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alicedopey · 21 hours ago

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Awww those two pumpkins ! Very cute 🥰 It felt like two teenagers having their first awkward date, they were so adorable. I am happy things are getting good for them, they both deserve it !

Tech Tuesday: Steve Rogers

Summary: Steve and Newbie go on their first date!

A/N: Reader is female. No physical descriptors used.

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Steve can't remember the last time he felt so nervous. Well, no, the last time he was this nervous it was when he was trying to ask you out. But you said yes and now he's the most nervous he's ever been for a date!

He wishes he could grow out of the awkwardness he'd lived for so many years. That he could finally be the cool, confident person everyone thought he was until he started talking. As many muscles as he worked on, it couldn't stop him from being a dork. Especially around a beautiful woman like you.

He sighs fondly, remembering when you'd accidentally run into him, giving him a hug to keep from falling. For weeks afterwards he was kicking himself for not doing something smooth or giving you a cool pickup line or something. Instead he just hugged you back and asked if you were okay. He even stuttered as he spoke! The fact that you agreed to a date was nothing short of a miracle as far as he was concerned.

He'd gone over the itinerary with Bucky enough times that he didn't even have to say anything before Bucky was assuring him it was a good first date plan. Dinner at a diner you'd mentioned liking followed by one of those wine and painting classes. Food first so the wine wouldn't sour your stomach. And painting instead of sketching to avoid complaints that he was trying to prove his superiority.

He still winces when he thinks of Peggy being so angry that he was good at drawing. It was a bullet dodged, yes, but he still hates that she thought he was trying to be better than her. But painting wasn't his strong suit, so hopefully this would be better.

At the same time you're going through your closet, getting advice from Spitfire and Bubbles about what to wear since you don't trust your own opinion. You've been pining after Steve since your first day in the office and he actually asked you out! You don't want him to regret doing so.

"I think you should go casual," Spitfire proposes. "He sees you in your work clothes all the time, let him see what you normally look like outside of work."

"That's a good idea!" Bubbles encourages. "Especially if he's taking you to some more casual places like you said."

"But I wanna be like, sexy or something," you complain. "My casual clothes are just so plain."

"Just wear some cherry red lipstick," Bubbles comments. "He seems the type to go weak for that."

Spitfire nods in agreement. "Plus, if he's as interested as he seems, he's gonna find you sexy regardless of what you're wearing."

"That's true," Bubbles concurs.

You sigh in exasperation. "Okay, okay. I get what you're saying. But I still wanna look...good? I don't want him embarrassed to be seen with me!"

"If he even hints that he is, you let us know and we'll knock him straight," Spitfire retorts, making you smile and giggle. You're very grateful to have friends willing to go to bat for you.

You finally settle on a pair of dark jeans and a pastel long-sleeved t-shirt with your lucky flannel jacket. You feel comfortable and Spitfire and Bubbles are quick to assure that you look good.

Steve is waiting in his car outside your apartment building. He wasn't sure you'd be okay with his motorcycle and figured the car would be safer. As soon as you step outside, he's out of the car and opening the passenger door for you. You smile at the gesture and Steve beams at you.

When your close enough he can take in how you look, he's rendered speechless. You always look pretty when you're wearing your work clothes but now? You look absolutely stunning and he can't believe he's so lucky to get to take you on a date. He stumbles over his words a few times before finally saying, "you look so beautiful!"

Heat rushes to your face and you giggle, making him blush. "You really think so?"

"Absolutely," he breathes. You swear you've never felt prettier in your life.

"Thank you," you shyly reply. "You're looking very handsome, too." His blush deepens and he rubs a hand on the back of his head as he mumbles his thanks.

You take your spot in the passenger seat and Steve, all smiles, gets into the driver seat, feeling like he's walking on air.

The drive to the diner is mainly spent with each of you trying to say something but accidentally interrupting each other, followed by awkward giggling.

"This is a really nice car," you finally manage to get out.

"Oh, thanks," he blushes. "It's old, but definitely reliable. And way more comfortable than the Beetle I used to have."

"You used to have a Beetle? How did you fit?" You slap your hand over your mouth in embarrassment as you think about how rude your question could be.

Thankfully he laughs. "It was when I was a lot smaller. I used to be really scrawny."

"Really?"

"Had a lot of health problems growing up," he shrugs. You give a consolatory "aww" and he continues. "Finally got the medical help I needed and now I'm..." he gestures to his physique.

"I'm so glad you got your health in order. I can't imagine how frustrating it would be."

"Admittedly, I took that frustration out on others. Bullies, specifically, just so you know. They kept poking fun at me, so I kept fighting back."

"That's so brave of you! I'd have run away and cried." Like I do at work, you think.

"Bucky definitely wishes that was the case for me," Steve chuckles. "The number of times he had to come to my rescue..."

You chuckle at that. "So you've been friends for quite some time?"

"Yeah. He's also the one that, once my health issues were under control, helped me figure out a workout so I could be less scrawny."

"That's so good of him."

"He did make me promise that I'd stop fighting so much but I still get so riled up around bullies."

You place a hand on his arm, "well thank you for not punching my boss, bully that she is."

"Yeah, well..." he stutters for a bit, his face turning redder. "If she ever gets to be too much, you just let me know, okay? I'm good friends with HR."

"Thank you, Steve."

As you get more comfortable around each other the date becomes filled with laughter and bad jokes. You leave the diner with full bellies and big smiles.

At the class, you haven't even sipped at your first glass of wine but you can't stop giggling with Steve. The teacher for the class tells everyone there's no pressure to be perfect so don't worry about any mistakes. Steve leans into your ear and whispers, "just brush it off." You have to bite your tongue to keep from laughing out loud but he feels the way you're shaking with laughter and his eyes sparkle when he looks at you.

"Don't get too confident," you whisper back. "I'm easel-y impressed." Now it's Steve's turn to bite back a laugh while visibly shaking.

"You know why you should be careful around artists?" Steve whispers. "They're pretty sketchy."

"I still can't believe you're real," you whisper back, "and not just a pigment of my imagination."

Neither of you wants to disrupt the class but you just can't help how good you're feeling. How comfortable you both are with each other. How much more relaxed the atmosphere of the date has gotten. And you can't even blame the wine since you've barely finished a single glass.

The only time Steve freezes up is when you snuggle up to him, putting your head on his shoulder while you think about what color to pick next. He swears his heart stopped in that moment but he never wanted it to end.

The only moment that topped that was when he dropped you off back at your apartment. He walked you up to your building, like the gentleman he is, and you actually kissed him goodnight. It wasn't a deep kiss, but it was still full of affection and warmth and Steve wanted to drop to his knees and thank you. You giggle at the lipstick left on his lips and try to rub it away but he stops you, his smile never dropping.

"Can we do this again?" he pleads.

You give a shy nod, "next weekend?"

"Next weekend," he confirms.

Tagging: @alicedopey; @darsynia; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen;

@jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @ozwriterchick; @ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63

#tech tuesday #tech tuesday: steve rogers #it!steve rogers

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alicedopey · 21 hours ago

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Those two are the perfect duo, she is even harsher than Lloyd. I wonder how he can stay so patient and not pounce on her, maybe he is amused by her snarky attitude and wants to see if she can add sex to that. Once he realizes she won't, he will probably snap and things are gonna turn ugly. In the meantime, he is going to meet her family and I'm certain it's gonna be wild.

Meet the Family 9

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, reference to suicide and Lloyd being offensive, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.(petite!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: Thanks for all your patience.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Migraines always leave you a bit foggy. Like a hangover, or even a concussion. You power through the airport, waiting in line with your mustachioed curse. Lloyd taps his toe incessantly, adding to the plethora of overstimulation all around you. This isn’t how you envisioned your holidays.

It’s the 26th and you’re supposed to be on your way home, not catching the flight you booked for two days before. And alone. You’re supposed to be alone.

You take your boarding pass and leave Lloyd’s for him to grab himself. He huffs and follows after you. He’s like a big dumb dog sometimes. It’s amazing that the realization only comes over you then. It’s pretty obvious when he’s not behind a desk growling like some mafioso. He’s no kingpin, he’s a clown.

You drop into a seat, your carry-on beside you, and he claims the seat to your left. He’s on the edge, jiggling his leg. You could thank him for upgrading you both to first class but he’s the reason you’re even there. It’s the least he could do.

You cross your arms and stare through the haze. The first-class lounge is quiet and softly lit. Isolated but for the pest next to you. He continues to fidget. Is he nervous? You didn’t think that was possible since he seems to lack any degree of self-awareness.

“So, gimme the down low. You got a mom? Girl like you screams daddy issues. Is he still around?”

You sigh. “Sure is.”

“Wow, okay. Good guy? Strict? Shit, knowing you, he must be a hard ass,” he scoffs. “Should I put on my best behaviour? Should I have worn a tie, Pixie pie?” He tugs at the collar of his turtleneck.

“What you can do is hush,” you retort. “Jesus, I’m tryna get my head together.”

“Last night was wild,” he agrees, though it’s not the point you were making, nor a statement of fact. “We were so close, Pix. You shoulda just laid back and let the magic hands do their tricks. Promise,” he smooths his mustache, “this isn’t just for show. I’ve been told it adds a lot of sensation--”

“Ew. Would you—if you even say any of that in front of my family--”

“You gonna spank me?” He asks brightly and sits back, slinging an arm over the back of your chair.

“Please. I have to at least make this believable and you’re not making it any easier,” you snarl.

“Are you serious? Our chemistry is like if Einstein banged a beaker--”

“Einstein was a physicist--”

“Science is science, baby. All I know is there’s something here and the sooner you accept it, the harder I’ll-- I mean the easier this will be.”

You look at him dully. All those years you spent bending over backward for him. Behind the mask, he’s a cretin. You always had a suspicion but he was never your creep to deal with.

“How do you do that?” He asks.

You grumble and shake your head, turning your glare to the flat screen across from you.

“How the hell do you skin a man with your eyes? It’s bone tingling and boner-inducing, but damn, it’s something else,” he shifts in his chair noticeably, “you’re gonna make me fly all the way to Canada at half-mast?”

“You can book a seat across the plane from me if you’re going to keep on,” you warn him. “I’m really not in the mood. We have a deal. I’ll do my part. Pretend, nothing more, and you’ll keep your hands to yourself and give me my money.”

“I got it, baby. I’m a businessman,” he turns straight and plants his feet wide. “I make deals every day. You’ll get yours.”

“I want an advance--”

“An advance? What the hell do you mean? I paid for first-class. Elite,” he punctuates with his finger. “Advance, my juicy ass.”

“Ten. In my account. Before take-off.”

“Pfft, you don’t trust me?”

“No, I don’t,” you affirm. “More so, you owe me. I defaulted on the refund on the flight you made me miss. Oh, and I didn’t get to see my family. On Christmas.”

“Jeez, well you don’t seem that happy to,” he accuses.

“Money, now.”

“Fine, but I get one titty grab--”

“You get nothing. Mon-ey.” You rub your fingers together.

He huffs and leans forward as he takes his phone out. He rolls his eyes and taps around on the screen. He takes a deep breath then pushes down. He shows you the screen. “Go ahead and check. You got your blood money.”

“This is your idea,” you retort.

“It is my idea but you’re rejecting all my other ones. Like, you know, a sexy massage with a happy ending...”

“You’re going to give me another headache.”

“I’ll take it. At least I make you feel something.” He shrugs.

You shake your head at nothing and check your phone. You can never be too careful with him. Sharing a room has more than proven that.

🎁

You put the in-flight earbuds in and resign yourself to the hours ahead of you, trapped in a flying canister, next to this incessant man-child. He really brings out the bitch in you. That irritates you even more. You could do anything before without much thought at all; you just got through but Lloyd makes everything a task.

You close your eyes as the video babbles on. It’s a new release, but those are all remakes and sequels without any real interest. The altitude does little for the shadow of achiness that lingers in the base of your skull. One wrong move and you’ll reawaken your migraine.

The steady thrum of air around the plane lulls you in a stupor. Just enough for you to stop caring but not deep enough for sleep. You let your head fall toward the window and sink into the numb daze.

A small tickle makes you shift. You think nothing of it. It’s so small, it could be nothing. Then the sensation travels down to your knee and back up your thigh. You smack Lloyd’s hand before he can repeat the action.

“Quit,” you hiss.

He spreads his hand and curls his fingers into your tender flesh. You squeak and open your eyes, clasping onto his wrist as he needs. It’s as if he pinching your nerves.

“Ow, oh, stop--” you protest.

“Come on, baby,” he leans over and winks. “Just let me pet the kitty. It’ll help you relax.”

“How many times can I tell you the same thing--”

“Just like a dog, you need to be repetitive. Conditioning or whatever,” he purrs.

You glance past him at the low wall blocking out your seats from the sight of the other pods in first class. You clutch his two middle fingers and squeeze. You bend them back until he grunts and recoils.

“You touching me isn’t going to make me relax--”

“Never know if you don’t try,” he wiggles his brows.

“Trust me, I know.”

“I’m sure your family don’t need you in a pissy mood. I’m doing it for them, Pixie.”

“Can I ask you something?” You narrow your eyes, “does the begging usually work?”

He snorts. He shakes his head and sits back, raising his palms, “you will be flattered to know I don’t usually beg.” He leans against the seat and rests his head on the cushion. “When I tell a girl to hike her skirt up, she just does it. All of them but you.” He clucks and rolls his eyes. “You know that pretty blond from Pristine? Yeah, whenever she comes around, I got her bent over the desk. Thought you’d catch on, she’s not very quiet.”

You won’t grace him with an excuse. You don’t need one. You’re usually busy, minding your own business, running his errands. You never cared about his office flings.

“Maybe you should’ve asked her to meet your family,” you suggest.

“Kidding me? She never shuts up. I gotta stuff my tie in her mouth. Usually why I turn her around--”

“Lloyd,” you snap.

“Jealous?” He smirks and you stare back blankly. “You know what? Gotta admit, you surprised me, Pixie Pie. Always quiet in the office, scurrying around like a little mouse. I figured you’d be good because you’d keep the yapper shut. Turns out, you know how to cut deep.” He pushes his shoulders wide and settles. “Never saw mom like that. Or Lillian. Yeah, that was good. You really got her.”

He snickers and flutters his fingers menacingly. You yawn and look at the small screen. You don’t know what’s going on in the movie. What you do know is that Lloyd Hansen has more issues than one person can solve and you’re not there for anything but business. This is work. You’re getting your money and you’re moving on.

🎁

Landing is usually a relief. You’re always happy to be on solid ground but it feels shaky as you walk off with your travel companion. The bounce in Lloyd’s step concerns you. He’s much too eager for this.

He grabs his bags from the carousel, yours too before you can even approach. He loads them all onto a car and steers it around the airport. He’s whistling as you get through the terminal and head for the front doors. As you step outside, he chatters and stops short.

“Holy grizzly dick, it’s freezing here,” he puffs a cloud of steam as his nose tints pink.

“There’s not much more snow here than back in the States.”

“Nah, it’s fucking frigid. Should’ve known,” he shivers and tucks his chin down. You make note of his snipe but don’t acknowledge it. “You maple drinkers drive on the same side of the road?” You glare at him and he winces as he meets your eyes. You’ve booked him trips to Vancouver several times. “Kidding. Obviously. That whole polite stereotype is bullshit, huh, Pix.”

You ignore him and hail a cab. You just want to be still. The last few days, you’ve been upended. The long drive, his family, the hotel, then a plane ride on top of it all. You’re ready to just stop.

He wheels the cart around to the trunk and leaves it to the driver to load. You want to admonish him but you’re over the argument. You know you’re going to need your energy. You get in and he climbs in with you.

He blows into his hands then rubs his cheek. “Santa dropped a load on this place, huh?” He unzips his coat and reaches under it. He fishes around the inside pocket and slips out a pair of glasses. You furrow your nose. You’ve never seen him wear glasses.

“Where did you get those?”

“Hipster boy in coach. Snagged them when I hit the restroom,” he explains and pops them on, leaning against you as he cranes to see his reflection in the rear-view mirror.

“You stole glasses?”

“Borrowed,” he insists then turns to you. “What’d ya think? Am I the perfect good boy for mom and pop?”

“You think glasses are gonna do something?”

“We talked about this, we gotta be convincing, sweetheart. I gotta be a man that sweet lil Pixie would go for.” He adjusts the glasses. “I read Hemingway and have a degree in Social Justice.”

“Shut--” you catch yourself and sniff. “I don’t even like Hemingway.”

“Jane Austen? Really? A romantic?”

“Does it matter?”

“I’d say. We have to at least pretend we can stand each other. Not just...” he looks down at his lap, “stand for each other.”

“Ugh, well, start with cutting out those nasty remarks. Second, try, uh, taking care of...” you gesture over your lip, “this.”

He blinks and his brows draw together. He touches his upper lip, “my mustache?” His eyes widen behind the lenses. “Um, this is style, honey.”

You scrunch your lips as you try not to laugh. He really believes that. You shrug as the driver gets in. He crosses his arms.

“Whatever. Judge me but don’t just the stache,” he snips. “So, you gotta tell me. Favourite book.”

“Do I?”

“Well, we’re ‘engaged’ so I think I should know,” he argues.

You watch through the windshield as the taxi follows the airport traffic to the street, “The Bell Jar. If I have to choose one.”

“Oooh, Plath. How... depressing. But I knew it, you’re a reader, Pixie. Bet you like to sink into a hot tub and get cozy with a good novel. You get the kinky one, let the hand wander below the surface--”

You elbow him and he cackles. “Alright, sorry. I just—a man’s used to eating daily.”

“Maybe a diet will do you well,” you retort.

“Cheat day will come soon enough,” he says. “I’ll do my best to keep my pants on, just don’t go putting your head in any ovens.”

“You’re awful,” you exclaim. “That’s awful.”

“Alright,” he combs his hair back, “gonna be a good boy. Promise.”

“You can take the glasses off.”

“I kinda like ‘em,” he grins and pinches the arms.

You make a face but say nothing. The city passes by and your eyes gloss over the familiar sights. The taxi drops you at the rental place and you pull up the booking. There’s at least an hour before you get outside Toronto, then another to your mom’s place. You take the keys and jingle them at Lloyd.

“Wanna drive?” You ask.

“I don’t really know where I’m going,” he says.

“Right.”

“Besides, Pixie, you got control issues.”

“Me?” You scoff. “Sure.”

“Oh, you do,” he assures you as you cross the lot to the rental. “Once you give in to them, you’ll be a lot happier and I'll be your perfect sub.”

You pop the trunk and tut as you approach the driver’s side, “get the bags in the car, would ya?”

#lloyd hansen #meet the family

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alicedopey · 21 hours ago

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Sebastian Stan as Bucky Barnes The Falcon and The Winter Soldier | S01E01: New World Order

#bucky barnes #is it hot in here ?

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alicedopey · 2 days ago

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Oooh I love this Lloyd ! I am so happy this story is getting an update.

Return of the sleeziest simp

#meet the family #lloyd hansen

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alicedopey · 2 days ago

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Oh my…things are getting more intense. Poor woman doesn’t know what is waiting for her. I don’t know if Bucky will keep his hands to himself during the night. 😅 I will be impressed if he does honestly. A bit scared too. I mean, the more he waits, the worse he could be during wedding night. 😳

The man shirt being too tight felt too damn real for me. I completely understand her, she must feel so embarrassed. Poor girl…

Death Wish 15

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, violence/abuse and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Bucky Barnes

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you’re desperate for a way out of your life and you ask a powerful man for help (plus!reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Photo Inspo

Bucky's hand crawls up your body, his arm hooked beneath your head. He has you pinned and splayed. Your skirt trapped under his knees as he rolls his hips with a growl, pushing against you with a deep hunger.

You're stunned by his need, by the furor of his tending. You're unready for him. You are entirely prepared for this. All your life, you were unwanted, and now, his raw desire has you upended.

You squirm and push on his sleeve, his muscle bulging beneath. He groans as he nuzzles into your throat and tilts his hips again. He nips and you squeak, eyes round and hollow.

What do you do? Kissing him was enough. The tingle of his lips remain on yours, his taste stained on your tongue. His desperate fondling sends tendrils over you as each grit of his timbre unfurls to shivers.

He pushes himself back, sitting on his knees as he combs his hair back. The mussed locks swoop precariously and he tugs on the knot of his tie. He tears it away and whips the silk to the foot of the bed.

His fingers furiously pluck down the line of buttons. He puffs heavily as his eyes blaze down at you. You're numb and motionless as you watch. Clueless and dazed by the suddenness of it all.

You've never been alone with a man that wasn't your father, let alone seen any like this. He yanks the tails free of his belt. He rolls his sleeves down as he strips away his shirt, growling as it tangles at one wrist.

His torso is thick but firm. He is hard where you are soft. Veins bulge beneath his toned skin and his muscles flex as he wrestles the fabric.

He frees himself of the cuff and turns his intent back to you. You ball your hands against your stomach and brace yourself. He falls on you again.

You uncurl your fingers and press against his stomach as he crushes you. He smothers your lips again. He snarls as his tongue dips inside your mouth and he tilts his pelvis against yours. He reaches between your bodies and pulls your hand free. He pins it above your head then does the same with the other.

He holds himself above you as he keeps ypur hands locked with his. He moans into your mouth as he consumes your futility. He swallows your breath as heat plumes from his nose.

You whimper and wriggle, overwhelmed beneath his strength and will. You feel small under him. Not the same way as before. Something new, something enthrallingly terrifying.

Then all once, he relents. He parts from your lips and stares down at you, panting as his eyes rove over you. He eases his grip on you and brings himself to sit on his heels.

Kneeling on the mattress, he grips his thighs and heaves. His smoky blue eyes cling to you as his shoulders sink.

"Gotta wait, doll. Don't wanna spoil the wedding night," he cracks his neck and sighs.

You stare at him. You don't know what to do. Your shirt is halfway up your stomach and your skirt crooked across your knees.

You cautiously sit up and fix your clothes, retreating to the other side without a word. You turn your back to him. Doubt and relief mingle.

You're happy he stopped but can't help but think he couldn't continue. That maybe he found some deterrence as he unveiled more and more of you. More than anything, you find yourself choked in the powerlessness of the moment.

"Don't think it's you, doll," he drawls. "If you only knew the things I wanna do right now."

His declaration is less than reassuring. Reality comes back into focus and you're still the same woman, trapped by the rules of an overbearing man. As much as Bucky might extend and open hand, it could close at any time.

"Whatcha need, doll? You hungry? Thirst?" He asks. "Tired?"

You shake your head and shrug.

You don't know what you want. You don't know how to feel. All you know is to go along with whatever he wants.

"Think I'll just lay down," you mutter.

"Sure, doll, whatever you like. Been a long day, hasn't it?"

You shrug and get up. You stride around the bed and he meets you at the foot, his eyes sparkling and curious, "where're you off too?"

You flinch and look around. You don't know where you're going or what you're thinking. You just want space. You can't tell him that.

"I..." you peek down at yourself, "I guess I wasn't... I'll just..." you go to turn away but he stops you, his hand on your elbow.

"Got nothing to wear but you can't sleep in all this," he flutters his fingers up your blouse. "I don't really sleep in much either. You don't gotta be shy."

He winks and your cheeks catch alight. You can't help but fidget as you gently draw away from him. "This is fine, really."

"You can have a look in the closet," he offers. "Don't mind." He turns, still shirtless, and struts over to the thick wooden door in the corner, "all yours."

He pushes it inward as you watch him. You don't know what else to do so you follow. You enter as the light flicks on as you break the threshold. The walk-in is lined from wall to wall with his wardrobe; jackets, shirts, trousers, shoes, watches, ties... all arranged perfectly. There's a bench at the center, cushioned with leather.

"We'll make space for you. Hell, take it all," he says as he trails you inside. "A vanity for you to admire yourself. We could add a mirror above the bed too."

He snickers and you give him a look. He's delighted at your reaction as he smirks and tickles your arm. You take a breath and turn your attention back to the hangers and shelves.

You go to take a plain black button-up from the lot. White is too easy to stain and the rest are in fine fabrics you don't think would be very comfortable. As you take it down, he lingers. You peer over at him as you run your hand down the linen.

"Right, right," he shows his palms. "I'll be waitin'."

He spins and leaves the room. His fussing and rustling comes through the open door as you take the shirt to the bench. You pause before you undress. You don't think the shirt will fit, as big as he is. You have a bit more curves than him.

You strip down to your panties and bra. Neither of them are very attractive. Cotton, ribbed on the bottom, and well-worn on top. You poke your arms into the sleeves; those are too long, but the shirt itself is too tight. You hook the only button you can reach; the one below your tits. You're not impressed with how it brings attention to your bursting cleavage.

You keep your hands on the tails of the shirt at your thighs and near the door. You exhale and rush out, trying not to notice Bucky as you head for the bed. You pull the blankets over you as he hums and comes up along the other side.

"Damn, doll, what're ya hidin' for?" He taunts. You hold the blankets at your chin as you lay stiffly and gulp at him. He's down to only his boxers, the navy satin clinging to what's beneath.

You look at the ceiling and clear your throat, "not... just cold." You turn away from him and hide your embarrassment. How can someone like him want you? You know it's not real; this is a power play; this is an ego stroke. And you're just here to fuel his thrill.

#bucky barnes #death wish #mob au

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alicedopey · 2 days ago

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I read the request and thought, oh this is gonna be so cute 🥰 then I read your answer and the warning so I was…maybe not. After reading it…definitely not 😅

It was full of angst and so heartbreaking 💔 Even if Ransom screwed up, he was really attached. I can understand the reader’s reaction but this is very sad. 😔

Hii! 🥰 If it’s okay, can I please request a Ransom x shy!fem!reader where she’s his gf and he loves making her all flustered and shy? Like he spoils her with SO MUCH love, affection, flirting, and gifts and he absolutely LOVES her reactions (she’d definitely hide her head in his chest)

If there's one thing we all know about Ransom it's that he loves getting reactions from people. This probably isn't the story you were hoping for but it's the one that Ransom gave me.

Ransom Drysdale x Shy!Reader

Warnings: Angst, Bad family, Self-esteem issues, Stalker behavior. Please let me know if I missed any!

The first time Ransom flirted with you, you were certain it was a prank. Your face heated with embarrassment and you basically ran away.

It was rather unique experience for him and he was intrigued. He decided to run some tests and see if that's just how you were or if it was him specifically. He frequented the bookstore you worked at, observing your interactions with others versus himself. Some may have called it "stalking" but he called it "research". And he'd spend enough money at the store your boss would never tell him he wasn't welcome.

When he realizes you weren't faking, that you react the same whenever anyone gives you a compliment, he's even more intrigued. He's never seen someone so easily flustered and thinks you could be a lot of fun to play with.

Just like when he first flirted with you, when he asked you out on a date you immediately thought it was a prank and tried to run off. He cut in front of you, careful not to touch you without permission (he doesn't need an assault charge, after all).

"I'm being serious," he tells you. "I'm not trying to hurt you, I just...you seem like an interesting person and I'd like to get to know you better."

Your face is burning as you look down at your feet. "I just want to work, sir."

"Please? Just one date," he offers with that look he knows works on all the ladies. Well, all but you because you're not looking at him. "How about just a coffee together at the cafe next door? Please?"

And that's how you and Ransom started dating. Much to his mother's chagrin.

Initially Linda just scoffed when she met you. A bookstore employee dating her son? No way was this going to last. Best to not even get to know the poor girl's name. Ransom was just gonna use you for his amusement and dump you like he always does.

Except he doesn't. Over the months Ransom finds himself more and more amused and intrigued by you and your overly shy reactions. Sure it was just a fun experiment to begin with but he's finding he enjoys being your anchor. He likes that someone finds him so reliable, so safe. It's a side of himself he never knew about until you. The fact that, even after all these months of "spoiling" you, you still don't expect him to is something very new for him.

You never shrug at the gifts. You never ask for them, either. Part of him worries you'll never understand that it's okay to accept compliments, to accept gifts. So he makes sure to shower you in both, hoping it'll sink in.

"For the last time, Linda, I'm not getting rid of her."

"She's beneath you, Ransom. I get you've found yourself a charity case, but you can't get emotionally attached to these things."

"She's not a thing."

"But you agree she's a charity case," Linda asserts. "I've seen your spending habits, Ransom. You can't expect me to think she's at all good for you! She's clearly just interested in getting her grubby hands on our fortune!"

Ransom rolls his eyes. "She has never asked for any of the stuff I get her. I get them for her because her reactions are so much fun."

Linda rolls her own eyes, "I don't need to hear about your exploits in bed. I need you to get your spending under control and drop the gold digger!"

"But I'm having so much fun!" Ransom pleads. If his mother won't listen to reason, maybe she'll listen to this.

"Ugh, fine. Keep playing with your...toy. Just don't expect me to like her. And definitely tell me when you've finally dumped her back in the trailer home she came from. I've got a girl lined up for you that I think you'll like."

Ransom knows whoever it is his mother wants to set him up with is the daughter, niece, cousin of one of her friends. He'd rather die than date them. But he's done with this conversation so he turns away and that's when he sees you, crying.

"I'm...I'm just gonna go," you mumble before running off.

Ransom tries to go after you but Linda holds him back saying, "it's for the best. Now she finally knows, you're both done with each other. So let me tell you about Trillia. She's Karen's niece..."

Ransom doesn't hear anything. He breaks her grip and goes storming out after you but once outside, he can't find you. He tries texting, calling, messaging, everything he can think but no response.

After a bit he drives over to your apartment complex. He hits the buzzer for your apartment, no response. Maybe you weren't home yet? The buses weren't the most reliable. Maybe you'd taken the wrong bus? Fuck. He sits in his car and decides to wait. Every 15 or 20 minutes he tries calling you but you still don't answer.

Well, there's one place he knows you'll be at eventually.

It's taken a few days of waiting. Apparently you've been calling in sick. Ransom can understand that, given the likely shock you were experiencing. He hadn't been taking the best care of himself while trying to get hold of you again. He'd even developed a bit of stubble because he couldn't be bothered to shave.

But now, finally, you were back at work and he could talk to you. Well, he could if you'd let him. He knows creating a scene will make things worse for you so he's trying his best to not call out, yell at you to stop ignoring him, whatever. But you know the store so much better than him and are frequently able to get away, making him look for you all over again.

When it finally sinks in that he's not going to give up you let him find you one last time. Before he can even open his mouth you tell him, "it's over Ransom. I knew you were never interested in me so I'm just giving us both the blessing of cutting things off."

"I was just telling my mother what she wanted to hear. What I knew would get her off our backs. How could you think I was never interested?"

"You never took 'no' for an answer," you tell him bluntly. "I didn't want to go on a date, but you wouldn't leave me alone. I didn't want the expensive gifts you got me, but you insisted. i'd practically beg you to stop buying me things but you wouldn't hear it. It was all about you, never me. How could I not know you weren't actually interested?"

"Well excuse me for wanting to shower you with gifts!" Ransom immediately regrets snapping at you, making you wince. "I'm sorry. I just...I thought..."

"You enjoyed making me uncomfortable," you sigh. "You're not the first, won't be the last. I know I'm ridiculous. That I shouldn't be so shy. But you didn't have to make fun of me for it."

Ransom feels his heart break. It's true, he enjoyed your reactions, enjoyed being the one you hugged, and hid with. But was it really fair to you? He really never considered your discomfort beyond his own enjoyment of it. Beyond his own need to feel needed.

"I'm sorry," he finally sputters. "I'll...I'll try to be better."

You shake your head, "it's for the best, Ransom. Now please, for once, respect my 'no' and leave me alone."

Ransom wants to argue. To say it's not what you think. To swear to do better by you in the future. But it would only serve to prove your point. So instead he nods and leaves.

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63

#ransom drysdale

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