#lets pretend that bottom one is from my mobster ray au

[gjdraws]

local artist succumbs to head cold, proceeds to draw several self indulgent things

edited to add detail bc thanks for nuthin tumblr (I added these on mobile so apologies if quality is iffy)

[until-we-fall-in-love]

Ingénue: Chapter Three

-Read Chapter Two-

Ingénue Masterlist

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader, in later chapters Sam Wilson x Reader, Natasha Romanov x Reader, and Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: You take a job as a showgirl in an illegal speakeasy owned by two of the most notorious mobsters of New York City in 1921. Caught up in the glamor and mystique, you go spiraling into a world a little more dangerous than you had originally thought. 1920s AU.

In this chapter, your relationship with Steve and Bucky develops. Natasha keeps a close eye on you. 

Warnings: Smut, cursing, in later chapter there will be violence.

A/N: hello everyone!! thank you all for the kind comments and feedback about this story! i have a lot of fun writing this series and it makes it even better to know others are enjoying it, too! this chapter got a little long and mostly just smut and fluff but at the ending, we finally get into a little bit more plot. Or like....a hint of what might come. thank you for reading!! your comments mean a lot to me so please let me know what you thought of this chapter!

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You lean over the counter in front of the mirror, hips digging into the edge slightly as you adjust an earring that dangles prettily, catches and shimmers in the light of the dressing room. You are running slightly late for curtain call, simply because you’d been going over some changes to one of your solo songs while most of the girls got ready. You are left alone with the warm, perfumed air and your reflection in the mirror.

Heels click against the wood floors and your eyes dart at the sound, turning slightly to see Natasha striding towards you languidly. Her movements are easy, graceful, fluid; almost lazy, as if she knows she is the best in any room.

“I’ve been looking for you,” She begins, stepping nearer, coming to stand behind you. You look at her reflection in the mirror, your eyes catching and holding.

For some reason, it feels intimate, especially as she takes another step nearer. You feel warm beneath the hot bulbs above the mirror. You pretend to fix your earring again so you won’t meet her eyes.

“Is there something you need from me?” You ask lightly, your eyes focusing on a rhinestone in your earring.

She closes the distance, so she presses herself along the length of your back. A squeak of surprise gets caught in your throat as you straighten up slightly, but you’re pinned between her and the counter. Her body is soft and lean against you, unlike the hard lines of Bucky or Steve. You flush deeply and you shouldn’t feel a low swoop of excitement deep inside, but you do.

Her hand reaches around, tugs at the golden chain Steve had given you; the one with his ring dangling from it. Bucky had also added his when you’d seen him next and they chime and twinkle as they knock into one another as she lifts it from its resting place against your chest.

Her face is at the crook of your neck as she peers over your shoulder at the gold. “No.” She murmurs and you can almost feel her lips on the sensitive place at your jaw. Your fingers dig into the countertop. “But now that you wear this,” And her fingers nimbly slip down to toy with the two, sparkling rings at the end of it, “You’re under my protection.”

“Oh,” You exhale on a trembling breath, eyes fluttering, “F-from what?”

A sharp, wicked smirk touches her lips, nearly against your neck. “You really have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.” She murmurs, pressing suddenly closer. “Surely, you understand that Bucky and Steve have enemies.”

“Well, I guess I knew I just didn’t--”

“Think of it?” Natasha asks, soft against your ear, but her eyes are focused on the rings around your neck still, expression suddenly less amused. “They don’t want to worry you.” Her free hand touches your waist, green eyes sharp, gutting you as you lock eyes in the mirror. You feel suddenly exposed as she gazes at your reflection, straight through it and into you. “But I think you should know considering there are already rumors.”

“What kind of rumors?” You ask and wish your voice could be stronger, but it's breathy and delicate. Your pulse is jumping, feeling like prey pinned by a predator, rabbit-heart pounding furiously in your chest and you aren’t sure if it’s excitement or fear for all the danger Natasha seems to promise.

 “Only that they’ve met a girl they’ve got a real soft spot for.” Natasha says, her own face softening a fraction, nose skimming along the line of your jaw and under the haze of her, you tilt your head and offer her more room. “Which, makes you a target.”

You blink, “A target?”

“Yes,” Natasha breathes, almost hisses, “Which is why I want you to stay near me.” She murmurs and her lips finally brush the barest hint against the vulnerable vein in your neck.

You gasp, soft and small.

“Can you do that?” She insists, voice lowering to something smooth and warm, almost domineering. Her lips suddenly settle into a gentle, sucking kiss at your pulse point.

 “Yes,” You get out, tipping your head back against her shoulder. You feel the skim of her teeth, the way in which it becomes harsher, more brutal.

She pulls away, lips hitching up into a sly smirk, her hand comes up to squeeze your jaw, forcing you to turn and face her now, your noses brushing. She holds your eyes, peers down at you until you cower a little against her. 

“Try not to worry too much.” She tells you, “I’ll look out for you, darling.” She then coos, almost teasingly, her fingers at your jaw squeezing so your lips pouted out a little before she drops you out of her hold and steps away. She slinks towards the door.

“You’re on in five.” She then adds over her shoulder, slipping out of the dressing room and disappearing as if she’d never even been there at all.

You blink back at your flushed face in the mirror, wondering what on earth had just happened. Steve’s words rattle around in your head, though;

You can trust them, too.

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The following day, Steve and Bucky swing by to pick you up from your apartment and spend an afternoon in the park and conservatory, beneath the honey rays of the sun and cotton blue and white sky.

It isn’t your first date as a trio, but you feel just as giddy for it.

You’re dressed in a linen-cream day dress, light fabric that falls around your figure and flutters in the early summer breeze. Lace traces the edges, along the short, loose sleeves and hem. White, dainty kitten heels and a pair of short, satin, white gloves fit over your hands. They had cost too much when you’d gotten them, but you’d been so enamored with the pearly fabric and delicate finish that you’d had to have them. A soft, robin’s egg blue hat adorns your head, a cream sash around it to match your dress quite spiffingly. Instead of a string of pearls that’s in fashion, the infamous golden chain which you have only come to remove while you shower or bathe, finishes off the simple outfit, their rings glinting in the sun against the skin of your chest.

Bucky greets you by taking quick steps, arms going around your waist as he lifts you clear off your feet and spins you.

A surprised laugh falls from your lips, carrying on the breeze, twinkling and light.

“You look like a movie star!” Bucky gushes, “A true starlet. Don’t you think, Stevie?” He asks into the crook of your neck, your hair brushing his cheeks and nose. Your magnolia, sweet jasmine scent, soft and mellow clary sage makes his head spin already.

Steve smiles fondly as he watches Bucky set you back down easily, steadying you, before he plants a sloppy kiss on your cheek in formal greeting, forcing out another giggle from you as you scrunch your nose.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, “You look incredible as always, sweetheart.” He then says and leans close to plant a much sweeter kiss to your temple.

 “Thank you,” You murmur shyly, demurely peaking up at Steve and he has to fist his hands in his pockets to keep from grabbing you by the back of your neck and crushing his lips to yours--

The drive to the park is simple and quick and you eagerly walk and strut along the paved trails beneath the patterned shadows and light that the trees cast on you through their leaves and reaching branches. You’re full of energy and vitality, a girl grown but still so new and fresh, the dew still clinging to you and sparkling.

Bucky and Steve trail behind you, watching you gush over flowers or hum to yourself, twirling to face them and say something witty and wonderful. They’re enraptured with you, Bucky more affectionate than Steve, chasing after your skirts as you squeal and laugh, his lips curving against your cheeks, the corner of your mouth. But Steve will drop his hand to the small of your back, against the line of your waist when you come near enough.

The fresh, strawberry-summer air is sweet and cleansing. It’s the perfect day to walk around outside, to step inside the tall, glass walls of a conservatory as the sun shines in on the exotic palms and flowers. The blue sky surrounds the sleek, clean glass, a background for the lush green of all the tropical plants within the massive greenhouse.

You’ve never seen anything so extraordinary; as if you’ve been transported right into the thick jungles of the rainforest, humid and tangled with emerald plants and their jeweled, bright flowers. There are even colorful, fluttering birds that squawk and chirp and soar over your head. Little peach parrots and yellow, blue, or green birds that hop from branch to branch.

“I love the birds,” You gush, face awash with awe and tenderness for the little creatures that playfully chase each other, your face tilted up to the skies to watch them.

The sun kisses your face, honeydew rays that caress you the way the men at your sides want to, fingers twitching; Steve would brush your hair from your cheek so it curled around your ear. Bucky would touch your bottom lip, run his thumb over it with a tenderness he didn’t know he possessed until he’d met you.

“Want us to get you some?” Bucky asks, fingers reaching out and snagging your waist, pulling you into his axis and drawing you into his arms with your back pressed to his solid chest.

“Oh yes,” You laugh, thinking he’s joking, “Because they’ll do just wonderfully in my little apartment--”

Bucky noses at your neck, “Well, Steve and I have room at our--” He stops, pulling back slightly, his fingers coming up and brushing a spot on your neck, “Stevie, you make this mark?” He asks over his shoulder.

“Huh?” Steve starts, shifting to peer at your neck.

Heat overcomes you as you realize that Natasha must’ve left a love bite. Shame flurries through you, too. Fear settles deep into the pit of your stomach. Will they be upset? Have you ruined it all by allowing Natasha so close?

You whirl away from Bucky, turning to face him, hand going over the love bite on your neck to shield it from their gaze. Your heart hammers a little too hard.

“I didn’t-- it wasn’t--” You stammer, just as Bucky’s eyes get a little darker, “Natasha did it!” You suddenly burst, feeling your face go as red as some of the flowers that perfume the thick air around you.

Bucky barks out a laugh, much to your surprise.

“Oh,” Steve exhales.

Bucky approaches you again, snagging your wrist and forcing your hand away from your neck.

“She caught me off guard, is all. I didn’t--” You try to explain, eyes flickering up to him, to gauge his reaction as he studies the small, blossom red mark that was left on your neck by her. He takes your chin in his rough hand, tilting your head away slightly to further expose the line of your neck to him. You feel vulnerable, small, especially as Steve steps behind you, caging you in as his broad palms settle onto your waist.

“Did you like when she did that?” Bucky asks and you feel your breathing catch and stop from within your lungs.

You stare up at him, wide eyed, perhaps fearful. Was he testing you?

Yes, you want to say honestly, it’s Natasha, you think. With her curves and jade eyes, sly smile and low, lullaby voice that coaxes you into offering up your neck like sacrifice to those ruby lips. 

“I--” You start, stop.

Bucky then lifts your chin to catch your eyes. “Be honest, doll.” He says in a stern voice, just on the right side of domineering that has you practically melting into Steve’s chest.

You nod slightly, the shyest dipping of your chin as you gaze up at Bucky through your lashes. You feel half-mortified, wishing to hide, but being caught between them and feeling helpless.

It shouldn’t make you warm with arousal, but it does and now your breathing is quick, pupils dilating.

A slight, dark smirk touches Bucky’s lips. Almost wolfish and now you really do try to squirm away, but all you do is ease further into Steve’s arms and warm chest. Bucky crowds you further, dropping his hand from your chin and nosing his way along your neck. “Minx,” He calls you before his teeth nip, pinch, then settle into his own sucking kiss over the love bite.

You squeak, high and sharp, especially as the already tender skin of your neck is then bruised further by Bucky. His knee forces apart your legs and you whimper, undignified and desperate before Steve hushes you softly, whereas Bucky only seems encouraged by the noise, a rumbling growl escaping him as his lips and teeth at your neck do turn painful.

“Bucky,” Steve warns, but Bucky pays him no mind as his knee brushes your center, making you cry out pitifully--

Steve sinks a hand into the hair at the nape of Bucky’s neck and tightens it into a large fist, pulling hard and forcing Bucky away from your neck. “Ease off,” Steve says lowly and you have to bite your bottom lip to keep back another mewl at the sound.

Bucky’s flushed as he looks at Steve, eyes so dark and shining. You’re breathless because he looks handsome and a little unhinged, like he wants to devour you, like he wants to absolutely wreck you and you-- you want him to, you think. The warm heat of the pain from your neck radiates, almost makes you want more. The darkness in his features excites you more than it should. You’d liked the way he’d growled and pushed you harder into Steve, feeling trapped and precious and small between them.

Your head is foggy, but you catch Steve scolding him about how you are in public still. To have some sort of control. Bucky eases away, making you blink. Steve soothes a hand over your shoulders and back, seeing the tell-tale dazed look of arousal in your eyes that he’s come to know.

“Poor honey,” Steve murmurs, pressing gentle, placating kisses to your cheek, your jaw. He brushes over the tender skin that’s been marked twice now, “Jesus, Buck,” He murmurs, “What are you, a vampire?”

“I’m sorry, doll.” Bucky says, but he doesn’t seem very sorry at all.

Your lashes flutter, “So, you aren’t mad?” You ask tentatively, “About Natasha?”

Bucky scoffs, shakes his head, “Nah,” He says, “It’s just Tasha.”

You glance at Steve for his own opinion; he shakes his head, too. “I told you, we trust Sam and Natasha with everything that we care about.” He assures you, slipping his hand into yours and guiding you further into the greenhouse, through the winding trails and beneath the wide, palm leaves.

“But I’m still,” You start, take in a slow breath to steady yourself, to try and clear your head, “Confused. Are there--” You pause to consider your words carefully, “Boundaries? How far is too far with one of them?” You glance between them, “I’m supposed to be with you two, right? I don’t want to be disloyal, then.”

Steve’s eyes soften, a fondness touching his features at your devotion, so sweet and pure and deep.

“Would it make you feel better if one of us was always around?” Steve asks, squeezing your hand.

You exhale, finally finding an answer that suits you. It’d make you feel more comfortable, more at ease. You’ve already begun to see them as safety and protection, too, already feel bolder with them at your sides, taking solace in their arms. “Yes,” You tell him, “It would make me feel much better.”

“Then it’s settled.” Steve replies, bringing your hand up to place a reverent kiss to the inside of your wrist, right at the delicate pulse, the softness of the gesture melting your heart.

You spend the rest of the day with them at the park, end up lounging in the shamrock grass, rolling around in a clover field and laughing with wide smiles and flushed cheeks, the blue sky open and wonderful before your eyes.

You fall for them further, gentle, like a feather in the wind, a petal on a stream.

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A few more weeks of whirlwind dates during the day; they spend all the time they can spare with you, but they’re busy men. They take you shopping on more than one occasion, spoil you rotten with clothes and jewelry, anything your heart desires and you knew they were wealthy but you’re starting to wonder how wealthy with the designer brands they gift you with; Coco Chanel, Madeleine Vionnet, Schiaparelli. It’s overwhelming, in some ways, but infinitely fun to wear the dresses they bought you out on dates. You’re catching eyes, suddenly fashion forward and unique, hanging off the arms of two of the most powerful men in New York, highlighting at one of the most popular speakeasies in the city.

It’s a thrill.

And they’re lovely to you, absolutely smitten. Natasha is convinced you have them wrapped around your little fingers. Sam is just as enraptured.

Wanda is constantly quizzing you and asking you questions, most of which make you blush darkly under her gaze but you tell her, anyways, in soft whispers about what you have and haven’t done with them. You try to be vague with her, though, despite recalling in detail memories that make you squirm;

Steve with his head between your legs as you sit in Bucky’s lap, who holds you still despite all your squirming and begging. He likes to wrap his hand around your throat delicately, tip your head back onto his shoulder and look down the length of your bare body as Steve’s mouth makes you tremble.

Sometimes Bucky pushes his fingers into the soft warmth of your mouth, groans when you wrap your lips around them to try and stifle your whimpers. It’s dirty and lewd and you buck against Steve’s mouth, which opens against you and makes you fall apart.

Or on your knees in front of Steve, nervous flutters in your stomach, Bucky beside you on the floor of your bedroom, his lips at your neck.

“I’ve only done this once.” You tell them meekly, wide eyes glancing up at Steve as your small hand wraps around him. He hisses, hips stuttering forward and into your palm.

“S’okay, doll.” Steve murmurs, fingers treading lightly through your hair. He has to find his control, though, with the way you’re looking at him, so hopelessly innocent and soft--

“Don’t worry, I’ll guide you.” Bucky murmurs, all sin and darkness as his hands roam your body.

“Good girl,” He praises when you take Steve between soft, parted lips and close around the tip. Steve groans, a little broken, desperately trying to stay gentle with you.

“How’s she feel?” Bucky asks eagerly, glancing up at Steve’s face, twisted in pleasure.

“Amazing.” Steve gets out, just as you take him a little deeper, breathing slow, lashes fluttering against your cheek.

Or the times that Bucky makes you see stars so much that you start crying, babbling, unsure what you’re even begging for as Steve kisses away the tears on your dolly pink cheeks. Bucky likes to make you cry, you find out, tells you how pretty you are when you’re made a mess by him.

“But you haven’t…?” Wanda trails off and you know what she’s asking, feel sheepish with her wide eyes on you.

“Not yet.” You tell her softly, in the hazy dark of the dressing rooms after most have gone home. “I haven’t been to their house yet, either.”

That changes in a few days time, though. You haven’t seen Bucky or Steve in a week or so because of how busy they’ve been, but Bucky phones you to tell you that he’s going to pick you up after your performance that night and bring you back to their place. He assures you that you can stay the night, if you’d like, or he can take you home whenever.

You have every intention of staying the night, despite not exactly knowing what to expect of their home. And though you’re aware of their wealth, you aren’t at all prepared for the manor that sits atop a hill on the bay in Long Island. Like a modern castle on the outside, all pointed roofs and proud brick at the very back of their lot. The expanse of green; manicured shrubs and a pond with a fountain that bubbles prettily, even in the dark of night, lights casting it in a silver, pearly glow.

The inside is even more incredible, all glittering marble and tall ceilings, chandeliers, and winding staircases. Tall windows beneath arches, plush sofas and extravagance. It’s incredible, takes your breath away.

Steve promises you can explore more in the morning when it’s light out, since you’ve decided to stay the night. And with that, Bucky grabs you firmly around the middle and  tosses you over his shoulder. You squeal, laughter bright and pinging in the cavernous house as he leads you to a bedroom. Steve’s specifically, you think, but you wonder if Bucky usually stays here, too.

He tosses you down onto the bed, which is large and spacious, plush blankets beneath you that your fingers spread out on and feel. Bucky covers you then with his own body, crawling up the length of you, lips dragging over your skin as he murmurs, “Missed you all week, princess.”

You giggle at his eagerness, his lips finding your smiling ones. “Missed you, too.” You get out before he deepens the kiss further. You feel the bed dip, Steve’s body stretching out to lay beside yours and you squirm under Bucky, breaking the kiss and leaning over to catch Steve lips, too.

“Missed you, too, Stevie.” You sigh against him and he returns the sentiment with a low hum into the kiss, making your fingers twist in his hair.

You can feel Bucky’s straying hands, impatient as he is, already working off your stockings and bloomers. You kick your leg a little at him, just to be a brat, even if you’re just as impatient, the heat inside of you becoming pressing and needy as you continue to kiss Steve. Bucky gives you a sharp nip to your inner thigh, just above your knee as punishment.

You yelp against Steve’s lips, the place sensitive and stinging now.

Cool air hits your bare legs, followed by Bucky’s plush mouth, warm and yielding against your inner thigh. You squirm, your body moving and pushing along the length of Steve’s and his lips part from yours, hovering. His breathing is rougher, broad palm reaching out to grasp and slide along your ribs, up beneath your chest.

Bucky’s lips move upwards already, wrestling you into being still when your hips begin to jerk and arch at the warmth of his mouth.

You cry out sweetly, right against Steve’s lips when Bucky’s mouth finds where you’re most sensitive.

Steve glances down the length of your body, catching Bucky’s eyes. “What’s the rush?” He gets out, voice gruff, but his fingers are running over your breasts through the fabric of your dress. There’s an urgency in their actions, which makes you feel dizzy and lightheaded, fingers sinking into Bucky’s dark hair to try and anchor yourself.

Steve never gets a response. Just your bitten back moan as Bucky rolls his tongue against you, eyes darting up to find your face scrunched up in pleasure, soft little cries falling from your honeyed lips that he fucking loves.

Their hands are everywhere; Steve’s pushing up your dress, rough hands on the delicate skin of your hips and stomach. You arch under the starlight for them, feeling half-possessed with the heat and their mouths and hands, the ferocity with which they grab you. The mercury slick light, silver and sparkling catches the planes of your cheeks, your hair spread out around Steve’s pillow.

He thinks he wants to draw you like this, the fabric of your dress catching and bunched, ripples or sparkles from the sequence under the light of the stars. Your lips open and soft, tempting and ballet pink.

Steve slips his fingers between your lips because he can, because it drives him crazy to feel the warmth of your mouth, the tentative brush of your tongue.

You mewl around them, fuss and try to squirm in Bucky’s arms but he’s got you-- he’s got you tough and hard, even when you fracture, falling apart into what feels like thousands of pieces, Steve’s fingers falling from your mouth as you cry out.

“Bucky,” You plead, voice high and desperate; Steve can tell you’re getting too sensitive already. “Bucky, s-stop.” You try to get away, try to push his head away but he pulls you tighter, forces you flush to his mouth again.

You almost sob, begging and whining as you twist and turn on his sheets. Usually Steve forces Bucky to back off, but he’s suddenly far too intrigued with the tremble in your voice. He takes your chin between his fingers and turns you to him, pressing his lips to yours, petal crushed and slick and gasping beneath him.

He catches your wrists, pulls your hands from Bucky’s hair and forces them above your head. You keen, all precious and perfect beneath him.

“Keep your hands there for me.” Steve murmurs against your lips.

“Steve--” You gasp, begging.

He kisses you hard, silencing you, leaving no room for argument before his lips fall down the line of your neck, down to your chest in heated, sloppy kisses. He pushes your dress up, wriggles it over your head and you’re left in a lavender and creme bralette, soft lace that covers your chest.

You strain, desperately trying to keep your arms where Steve placed them. Bucky groans against you, vibrations making you gasp, glancing down at him where he rolls his eyes up to meet your face, fever bright and dazed, drunk off you.

You whimper, lashes fluttering. Steve’s hands rid you of your bralette now, too.

You’re completely bare, soft skin turning dewy against the silk sheets, hands grasping at the bed board above your head for an anchor, anything--

All it takes for you to fall apart again is Steve’s broad hand on your breast, followed by his warm mouth on the peak, Bucky still greedily, happily between your legs. The pressure builds sharp, then bursts inside of you and you let out a broken cry, raw and high as you tense up, tears caught on your lashes.

Bucky finally lets up, looking too smug for your swimming eyes, tears brimming in the corners, as he crawls up the length of your hypersensitive body, hips still squirming.

He settles his hips in the cradle of yours, just as Steve pulls him in for a bruising kiss. You’re heady with them, watching as Steve tastes you on Bucky. It’s a rough kiss, makes Bucky groan darkly, makes you whimper, hips canting forward and into Bucky’s. Eagerly, his hips rock into yours, too, just before he pulls away from Steve to look at you.

“God, look at you,” Bucky breathes, eyes flying over you wildly, hunger still burning in the blue of his eyes, “Such a sweet girl.” He croons, sinful and low and you can’t believe your hips twitch again against his. 

You already feel wrecked, and yet, horribly empty and craving. Insatiable.

“Listens so well.” Steve praises, pressing wet kisses to your cheek, your jaw.

You hitch your leg over Bucky’s waist, arch your hips and try to entice him into rocking into you again, which he obliges, so you can feel the hard line of him where you want him most-- where you want Steve.

Your head is spinning.

“I w-want you.” You blurt out, looking up into Bucky’s face, just as he rolls his hips again. Your eyes flicker to Steve, desperate for him, too.

“Greedy little thing,” Bucky hums, and then, “You have us, sweetheart.”

Your cheeks heat up, unable to say the words, but pushing your hips back into Bucky’s. “No, I want you.” You try to say, flustered with the whininess in your tone, feeling utterly exposed, stretched out beneath Bucky, Steve at your side.

Bucky cocks a brow, tilts his head slightly. “Oh?” He says lightly, “How do ya want us, doll?” He croons, teeth dragging over your ear lobe, “Huh? Use your words.”

You try not to grow too frustrated or flustered; wish you had the grace or confidence to tell him blankly what you desire from them, but you’re already on the brink of tears, made messy and impatient for them. You shudder out an exhale.

“I want you inside me.” You whisper, ducking your head shyly into Bucky’ shoulders.

“What? Like my fingers?” Bucky teases cruelly, as if for emphasis, his fingers dig into the supple skin of your thighs.

“Buck,” Steve finally warns, catching your eyes as you turn your face to him. Steve’s fingers brush your hair from your face, gentle and patient where Bucky’s are rough and prodding.

“Are you sure, honey?” Steve asks and it’s infinitely soft, prying gently to see the truth of your admittance.

You leave yourself open, expressive, nodding quickly with your glistening eyes and damp lashes, cheeks gone cherry blossom and lips fruit-punch sweet and stung; pretty, prim girl that’s been made debauched and still begging for it.

“Get up, Buck.” Steve murmurs and to your surprise, Bucky complies with little complaint, easing off of you, cold air suddenly rushing over your bare body. Your arms are still stretched above your head, just as Steve told you. He now takes Bucky’s place, hips finding yours and he snakes his arms around you, pulling you up to his chest. “Wrap your arms around me.” He murmurs and eagerly, you comply, pulling yourself flush to him, burying your tear damp face into the crook of his neck as he eases you both up, so you’re in his lap.

“You’re sure?” He asks again to be certain, holding you like your precious.

“Yes, I’m sure.” You say into his neck, holding fast to him.

Bucky pouts a little about Steve being the first but he still helps undress him, loses his own clothes in the process until you cling to Steve’s naked chest and shoulders, straddling his waist. He’s hard and pressing against your inner thighs and when you shift slightly, he brushes between your legs, slick and warm.

It isn’t your first time; you’ve done this before, but it wasn’t like this, it was never like this--

Steve stills you with a huge arm around your torso, muscled and strong, protective and half-possessive, lifting you slightly. “I’ll go nice and slow,” He promises lowly, kissing the tender juncture of your shoulder as he reaches down, angles slightly. Bucky presses up against your back, the hard line of him along the curve of your waist.

You nod barely, lust hazed and heady with them.

You feel Steve press against your core, his hips tipping, angling into yours. Bucky kisses your shoulder, hands lifting your waist for Steve and then there’s a burn, a stretch--

You cry out; baby, kitten cry into Steve’s skin.

Steve eases you down, just as Bucky coos and hums in your ear;

Perfect girl, look at you taking Steve.

I’ve got you, it’s okay, angel.

Good girl.

“Oh,” You gasp brokenly, feel Steve bottom out, deep and filling and aching.

Steve bites back a groan, stilling to give you time, to be gentle and slow, just as he promised. Molten heat settles into your core, sticky warmth and Steve’s breath against your chest. Your tense muscles suddenly go slack, boneless, little doll that rolls her head against Bucky’s shoulder.

You shift your hips, arch your back, mewl and sigh and burn.Steve lifts you, pushes back into you in a slow, deep stroke. You groan, Bucky’s lips suddenly crashing down onto yours just as Steve begins a steady, lovely pace. His grip turns rougher, Bucky’s kiss desperate to taste you, hands bruising near Steve’s.

The kiss turns sloppy, your fingers tugging and twisting in Steve’s hair, whose mouth is open and works against your chest, messy, imperfect and warm. You can’t help the soft noises you make into Bucky’s mouth.

“That’s it,” Steve encourages as you grow relaxed and eager and desperate.

Bucky pulls away from you sharply, breath ragged and all he’s done is kissed you, “How’s she feel, Stevie?” He asks, voice rough, lips hovering over yours.

“Fuckin’ perfect.” Steve grits out, the slick slide of him making your back arch, “So tight, so fuckin’ good.” He says roughly, strokes growing deeper, faster. You keen, pliant and bathed in silverlight, heavenly and darling, hair spilling onto Bucky’s chest and shoulder. 

Bucky moans just at Steve’s words, just at the thought of you, right against your lips.

He shifts then, fisting himself, needy and pressing against your side. Steve takes the opportunity to ease you down, back hitting the bed with a gasp, followed by your sweet moan as he pushes back in on an easy stroke.

“Steve,” You get out, nails dragging over his shoulders.

“You gonna come for me, sweetheart?” He husks against your ear, hitching your hips up, shifting the angle so your mouth falls open, brows pulling together, fingers curling into hard muscles.

Steve eases back, shifting, making room for his fingers as he continues to move in you. Your nerves flare, making you whimper, needy and dizzy. You turn your eyes to Bucky, wanting him, too, letting your lips part and he presses himself there, let’s you draw him into your sugared mouth.

He groans when you close your lips around where he’s swollen and aching, too, grabbing onto Steve’s shoulder so he doesn’t rut into your mouth as his eyes burn and flare as he desperately watches where you and Steve meet.

Your lids go heavy and sated, lips spit-slick and messy, and your legs are sticky, dewy, glistening but its just you three, just the dark thunder blue of Steve’s eyes and the curses and praises that keeps spilling from Bucky’s pouty, kiss-stung lips.

It’s heaven and sin and hell all at once and you don’t last much longer, pulling off Bucky because you feel like you’re going to lose it, fingers twisting in the sheets.

“There’s our girl,” Steve praises as he feels you tighten, growls low and quickens, hitting deep and sweet inside of you until you’re falling apart all over again; all halo heat and blooming pleasure until you’re trembling, crying all over again.

Steve doesn’t last, either, pulling out of you spilling messy onto your stomach and hips, some onto your thighs. He eases off you, settles back by your side and presses kisses all over your wet cheeks, praising and murmuring softly as you feel Bucky shift, take his place.

His hand comes down on the mess that Steve made on your stomach, fingers sliding through, ruining you worse. His sticky fingers prod at your lips and you open automatically, all dazed and soft, close your lips around his fingers, tongue tasting the salty tang of Steve and you flush deeply with another bout of arousal somehow, head floating and hazy. 

“You got one more in you for me, princess?” Bucky asks and you can feel him already against where you’re still pulsing and slick and sticky. He purposefully lays his body along yours, makes more of a mess, spreads it between you two and it’s dirty and lewd and you give a broken little cry before Bucky eases in suddenly, trying to be slow but he can’t help himself, and you give a soft yelp with the rough thrust.

“Easy,” Steve warns him, sitting up slightly, gripping the back of his neck. Bucky groans, half-whines, but slows into a more languid pace that makes you glow and arch again, rubbing your cheek to his. He turns his head, lips fall over yours again, heated and insistent and he feels different than Steve but good still, rougher, teeth nipping against your plush, lower lip.

He pulls away to bury his face in the crook of your neck, tucking himself there as he ruts into you, strokes growing more and more desperate. Steve’s broad hand runs down his flank.

Bucky’s hand slides down your body, back between your legs, “C’mon, angel, one more for me.” He purrs but it edges onto more of a growl, his voice tighter, a little more desperate. His thrusts grow sloppier.

“Don’t you dare come before her.” Steve warns him and Bucky does growl now, low and rumbling through him and right into you, half-irritated and fingers quickening against your peach-slick flesh. You whine, fussing slightly at the overstimulation, already feeling the rise of another wave though, this time sharper, almost scarier. You grit your teeth, eyes screwing shut.

“B-Bucky,” You whine, maybe try to warn, voice raw, another tear slipping down your cheek. 

“Come for me, baby.” Bucky commands darkly, a little more wild with you, sinking teeth into the fluttering heartbeat on your neck and that’s it, that’s all it takes for you to rupture.

This one is somehow the strongest, your mouth falling open in a soundless groan, digging your nails into Bucky’s shoulders, half-crescents and kitten scratches burn red against his back. It’s sharp and almost painful, bursting hot and quick inside of you, turning inferno and white-flame.

And then Bucky’s finishing, too, pulling out and spilling onto your thighs, onto the already sticky mess of your stomach. His own abs glisten with Steve’s still, cheeks flushed, his mouth open and breathing ragged before he collapses over you. He covers you and holds you as you cry and squirm and mewl in the sensitive, nerve-shocking aftermath.

Steve hushes you, stroking your hair and face, praising you reverently under the ivory, blue moonlight, Bucky’s lips trying to soothe you, gentle and sated and mellow.

You doze in their warmth; boneless, exhausted, blissful.

 It’s Steve who urges you and Bucky up not long after, drawing a bath in the porcelain, clawfoot tub from the connected bathroom. It takes Steve lifting Bucky off you, but he manages to get you both in the warm water, frothy and soft seafoam to clean you. You sink into the warmth, hair curling with the humidity and Bucky kisses you slow and sweet against the lip of the tub. Wipes your face with warm, dripping fingers, clears you of tears and makeup.

Steve watches from the doorway, striped pajamas slung low on his waist, blue eyes heavy and loving. He’s there with a plush towel afterwards, bundles you up in his arms.

“Are you alright?” He murmurs, “How are you feeling?”

You blink up at him, slow, sleepy. But your heart is rosy and warm, sated and sanguine.

“Absolutely perfect.” You tell him earnestly, little voice hushed, as if you’re telling him a precious, jeweled secret.

He looks at you in awe for a moment, mesmerized by something in your features, as if you’re as bright and brilliant as a star in the sky. Then he kisses you fondly, lifts you easily and brings you back to bed as if it’s where you belong.

You had brought a nightgown for sleep, but care little now as you lay against Steve’s naked chest, feel the lullaby beat of his heart. Bucky’s body curls around yours, fingers dragging gently over your bare shoulders and you slip into perhaps the easiest, sweetest sleep, like a babe in her cradle, like a lamb in a meadow.

 --------------------------

You sleep late; wake up with Bucky’s face in your chest, arm half-asleep and your legs slung over his waist with all the twisted sheets. Steve is missing, though enters just as you’re blinking, easing awake.

He wakes Bucky then with a hint of a mischievous smile, roughly jarring him from sleep. Bucky groans and drags you closer and it takes nearly fifteen minutes to squirm free to ready for the day.

But when you do, you’re full of new energy and life, excitedly uncovering new parts of their mansion in the bright, lovely daylight.

Sam lives here, you learn, nearly tackle him in a hug; perhaps too excited but he holds fast to you, your arms going around his neck. His lips press little kisses to your cheek, the corner of your lips, just as eager to see you. 

He falls back beside Bucky and Steve as they watch you explore, now rushing outside to the glimmering, sapphire water of the swimming pool in the backyard. The birds sing, twinkling and infinitely happy. The wind tousles your hair.

“This is incredible!” You gasp, kneeling beside the pool, letting your fingers drift through the glittering water, it sparkles beneath your fingertips. Your smile is radiant.

“She really brightens the place up,” Bucky says softly to the two men at his sides, eyes soulful and touched, watching you with a warm gentleness. Steve isn’t sure the last time he’s seen his face so open and vulnerable.

“Yeah,” Sam agrees softly, his smile fond, serene, “Like she belongs here.”

And all Steve can do is watch, enamored; hopelessly falling, heart softening and melting for you at a rate he should be frightened by.

But it’s just you against an open sky, and there are no words for the way he feels, just the need to see you like this forever, tucked safely by his heart and in his home; laughing and open and free.

 -------------------------------

The next night, at the Valkyrie, Natasha acts rather strangely for awhile. She lingers around you, eyes caught on you sharp and hard.

At the end of your performance, when you try to leave for the night, purse clutched between your hands, you are stopped by a man with dark hair, dark eyes, and a hard face.

He snags your wrist, almost viciously, “What’s the rush, babydoll?” He asks, “Why don’t you hang around?”

Worry prickles through you, “I’m sorry, I’d like to get home for the night.” You tell him politely, pulling slightly, but his grip around your wrist is an iron cage, insistent and unmoving. Your heart rate spikes, fear slinking slowly through you. Your eyes fly out, towards the crowds, towards the bar, for Natasha.

“C’mon now,” He says and it’s tight and forced, pulling you towards him.

You stumble into his chest, try and push yourself away but he’s got you hard and fast suddenly, viper grip, poisonous touch.

“Please, I-I don’t--” You babble, struggling against him.

“Rumlow.” A familiar voice warns, cutting and dangerous.

Natasha. Relief floods through you like cool, crisp water.

The man picks his head up at what seems to be his name. His eyes narrow on Natasha.

He lets you go without another word and you quickly ease back to Natasha, let her step in front of you to shield you. Your small hand buries in the back of her dress, ducking your head behind her shoulders.

“I don’t want trouble, Romanoff.” The man, Rumlow, tells her, “Just a little fun.”  He tries to grin but its hooked and sets you on edge. 

“Not tonight.” Natasha says, voice like steel and blade, “Not here.” She tilts her head, “You know you’re not welcome here.” She says and your heart races.

Rumlow holds up his hands, as if he means no harm, “Alright, alright, I’ll leave.” He concedes easily, perhaps too easily. Natasha’s eyes narrow, you can see the skepticism in her features, even in the shadows of the club.

Rumlow dips his head low, tries to force you to meet his eyes, “Goodnight, sweetheart.” He tells you pointedly and you can’t look at him, focus your eyes on the red curls around Natasha’s neck.

You duck further behind her as he eyes you more fully. Natasha steps into his line of vision and he concedes after a lingering, heavy moment.

She waits for his shadow to leave, tracks him all the way out.

You can tell something inside of her sinks, worry settling heavily around her shoulders. Her face is tighter, a little pinched as she turns back to you. 

“Are you okay?” She murmurs, fingers brushing the wrist he grabbed, eyes flying over your features.

“Yes,” You exhale, “Thank you.”

She shakes her head, as if she doesn’t want your thanks at all. “I’m going to walk you home tonight.” She tells you instead.

You don’t argue, but you do press, “Who was he, Natasha?”

Her ruby lips turn downwards, she debates telling you, before settling on, “Brock Rumlow. He’s from a rival mob.” She shakes her head, “I don’t like the way he was looking at you.”

“Oh,” You say, a little dumbly, very unsure suddenly. Should you be worried? Whose mob was he from? How dangerous was he? You become keenly aware of all that you don’t know, feeling suddenly lost.

“Hey,” She catches your chin, brushes her thumb along your jaw, “I told you I’d protect you.” She murmurs, “You’re okay,” She assures, half-coos, “You’re safe.”

You nod lightly, softening under her gaze. “I know.” You sigh lightly. She holds your gaze for a moment before lowering her hand. “Now, c’mon, let’s get you home.”

You tuck yourself against her side, hook your arm through hers and let her lead you home in the darkened streets, the cloudy night shielding moon and stars. Just the glow of streetlights, manmade and iron.

She ends up staying the night, upon your quiet request when you've reached your door. She watches you fall asleep, hair splayed out on a pillow, silk nightgown trussed up and twisted around you.

You sleep fitfully, only comforted with Natasha’s lingering, soothing touches. She murmurs to your sleeping form; caressing words, promises of safety and gentleness and care, perhaps phrases in a foreign language.

But she stays until morning light, vigilant at your side, until she presses a kiss to your temple and disappears with the slipping of dawn into day.

She heads straight for the estate, for Steve and Bucky and Sam, to warn them about who was so interested in their girl, in you. You who seemed so defenseless to Natasha with your wide, wondering eyes and untouched innocence, sleeping curled up and tucked delicately into bed;

Like a babe in a cradle, a lamb in a meadow.