have just now, and you will comply to this document.”

“I will never,” you snarl.

“(Y/N),” Prince James speaks up, and you turn to him. He’s walked around the table to read the paper, taken a widened berth around his parents, and looks up at you now, a variety of emotions on his face.

“What James?” you ask heatedly, joining his side to read the document.

“Your mother has signed your name as my parents have signed mine,” he breathes, looking at you with an astonished look on his face. “There is nothing we can do.”

Your eyes drift from his to the paper in front of you, reading the large and fancy written letters.

Upon the agreement of a joined ally force  between the Country of Sokovia and the Country of Romania, the marriage between (Y/N) (Y/L/N), Queen of Sokovia, and James Barnes, the Crown Prince of Romania, is sanctioned by the people of the respective countries, and ratified by both corresponding religions.

Your name, drawn nearly as if you had done it yourself, is at the bottom of the page, written beside your title, and then James’ under it, by his own.

Your trembling hand raises to your face, and you gasp.

“What have you done?” you ask your mother harshly, and flee the room, tears shedding from your eyes as you run past Grant and the Princess.

Grant sits with you in the silence of your chambers, head bowed and hands holding his face. You stare at the wall, seated across from him, tear stains having dried on your face hours ago. You feel robbed, robbed of your freedom of choice, and the trust you thought existed between you and your mother. Anger, dread, and sadness churn in a muddy cocktail of emotions inside of you, not having ceased for a moment since you’d read your name and the document that bound you to Prince James.

“I’m married to him,” you croak, throat constricted with disbelief.

Grant looks up at you. “Not officially.”

You swallow difficultly. “The document was the agreed alliance of our countries and the agreement of our marriage in one.”

Grant looks away from you.

“Grant,” you whisper, voice shaky. “I feel so powerless.”

He won’t meet your eyes. “I was supposed to protect you from this. That is my job.”

“Your job is to advise me,” you respond, breathing out.

“I’m your closest friend,” he snaps, standing up and beginning to pace in front of you. “I’m supposed to be the one to keep you out of danger and away from people like your mother.”

“No one would have guessed it,” you mumble.

“I should have,” Grant says. “I was the one who took the message from her when she told me it was from you and sent it. I should have recognized the seal as her own, not yours.”

“Grant,” you say, standing up and touching his shoulders from behind. “It is not your fault.”

“But it is!” Grant exclaims, stepping away from you. “Your mother gave your hand away right under our noses and I never suspected anything!”

“Then it is my fault as well,” you respond defiantly. “I was the one who agreed to come here, and make it easier for her to sign these papers. If I had never come here, she never would have had the opportunity to fake my signature.”

Grant halts, gradually turning his head back to you.

“She faked your signature,” he repeats slowly.

“Yes,” you respond.

“(Y/N),” he says, grabbing you by the shoulders, hope in his face. “She faked your signature! This means you’re not married to James.”

You shake your head, eyes watering. “They invited a priest to view the document after James and I left the chamber. It has been seen and signed by the priest himself as verification…James and I are wed in the eyes of God, just not by the eyes of our countries.”

Grant lets go of you, and walks away. The room stays silent, and you watch your greatest friend shake his head, his anger thriving as he snatches his jacket from your bed.

“I need air,” he says, dismissing himself and slams your bedroom door loudly.
You take a shaking breath, trying to find your control, and sit back down on the chair you’d originally been resting in.

You still could not believe what your mother has done, nor that you were truly living your greatest fear, by being married off to a man you barely knew. Save, seven years out of your twenty, but it had been thirteen years since you’d seen Prince James before today. There was only one man you could ever imagine yourself willingly allow to take the throne beside you, and that was Grant, the thirteen years he’d spent with you making him the only person you trusted enough with your kingdom.

You stand, shaking the thoughts away from your head and retrieve your warmest coat from your belongings before opening the door to your room and gently shutting it behind you. The pair of guards you had told to forbid your mother from entering your chambers stand waiting for you, heads tilted as you pull your shawl around your shoulders.

“Your advisor has gone to his chambers,” the one on the left informs you. His name is Lincoln.

“Thank you,” you reply, “please do not tell anyone I’ve left my room.”

“But Your Majesty,” the one on the right, Bruce, protests, but you raise your hand, silencing him.

“I ask you as your queen, and not as your friend,” you say, and they both reluctantly nod their heads.

“Yes ma’am,” they echo each other.

“Be safe,” Bruce warns you, and you nod.

“I will be,” you assure him, and head off in the opposite direction of Grant’s chambers, walking the route you remembered to the throne room. The hall full of stain glass is still beautiful past nightfall, the candlelight from overhead wrought iron chandeliers casting shadows on the tapestries mounted on the walls.

You walk down the steps and open the doors into the courtyard, moving under the protection of the dark to the passageway that would take you out to the watchtower by the cliffs.

The journey is one you remember well, distant memories of chasing Prince James and Steven up the stairs and down the walkway to the farthest tower of the seaside fort, your caretakers not far behind.

You make this trip alone and in the dark for the first time, breathing in the salty sea air as you closer approach the end of the lookout. The waves crash on the cliffs below, and creating a spray strong enough to mist over your face.

You stare at the dark waves below, illuminated by the torches set out by the guards who you knew occasionally made their rounds out here, and wonder if anyone had ever leaped from the structure you stood on to escape the life behind them. You think it would be possible, to do it now, while you were alone and escape your commitment and responsibilities. If you did, though, you left behind the entire country of Sokovia with no legitimate heir and three bastard children born from your mother and father.

You would also abandon Grant, who had been there for you since the seconds before your coronation as a reassurance you would still be the child you were already after the ceremony, the guard of your life, and also your most trusted consultant.

As you think of this, lightning flashes above the ocean, momentarily bringing extra light to the fort and you glimpse a flash of red that does not belong to any burning flame. You pause, unsure if you should move away from your high and obvious position, because that momentary sight of red could have been anything from a fox to an assassin, but your heart jumps when the sound of sudden sharp draw of a breath reaches you over the roar of the waves breaking.

You squint into the darkness before the sea, and see the form of two darkly dressed figures beneath you, close to the lower wall of the fort.

The torches along the upper section of the fort cast faint light down onto the ground, and you can see the face of the Crown Prince and the red hair of a young woman standing in front of him, crying. You can’t hear their conversation, but when Prince James gathers her into his arms and kisses her, you can tell that she means something of importance to him.

You sigh and look out across the ocean as lightning cracks above your head, realizing your mother had destroyed more than just your own life.


@a-steroides @princeofsassgard @soundslikehuman @crazybarnes

merchant-of-aegis  asked:

Sad af winteriron with thought-dead or dead-dead Tony? Happy or sad ending is up to you if you choose to write it. Thanks love :)

I immediately had this idea that sprinted away from me, so I hope you like this 2K of angst with a small bit of bitter sweetness at the end :,D


His pants will get dirty, Bucky realizes, if he stays on the ground. How did he get here? He was just standing watching the building crumble apart as black smoke flew high into the air, but now he’s kneeling in a pile of rubble, flesh hand burning with hundreds of tiny cuts covered in a layer of dust, prosthetic hand scratched beyond compare from the rocks he clenches in his hands.

“Barnes.” A hand shakes his shoulder, and Bucky looks up, vision swimming. Sam is crouched beside him, eyes wide and red as he says, “We need to go, Barnes. You need to get to medical.”

Bucky tries to speak, but coughs instead, throat jammed with dust. He rasps out, “No. Not without him.”

“Barnes, we need to go,” Sam turns Bucky away from the rubble, from the remains of the building broken around them, the building that broke over Tony, crushing him into the ground in less than a second.

The battle wasn’t a battle. The team received the call about a squad of hydra’s workers moving through the city, and they responded to the call. It was easy, much to easy, to deal with the men.

He should have realized it then, that something was up, but he didn’t. They received more information from Jarvis about a building, something suspicious that Bucky can’t remember. Tony went in, looking for – looking for something, lost connection to the team, and didn’t come back out. Not yet.

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