tripletstephaniescp

[tripletstephaniescp]

This was so soft and tender. I love how Bucky was with her grandma and how he shut down Jennifer. Too funny.

Birds of a Feather

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader (friends to lovers)

Word Count: 2.5K

Summary: You have to attend a close relative's wedding and there's no one better to bring than your best friend, Bucky.

Author's Note: Seeing so much of happy Seb lately-and looking so good-made me want to write something sexy and fluffy so here we are. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thanks Daisy!🥰

Warnings: soft and sweet, tense and flirty, Bucky is the best in every way!

‘Come on up. Room 322.’

His thumbs hang limply over the phone screen, his brain going blank.

When he sent the text ten seconds earlier to let you know he’s arrived he figured you would meet him down in the lobby or at the hall.

Meeting you in the hotel room is a problem he anticipated when he gave himself a pep talk before leaving.

“She’s your best friend. Don’t do anything stupid…like go to the hotel room.”

His fingers finally start to move over the letters. ‘I can meet you down here…’

But maybe you need help with something?

He deletes the text, now typing, ‘is there anyone with you?,’ but that just sounds weird and possessive.

‘I can see you typing,’ you text. ‘Just come up. I need help.’

With a laugh, he deletes everything again and types simply, ‘be right there doll.’

His long legs carry him quickly to the elevator and when he presses the button for the third floor he takes a deep breath, his pulse climbing it’s way up his throat.

The door to your room is propped open with the dead bolt, but he knocks anyway.

“Come in Buck!”

Pushing it open just enough to peek his head in, he calls out, “I could be anyone, and you just invite me in without checking!”

“You just texted me you were coming up,” you sing from the bathroom, quickly continuing before he can say more, “and most of the people on his floor are friends or relatives here for the wedding.”

“Well, I’m glad to know you take your safety as seriously as I do,” he shouts back.

Your voice gets louder as you walk into the bedroom. “With you around I never have to worr…”

You stop for a breath when you see him, but your next words are lost to the blank void of his brain as he takes in your dress and how you look in it. To put it simply- stunning.

“Bucky?”

He startles, having no idea how long he’d been silent.

“Yeah doll…that’s…I’m here.”

When he finally drags his eyes to your face, you’re fighting a smile. “I asked if you could help me?”

“Oh, right. Sure. With what exactly?”

He cringes but steps closer.

“My dress?”

You turn around to show him the fabric at the back that hangs open, a tiny zipper dangling down at your lower back.

Trying to suppress a groan, but not being entirely successful he swallows hard. “That zipper looks very tiny.”

“It is,” you agree. “I realize I should have asked someone with smaller hands to help me out, but everyone is running around with their own nonsense so here we are.”

He approaches with a casual, “sure, of course doll.”

But then he does something without fully realizing it until the shiver runs along your back: he drags a knuckle down the curve of your spine.

You turn and look at him over your shoulder.

He just blinks and looks down to grab the zipper, mumbling about how small it is.

It’s quiet as he carefully pulls the zipper up and when he reaches the top he lets it fall and gently runs a finger along the top of the dress as he moves around to look at you.

“All set,” he whispers.

You smile and clear your throat before giving him an appreciative once over.

“You look hot.”

“Thanks doll. You…” and he struggles when his voice comes out a bit strangled, “you look breathtaking.”

You reach up and touch his bow tie, pulling at the neatly tied ends as you tell him, “I was hoping you’d arrive a flustered mess over how to tie this so I could do it for you.”

With a grin, he reaches up and tugs the end, untying it in a smooth pull.

“Figure you should do something in return after I battled that zipper,” he teases.

Still smiling, you take a hold of the tie, tugging it to align the ends evenly around his neck. “I didn’t get the impression it was such a hardship.”

His answering smirk is so telling you have to stifle a laugh.

“Are you feeling ready for this? I know these big events aren’t your favorite.”

“I’ll manage just fine doll, thanks. Besides, I’ve got the most beautiful date in the whole place.”

With your focus still on his bow tie he takes the opportunity to openly stare. When you smile at his sweet words he’s mesmerized by the way your soft lips part and his eyes stay glued to your mouth.

You look up to meet his gaze and he quickly lifts his eyes, a light pink sweeping across his cheeks.

You blink away and he looks down at your hands, noting the very little progress you’ve made.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

“Well…yes. I’m sure I can…”

“You’ve never done this before, have you?”

“You might be right!,” you quip, “but I’m no quitter.”

He’d be happy to stand there all night.

You finally step back, surveying your work, and frown. “I’m going to be honest, not sure I made it look as good as you did.”

He looks down and undoes the mess and you glower as he handily fixies it.

“Wow, no need to gloat you butthead.”

He lets out a full-bodied laugh, eyes crinkled, and nose scrunched, and you enjoy the sight before he explains, “I’ve done it a million times. I’m always the one in the tux when we go undercover.”

“That’s because you’re the one that looks the best.”

“Thanks doll,” he answers quietly.

“There are so many people here,” you whisper as you lead him through the crowd in the hall.

He let’s out a low whistle, nodding in agreement and aking in the décor.

You greet people as you walk, introducing Bucky to those that don’t already know him. Their eyes follow you, curiosity piqued in their expression as they wonder who he is to you.

You wonder the same. Your favorite person in the world. Your best friend…and so much more?

You take his elbow and guide him forward toward the outside set up where the ceremony will take place. On the way you find your grandmother and introduce him.

Since he can’t take his eyes off you he notices the subtle shift in your demeanor, the softening of your face and the adoration in your eyes.

He expects a gentle handshake but instead gets pulled in for a hug.

“Oh darling, isn’t he a sight,” you grandma says, patting Bucky’s cheek. “And you,” she says, turning her eyes your way. “Gorgeous.”

“Thanks grandma,” you beam.

A woman whizzes by, catching your eye and pointing to her watch.

“Looks like it’s time,” you announce.

Bucky holds out one arm for your grandma and the other for you.

“And a gentleman too,” your grandma gushes as she loops her arm through his. “Definitely a keeper.”

“You can keep grandma company,” you say as you approach the chairs.

“Of course, doll,” he says and leans in to kiss your cheek before helping your grandma into her seat.

“I’ll see you after the ceremony.” You gather your dress and turn to head back inside to meet the wedding party. “Miss me,” you call over your shoulder with a playful smile.

He stares as you walk away, quietly admitting, “I already do.”

Slight nerves take over when you hear the music start but the moment you walk out into the crowd your eyes zero in on Bucky. And what do you know? He’s looking right back at you…and he doesn’t take his eyes off you the whole ceremony.

After the ceremony it takes forever to work your way through the crowd to him, and in between catching up with friends and family or directing someone somewhere, you catch glimpses of him smiling and laughing with your grandma and happily keeping her company.

When you finally do reach him, your grandma has been safely escorted to her seat and now a woman hangs off his arm- Jessica. You know her, an old family friend, and you like her well enough, but you step up behind them right as she asks Bucky if she can steal him for the first dance, and your stomach drops.

You jerk to a stop. He hasn’t seen you. He should accept. You’ll hate it, but you’re not in any position to protest.

But then Bucky says only a gentle, “sorry, no can do. Tonight, I’ve only got one dance partner.”

Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest, and you step closer, swallowing down the emotion.

“Hey you two!”

Bucky turns, extracting his arm from Jessica and setting a warm palm at your lower back.

“And here she is. My favorite dancing partner.”

Jessica leans around from his other side and says hello.

“Thanks for coming,” you tell her.

“Oh my god, of course. I wouldn’t miss it. And I was just meeting your friend, James, here.”

She emphasizes the word friend and at her usage of his real name you have to hold back a giggle.

“Isn’t he wonderful,” you hum, sliding your hand up his bicep. “He’s been keeping my grandmother company this whole time.”

She swoons and smiles at Bucky before turning back to you.

“He is. I just wasn’t expecting you to have a date. You’re usually always flying solo at these family events.”

You feel the smile slipping from your face and an uncomfortable laugh escapes.

The simple answer never comes to you, and you feel caught like a deer in the headlights.

“Actually, that’s only because I was away for work,” Bucky steps in smoothly. “I hate to miss any chance to be her date, but my schedule can be pretty demanding sometimes.”

“Oh, you’re so sweet,” Jessica says. “Work is important of course.”

“Yeah,” he answers, “but not as important as her. So, from now I won’t be missing another event.”

Jessica’s face does a thing. It’s a barely restrained, ‘oh okay, I see.’

Bucky’s smile remains but it doesn’t look entirely natural anymore but when he looks at you, every emotion on his face is genuine.

“Ready to find our seats doll face,” he asks you.

“Sure,” you reply.

“Well, it was nice to meet you Jennifer. Enjoy the party.”

With a firm hand, he leads you away. You allow yourself to be guided up the grassy path and indoors to where a band plays. Bucky grabs you two flutes of champagne off a passing tray and hands you one.

“That was swoony,” you tell him then take a sip.

“All I did was grab it from a tray doll. Time to raise your bar a bit.”

Laughing, you smack his beefy shoulder with your free hand. “Not that! The way you gently let Jennifer have it back there.”

He takes a sip, eyes on you. “She deserved worse, but I didn’t want to start trouble.”

With your brow raised you match his mischievous grin then you take his glass and set it down on one of the small tables, leading him to the dance floor.

He looks confused at first but when your hands slide up his chest and around his neck he circles his arms around your waist.

He relaxes against you, hands warm and strong on your lower back and you rest your cheek to his shoulder.

“You’re always so comfy.”

“Thank you.”

“And you always look out for me.”

He presses a kiss to your temple.

“Of course, doll.”

“You’re my favorite person in the Universe.”

He doesn’t respond at first, not for five or ten or thirty seconds. You keep waiting for the feeling of rejection in his silence but instead it feels like an agreement and finally his words confirm it.

“Mine too, doll.”

Your quiet slow dance is the last moment alone you have for the next few hours because what follows is a whirlwind of a reception.

And the whole time he can’t take his eyes off you.

“Think I’m ready to get out of here,” you say as you slump against his side.

He carefully holds you up as he stands and reaches to take your hand.

“Come on doll face. I’ll take you home.”

When you reach your apartment door your feet are aching, and your legs are tired. You retrieve your key from the hidden pocket in your small purse and slide it into the doorknob.

“I’m going to need you to unzip me,” you say, gesturing casually to your dress.

His silence makes you slowly turn around to face him and when you meet his eyes they’re heavy with heat and desire.

“Bucky?”

“Turn back around,” he says gruffly.

You do as your told and feel his exhaled puff of air against your bare shoulder before he takes your wrists in this hands and places your palms flat against the door. His metal fingers slide down one arm then trace the curve of your shoulder, while his other toys with the small zipper.

He starts to pull it down, so slowly, you feel every brush of his skin against yours and it sends a tremble across your body. For every new inch of your skin that he exposes his breath quickens. You can feel the heat of him so close and your fingers press into the hard wood of the door.

Once the fabric hangs loosely at the sides he stops and slips his hands inside to your waist and turns you back to face him.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs. “I…”

You drag your fingers along his temple and down his jaw. Your finger falls to his bottom lip, tracing it’s outline.

You can see it in his eyes, the understanding that everything between you is easy and you don’t have to try. It’s too good.

Your gaze drops to his lips again and your mouth goes soft. “Kiss me Bucky.”

The words are just barely out of your mouth and he’s already leaning in, lips on yours, warm and urgent, his hands rising to cup your face. Your instincts send tight, possessive fists to the lapels of his jacket and you melt completely into the domination and tenderness in his touch.

With a quiet groan he tilts his head, deepening the contact into a decadent slide, sending a hungry hand down your body once again and grabbing your ass to press all your softness against the hard planes of his body.

He catches your bottom lip between his teeth, drags slowly away, and you chase the contact, but he stops you, pressing his thumb over your lips.

He stares for what feels like forever, then kisses you again, lingering before he murmurs, “you’re so beautiful,” into the sensitive skin below your ear, and then repeats it quietly into your neck.

“Are you going to stay the night?” you ask breathless.

“If you’ll have m…”

“Yes. Yes Bucky.”

[tripletstephaniescp]

Thank you!!! Right back at you!!!

A/N: This was long overdue, but here’s the masterlist of my 100-word submissions to Yvette’s amazing Flash Fiction Challenge! It sure set the tone for cozy holiday vibes. Thank you, @justagirlinafandomworld ✨ Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! Banner Credits to me. Photo Credits to the internet. Divider credits to @buck-star Thank you :) Check out my other works: Masterlist

Wish Come True

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader Prompt: All I Want for Christmas Is You

Wise Men Say

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader Prompt: I can't help falling in love with you

Unwaveringly Homebound

Pairing: Stucky x F!Reader | Steve Rogers x F!Reader x Bucky Barnes Prompt: Home by Blake Shelton and Michael Bublé

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[tripletstephaniescp]

I am sobbing. This just broke my heart. What a gift for writing you have.

loml | B. Barnes

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: Death, blood, angst, swearing.

A/N: Edited and proof read, plus i added more cuz why not lol revised!

Masterlist

“I don’t understand, Buck.” Your voice cracked, the confusion in your words barely masking the desperation behind them.

He dragged a hand over his face, his frustration tangible. “What don’t you understand?” he snapped, voice sharp, slicing through the air between you. “How many times do I have to say it?” Each word felt like glass shattering inside you, jagged pieces lodging deep in your chest.

What you didn’t see—what he hid behind that hardened mask—was how every time those words left his lips, the ground beneath him fractured a little more. The walls he had built, the same ones you’d painstakingly helped him tear down, were rising again, brick by brick. And yet, despite the pain he was causing you, it paled in comparison to the agony of seeing you like this when he woke from that coma.

Two weeks of darkness for him, but for you? God, he knew it had been an eternity. He remembered the way his heart clenched when he first opened his eyes—bruised, battered, still aching from the mission—only to see you, a ghost of yourself. Dark circles carved under your eyes, your skin pale and drained of life. You hadn’t even changed out of your suit. Tear stains marked your face like scars, and he knew then, no one had been able to pull you away—not from him.

Nothing could compare to the pain of watching you crumble for his sake.

And now, you stood before him, your face a reflection of the same shattered expression that haunted him since that day.

You flinched at his tone. “I thought you loved me,” you whispered, the words so fragile they could break in the air.

His gaze didn’t waver. No flicker of emotion, no crack in the façade he wore like armor. His face was stone, impenetrable. But yours? He didn’t even want to imagine what his coldness was doing to you. You’d built walls, just like him, but he had taken his time tearing them down, careful to protect you from crumbling under the weight. And you thought you’d done the same for him.

But looking at him now, you realized those doors you thought led to him were nothing but illusions, hiding walls you’d never even touched. You’d been walking into a fortress, and you hadn’t even known.

“You thought wrong,” he said, his voice a low, controlled whisper, his tongue running over his bottom lip as if softening the blow. “I don’t love you anymore.”

The air left your lungs, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. Your eyes dropped to the floor, watching the first tear escape and trail down your cheek, racing to the ground like it couldn’t wait to abandon you too. You nodded, slowly, painfully, lifting your tear-filled gaze to meet his once more. “Okay,” you breathed, the word barely audible over the silence.

He didn’t move. He just stood there, frozen in place like your pain had anchored him to the floor. His eyes didn’t leave yours, and it was as if he was daring you—challenging you—to break first. Once, you might’ve won that battle. Two years ago, when your walls were still impenetrable and your heart hadn’t yet been laid bare for him. But now? Now, you knew you didn’t stand a chance.

You nodded again, more to yourself than to him, accepting the defeat. The tears kept coming, but you didn’t bother wiping them away. What was the point? With each step you took toward the door, you felt a piece of yourself stay behind, clinging to the space you once shared with him, unwilling to leave. His eyes burned into your back like daggers as you reached for the handle. The cold metal twisted beneath your fingers like the knife he’d just driven into your heart.

You looked back at him one last time, your voice barely above a whisper. “I still love you.” You knew he’d hear it.

His eyes softened, just for a moment—a flicker of something you could almost recognize. His lips parted, his Adam’s apple bobbing like he wanted to say something. But then, his jaw clenched, and whatever had passed through his eyes was gone.

It was all the confirmation you needed.

You turned away, the door clicking softly shut behind you. As soon as the sound echoed in the empty hall, the sob you’d been holding back finally broke free, tearing through your chest. You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself, trying to keep the pieces of you from scattering amongst the compound.

Your legs carried you forward on autopilot, your mind still drifting in the room behind you, replaying his final words like a broken record. “I don’t love you anymore.”

And it felt like half of your heart was still trapped there, being crushed in the palm of Bucky’s hand.

The hallway felt endless as you stumbled forward, each step heavier than the last. The world around you blurred, but all you could focus on was the echo of Bucky’s voice. “I don’t love you anymore.” The words gnawed at the fragile remains of your heart, the weight of them pulling you down until it felt like you were sinking into the floor.

You leaned against the wall for support, your trembling fingers gripping the cold surface as if it could anchor you, but nothing could. You were free-falling, crashing into an abyss of everything you’d tried so hard to keep buried. The sleepless nights, the whispered “I’m fine”s, the endless fights with yourself—telling yourself he cared. That he’d still choose you. That it wasn’t all in your head.

But now? Now, you didn’t know how to breathe without the air being ripped from your lungs by the jagged edges of his rejection.

“I don’t love you anymore.” The words echoed again, more vicious this time, as if they had claws. You wiped at your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket, but the tears kept coming, hot and relentless, your chest shaking as you tried to keep the sobs at bay. You couldn’t break—not here, not yet.

Your legs gave way, and you crumpled onto the floor outside the room. Pressing your forehead to your knees, you wrapped your arms around yourself as tightly as you could, trying to contain the tidal wave that was crashing inside of you. His words kept spiralling through your mind, each repetition leaving another crack in your already broken heart.

Why hadn’t you seen this coming? All the little signs, the distance growing between you, the way he pulled away every time you reached for him, the nights he said nothing but stared out the window like he was anywhere but with you.

You had thought it was the nightmares again. Or maybe the weight of everything—his past, the missions, the constant fight for redemption. You thought that’s why he was retreating.

But no. It was you.

You.

You were the reason.

You were the thing that was too much for him to handle. You, with your broken pieces, your constant need to be loved and to give love back. You had thought he wanted the same. That he needed you like you needed him. But you’d been wrong, hadn’t you?

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat nearly choking you as your breath hitched. How could it hurt so much to lose something you never even fully had?

You could hear the voices of your teammates coming closer, their laughter echoing down the hallway, a stark contrast to the hollow ache settling in your chest. Before they could see you like this, you slipped quickly into the washroom, your fingers fumbling with the lock. The click echoed too loudly in the quiet, small space.

Your reflection stared back at you—red eyes, tear tracks staining your cheeks, your hair an unkempt mess. You looked like hell, but that was nothing compared to the storm raging inside. You leaned on the counter, letting the weight of your body fall forward, hoping somehow that grounding yourself physically would ease the heaviness in your chest. It didn’t.

You felt stupid. Stupid and ashamed that you ever let yourself believe you could have something good. That you could be anything more than what you were built to be. The truth settled like poison in your veins: you didn’t deserve more.

The Red Room made sure of that. You were a weapon, a machine created to be used, discarded when no longer needed. And yet, somehow, you let yourself believe that you could be more, that you could have more.

But at the same time, you knew exactly why you thought that.

It was the false hope—the sweet nothings whispered between two broken souls on rooftops at ungodly hours, when sleep was nothing more than an empty promise. When words like “I’ll always be here for you” and “You mean so much to me” felt like lifelines in the dark. When his voice softened and he called you “doll,” like it was your name and not just another mask.

You thought of the night your lips met his for the first time—bloodied and bruised after a mission that nearly killed you both. You could still see his face, panic written all over it as he ran toward you, thinking the final gunshot hadn’t come from your hand but the enemy’s. His eyes had searched the room, wild and frantic, until they found you—standing with your gun on the ground, blood dripping from a cut on your forehead, and exhaustion weighing down every part of you.

He hadn’t said a word. He didn’t need to. His eyes had traced the lines of your face, his hands cradling your head as he finally pressed his lips to yours.

It was the only thing that had made sense in that chaotic moment.

And then there was that night in his bed—his arms wrapped around you, the warmth of his body chasing away the cold that had always clung to you. Your eyes were fluttering shut, the weight of the world temporarily forgotten as you lay there, safe, in his arms. You’d felt him shift closer, his fingers gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear like it was the most natural thing in the world, like you belonged there, with him.

He kissed your forehead, the gesture so tender it had made your heart ache. And then, just when you thought he was falling asleep, you heard it.

“I love you.”

The words were soft, almost too quiet to catch, like he was afraid to speak them aloud. And you—foolishly, so foolishly—waited until you thought he had fallen asleep to whisper the words back. You hadn’t been ready to say them out loud, too afraid that speaking them would somehow make everything fall apart.

It didn’t matter. It had all fallen apart anyway.

Now, standing in front of the mirror, you felt those three words echo through your mind, mocking you. You had whispered “I still love you” when he couldn’t hear it, but you heard his words loud and clear today—I don’t love you anymore.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, the sound foreign and jagged. How naïve you had been, thinking you could be someone different. Thinking you could be something more.

You were never meant to be loved.

Through the course of two years, you had let your walls down. Slowly, carefully, you built corridors where there had been nothing but empty spaces. You planted a garden of flowers—each one nourished by him, by the way he made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you were more than the sum of your scars. You placed windows where once there had only been brick walls, and the locks that had guarded your heart for so long? You threw them away, letting him roam free, trusting him with everything you had.

But now, when you closed your eyes, there wasn’t light, not even walls. What you had now was worse than either of those. It was all gone. Everything—your garden, your windows, your open doors—was swallowed by the black void that took its place. You had nothing left. You were nothing.

Your knuckles turned white as your grip on the counter tightened, the burning sensation in your hands grounding you, if only for a moment. You sighed, turning the faucet on and splashing cold water onto your face, desperate to wash away the evidence of what had just happened. The water did little to cool the sting, did nothing to erase the fact that Bucky had just told you he didn’t love you anymore.

You replayed the moment in your head, the way his voice had sounded too calm, too steady for someone who was breaking you apart. When Bucky asked to talk, you assumed it would be about the mission, maybe a debriefing since it was his first time back in the field since his accident. But the moment you walked into the room, you could feel the shift in the air—thick and suffocating, like all the oxygen had been sucked out. There was a coldness to him, to his expression. The way his face was set in stone, his eyes hollow, with only the faintest flicker of hesitation just below his hairline.

You felt it then. That tiny drop of nervousness creeping into your bloodstream, and you knew, you knew what was happening before the words even left his mouth. But knowing didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

You prayed you were wrong, prayed the nervous energy was about the mission, that something was wrong with you, not the air. Maybe your lungs had stopped working because it was so hard to breathe, each inhale feeling like fire. But when he said the words—flat and cold, I don’t love you anymore—you didn’t process them at first. It had to be a joke. A cruel, twisted joke. He’d never hurt you like that, right?

But then he said it again.

And the world around you crumbled.

The day that had once been bright and full of promise turned dark, clouds rolling in, the rain hammering against the window as if in tune with your heartbreak. The room that had been filled with love, with laughter and stolen kisses, was now a graveyard of “I don’t love yous.” The photos of you and him—those candid shots where you both wore matching grins, eyes crinkled at the edges, full of hope—now seemed mocking, the happiness frozen in time like a distant memory. You wanted nothing more than to tear them all down.

His heavy breathing had been the only sound in the room besides the rain beating relentlessly against the glass. It drowned out the quiet sobs that escaped your throat, tears dripping onto the floor. There was no sick joke. The only joke was you. You had let yourself believe you deserved happiness, let yourself believe you’d get a happy ending.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, unbidden. You couldn’t help it—the absurdity of it all. Thinking you could get a happy ending? That was laughable.

You waited, letting the minutes drag by in the silence of the washroom, making sure your face showed no sign of the devastation that tore through your chest. You weren’t just heartbroken; you were ruined. But there was no time to wallow in your sorrow. Not for you. Not now. Not ever.

You were an Avenger. You had a job to do. Heartbreak be damned, there was no room for your personal baggage on the battlefield. You’d leave it behind—hell, you’d do better than that. You’d tie it to an anchor, drop it in the middle of the ocean, and let it sink into the depths of the Mariana Trench, never to resurface again.

With one last glance in the mirror, you splashed your face one more time and exhaled shakily. You could hear your teammates outside now, oblivious to the storm raging inside you. They couldn’t know. They wouldn’t know.

Because if they did, if anyone saw just how broken you really were, you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to come back from it.

You unlocked the door, stepped out into the hallway, and put on the mask you had perfected long before Bucky Barnes ever made you believe in something better.

Because that’s what you were good at, wasn’t it? Disappearing behind the mask.

Pushing open the door, you closed your eyes and took in one last, steadying breath before heading toward the meeting room. You were hoping for a stroke of luck that you might arrive before Bucky, given your detour to the washroom, but, as usual, fate had other plans. As you entered, all eyes—including his piercing blue ones—turned to you. You avoided them, focusing instead on the floor.

“Nice of you to be fashionably late. That’s usually my gig, but I’ll allow it,” Tony quipped, his tone light but not masking the underlying edge.

You nodded, mumbling an apology as you slid into one of the two empty chairs, choosing the one beside Natasha rather than the one next to Bucky. Tony’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he exchanged a glance with Steve, who shook his head slightly.

The meeting proceeded as usual, but you were barely present. Sam’s attempts to lighten the mood with jabs fell on deaf ears, and Natasha’s concerned inquiries about your well-being were met with polite but unengaged responses. The blueprints and mission plans laid out by Steve and Tony were a blur. All you could focus on was the wall ahead, blocking out everything else—especially Bucky’s relentless gaze.

“Everyone clear on their roles?” Steve asked, his eyes sweeping over the group. He paused when he noticed your silence, the only one not making some acknowledgment. “Y/N?”

You dragged your gaze reluctantly to meet Steve’s. “Yeah,” you said, letting your eyes briefly connect with Bucky’s before you firmly added, “understood.”

Steve’s eyes flicked between Bucky and you, sensing the tension in the room. “Okay, wheels up in thirty.”

Bucky’s chair scraped loudly as he bolted from the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. The rest of the team followed suit, trickling out one by one. You lingered, not wanting to run into him. Your gear was still in the hangar, and it would only take a few minutes to get ready, but you weren’t the only one left behind. Sam gave your shoulder a supportive squeeze as he left, leaving only you and Steve.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Steve’s voice was filled with concern.

You lifted your eyes to his, trying to mask the emptiness you felt. “Of course…Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

You felt a pang of betrayal. You had known Steve longer than you’d known Bucky, and you thought you were closer to him, especially considering he and Natasha had pushed for you and Bucky to be together. You expected him to understand better. You stood up abruptly, a scoff escaping your lips as you prepared to leave.

Steve reached out, grabbing your arm. “I didn’t know.”

Turning around to face him, you replied coldly, “I've heard that one before.”

You shook off his grip, spinning on your heel and heading toward the hangar. Your body moved on autopilot, preparing for the mission as if it were any other day. But inside, your mind was sinking deeper and deeper, weighed down by the crushing reality of Bucky’s rejection.

The next few hours passed in a disorienting blur. Everyone piled onto the Quinjet, and you responded to questions with grunts or nods, barely registering what was happening around you. In this moment, you found a twisted sense of gratitude for the brainwashing you’d endured. It let you fight on autopilot while your mind drifted elsewhere, numb to the chaos. It was a cruel comfort, but it also made the pain a little less unbearable, even as it led you toward what felt like an inevitable fate.

Everything spiraled out of control quickly. One moment you were part of the team, moving in sync, and the next you were separated, stranded in a different section of the building you were infiltrating—more accurately, raiding. Now, you found yourself battling three Hydra agents. Normally, you could have taken them down with ease, but today was far from normal. Today was the culmination of everything that had gone wrong, and you felt the weight of it all pressing down on you.

Your movements were jerky and uncoordinated. Each punch and kick felt like it took an enormous effort, and your strikes lacked the precision and strength they usually had. The Hydra agents seemed to sense your vulnerability, their attacks coming more aggressively as if they could smell your weakness.

As you fought, flashes of memories invaded your mind—the moments with Bucky, the conversations, the promises. Each recollection was a sharp jab to your already fractured heart. You could almost hear his voice, the echo of “I don't love you” lingering like a cruel ghost.

Amidst the fight, one of the agents managed to land a blow, knocking you back against a wall. The impact jarred you, sending pain coursing through your body. You gasped for breath, trying to steady yourself, but your focus was fractured. Every breath felt heavy, as if the weight of the entire mission and your broken heart were crushing you.

Your mind raced with thoughts of Bucky’s words, the betrayal, and the emptiness that had settled in your chest. You felt disconnected from the fight, as if you were watching yourself from afar, unable to regain control. It was as if every punch and kick was more a reflection of your inner turmoil than an actual defense against the Hydra agents.

Desperation fueled you, and you fought harder, trying to push through the numbness and the pain. But with every move, it felt like you were sinking deeper into a void, unable to escape the relentless darkness that had overtaken you.

The old you, the one before Bucky, would have channeled her rage into every strike, every move. But the you now, shaped by heartbreak and loss, found herself fighting with a hollow numbness. You let the Hydra agents’ knives graze your skin and their punches barely connect, hoping that maybe, just maybe, you could find something meaningful in the suffering. When the danger grew too great, your instincts kicked in, taking them down with practiced ease.

Then Bucky entered the room. His eyes locked onto yours, and you saw the panic in his face as he screamed your name, lifting his gun. It was too late. A sharp pain exploded in your left shoulder, pushing you forward just as Bucky’s bullet whizzed past, hitting the last agent.

Bucky’s world shattered as he saw the enemy's finger tighten on the trigger. You collapsed onto your knees, blood pooling beneath you. Bucky’s voice echoed in your ear through the comms, screaming for a medic. The responses were a blur of frantic questions and distant voices, but with half of your heart already gone and the other fading, their words felt hollow. A part of you was grateful that your final moments would be with him.

The room spun as Bucky scooped you up, running to find help. You struggled to focus on his blue eyes, trying to anchor yourself in their depth. When you moaned in pain, he stopped, and his eyes finally met yours. In that moment, the realization settled heavily between the both of you.

He fell to his knees, holding you as tightly as he could. “I — I didn’t mean to, doll. I said it because I thought— I thought...,” he trailed off, his tears mingling with yours on your cheeks.

You managed a weak smile, blood trickling from your mouth, you wanted him to not carry any fault because you knew this was it for you and that hard exterior he had shown earlier was washed away replaced with the one you knew.

Desperation consumed him. His arm clung to you, his vibranium hand pressing against your wound, trying to staunch the bleeding he didn’t yet realize was from a fatal artery. He searched frantically for the evac he’d called for, knowing deep down that they wouldn’t arrive in time, they never did. You wanted to spare him from that truth, not wanting to shatter his fragile hope.

Your blood-stained hand shakily reached up, finding his cheek. “Bucky?” Your voice was barely a whisper.

He leaned into your touch, his breath ragged. “Yeah, doll?”

You wanted to memorize every detail of him—the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the blue of his gaze, the dimple beneath his chin. You needed to remember everything about him, not knowing if there was an afterlife or if it even mattered. Just in case there was, you wanted to carry him with you, even if only in memory.

“I just want to remember you s’all,” you said, your voice trembling as blood filled your lungs.

His face twisted in agony as the realization hit him. This time, you weren’t going to make it. The pain of the bullet, your words, and the look on his face all seemed to blend into one unbearable ache.

He removed his hand from your wound, resting it on your cheek. You felt his hand shaking and placed yours over his, trying to steady it. “I love you, doll. I love you so much. You have to know. I thought— I don’t— I love you more than anything. You can’t go. I’m not ready. I’m not ready,” he sobbed, his tears falling like an uncontrollable tide.

“We never are,” you murmured, feeling the edges of your vision darkening, the light fading.

He pressed his lips to yours, whispering through his tears, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Using what you knew would be your final breath, you squeezed his hand gently and opened your mouth for the last time. “I know.”

And then, the darkness closed in, taking you from him, leaving only the echoes of his desperate love behind.

[tripletstephaniescp]

These have to be the sweetest short, short stories ever. To be able to pull so much emotion from so few words, that is true talent.

A/N: This was long overdue, but here’s the masterlist of my 100-word submissions to Yvette’s amazing Flash Fiction Challenge! It sure set the tone for cozy holiday vibes. Thank you, @justagirlinafandomworld ✨ Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! Banner Credits to me. Photo Credits to the internet. Divider credits to @buck-star Thank you :) Check out my other works: Masterlist

Wish Come True

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader Prompt: All I Want for Christmas Is You

Wise Men Say

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader Prompt: I can't help falling in love with you

Unwaveringly Homebound

Pairing: Stucky x F!Reader | Steve Rogers x F!Reader x Bucky Barnes Prompt: Home by Blake Shelton and Michael Bublé

If you took the time to read, thank you! Reblogs and Comments would fill me with joy! Leave me some love, if you will—that's the best way to fuel my thoughts!

If you wanna be tagged in my works, add yourself here. <3 Please send me a message if you wanna be removed from the Tag list. :)

Tag list: @nekoannie-chan @salvatoreitmeanssaviour @bitchy-bi-trash @theallknown213 @tripletstephaniescp @rogerscut @greatenthusiasttidalwave @zaraomarrogers @shadowrose13-blog1 @king814318 @yiiiikesmish @steviebbboi @bernelflo @saiyanprincessswanie @blushingrn @looking1016 @jvanilly @mimisweetz @navyhua23 @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @shadyloveobjects @alexxavicry @astheskycries @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @patzammit @soelstress @8crazy-freak8 @stellar-solar-flare @stuckysgal @bval-1 @slowlyshycomputer @avengersfan25 @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @thiquefunlover63 @blackhawkfanatic @notsostrangerthing @awkwardgiraffe726 @iamtamera @pebbles20 @ayayaeyato @starsrfun @harrysnovia @gingerplague @read-just-cant @iwudbutnah @tasersloth @daydreaming-lightly @kpopgirlbtssvt

[tripletstephaniescp]

I am loving this series. Highly recommend.

How to cure a grump masterlist

Summary: You’re losing your job on Christmas.

Pairing: CEO/Boss!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, grumpy Bucky, awful boss, mistake identity trope, kinda fake dating trope, snowed-in trope, fluff?

How to cure a grump (1)

How to cure a grump (2)

How to cure a grump (3)

How to cure a grump (4)

How to cure a grump (5)

How to cure a grump (6)

How to cure a grump (7)

[tripletstephaniescp]

If only, that would be perfect.

A Perfect Winter Evening

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Snow outside, a crackling fire, hot chocolate, and your lumberjack make for a perfect evening.

Word Count: Over 700

Warnings: Established relationship, fluff, Bucky Barnes being in love (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: For @buck-star's Fluffy Winter Event, sitting together in front of the fireplace. I went Burly and Bambi for this one.❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Bucky edit by the amazing @nixakimbo. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Snow fell outside the cabin, heavy enough that you wanted to stay indoors to avoid the cold yet light enough to create a serene image. It looked like something from a painting, down to the moonlight shining through the trees. The perfect winter evening. Even better because you had the perfect man to share it with.

“Do I have to pry you away from the window, Bambi?” Bucky asked, his deep rumbly voice making you smile. “Not that the view out the window isn’t beautiful, but I think the better view is over here.”

Looking over your shoulder, you gazed at your beautiful lumberjack as he added one more log to the fireplace. He had a point about the better view. He had his hair pulled back tonight and wore a sweater with his signature jeans, and he likely had the sleeves of his shirt pushed up to tease you and get your attention. “Maybe,” you replied, biting your lip as he stood up. “Give me one reason why I should join you over there instead of staying over here, Burly.”

He gestured to the spot in front of the fireplace where he had a blanket and pillows set up, creating a romantic setting to go with the perfect winter evening. “One, this is the perfect place to keep warm and two, you get a chance to snuggle with me.”

You tapped your finger against your chin. You never needed a reason to cuddle with your man, but you would happily take it. Still, it was fun to tease him a little. “Tempting, tempting,” you said, pretending to think about it as he took slow, deliberate steps toward you. “Give me another reason.”

“Oh, no. You said one reason and I actually gave you two. Keeping warm, and snuggling with me,” he smirked, reaching out to take your hand. “And I think snuggling with me should actually count as two and three.”

“That’s true. I’ll give you that.” You let him pull you close, but leaned your head back when he tried to kiss you. The pinch in his brows was adorable. “But what about the hot chocolate?”

You couldn’t help smiling when he looked offended, his pretty blue eyes filled with mock hurt. “You think I’d set up a romantic fire for us on a cold night and not have hot chocolate waiting?” he asked, your heart racing when he gripped your chin, his calloused touch filled with tenderness that no one else got to experience. “And here I thought you loved me.”

“I do love you,” you whispered, not stopping him this time when his lips touched yours. It was as gentle as the snow falling, sending wonderful shivers down your spine. “And I know you love me, too.”

He showed you every day that he loved you through his thoughtfulness. Like how he always had your favorite snacks stocked up so you wouldn’t have to rush into town when you had a craving. Or how he had blankets or one of his shirts nearby, so you’d stay warm. And a kiss on your lips every morning before he started his day and one every evening once he came home.

“More than anything,” he whispered, your heart racing all over again. “Now will you please snuggle with me before I lose my mind?”

You melted at his puppy dog eyes. How could someone so burly pull off a look like that? And crave snuggling so much? “Okay, but only because I don’t want you to lose your mind,” you teased.

“That’s incredibly gracious of you,” he winked.

Once you both sat down, you settled into Bucky’s arms with a happy sigh. The scent of the hot chocolate drifting from the nearby mugs made your mouth water, and the crackling fire created a relaxing aura. You could fall asleep just like that, with your man holding you through the night until the morning came.

“So, snow falling outside, hot chocolate, snuggling in front of a fire,” you smiled, resting a hand on his chest. “A perfect winter evening?”

“Yeah,” he answered, gazing at you as you stared into the fire, his love for you as bright as the flames. “A perfect winter evening.”

This might be my last ficlet of 2024 and appreciate each and every one of you for indulging in my nonsense. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[tripletstephaniescp]

Yes,please to the tag.

I loved this. I love her unfiltered honesty.

Swipe Right

Summary : You matched with Bucky Barnes, your teammate, on a dating app.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x hero!reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : Fluff. Mutual pining. (let me know if I missed anything!)

Word count : 2.1k

Note : this was not on the posting schedule because it was only supposed to be a drabble but I got carried away. Also, would anyone be interested in joining a Bucky taglist if I started one?

You had invited Sam, Bucky, and Yelena over to your apartment for a chill evening, the kind of hangout that didn’t require much planning. After a couple of hours playing board games—you found yourselves sprawled across your living room in varying states of relaxation.  

Sam had turned on The Great British Bake Off on your TV, and now all four of you were watching Paul Hollywood give commentary on yet another sub-par Victoria Sponge cake. 

Oddly, a baking show made for soothing background noise.

Yelena had claimed the armchair, draped over it like a queen on her throne. One leg hung off the side as she shoveled popcorn into her mouth. Her muttered commentary—“Why would you even attempt caramel with five minutes left on the clock?”—only made you chuckle.

Sam was perched forward on the couch, elbows on his knees, unironically invested in all of this. “That meringue’s gonna collapse,” he muttered, eyes narrowed. That was Sam—fully committed, even to a televised baking show. That man could not half-ass anything. 

And then there was Bucky.  

He was sitting at the opposite end of the couch from you. His vibranium fingers drummed softly against the armrest, his stare distant, like the show was just white noise for him. 

It wasn’t fair how good he looked, even when he was doing absolutely nothing— no matter where he was, he always managed to make your heart do an embarrassing little flip.  

You sighed, forcing your eyes away from him before someone caught you staring.  

Lately, your hopeless crush on Bucky had been consuming far too much of your mental energy. Months of stolen glances, little moments where his smile sent your pulse racing, and a thousand tiny kindnesses had all built up to this… tingly feeling on your stomach. 

Oh, who were you kidding? 

This wasn’t a crush. 

You were in love.

But it doesn’t matter anyway. He was your teammate— it would be unprofessional. He was your friend. And, most painfully, he was so far out of your league, it wasn’t even funny.  

So, naturally, you’d done the most logical thing to distract yourself: redownloaded a dating app.  

As Yelena gasped at a burnt shortcake on-screen, you fixed your eyes at your phone and started swiping, hoping the distraction might keep your thoughts from drifting back to the super soldier sitting just a few feet away.  

But there was one problem: no one on this goddamn dating app compared to Bucky. 

With a resigned sigh, you swiped left on yet another shirtless gym selfie. Then another. And another. It was a sea of flexing muscles, bad mirror lighting, and an alarming number of men posing with fish.  

“Why are they all like this?” you muttered under your breath, swiping left on someone holding a bass as though it was the pinnacle of his achievements.  

Yelena, still draped dramatically over the armchair, popped a handful of popcorn into her mouth. “What was that?” she asked, her eyes never leaving the TV.  

“Nothing,” you lied quickly, your cheeks heating.  

Swipe left. Swipe left. Swipe left.  

It was almost mechanical at this point—until…

Holy shit. 

Name : Bucky  Location : Brooklyn, NY   Occupation : Freelance

Your heart stopped. No way. No. Way.

You stared at the screen, your thumb hovering above the profile picture. It was unmistakably him.  

You looked across the room at the man who was on your screen and thank fuck he didn’t notice how stiff you’d become.

The first photo was classic Bucky: a candid selfie that looked like it had been taken under order, his lips pressed into a reluctant smile. The next was slightly blurry, probably the result of him not holding still long enough. Then there was a mirror selfie taken in his apartment. The final photo was a photo of Bucky and Sam, the former leaning on a wall while the latter held a peace sign.

Your chest tightened as you scrolled down to read his biography and prompts.  

Hi, I’m Bucky. Not really sure how this works, but my friend Sam said I should give it a try. I like long walks, 40s music, and trying to figure out 21st-century pop culture. Bonus points if you know a good cat café.

Prompt: What’s your go-to comfort food?  Meatloaf and plums. Prompt: What’s your most-used emoji?  Probably the 🤔 because I’m still trying to figure out how to use them. Prompt: What’s your biggest red flag? Sometimes I get stuck in the past. But I’m working on it.

Your stomach flipped. It was so him. Honest, a little awkward, and undeniably charming.

You should’ve stopped right there. You should’ve swiped left, put your phone down, and continued pretending your feelings didn’t exist.  

But your thumb didn’t move.  

He was your teammate. Your friend. This was a line you absolutely couldn’t cross. 

…And yet.  

You were curious— just curious enough to try and swipe right. It wouldn’t mean anything. It wasn’t like he’d even see it, right?  

But you knew you shouldn’t.

You shouldn’t. You shouldn’t. You shouldn’t—

Before you could stop yourself, you swiped right. 

A second later, your screen lit up. You matched!

Your stomach dropped.  

Oh no.  

And then, across the room, Bucky’s phone buzzed.

Your stomach plummeted as you watched him pick it up, his movements casual at first—until they weren’t. His eyes flicked to the screen, and he froze.

Slowly, almost painfully, his wide-eyes lifted and locked onto yours.

The two of you stared at each other in mortified silence.

“Uh… you okay there, Buck?” Sam asked, tearing his attention away from the TV for a second. His brow furrowed. “You’re red. Like, really red.”

“M’ fine!” Bucky croaked, the word coming out far too loud and far too fast. He jerked his head back down, staring at his phone. “Just… it’s hot in here.”

Sam gave a shrug, already turning back to the TV. 

But you weren’t watching Sam. Your focus was entirely on Bucky, whose ears were now a vivid shade of pink. Your heart beat out of your chest as you fumbled to unlock your phone, quickly typing into the chat.

You : hey.

His phone buzzed again. 

You watched as his eyes darted to the screen. His grip on the phone visibly tightened. After a moment of hesitation, his fingers moved to type back.

Bucky : hey.

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling slightly as you typed again.

You : Soooo… this is awkward. Bucky : I didn’t think you’d swipe right. You : I didn’t think you’d have Tinder. Bucky : Sam made me do it. You : Sure. And I swiped for research purposes only. Bucky : Sure.

You risked a glance across the room. Bucky was staring at his phone with disbelief, like he was a kid caught sneaking sweets in his room past his bedtime. His human knuckles were white, and you briefly wondered if he might crush the device with his vibranium hand.

You : We are in the same room. Don’t look at me. Bucky : Wasn’t planning to. You’re making this worse. You : Oh, I’m making this worse? You’re glaring at your phone like it killed your cat. Bucky : Am not. You : Are too.

“What is wrong with you?” Yelena’s voice cut through the haze, and you nearly jumped out of your seat. She turned to you, suspicious. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Uh, I think I’m just dehydrated!” you blurted, the words tumbling out too quickly. You stood up so fast you almost knocked over the coffee table. “I need water.”

You glanced desperately at Bucky, who looked like he’d rather melt into the couch than meet your eyes. “Bucky, you look thirsty too, right? Come with me to get water?”

For a split second, he didn’t move. Then, he stood, his face pale except for the blotches of red spreading across his cheeks. “Uh… sure,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

Together, the two of you shuffled out of the living room, leaving Sam and Yelena staring after you with raised eyebrows.

The moment you stepped into the kitchen, away from prying eyes and ears, you spun around to face him, your heart pounding out of your chest.

“Why did you swipe right?!” you whisper-shouted, jabbing a finger in his direction like he’d committed a crime— one that you were also guilty of.

Bucky’s eyes widened, still comically surprised. “Why did you swipe right?!” he shot back.

“I asked you first!” you hissed, your voice climbing ever so slightly.

“Yeah, well, I’m asking now!” His arms flailed slightly, throwing them up in exasperation. It was utterly unfair how his messy hair and blue eyes made him look stupidly handsome, even when he was bickering like a five-year-old.

Your brain was spinning out of control, your thoughts racing so fast you were sure they were about to break the sound barrier. And before you could stop yourself, before you could think, the truth — the big, scary truth — came out of your mouth.

“Because I’m in love with you!”

The words came out in one breathless tumble, like they were trying to run away from your brain. You slapped a hand over your mouth as soon as they escaped, wide-eyed and mortified.

Oh, God. Oh, no. Oh, Bucky definitely heard that.

Bucky just stood there. Completely frozen. 

His jaw dropped a little, and his metal arm let out a tiny mechanical whir, like even it was short-circuiting over what you’d just said.

“What?!” he finally blurted, his voice increasing in both pitch and volume.

“Shush!” You lunged forward, clasping your hand over his mouth before he could alert the whole damn neighbourhood. The move was instinctive, but the moment your palm brushed against the stubble on his jaw, your brain screamed TOO CLOSE, TOO CLOSE.

“I need you to shut up or the Bake-Off Twins are gonna hear!” you hissed, jerking your head in the direction of Sam and Yelena, who were in the other room, probably arguing over whether pie crusts were better made with butter or shortening.  

He gave a jerky nod. Slowly, you pulled your hand away, suddenly hyper-aware of how soft how lips felt on your palm.

“S-Since when?” he stammered, his expression a mix of shock and—was that… hope?  

“I don’t know!” You panicked. “Three months, maybe? Since that Alaska mission. When we were stuck in that cabin together?”  

“Three months?!” he demanded, “Why didn’t you tell me?!”  

“Because you’re out of my league!” you blurted, as if that were the most obvious explanation in the world.  

The offended noise he made was almost comical, like you’d just insulted his grandmother. His brows knit together, and he looked at you like you’d just confessed to committing arson. “I thought you were out of my league!”  

You blinked at him. He blinked at you.  

Surely, he cannot believe that to be true, right? 

“Oh, come on, Bucky. Look at you!” You gestured wildly at him, as if the unfairness of his existence needed no further explanation. “It’s like Caravaggio painted you to be an angel!”

“I— What?” He choked out. In truth, he would say the same about you, but he lacked the guts to.

But you?

You were all guts and no filter.

There was no stopping you. “You’ve got the jawline of a marble statue, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. It’s unfair! It’s like you just walked out of some Renaissance masterpiece, except instead of holding a harp or a cross, you’re just standing there in a Henley, looking like a sin. It’s distracting, and—”

You didn’t get to finish. 

Without warning, his hands were on your face, cupping your cheeks and then— he kissed you.  

It wasn’t a hesitant kiss. It wasn’t careful or calculating. It was decisive, like he’d been waiting months for this moment and had finally decided, screw it.

You froze, your brain lagging a good five seconds behind reality. But when your mind finally caught up to your body, you melted into his touch, your fingers grabbing his Henley for dear life.  

Was this really happening? 

After all this time pining over him, he actually felt the same way?

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead gently against yours. “Shut up,” he muttered, breaking the silence. He didn’t need you to praise him for being a masterpiece, not when he believed you were the one who belonged in the Louvre. “Just… shut up.”  

And then he kissed you again.  

This time, it was slower, more careful, like he was memorising every second of it. His hands cradled your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheek.

Meanwhile, back in the living room, Yelena raised an eyebrow at the faint rustles coming from the kitchen.  

"I bet they’re sucking each other’s faces off," she said, popping another piece of popcorn into her mouth.  

Sam shrugged, “obviously.”

-end.

[tripletstephaniescp]

Okay, so sometimes I don't read the Authir's notes before plunging in and so I missed the part where it was you writing this story but 2 paragraphs in, I was like who wrote this?, it's so Jo. I was pleased to be right. You shape the world's in your stories so completely, and the emotions shine through. I wanna hold his hand forever, too! 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

Hold My Hand

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Word Count: 1,358

Summary: You’ve got a hand for Bucky. 

Author’s Note: So I recently visited one of my favorite vintage record stores and they sell all these old cds for you know like $1-$3 and I found Hootie and the Blowfish- Cracked Rear View and I was listening to it on my commute today and I was just like OMG NOSTALGIA haha!🥰 Anyway, that’s where this is from. I just wanna hold Bucky’s hand forever. I love holding hands. Here is the song if you wanna listen Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤❤❤ Jobean divider by the lovely @imerdwarf and heart divider by the lovely @skylightlantern​

Warnings: Softness and fluff, little angsty feeling but it’s all good- hand holding and kisses. 

Gif NOT MINE: Credit to @unearthlydust for this beautifulness, thank you bunches! 🥰

“Hey Sam! Have you seen Bucky?”

Sam looks up from his coffee and his lips dip into a frown.

“Just this morning when he came in to grab coffee.”

You give Sam a small smile and head down to Bucky’s room. With a light knock you press your ear to the door and wait.

“Yea?” Bucky’s gravelly voice answers.

“It’s me Buck, can I come in?” you ask.

Keep reading

[tripletstephaniescp]

I could definitely use one of him in my life. Beautiful story.

More Precious Than Rubies

Dom!Steve Rogers x submissive reader; Steve Rogers x plus size reader

summary: You struggled with self-image issues and self-deprecating tendencies for a long time. You're working on it, you're loving yourself more and more. But some days are still harder than others. Some days the nasty, jaded voices in your head torment you with hate and doubt. Which is why you run away from the club. But when you think you'll get to battle yourself alone at home, an unexpected company brings some light to your darkness. Not only is Master Steve a flame to which you'd love to fly like a silly moth, but he shows understanding that helps fight with your own doubts.

warnings: body image issues; self-worth issues; mental health; mention of PTSD; self-deprecating comments; emotional hurt/comfort; Dom Steve Rogers; mention of D/s dynamic;

word count: 5k

Author's Note: I finally come to you with Dom Steve and Darling's introduction story! 🎉🩷 It just happened. I had it as WIP document for a while and today I was planning to write a few sentences, just to keep myself motivated. And somehow the few sentences turned into finishing the whole thing. Mind you, it's their introduction, the first brick of how they became the couple we love from the established bits I sometimes write. I think it took me so long, because it was quite emotional and hard at times to write it. And because of my focus on that, this intro doesn't contain any actual BDSM scene.

Ruby Garden Series

Main Masterlist

It was a small sigh, barely audible. Perhaps it wasn’t even a sigh, but just a huffed breath that meant nothing more than typical exertion post a scene. If you took a step back to look at the situation with a more objective perspective, that’s the logical conclusion you’d come to.

Your brain worked differently, however.

It was driven with all these feelings and ugly thoughts, which instantly exaggerated a simple sound of deeper breathing to the most dramatic sigh of disappointment.

That thought instantly pierced your chest, making you feel as if your ribs clenched around your heart, threatening to burst it into pieces and free all these tears stinging beneath your eyelids. 

The scene with Sir Joaquin went well, or so you thought. Up to a point. Somewhere around when things got really intense for you, he seemed to speed things up. 

To get it over with, the nasty voice in your head snorted. His touch was less precise and careful than it used to be the two times you scened in the past. Because he couldn’t stand to touch me any longer, the voice chimed in again.

The eye contact which was a staple of all Dom-sub interactions, unless sensory deprivation came into play, was almost non-existent. 

It’s hard to look at me, obviously. 

Then on top of it all, as he untied you and helped you up, that sigh came out of his mouth. And it crushed you. A final stone to add to the heaviness you were already feeling with every step that you took inside the club. 

Inside any space you found yourself in, really. 

But you pressed your lips and forced a timid smile, pretending all to be okay. Acting as if it didn’t gut you to know how unimpressed Sir Joaquin was with you, maybe even disgusted. 

You walked through the club and into the locker room with a masterfully trained face of soft serenity, hoping to give that impression of a satisfied, happy submissive. Heavens forbid some Master sees a single grimace and starts asking questions. You couldn’t bear the sight of annoyance on their faces if you admitted to silly feelings of not being desired or thinking yourself to be a disappointment of a sub. 

Your moves remained unrushed as you donned on a dress over the babydoll that you wore, then a coat. You exchanged polite smiles with a fellow club member who just got in. 

A brief thought entered your mind as you walked out into the chilly evening - if Sir Joaquin would scene with another submissive that night, to wipe away the unpleasant memory of disastrous interaction with you. 

Someone more appropriate for a submissive. Cuter. 

Smaller. 

You could’ve waited for the taxi inside the club, but it was better to be outside. Even if the evening was quite cold and the gloom of it only spurred on more of your depressing thoughts. 

You tried to think of nice ways to spend the rest of your evening, but somehow your brain redirected everything to the images of Doms happy with the pretty, thin submissives, all gracefully kneeling and bending and not looking like a bull in a china shop. 

Clenching your fingers into fists, you attempted to fight those thoughts. Counter them with reality, as your new therapist has suggested. For example, acknowledging that other submissives had various body types, sizes, skin color. 

Or that if a Dom didn’t want to scene with you, he simply didn’t have to.

There was no obligation anyone had to fulfill. Joaquin negotiated a scene with you out of his own volition. He didn’t pull out the shortest straw. He wanted to spend that time with you.

But maybe he thought I’d be better at it, came the voice again. I should make up for the way I look.

That’s why you did your best to buy and wear the prettiest things. Though often you found yourself cringing at your own reflection, because while the lingerie or dresses were lovely, when you put them on it only made you feel ridiculous. 

People gave you compliments. Doms in the Ruby Garden did too. Somehow, you always found yourself disbelieving them and seeking ulterior motives. 

They told the same words to every submissive, you were no exception. It was a habit of theirs, undoubtedly, not genuinity. Not when it came to you. It couldn’t be. Simply because you were not beautiful. 

Fat. Ungraceful. Forgettable. Those were your adjectives. 

Your therapist didn’t fight them when you spluttered it out in one of the sessions, instead she asked if you possessed a superpower of reading minds. It stunned you a bit and you replied that of course you didn’t. 

“Then why do you assume you know they’re lying?” she asked then. Leaving you lost for words for a moment. 

“Let’s differentiate between your subjective thoughts and facts,” she proposed. “Someone called you beautiful. That’s a fact. They may have been honest, or not, but them saying it is a fact. The instant shitload of pejorative adjectives and wicked ulterior motives comes from your inner voice. Your own perception of yourself.”

What you liked about your new therapist was that while she pointed out your role in the process of your thoughts, she never excluded or diminished the events and people who influenced that sort of thinking. As she said, your low self esteem didn’t magically happen, but grew from all the shitty treating you experienced. From peers making fun of you, through jabs from your family, to the socially expected beauty standards women were bombarded with on a daily basis.

But - what she pointed out - it wasn’t them who was going to change, but you. Fighting the poison they injected you with. 

So you put effort into implementing techniques and strategies to fight those thoughts. It’s just that sometimes you were too tired.  

Taking a calming breath, you once again focused on the ways you could improve your evening. Taking a bubble bath, or catching up with the newest season of Nailed It. And hoping that you won’t feel like a whale, or end up cursing yourself for eating a few candies as you watched a baking show. 

The sudden sound of your name snapped you to attention.

Wallowing, you didn’t pay much attention to your surroundings. You didn’t notice the very distinctive silhouette nearing.

Master Steve was recognizable even in the thickening darkness of the late evening.

Tall, muscled; with broad shoulders and tapered waist, and the sexiest ass. Every time you glanced his way in the club you simply turned speechless. He was the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. 

Not just handsome, or hot. He truly was beautiful. Michelangelo wouldn’t be able to sculpt a body so perfect.

It wasn't even your sole opinion, since most of the submissives in the club were drooling after him and dreaming of the greek god with a Brooklyn accent. 

He called out your name softly enough that it didn’t carry out across the street. Whether he was mindful of your privacy, or it was his natural gentleness. For a split of a second you felt your whole body melting into cotton, before it dawned on you that he was truly approaching. Panic had you tensing anew. 

“Si-Steve,” you blurted nervously. 

Calling him Sir in the club came so natural - partly because he had this natural aura of protectiveness and leadership, but mostly because a chunk of your heart longed to call him that and more. To name him your Master. 

Outside of the club, however, it was impolite and outrageous to give away designations that were so intimate. Even on the stairs leading to the club, it was considered an outside world where reputation was important. Hence using names was crucial. 

Some members preferred not to be recognized at all, so if any unexpected interaction happened outside the club, it was just a small nod and a smile. Nothing else. 

Since Steve called out to you first, it seemed he didn’t mind being recognized. Or seen talking to you.

“Leaving so early?” He greeted you with a charming smile, which you swore could be plastered on posters and would get any propaganda sold. 

It wasn’t that early, though for the Ruby Garden lifestyle it was considered unusual to leave at this time. Plus, you’ve noticed that Steve often stayed late, even if he wasn’t actively participating in a scene. 

“Um, yes.” You nervously scratched your ear. “That kind of day.” 

It was vague enough to not betray anything, but also diminishing any potential worries. Just a shrug. Everyone had those kinds of days and there was no need to elaborate on that. Work week’s tiredness, personal trouble, PMS. It was also a way to signal for the other person to not probe further. 

Steve tilted his head slightly to the side, studying you for a moment. There was no strict scrutiny in his stunning, blue eyes. Which was a look he sometimes made submissives bow down and reveal all the secrets they were trying to hide from him. 

The power of disapproval in his gaze was atomic. 

It was a true blessing he didn’t dissect you with one right now, because you were completely defenceless against that. You’d spill everything, even the fact you stole a pretty marble from a boy in second grade who laughed at you.

He was simply watching you. Maybe looking for some signs of distress, but you were certain that you had them masked. Besides, the heaviness was slowly dissipating, anyway. 

“Look at that.” Steve said, smiling at you softly. “It is that kind of day for me, too.”

You blinked, speechless. It sure as hell wasn’t the same kind of day for him as it was for you, but you couldn’t call him out on that. Not unless you admitted what was wrong with yours. And you just couldn’t do that. You could only reciprocate a nervous smile and hope he’d move along.   

“What are your plans for dealing with it?” He asked casually, showing genuine interest, but making it sound conversational enough to not put pressure. 

“Um, some food, blankets, binging something.” You shrugged, but inwardly felt yourself cringing at your lame reply. At least you didn’t blurt out anything about a bubble bath, though maybe that at least would appear somewhat seductive.

Then you scolded yourself. You didn’t need to come up with special replies to pretend you were someone else. You should be yourself. Boring or not. It’s just that you hoped to make a better impression on Steve. 

“Food sounds great.” Steve flashed you that smile and you instantly knew you’d be unable to fight any suggestion that was about to follow. Despite wanting to just burrow yourself under the blankets and have the world forget you exist. 

“Do you think we could maybe eat something together, since we both are having that kind of day?” He asked and the unfaltering, nearly hopeful smile of his had your defences crumbling. 

Your mouth opened, but you were unable to form any coherent sentences. Your brain battled between arguments that you were about to simply eat something at home and panic that it would sound like you were inviting him over. 

“It’s okay to say no,” he added, his voice carrying the undertone of that Dom reassurance. “But take a second to think, if you wouldn’t mind a company for an hour, or so.” 

You would never mind Master Steve’s company. Your brain, however, was still slightly jumbled with vicious thoughts about being pitied, a charity case, having to be rescued, because you couldn’t deal with your own shit. They wanted you to refuse and leave Steve with a small smile, so that later you could burst into tears in the solitude of your apartment, torturing yourself with false angsty scenarios and what-ifs. 

Allowing yourself simmering in those thoughts wouldn’t bring any change to your mood, only sour it further. 

Sharing a meal with Steve would be awkward and potentially lead to more self-deprecating thoughts appearing later, but for an hour (or so, like he said) you’d be focusing on something else. And also treating yourself to some tasty food. 

“I’d like to have company.” You finally said, allowing yourself to smile more boldly. 

“Fantastic.” Steve grinned. “Though, I warn you, my eating habits may terrify you.” 

It was too late to stop the giggle from escaping your lips. You felt an instant rush of heat to your face, but Steve didn’t cringe, nor react in any specific way to your embarrassment. 

“We can go to that bistro not far away. Or to that diner.” He gestured wide with his arm, letting you pass him down the stairs. He made sure to leave space between your bodies and not force himself too close. 

Though you felt the brush of his fingers in the air so close to your back as you passed him.

Bistro meant nice, slightly more elevated food. Healthy salads and smaller portions of pasta and bread. It could save you some image problems and yelling mockery of your inner voices. 

“If you don’t mind-” Steve continued, before you got a chance to reply- “could we go to the diner? I’m a sucker for the vintage vibe it has, and it’s been a while since I indulged in fries dipped in milkshake.”

“Fries dipped in milkshake?” You stopped at the bottom of the stairs and stared at him. 

It’s not that you didn’t hear of the combination. There were other, way weirder food combos out there that some of your friends have recommended. You never expected Steve to have any of those. It was an assumption based on some stereotype, you were aware of it, but you just couldn’t imagine someone with his physique to eat like that. 

“Thick, sweet milkshake and salty, greasy fries.” Steve nodded with a hum of longing. “After a juicy, messy cheeseburger, that is. Or two.” 

“You’re gonna order two cheeseburgers, fries and a milkshake?” You couldn’t help but smile, while shaking your head. 

“Double fries.” Steve corrected. “And pie, if they have any left.” 

“Blueberry, or cherry?” Lightness entered your voice, without you having to force it. 

There was still awkwardness as you walked, spurred on by the evil whispers mocking you that Steve undoubtedly had to slow his pace, so that your heavy ogre stomps could keep up with him. But you clung to the comfortable easiness with which Steve walked beside you and the cheeky tone of his voice as he met your teasing ask.

“Apple.” He announced with pride. “With a scoop of vanilla ice cream.” 

“Hmm, I’d give up all three pies for a slice of layered, chocolate and salted caramel cake. With praline.” You let out your own dreamy sigh. 

“Putting fancy cake over classic American pie, that’s punishable.” Steve’s tone remained light and teasing, but to have him mention punishment meant an instant subconscious reaction of your brain. 

You stuttered, feeling yourself gulping nervously and looking up at him with wide eyes. 

The glint in Steve’s eyes was unmistakable, betraying that he was well aware of your reaction and where your thoughts sprinted for a second. However, he didn’t push the matter, respectfully leaving it at that, without an ounce of teasing, or growing into the Dominant role.

You were outside of the club, as private people who were only about to share a meal. To have Steve leave the situation in this neutral course was both a relief and a pity. 

You bowed your head, licking your lips nervously as you hurried forward. When Steve took two long strides to get in front of you, but only to open the diner’s door for you, you looked up at him surprised. 

Did he really have to be so perfect? 

Inside the diner, you slid into one of the empty booths. You were reaching for one of the menus when Steve’s fingers tapped it down, drawing your attention back to his face. Handsome, breathtaking, sincerely looking face. 

“Text, or call one of your friends, to let them know you’re here with me.” Steve instructed in a gentle tone. “It’s not a scene, but it’s still important to have others aware of your safety.” 

It didn’t even occur to you before that you should’ve let anyone know that you were leaving the club not to go home alone, but going somewhere else with a Dom. Not because you weren’t careful when it came to your safety. 

Master Steve simply made you feel safe with him. 

“Yes, S-” you bit your tongue faster than with that first slip-up, “Steve.” 

Hiding your expression of mortification, that yet again you almost called him Sir in public, by lowering your head to type on your phone, was your saving from burning alive. You saw that spark of recognition in his eyes at your near-mistake, but quickly dropped your gaze to avoid seeing if he was smug about it, or maybe displeased. 

You didn’t even pay attention to him typing on his phone, as well. Only after you gathered back your wit and enough self-composure to pretend nothing happened, you looked up. Steve was focused on the menu. 

You just both ordered when Steve’s phone chimed. With an apologetic smile he picked up, not hiding from you with the short conversation, nor hiding the fact he was with you. Which was a pleasant surprise at first when you heard him say your name and the location you were at, then filled you with dread, because it meant he was on the phone with someone who knew you.

And people who knew both you and him were the people from the Ruby Garden. 

It was a fool’s hope to pray for a stubborn submissive friend calling Master Steve for confirmation of your safety. 

It had to be another Master. Or a Dom. Was it Joaquin? Your thoughts began spiraling anew. Was the Dom calling Steve to tell him how he shouldn’t waste time on you? How you were a disappointment? Or to lure him back to the club, because there were better entertainments awaiting? A better company? Sexier? 

Steve’s gaze remained on your face the entire time. You tried to look everywhere, studying the menu over and over again, but each time you glanced at him, his gaze was on you. 

A part of you expected disappointment, or anger even. His piercing eyes didn’t hold either of those. However, the lighthearted softness has shifted into that unmistakable Dominant mode that snapped your spine to attention, at the same time making you frantically search for ways to hide yourself. 

Steve kept the conversation short and vague. A lot of “I see,” though you weren’t sure it was in response to whatever was said, or perhaps directed at you, because he saw you… 

“Was it Joaquin?” You asked nervously, deciding it was no use pretending you were clueless to the connection to the club that his conversation had. 

“It was Ari.” Steve replied calmly. 

“Oh.” 

For some reason, your heart filled with fear and seemed to disintegrate into pieces. The owner of the club himself called Steve. The Master of Masters. Was it your final doom? 

A small frown marred Steve’s forehead. Slowly, he hid his phone in his pocket, not once taking his gaze away from you. Not even when the food was placed on your table. He did say a polite thank you to the waitress, but kept looking at you. 

“I texted Ari about taking you to the diner, so he would keep me in check and be mindful of your whereabouts.” Steve explained. 

“He called to let me know that Joaquin is down with a stomach flu. Apparently he started feeling unwell at the club. During your scene. It quickly got worse, which forced him to cut it short and flee the place. He was feeling incredibly guilty that he didn’t provide enough aftercare and any explanation, so he called Ari so that he would check on you. And also to tell you to look out for any symptoms, if he accidentally infected you.”  

You stared at Steve, numbness and guilt filling your limbs. 

All the signs, the evidence of his disgust with you, that the insecure voices in your head tormented you with - they all had a factual explanation that had nothing to do with you.

It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t disgust. Or annoyance. It was a stupid stomach flu. 

Joaquin was feeling unwell. Physically. Hence the sighs and the rush, and grimaces on his face. And he still cared enough to alert a club’s Master of the situation, so that someone would make sure you were okay. 

But you didn’t allow for that care to be delivered, because you ran away. Hating on everyone inside, but most of all hating on yourself. 

“I hope he feels better soon.” You said quietly, picking one of your fries, but not lifting it to your mouth. 

“How about you tell me what was going through your head just a few seconds ago?” Steve’s voice lowered slightly. 

It reminded you of the timbre you sometimes heard when in the club, how it sent tingles to deep parts of you, how you both wanted to hear it directed at you and feared it. 

“We’re not in the club and I’m not your Dom, but it looked like you were in pain.” He added and the hint of softness he tried to put back into his voice for your comfort was shattering. 

If you were in the Ruby Gardens, he would show no mercy until he peeled away all the layers to get to the core and deal with it accordingly. But here, he was mindful of your positions and the lack of intimacy. 

“It’s-” you wanted to blurt that it’s nothing. Just some silly thoughts. Silly worries. You didn’t want to be crying into your fries. 

But when you made the mistake of looking up into Steve’s eyes again, you couldn't force yourself to lie. Even if there was no punishment awaiting you at this very moment, he made you want to confess just so that for a little moment he could carry your burdens on his strong shoulders. 

“I thought he was disappointed in me.” You whispered, dropping your gaze back down. 

There was a pause. Focused on your food to chase away the tears stinging your eyes, you didn’t see the twitch in Steve’s fingers. His barely constrained instinct to gently cup your chin and tilt your face up, so he could read all of you, see all of you. 

“Disappointed how?” He asked softly, instead. 

“In the scene.” You sniffled. “In me as a submissive. That I’m not responsive enough, or stupidly responsive. That I don’t look pretty in bonds. That I don’t possess the grace others have. That I’m just so big and ugly.” 

Jaded part of your brain was waiting with pitchforks for that sweet pity - the empty words saying that you’re pretty and not a disappointment at all. People always did that. They always just said the antonyms and thought it was all better.

Yes, hearing compliments and that someone found you pretty was always good, but when it was in response to your own thoughts you took it as just them trying to push the topic away and placate you. 

But Steve didn’t react the expected way. He didn’t brush it aside, just to get the conversation back on lighter tones and end this awkward dinner. 

“It’s hard battling such comments when they come from the outside, but it’s even harder when you have to fight your own mind.” He said and there was some sad depth to it that made you slowly lift your head up. 

He was looking at you, but there was no pity in his blue eyes. There was some sort of… understanding. 

“It takes a lot of time. A hell a lot of time.” Steve sighed, slightly shaking his head. “Took me about three years of therapy. Way more, if we count occasional revisits.” 

“You- you went to therapy?” Personally, you were a strong advocate of that, even if you sometimes cursed your previous failures in therapy. It was hard to imagine that Steve out of all people would ever need it. He always presented himself as in control, comfortable in his body and in the role of a Dom. 

“Yeah.” Judging by the tone alone, he was proud of his choice, but it still felt heavy. You understood that feeling. “Could’ve gone sooner, but I'm glad I went at all.”

It wasn’t your place to ask about details, though you wanted to provide him the same safe space he created for you. 

“PTSD.” Steve admitted, without your inquiry. “Along the way, self-image problems resurfaced, as well. Though they were only an echo of my childhood, not the main issue at the time.” 

“I’m in therapy, too.” You managed to speak a little louder, more courageous after Steve opened up about it without any judgement. “It’s better. Definitely better than it used to be, but sometimes… sometimes it’s still terrible.” 

Steve’s eyes clouded with recognition, a passing ghost of whatever used to haunt him. Or, maybe like you, it still did sometimes. 

“Like today?” He asked, coloring his voice a tone lighter. He reached for his cheeseburger and with that simple motion you felt your own body slightly relax. 

“Yeah,” you sighed, opening your own burger in half and stuffing fries on both sides. A small smile twitched in the corner of your mouth at Steve’s arched eyebrow at your deconstructed burger. 

The mood hasn’t magically changed, but you found certain comfort in continuing a heavy topic with someone who understood the core of it. 

“I read everything about the scene as my fault.” You continued. “Haven’t done that in a while, but I guess it was the combination of everything. Hard day at work. Annoying conversation with my mom. Strap of my bra snapped. I was already harsh on myself before I even entered the club. Then it only got worse.”

You paused, with the half of the bun with burger and fries on it halfway to your mouth. You frowned, replaying in your head what you said and then glancing up at Steve in awe of the revelation.

“It’s good to process it like that, without two hours of sobbing first.” You told him, grimacing slightly at your attempt at joking. Which wasn’t far from the actual truth of how your evening would have looked if not for Steve. 

Steve’s smile was so tender and encouraging, eliciting a sting of overwhelming tears beneath your eyelids. Happy ones, this time. 

When he chewed on his huge bite (that man’s mouth opened inhumanly wide, Jesus), you expected he would say the polite, but in his case not fake, promise to be there to talk, if you ever wanted to. However, what Steve said after swallowing his food, was surprising enough to almost send your own bite down the wrong pipe.

“Are you going to the club tomorrow?” 

It was usually Friday and Saturday evenings that most of the members enjoyed to the max, especially those who worked all week in regular jobs and only had the weekend to go wild. Most of the time, you went on Friday and Saturday, as well. With Sunday left for all the recuperation your body needed. 

“I wasn’t planning after today.” You revealed.

“After what your initial thoughts hurt you with?” Steve asked simply and you nodded. “Do you think you might reconsider, after processing it all?” 

“I- I don’t know.” You felt a shudder of nervousness skitter along your skin. 

Not exactly a bad kind of nervousness. Not with the way Steve was looking at you across the table. 

“I’d be pleased if you came.” He stated, with that sensual confidence sneaking between the lines of something sounding so supposedly casual. 

He’d be pleased.

Not happy. Not encouraging. Not supportive. 

No, Steve would be pleased. Master Steve would be pleased. It wasn’t even a code, it was a direct statement of a Dom who wanted something from the sub. This particular sub.

You.

A hundred of tiny, fluttering needles prickled your heart, pumping it full of elated joy and filling the rest of your body with scary thrill. 

“You-” the rest of your burger almost fell out of your hands. “You want to scene with me?” 

Amusement glinted in Steve’s eyes, but it didn’t diminish the steel power of dominance hunting for submissive prey. He didn’t rush with his answer, instead choosing to slowly chew the last bite as he watched your cute, stunned face.

“Darling,” when he spoke finally, the term of endearment nearly made you melt down in your seat. “I’ve been trying to get you into a scene for a while now, but you’ve been constantly running away from that and avoiding it at all costs.”

A wave of heated embarrassment swallowed you whole. There were some instances when you thought you saw Master Steve direct his attention towards you, which made you immediately feel the need to find yourself somewhere else. Busy. Saving yourself from utter humiliation and failure. 

You grimaced, when you realized it was once again your anxious thoughts, deeming you unworthy of Steve’s attention. 

“Um, well,” you reached for your milkshake, “it may have been because I was scared of disappointing you as a sub.” 

Steve gave a thoughtful nod, treating your reasons seriously and understanding them better now. Though it didn’t douse the dark fire in his eyes.

“Come tomorrow, Darling.” He dipped one of his fries in his milkshake. “For every time you admit to the thoughts hurting you in our scene, you get a reward. And for each time I see that fear in your beautiful eyes, but you refuse to communicate it, I’ll punish you.”

You were mid sip when he touted the last part in that deeper, harder voice of a Dominant about to unleash delicious hell on a poor submissive. So of course you choked on your drink.

When you stared at Steve, trying to regain your breathing, a slow, darkly pleased smirk curved his lips. 

[tripletstephaniescp]

Wow!!!! That is the Christmas for me. I am melting over here.

Bucky’s antics

Bucky’s antics and Steve annoyance about them lead to more than just a fluffy reveal of the ugly hoodies the brown-haired man got for you.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader x Steve Rogers

Wordcount: 3.436 Words

Warnings/Tags: established relationship, poly relationship, ugly sweaters, fluff, Bucky and his antics, smut [teasing, fingering, oral (male!rec), cum eating, unprotected p in v], aftercare, petnames [baby doll, princess]

Authors Note: This was supposed to be a Drabble, but somehow Steve decided how it’s going after a while and Bucky joined. It’s dedicated to my Queen of Stucky @mercurial-chuckles who requested it. Hope you like it. Divider made by me.

Masterlist | Stucky Masterlist | Holiday game

Steve rolls his eyes while he lets out a low groan. His blue eyes focused on your other boyfriend, who sits on the windowsill and smirks at the blonde man. He wears only shorts and one of his tight shirts that makes his muscles more visible and flex with every one of his movements. It’s a bit like Steve's, and you wonder since when Bucky’s been wearing such tight shirts.

“You can’t just…” Steve shakes his head, leaning back on the couch while he runs his fingers through his blond hair. He inhales deeply, trying to calm himself down before he looks over at you.

You’re sitting at the other end of the couch, a blanket tightly wrapped around you and a smile across your face. Your eyes are glistening in amusement while you watch your boyfriends argue about something once again.

It's nothing bad, just Steve being tired of Bucky’s antics and Bucky being even more silly to annoy the blond man. And you can't help but feel amused by their little arguments about it.

“Calm down, Stevie boy,” Bucky says with a grin, pouting softly while he leans forward. His feet rest against the couch while he rests his arms on his knee. “I got these, and you’re gonna wear them. If not for me. You will do it for our princess.”

“I will not wear that,” Steve grumbles and crosses his arms over his chest. His arm muscles flex, and you choke on your own spit when his veins bulge out from under his skin.

Both of your men immediately turn their faces to you, a look of concern written over them. You blush, looking down with a shy smile before you try to muffle your coughing behind your hand.

“Doll, do you need water?” Bucky asks, ready to get up, but you shake your head. He nods slowly, watching you intently before he leans back again. “You sure? I don’t mind getting you a glass of water, you know that.”

You giggle softly and nod. Of course, you do. When you started dating them, it was a new thing to you, to be cared for and loved that much, and from two people at the same time. Feeling like a burden or like you’re annoying them, they always assured you that you’re neither the one nor doing the other. And at some point you got used to their protectiveness and care for you.

“I’m sure, but thank you. Just choked a bit on my spit,” you confess. Bucky nods, keeping an eye on you before he turns his head back to Steve with a wide grin. His blue eyes are glistening playfully, and you watch the scene in anticipation of what Bucky got that makes Steve so grumpy.

Bucky pulls out a bag; it’s big, and it’s stuffed full. You smirk, while Steve rolls his eyes with a groan. He leans back further, sliding down the couch to make himself smaller. “Not gonna wear that.”

“Is it a Santa costume? Naughty Santa?” You blurt out, and both of your men start laughing softly. Steve’s grumpy mood immediately changed into a better one. “Damn…”

“You want us as naughty Santa? Stevie, or me, or are you such a needy little girl for us and need two naughty Santas?" Bucky asks, his head tilting and his voice lowering. Goosebumps erupt on your skin, and you shiver at the tone in his voice, the challenging edge and the low needy groan that follows his words.

You whimper, pulling the blanket tighter around you to hide the way you clench your thighs. But your boyfriends know you damn well, knowing every little move you’re doing.

Steve reaches out, his calloused hand reaching underneath the blanket around you and grasping your ankle tightly. With a smirk he pulls at your leg; you shriek and try to wiggle your feet out of his grip, but he's stronger. With a bit of force, Steve causes you to slide over the soft fabric of the couch, and you end up with your lower half on his lap while your back is still on the couch.

His fingers trailing from your knee up your thighs, then back down before he moves them back up. You squirm underneath his soft touches, trying to pull back, but Steve places his other hand on your knees and keeps you in place.

“Where do you want to go, princess?” He asks, his voice lower, and you whimper softly. More slick is gushing out of you, your panties already soaked in your slick.

You turn your head toward Bucky, who’s grinning at you. With pleading eyes, you pout softly, hoping he will help you to reveal whatever he bought, but he only shakes his head and rubs his hand over his crotch with a low moan escaping his lips.

“Buckyyy, please,” you whine, feeling Steve’s thick fingers moving further up to your soaked panties. Bucky chuckles, tilting his head like he’s having a question. And he has, silently asking you what you want, because he knows that this cute little blush will creep onto your cheeks again. “You wanted to show us what you got. Now Steve's naughty.”

“Steve is naughty? Who was the one suggesting we get naughty Santa costumes, baby doll?” Bucky asks, shifting so he could spread his legs further and reveal his hardened cock in his pants to you.

He's just turning your words however he wants it, playing with your little outburst. It’s not your fault these two super soldiers turned your thoughts naughty; it’s also not your fault that they look so fucking handsome and delicious. But they pretend you’re the naughty one, while they both look like porn stars.

“That’s mean; I didn’t suggest them! I just thought you got some,” you pout, shivering when you feel Steve’s thick fingers sliding over your covered cunt. His eyes are focused on your face while he slowly rubs his fingers up and down slowly. A soft moan escapes your lips, and you look back at the blond one. “Stevie, oh, fuck!”

“Language, princess,” Steve growls, pressing down on your clit. A jolt of electricity shoots through your veins, and you cry out, pleasure growing in your lower stomach. You move your hips against him, Steve's finger still pressing down on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Please, Stevie,” you whimper, thrusting your hips up, but Steve pulls away. You groan in frustration; your pussy is throbbing, and your boyfriend decides to tease you while the other enjoys watching the teasing. “You both are idio—”

Steve slaps your thigh harshly, his eyes narrowing. “Excuse me, princess, I don’t think I heard right, huh?” He watches you a moment longer before he looks at Bucky and smirks. “Get your pretty ass over here, Buck.”

Bucky chuckles, rolling his eyes, but gets up and walks slowly closer. They only need to share some glances and know what the other is thinking. Excitement is growing inside of you, and you shiver slightly, looking back and forth between your boyfriends.

The brown-haired man chuckles low in his throat when he notices your widened eyes. The bulge in his pants growing even more, you swallow thickly to not let them see the saliva dribbling out of the corner of your mouth.

He leans forward, gripping both of your wrists and pushing them above your head into the softness of the couch. “Gonna be good for us, naughty girl?”

You nod, whimpering softly. You try to free your hands to touch Bucky, but he keeps his grip firm around your wrists. A soft pout forms on your lips once more, but he shakes his head and chuckles.

Steve moves, putting one leg on the backrest of the couch while he leaves the other on the couch. He shifts and sits up on his knees, getting in between your legs with a wide grin on his plump lips. “Ready to take what you asked for, princess?”

You nod your head, feeling his hard cock pressing against you when he thrusts his hips against yours. A soft moan leaves your lips, the friction sending electricity through your body. “Please, Stevie. Fuck, please.”

“Think we need to stuff her mouth too, Buck,” Steve mumbles. Your eyes widen; you shouldn’t have said fuck; you know he doesn’t like it, but you couldn’t help it; it just slipped past your lips. But it’s also not that bad to have Bucky’s cock in your mouth; actually, you love his soft moans and groans when you suck him off.

Bucky's smirk is growing on his plump lips — of course it was in his and Steve’s plan already, but seeing your reaction makes his cock twitch in his pants. With one swift movement and only one hand, he pushes his sweatpants and boxers down his legs, stepping out of them.

His cock springs free, slapping against his shirt-covered belly. Pre-cum is dripping down the red, swollen tip of his dick. You intentionally slide your tongue over your lips, wetting them at the sight of his thick cock, of the prominent, perfect vein that’s running down his shaft.

“P-please, please,” you whimper, feeling the need to feel and taste your boyfriends. Bucky keeps his tight grip around your wrists while he gets on the couch next to you; he swings one leg over your torso. towering above you. His cock is only inches away from you, and wouldn't it stand so perfectly against his stomach you could lift your head and get him between your lips.

“Naughty, such a little slut. Drooling at the sight of my cock, huh?” His blue eyes are focused on you, taking in your expression to make sure you’re comfortable underneath him. Bucky then lets go of your wrists and takes off his shirt, throwing it on the ground as well. “What are you doing if you want me to stop, baby doll?”

“Tap your thigh,” you mumble. Bucky chuckles, grabbing your wrists again and pushing them down above your head. He leans a bit more over you, his muscular chest flexing, and you moan. Bucky raises an eyebrow, waiting for an answer to his question in that position now. “Squeezing your hands three times shortly one after another.”

“Good girl, now open up and let me feel that pretty mouth of yours around my cock,” he says. The praises cause more of the wetness to drip out of you. You do as he says, opening your mouth to let Bucky push his cock in. But he doesn’t; he only places the tip on your lips and grins.

Meanwhile, Steve undresses himself too, watching the two of you for a moment while he strokes his thick cock slowly in his big hand. He brings the tip of his dick to your pussy, still covered with your panties. Steve chuckles when your body jolts once he slaps the tip against your clit.

“Stevie!” You whine, arching your back as best as you can with Bucky on top of you. He’s still denying you his cock, except his tip. So you can still talk between the kitten licks on Bucky’s tip. You him at his musky taste, trying to get more of his cock, but once you lift your head, he pulls his hips backwards. “BUCK! Come on, please.”

Both of your men laugh softly, denying you their cocks. Steve brings both of his hands to your hips, his thumbs rubbing circles on your skin, closer and closer to your cunt. You whine, trying to press yourself further against him.

You shudder when you feel a cool breeze against your wetness, the noise of shattering fabric making you groan. Another out of panties destroyed by your super soldiers. It's only because they love shopping for underwear with you, so they destroy them until you have to get new underwear.

You open your mouth, ready to complain about it, but the moment your lips part, Bucky’s hips shoot forward, and he slides his cock down your tongue with one movement. The tip hits the back of your throat, and you gag around him, feeling his cock sliding further down your throat.

“Through your nose, baby doll. Take a deep breath; you’re doing good." Bucky pants, stilling his hips to give you a moment to adjust to his size. You try to do as he says, feeling his cock deep in your throat.

Steve keeps rubbing the tip of his cock up and down your slit, his hands pressing your hips into the couch. You squirm softly, stuffed with Bucky’s cock in your mouth but needy for Steve to fill you with his thick cock as well.

“Take your teeth away from Bucky's cock, princess,” Steve says as he lines up with your entrance. You try your best to listen to him. Bucky’s still not moving while you feel Steve’s thick cock pushing in slowly.

It’s such a stretch, and even though you had sex with both of them already, and even together, it’s still a tight fit. Moans and pants leave your lips, filling the room.

“Fuck…” Steve mutters under his breath as he pushes further into you. Your moans and Bucky’s movements are suddenly interrupted when that word falls off Steve’s lips. He doesn’t notice, pushing further into you and cursing quietly about how tight you are. “Shit, you’re so right, princess.”

“Guess I need to stuff someone else’s mouth with my cock too, Stevie,” Bucky chuckles, pulling his cock almost out of your mouth before thrusting back into the warmth. “Saying such dirty things.”

“I-what? I didn’t! What the-” Steve interrupts himself when you clench around his cock. He’s about to curse again, noticing what he just did. His cheeks heat up, but he growls frustrated, pushing into you until he bottoms out. You’re moaning loudly, sending vibrations through Bucky’s cock. His cock twitches, and he thrusts harder into your mouth. Steve smirks, loving the effect he has on the two of you with his cock in your cunt. “Can’t blame me for cursing when she’s so fuc— tight.”

Bucky agrees with his boyfriend, finding a slow pace to fuck your face while stopping every now and then in your throat to feel your swallowing around his thick length. Steve has a bit of a faster pace, his hips snapping against yours harshly while the tip of his cock kisses your cervix with every of his thrusts into you.

You’re a moaning mess, looking up at Bucky with teary eyes and drool dripping down your chin. Bucky’s cock and even his balls are coated in your saliva, and every time his fat balls slap against your chin, you hear the squelching sound that matches the one Steve causes when he thrusts into your tight pussy.

Steve runs his fingers over the soft skin of your belly, his hands still at your hips while he fucks you. He notices Bucky’s thrusts getting erratic and his breathing getting heavier. With that, Steve brings his thumb down on your clit, pressing softly until you whine around Bucky’s cock.

Your walls clench around Steve, your orgasm approaching, and you feel the coil in your stomach tighten with every of their movements. Bucky smiles, running his thumbs over your wrists to steady yourself. Steve keeps adding pressure on your clit, slowly starting to draw small circles and thrusting his cock deeper and harder into you to get you to come before one of them does.

They always do that; they make you come before one of them reaches their high. Or they would come with you, but never before you got the pleasure you deserve.

Bucky groans when you hollow your cheeks once more, your tongue twirling around his tip — that’s the thing you do. That’s THE thing.

Your walks clenching further around Steve when you feel Bucky’s dick twitching. It’s all so much pleasure, almost too much: your mouth, your pussy. You’re not even sure on what to concentrate, but Steve’s cock hitting all the right spots makes it hard to concentrate at all.

His thumb still on your clit, sending another jolt of pleasure through you. Your cunt clamping on him while your legs shake and your fingers dig into Bucky’s hands. You’re close, so damn close it only needs—

A particularly hard thrust against your sweet spot makes your pussy flutter and your juices gush out of you. Steve groans, even moans, when he feels your cunt hugging him tightly, sending him over the edge at the same time, just like Bucky.

While both of your men push their hips flush against you, you feel the aftershocks of your orgasm. Cum drops down your chin before you can swallow all of Bucky’s cum. He slowly pulls out of you, panting and sweaty.

He gets off of you, letting go of your hands before he pulls your upper body up and sits down on the couch. He immediately pulls you into his arms, Steve’s cock still deep inside of you, when he maneuvers your lower half and himself closer to Bucky.

“Such a good girl, doing so good,” Bucky praises, knowing it's what you need. When they both fuck you like that, you need them close, need to feel them until you come down completely from your orgasm. And both of them need it just as much.

You feel Steve’s cum flowing out of you, his cock softening and slipping out of you, causing you to whimper. It’s feeling so empty and cold without him inside of you that tears well up in your eyes.

Steve wipes the saliva and cum off your chin, kissing you softly before he lifts your legs and glides under them to sit down next to Bucky. The brown-haired one is holding you tightly against your chest, his fingers moving up and down your sides, caressing your skin softly.

“Such a good girl for us, baby doll. Taking us so good, know Steve’s dick is so warm, but he's getting sensitive, and it would be comfy with all his cum, huh?” Bucky coos, kissing the side of your neck. You can feel Bucky’s heartbeat slowing down to its normal pace, and you enjoy the warmth of his chest as much as you enjoy Steve’s strong and warm arms tightly wrapped around your legs while he leans against Bucky’s side.

“Buck’s right. You did so good for us, princess. So proud of you,” Steve murmurs. He’s stroking his fingers up and down your legs, massaging softly.

“What did you buy?” You ask after a moment of comfortable silence. Bucky chuckles, a low rumble in his chest, as you tilt your head back to look into his ocean blue eyes. Steve groans, and you giggle softly, leaning toward him to kiss his cheek. “So, no naughty Santa."

“No… no naughty Santa,” Steve replies with a soft smile on his lips. His eyes are filled with love and affection when he looks at you and Bucky. “No, more like ugly Santa.”

“YOU GOT UGLY SWEATER FOR US?” You shout excitedly, and your eyes widen when the corner of Bucky’s lips twitches and a grin forms on them. He nods, kissing your forehead softly.

“The ugliest,” he chuckles, leaning back and pulling you and Steve even closer.

“They have lights; they are in bright colors, and the printing looks like a four-year-old drew it,” Steve comments when he snuggles more into you and Bucky. Even though Steve hates them and Bucky got them to annoy him a bit, you love them, and you know they both will wear them; they would even do it when you go out. If you would ask them, they would do anything for you. “But before we can try them on, we have to clean the mess we just made here.”

You nod, refusing to let go of one of your boyfriends. They both chuckle, knowing they have to carry you, or else you would sit with them in there in an hour, cum dry and stuck to your skin. So Bucky carries you while Steve kisses you and cleans you, before both of them clean themselves, taking care that you get enough kisses and cuddles while they clean up. Only when it’s all clean does Bucky show you the sweaters he got, and you both manage to get Steve to take it on and take some photos while Steve demands a lot of kisses and cuddles. And of course, he gets both of it, lots of kisses and even more cuddles from you and Bucky for your sweater — Grinch Steve.

Taglist: @rogersbarber @loki-laufeyson68 @etherealdisneyvillainness @winterschildren8 @pono-pura-vida @kimmie113080 @sergeantbarnessdoll @sebastianstanisahotmf @mercurial-chuckles @holylulusworld @randomawesomeperson102 @looking1016 @multiversefanfics @kpopgirlbtssvt @iris-xoxo-juhu @fckedupandbeautiful @casa-boiardi @blackhawkfanatic @mrsalexstan @thesarcasmqueen-22 @blackhawkfanatic @hisredheadedgoddess28 @casa-boiardi @kandis-mom @armystay89 @blackhawkfanatic @queen-honeybee-stories [add yourself]

[tripletstephaniescp]

Chilling. Especially since it's Jake.

Happy hoelidays Siri!! Hope you're having a grand old time wherever you are ☺️

For your hoeliday extravaganza I'm gonna pitch a Jake Jensen + Nefarious (only bc I know it's easy to make him so sweet 🥺)

I can't wait to see what you come up with!

Lotsa love Grem 💞

I'm sorry I can imagine him acting like this Xmas morning 💀

Happy hoelidays, lovely! This prompt!! 😍 Enjoy! ❤️

Warning: Soft!dark kooky Jake. Kidnapping. You vibes.

—

Your mind surfacing to consciousness was slow.

Your entire body felt heavy and lethargic, and your head was throbbing with the kind of headache that made you sensitive to light.

Which is why it took you a few minutes to actually open your eyes and then realize where you actually were.

In what seemed to be a big glass box placed smack dab in the center of a large, dim basement.

“You’re awake.”

You startled at the soft voice, turning to find your former neighbor, Jake Jensen, standing on the other side of the glass barrier behind you.

He was watching you so calmly, looking almost dazed in a floaty kind of way as you yourself shuddered, your stomach flipping unpleasantly.

“Why am I here, Jake?” you asked as you slowly walked toward him.

“I couldn’t help myself,” he confessed, his big shoulders hiking up to his ears in a shrug that looked more like a cringe.

He shifted even closer to the glass, only inches between you now as his big hand touched the transparent wall.

“I just…needed to keep you.”

As his words faded away, his eyes fell from your face. They took their time to drift over you, in the kind of once over that had you trembling hard as you realized his intention, and the fact that it was very, very unlikely that anyone would ever find you.

[tripletstephaniescp]

Short and spicy. 🫠🫠🥰🥰

For the Hoeliday ! 🫣

Curtis + naughty

Enjoy, my horny friend 😘

—

Your keen was more of a whine of relief as you writhed in Curtis’ lap, yet another orgasm rocking your overstimulated body as his thumb strummed your oversensitive clit.

“Yeah, that’s it, pretty girl, I knew you had one more in you.”

Curtis’ voice was just as wrecked as yours now, but raspy with lust and desire as his big hands found your hips.

He gripped hard as he drove up into you hard a few more times, cumming with a drawn out groan as his head fell back and he pumped you full of his cum.

You moaned softly before sagging against his sweaty bare chest, your body still trembling with aftershocks as you both came down from your high.

Your heavy eyes fell shut and stayed that way, but you could hear the satisfaction in Curtis’ gravelly hum as his nose touched the crown of your head and he tugged the throw blanket up to cover your bare back.

“You’re so good to me,” he praised as he gently rubbed your back, pressing a kiss to your temple before urging you to, “Rest now, pretty girl, you earned it.”

[tripletstephaniescp]

Adorable. It's always nice to read a story where Ransom isn't always a little shit.

Ransom + nice 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

Yessss, Jaqui! I love this 😍☺️❤️ I hope you enjoy this lil hoeliday treat!

—

“What’s that?” you asked. “Did we miss one?”

“What?” Ransom nearly yelped as he spun to face you while trying to hold the large, flat box behind his back. “No.”

When he didn’t meet your gaze and you realized he was blushing, you grinned. “Why are you lying to me, handsome Ransom?”

He glowered at you, but it was more of a pout as he huffed, “Because I’m an idiot.” At your raised eyebrows, he elaborated. “Not for badly lying, for this.”

He hesitated before begrudgingly handing over the gift that did in fact have your name on it.

You held it for a moment, noting the way Ransom seemed almost shy as he tightly crossed his arms over his chest and looked away.

“I don’t need to open it or have it at all if it makes you uncomfortable,” you said softly, holding the gift out to him.

His eyes snapped back to you then, softening. And then rolling.

“No, see, this is exactly why you deserve it. You’re so sweet, it’s almost annoying. Open it.” He smiled a little as you looked unsure, dropping his arms to his sides as he told you much gentler this time, “Open it, kitten.”

After meeting his gaze and ensuring he just looked amused now—and no longer uncomfortable—you opened the gift, brows furrowing when you held a very large sweater in your hands.

It was the softest cream cableknit, very much like Ransom’s favorite sweater that you “stole” every chance you could get, but about four times bigger in size.

“Uh, I think they sent you the wrong size,” you cringed as you met his sparkling gaze.

“They didn’t. I ordered it that big on purpose.”

“Why?”

Ransom’s blush renewed, and he huffed, raking a hand through his hair as he glanced away. “I just…had this ridiculous idea that we could both wear it together and cuddle, like you always threaten to do when I wear my cableknit before you get your greedy little hands on it.”

By the time Ransom’s gaze returned to you, you were beaming at him, hugging the sweater to your chest as your eyes glittered with tears.

“You are the sweetest man ever.”

When Ransom’s face twisted in disgust, you laughed, lunging forward to kiss him and hug him close. “Thank you, I love it.”

“Of course you do, you little weirdo,” but all of Ransom’s huffing couldn’t hide how pleased he was that you liked his silly, thoughtful gift. “I’m glad you like it,” he murmured as he ducked closer. “How about you give me a very thorough thank you and then we can put your new gift to use after?”

And you did.

[tripletstephaniescp]

I am going to savor all of these.

Pick Your Hoeliday Treat 2024 Masterlist

Hiya, friends! I've put together a masterlist for all the Pick Your Hoeliday Treat drabbles so they're easy to find. Enjoy!

🥵 Contains explicit sexual content 😈 Contains dark elements

Ransom + Nice = Sweater Gift

Curtis + Naughty = Overstimulation 🥵

Ari + Naughty = Tease 🥵

Steve + Nefarious = Getting Even 🥵😈

Jack + Nice = Good Deed

PT Alpha!Steve + Naughty = Smug Satisfaction 🥵

Andy + Nefarious = Ghosting Fallout 😈

Lloyd + Naughty = Mustache Ride 🥵

Bratty Beta!Ari & Ransom + Nice = Nest Cuddles

Jake + Nefarious = Captured 😈

Colin Shea + Naughty = Challenge Accepted 🥵

Steve + Naughty = Punishment 🥵

Ari + Naughty = Thorough Pounding 🥵

Curtis + Naughty = Lizard Brain Trigger 🥵

Ari + Nice + Naughty = Horny Cuddles 🥵

Lloyd + Naughty = Dessert First 🥵

Curtis + Naughty = Enjoy the Ride 🥵

Ari + Naughty = Morning Shower 🥵

Steve + Naughty = Zen Like State 🥵

Jake + Naughty = Good Boy Manners 🥵

Ransom + Nefarious = Work Interruption 😈🥵

Curtis + Naughty = Biker Bang 🥵

Ari + Naughty = It Can Wait 🥵

Steve + Naughty = Late Night Need 🥵

Curtis + Nefarious = Spared 😈🥵

Steve + Naughty = Perfection 🥵

Ari + Naughty = Luckily Ever After 🥵

Jake + Nice = Sweet Gift

Steve + Naughty = Dibs 🥵

[tripletstephaniescp]

So sorry you are ill. Don't worry about anything, just feel better.

Hi, my loves!

Just a quick update! Apologies for being MIA. I've been sick with high fever, cough, and cold. I’ve slept all through the day.🥹😭

Oh, and I did manage to schedule a post for later tonight, so fingers crossed it gets published as planned! Thank you.

Love y’all! 💕

[tripletstephaniescp]

I love all the ways this made me feel. From the realization to her absolute fear of losing them, this pulled out so many emotions. Spectacular.

I met them, and now I’m their queen!

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader x Bucky Barnes | Stucky x F!Reader Warnings: Fluff | Language | Hot supersoldiers alert | Clingy supersoldiers | We've got game supersoldiers | Protective and borderline obsessive | Wet thoughts | Allusions to hot nights | Slight angst but happy ending | Confession | Friends to Lovers trope | Poly relation | Long one ~5k | Written in a feverish haze. Any, I mean, any craziness can and will be blamed on deliriously Nyquiled-mind! Lemme know if I'm missing anything. A/N: It really started with, "Let's write a drabble," and well, IT DID NOT end up being a drabble! But blame the two hot super soldier specimens for taking reins and striding through dominantly. This was supposed to be published (along with three other fics) on New Year's, but times have been testing! Anyhoo, Sydney and I—ever indulgently—worked ourselves up with some ideas and this burgeoned, and we both decided to collaborate having similar title and prompt. Inspiration: — confession to get it off their chest before the new year starts Read Sydney's I met them, and now I'm their princess and smother her story with love and affection! Forever grateful to Sydney for giving me the push to publish this and for giving this long-ass fic a read while I was sick and whiny! @buck-star Also, if there are any Windows 11 users, do you know an easy way of typing the em dash (Alt+0151 is no longer an option) Every time I have to use, I have to copy and paste and it's been a pain in my butt. So, any shortcuts would be a great help! Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! Banner credits to me. Picture credits to internet! Divider credits to @buck-star Thank you :) Check out my other works: Masterlist

Indulge Away!

'Have you been Naughty or Nice?'

I've been disastrous. You thought, snorting, looking at the quite colorful, only-for-adult-eyes kind of a poster.

While walking briskly to the truck in the parking lot, your eyes inadvertently fell on the shirtless guy with a Santa hat and red trousers posing sultrily. The show had been for Christmas Eve, now nearly a week old. Lucky patrons!

And your useless, absolutely horny mind brought images of two rugged, burly-looking muscular supersoldiers adorning the costume, and you shuddered.

Nope. No. No. Do not go there.

*Thud*

The distant sound startled you, and you looked down the deserted street but found nothing. You became aware of your surroundings and realized you were standing before a shady-looking strip club. Heart pounding, you hurried toward the truck you'd parked at the end of the street.

The local hill town was vastly different from NYC. By 8 p.m., the main street was completely vacant; the local stores were all closed for the night except for the convenience store at the gas station on the end of the main street and a local vet hospital, both of which you paid a visit tonight.

You quickly got into the truck and navigated out of the small town towards your temporary abode, decked in the woods near the lake.

It was New Year's Eve, and the entire day's theme was a series of unfortunate events and bad decisions.

Earlier that afternoon, having used up all the leftovers, takeouts, and groceries, you decided to venture out to find food. You cursed yourself for being so pathetic and unplanned. It was a hard bet you'd find a store open today or tomorrow.

You should have planned better, but it was what it was, and your poor mind couldn't possibly think logically when it was going through so much. So, forgiving yourself, you decided to drive to the town, hoping to get something to stock up the tiny kitchen for the next couple of days before you can go grocery shopping like a responsible adult.

But lo and behold, you had a flat tire. After groaning and cursing at your fate for a whole three minutes, you realize your aunt mentioned that you could take her truck around if it's still working.

You grabbed the keys and went to the garage. The truck seemed in good condition, with no flat tires. GREAT! You tried to start, but it won't budge. The check engine light blinked red.

Upon further inspection, you realized the spark plug was out and saw a pair of them in a cabby on the metal rack. You weighed your options, changing the spark plug in a somewhat cold and dim-lit garage or changing a tire in the chill out in the dark. It was an easy choice.

So, for the next two hours, you replaced the spark plug. Huffing and out of breath, you started the engine, which purred to your satisfaction. Feeling accomplished, you went to the only open convenience store and stocked up on some groceries. Fiona, the cashier, was a middle-aged lady who didn't talk much, unlike the other folks in the town.

When you went to pay, you realized you had left your phone. You must have left it in the cabin when you went to search for the truck keys.

Ugh! Sometimes, you hated that you remembered directions. It made you less dependent on your phone. Luckily, you had your wallet on you.  

After bidding bye to Fiona, you loaded the two brown bags into the truck. It was then you heard the yowling and the hisses. You saw the small white kitten by the lamppost in the parking. It looked like an Angora. She hurt her leg and was profusely bleeding. Your heart tugged painfully.

You unzipped your coat slightly and carefully lifted her up. She clutched at your shirt, meowing. You rushed to the convenience store inside, scaring sweet Fiona almost to death. You explained about the kitten, and she gave directions to the vet. She even called, telling them you would be coming with an injured cat.

So, you thanked her and decided to walk since it was not far, and the poor kitty seemed far too comfortable in your arms. As soon as you reached the corner house in the location, a young guy and a woman were waiting outside. The woman introduced herself as Darlene. She seemed nice and took the kitten gently from your hands. You waited for a bit while Darlene checked on the injuries.

However, the weirdly creepy receptionist, Mark, seemed to take too much interest in you, and he asked questions. A lot of questions. And he made you pretty uncomfortable. Luckily, Darlene walked out to tell you all was fine and that she would keep a watch on the kitten overnight. You were grateful that it wasn't anything serious. You promised to drop by tomorrow after she said it was okay for you to visit since it was a holiday.

Mark told you he'd walk you to the truck and wouldn't take no for an answer. By some miracle, Darlene understood and called him for something she needed. He begrudgingly got to work, giving you time to escape.

Yeah, it had been one crazy evening. Now that you think of it, the past month has been the same way.

****

In retrospect, it started with you getting buzzed after the Thanksgiving dinner at the compound. The seemingly innocent discussion with Vision about the white hole and string theory shifted to abstract physics. Then, it veered to your favorite multiverse causality, which brought to this discussion about your supersoldiers.

"You have such affection for them," Vision remarked.

"Of course I do," you replied breezily, sipping down the espresso martini. "They're my best friends." You grinned.

Vision tilted his head, studying you, dissecting your thoughts. "It is more than that," he said gently. "You love them. And it transcends friendship."

"What? No," you scoffed, a nervous laugh bubbling up. "That's... I mean, Vision, come on. It's not like that."

You defended, deterred, and denied. And you argued passionately with Vision that he was wrong and entirely out of his depth.

He gave you a smile. "One only argues this fervently when the truth threatens to unravel their carefully constructed narrative. No?"

And the point hit home like Thor's lightning.

Love? That wasn't love. That was friendship. Mutual respect. Admiration, loyalty, and the way they made you feel so cared for, and so so protective, it ought to be friendship! That's all it was. Wasn't it? Friends spend all day, every day together. Friends, just know what you need before you even say it... Friends do that. Totally!

You shook your head, muttering about Vision overanalyzing human emotions, and excused yourself to refill your drink. But his words trailed you, seeping in and breaking every carefully shackled, dreamy thought you occasionally had.

And your eyes landed on them. They were in the kitchen with Sam and Bruce. When your eyes met Steve's, he was already gazing at you. He wiggled your favorite ice cream in his hand, scooped it into a bowl, and winked at you. And Bucky's eyes softened when you met his gaze. He was in a mid-argument with Sam and casually leaned beside Steve, giving you a grin.

Your breath stilled. And something fucking snapped in place, and that realization disrupted everything.

Holy Shit!

Sitting on the nearby couch, you trembled as the flooding thoughts overtook your senses and limbs.

You've been inseparable for years now. You've known Steve even longer since he came out of the ice. Steve and you both were there to help Bucky through his healing. It had been a long journey through ups and downs, but you all were here with a somewhat stable life.

Now, there were times you felt extremely frustrated with the way they treated you, extremely protective and like you were delicate. They were there through your every whim and craziness; likewise, you were there for them. Though initially fostering a crush on both, becoming friends with them sidetracked your crush, or that was what you thought. Apparently not!

That rigid fact of love and its effects took hold of you, and you became even more aware of your predicament as time passed. Your thoughts buzzed as Steve casually sat beside you, eating ice cream while Bucky stole a few spoons from yours. The situation worsened when they fussed over your unusually quiet behavior, asking a hundred and some questions if something happened or if you were falling sick. You pulled yourself together and told them you were fine and downright rejected them staying over.

You woke up drenched that night, not from a nightmare; it was more of a wet dream starring two supersoldiers. What followed was you being hyper-focused on every little thing and how obsessively protective they were with you. And your heart was craving more, basking at their every little action.

It was bad.

And it got worse as the dreams continued and their worry for you catapulted, wondering what's going on with you.

Now, personal space was not a concept with both men. They were practically living two doors away in your apartment complex. And they were always around you.

You were starting to realize how fucked up the situation was. There was no way in the world this could work out. You loved them both. And you were acutely aware of their love for each other. How was this ever gonna work out?

Afraid of losing them, knowing you had no defenses against their piercing awareness of every flicker of your expression and every erratic heartbeat, you decided to take some time away. After all, distance helped you hate your family less. Out of sight, out of mind, right? You thought, why not try?

But it was not that easy to suddenly up and leave. Opportunity came in the form of a mission in Arizona. It was a level-2 mission, a low-level, routine assignment, far below the high-stakes operations you usually handled with the Avengers. Kert Harrison, the mission lead, seemed pleasantly surprised when you volunteered.

You let Steve and Bucky know only after you were strapped into the jet, delivering the news as casually as you could manage: the team needed a tech assistant, and you'd joined at the last minute.

Thus started the careful ghosting.

And the group chat exploded with messages. Bucky demanded the details, cursing up a storm, and you replied, 'Chill out, Sergeant, you know I can't communicate that stuff.'

You've ignored them after that. The mission was simple, walk-in-the-park simple, walk-in-the-house simple. Kept you occupied, though. But once the mission was done, the pit in your stomach grew, and the thought of seeing them terrified you.

"A little more time would help," you told yourself, "Just a little more time to breathe."

Knowing that Captain Softly Stern and Sergeant Toughly Tender would be your doom if you were anywhere close to them in this mindset, you ran for the hills. Quite literally.

Your aunt Ellen had a cabin in a small mountain town in NC. Conveniently, she was in Hawaii, leaving her cabin all alone. So, you decided it could use some company.

You then dropped a vague message telling them your aunt needed you, a family emergency, which was far from the truth.

And it sounded like the perfect Christmas. To be home alone.

But the problem was the cabin was not just lonely. It was alone lonely. The nearest town was 20 minutes away. Decked somewhere in the deep woods, a few other cabins surrounded near the lake. It suited Aunt Ellen, though. She occasionally came up to write or chill from the hustle and bustle of California.

And it didn't help that the whole setting felt like a Stephen King novel waiting to manifest. You couldn't help but internally whimper, but you sucked it up, pushing yourself to make it through.

You ignored the worried calls, always leaving them a text reply with a vaguely convincing excuse.

Guilt burgeoned your chest steadily for not spending Christmas with them. For the past few years, you three cozied up on the winter nights, cooking, baking, arguing, decorating, binge watching & cringe watching and the whole prospect had become a tradition.

Two days before Christmas, Steve had left a message asking if you could make it home. Home. He called it home, and your heart pained.

'Not likely, Steve.' You texted him.

'🥺🥹😭💔' he replied, making you almost break down and cry. He never sent any sort of emojis, and you always teased him about it. 'Emojis do the whole work and some, Steve.' You had told him a long, long while ago.

Steve might have thought this was the time to come after your heart with the series of emojis he sent. You had no guts to reply.

Bucky, however, seemed to stop buying your excuses after you ignored his calls. He stopped calling and texting altogether. It was typical Bucky. He got passively aggressive until you gave in. And you mustered a ton of courage to not just call or text.

Christmas morning, you woke up feeling like the Grinch. The memory of the worst Christmas when you were fourteen has been replaced by Christmas this year. This one felt far worse.

Steve left a voice message. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart. It's not the same without you." He sighed, voice soft and tattered. "We…miss you," his soft, broken voice shattered your heart even more.

Bucky, on the other hand, ignored you royally. But by the afternoon, he left a text with two words, 'Merry Christmas.' And your shattered heart further splintered.

This brilliant need-some-space vacation idea was supposed to be an escape, a way to clear your mind, to get over everything swirling inside. But it was only making things worse. It felt like you were meditating on them, and only them?

Ugh!

You mustered courage and called them that evening. Bucky picked up first, his voice gruff, replies short and clipped. "Fine. You doing good?" You hummed. "How's your aunt?" Steve piped in. They must've put you on speaker.

"She's ok," you said, and before they prodded, you asked them about their day. They mentioned getting your gifts, but other than that, they hadn't done much. The conversation felt hollow, and guilt weighed heavy on you. You felt like the worst person in the world.

Hurriedly, you said your goodbyes, fighting the tears that threatened to spill.

And then, you succumbed to the loneliness that clung to your heart and the messiness that tangled your thoughts. You spent six agonizing days in the cabin in the woods, fighting every instinct to run back to them.

That was a week ago. Seven horrible days ago. Today was New Year's Eve, and you thought you could use some sustenance, but it had already been one hell of a day.

~

Driving back to the cabin, you felt someone was watching you. You shook it off, chalking it up to the weird encounter with Mark. He'd set your nerves on edge, that's all. And at least the kitten was alright.

Pulling into the cabin's garage, you parked your car, not noticing the unfamiliar vehicle parked on the other side. You made your way to the other side to grab the grocery bags. The cold mountain air nipped at your skin.

The sound of boots against the gravel made you freeze. Your heart slammed into your ribs, and your pulse raced. There were a few other cabins nearby, but why would someone trespass, you wondered.

Was it Mark? Had he followed you? You grabbed the nearest thing within reach, a hammer, from the small wooden table.

The sound of heavy steps approached closer and closer, and you tightened your grip, preparing to swing. You almost threw the hammer, too, but realizing who stood there made you whimper in relief and dread.

"What the fuck? What are you two doing here?" you yelled, your tone caught between relief and dread.

Steve briskly walked toward you, his expression concerned. "Is that blood?" he asked, his eyes narrowing as he tried to get a look at your neck and hands.

Oh? You glanced at yourself and then up at them.

"Are you hurt?" Steve repeated his question sternly, pulling down the zipper to your jacket, completely unbothered.

"HEY!" You shook your head, stepping away from his hold. At least you tried.

Before you could protest, Bucky came closer, his brow furrowed as he unzipped your jacket, swatting away your tiny hand. Both of them froze, staring at your shirt. You glanced down and groaned. You'd forgotten you were wearing a Captain America T-shirt now covered in blood.

Steve blinked, visibly surprised. They had no idea you owned any Captain America merchandise, let alone a few bobbleheads, one of a metal-armed man and another of the man himself holding his shield, both of which you'd secretly bought earlier this year.

Bucky turned you around, cold fingers holding your chin up, demanding if you were hurt. Your breath hitched, looking up at him. His stubble was slightly grown, and the stressed look on his face made you more worried. You glanced at Steve; he looked like he hadn't slept in days, and his knuckles looked marred like he had been going at the punching bags.

"I'm fine." You whispered, not meeting their gaze and staring at the soft blue undershirt covering Bucky's broad chest. Steve had taken the hammer you still held in your hands and carefully placed them on the table.

"Start talking before you give us a heart attack," he sternly demanded.

You rolled your eyes and cleared your hazy mind. You took a steadying breath before explaining to them that it wasn't your blood and what had actually happened with the kitten, omitting Mark of course. When you finished, you glanced up at them, who looked at you angrily.

Bucky sighed, and he took another deliberate step closer to you. "Family emergency, huh?" he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Then why are you here playing house in the middle of nowhere while your aunt Ellen is in Hawaii?"

Your eyes widened, "How the hell…?" your question faltered on your lips as you caught the guilty look in Steve's eyes while Bucky shrugged smugly.

"Never mind. Don't answer that," you muttered, reminding yourself that you were talking to Captain America & the ex-Winter Soldier.

Steve zipped up your jacket when you shivered from the sudden gust of wind. "Let's go inside," he ordered. You nodded, reaching for the bags, but Bucky was already there, pushing you aside.

"Get your ass inside. I've got them," he grumbled, clearly angry at you for ghosting them.

You walked with Steve and Bucky beside you, fumbling for your keys, but Steve simply pushed the door open. "Don't bother," he mumbled.

"Unbelievable," you muttered. "You pried open the door?" you squeaked.

"Your phone was inside. Your car was outside. No sign of you," Bucky said defensively. "What the fuck did you expect us to do?"

When you glanced at Steve, who tended to be less of a rule-breaking hazard than Bucky, he shrugged, "Oh, I was this close to breaking it down. Thanks to Bucky, we managed to keep it intact." Steve chuckled, holding the door open for you and Bucky to enter.

"Ugh," you groaned, storming into the cabin with them trailing behind.

"Nice shirt, by the way," Steve commented as you walked in, "Didn't know you were a fan."

"Of course you like it," Bucky chuckled, glancing at Steve with that grin you were all too familiar with. Steve straightened up proudly.

"Do you also have a Winter Soldier plushie hiding somewhere? No judgment if you do." Bucky snickered, reaching you, dropping the bags on the counter, and effectively cornering you in the small kitchen.

Your face burned. "It's my aunt's. She's a fan. I found it lying around," you lied poorly.

"Uh-huh," Bucky smirked, and Steve grinned, knowing all the signs fully well.

You cleaned up your hands, washing out the traces of blood here and there. You felt agitated. They were here, the stupidly gorgeous men. Your friends. Your everything. They couldn't possibly understand the volcanic arc stretching your mind right now.

You grabbed a bottle from the neatly stacked row in the cabinet, placed it on the counter, and unscrewed the cap. Sidestepping Bucky, you quickly made your way to the living room. As soon as you sat down, you chugged half the bottle, feeling the cool liquid help clear some of the tension that had been building in your chest.

"What the hell are you two doing here?" you asked, feeling utterly exhausted and emotionally drained.

You heard them approach you as Steve settled beside you and Bucky sat on the wooden coffee table before you. For a split second, you thought it would give away, but the table looked sturdy.

You sighed and refocused on getting your brain to work, but it felt impossible with them so close.

Steve took your left hand into his large, firm grip. He traced his thumb along your wrist, his touch sending waves of warmth flooding through you, and for a moment, your heartbeat stuttered, racing beneath his fingertips. You tried to steady your breath, but it only intensified the sensation.

"What are you doing here, doll?" Bucky asked seriously, and you averted your gaze, trying to pull away your hand from Steve's, but he wouldn't let go.

"Steve," you muttered softly, helplessly, and he reluctantly let go.

"Uh…I…" you started, heart thundering. This was supposed to be your solace, your way out of the whole thing, and here you were being asked to confront. You hated it.

Your head started pounding. You rubbed your fingers to your head.

Bucky stood abruptly. "Alright, sit tight. I'll make you some tea. It'll ease your headache."

"No!" you snapped, your voice rising. "Stop that. Do not make tea."

Bucky froze mid-step, genuinely baffled by your sudden outburst. "Okayyy. No tea," he said slowly, folding his arms. "But I'm not giving you coffee. You'll end up awake all night, and it gives you a stomachache," Bucky argued.

You buried your head in your hands, feeling overwhelmed and helpless. How do you not become hyper-aware of all these little things? How? They never would get it.

Steve leaned closer, still maintaining distance, but his hand caressed your hair, comforting and enraging your senses, "Hey, did you eat anything besides cereal?" he asked, and you looked at him confused.

You couldn't help but scoff internally. How the hell would you know that, Rogers? But you didn't voice your thoughts aloud. Knowing he knew you better.

"Okay, we are not talking until you eat something. Go change, wash up. I'll make you something," he ordered.

With a dejected sigh, you dragged yourself up and headed for the shower.

The shower helped, mostly. It washed away the blood and tiredness, surely, but also washed some of your inhibitions away.

You headed back to the kitchen, where you heard them.

"Slice it, Buck, not Julienne."

"It tastes the same. How does it matter?" Bucky argued.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. This was familiar. This felt like home. They were home. And there they were, making sandwiches and looking utterly comfortable, their shoes and jackets discarded. They also looked sinfully hot, those tight undershirts clinging to their muscles, and the agonizing thoughts returned.

"I miss your t-shirt," Steve quipped with a grin, eyeing your plain red t-shirt and leggings as you walked closer. "Again, that's my aunt's. Get over it, Steven." You muttered.

Bucky leaned against the countertop, his intense gaze fixed on yours. You walked up to him slowly.

"Sorry for yelling at you," you told him sincerely. His gaze searched yours, and his insanely pink lips curled into a small smile.

"C'mere," he said, his voice low and warm, pulling you into a hug before you could respond.

You melted into him immediately, feeling the heat of his body against yours, the familiar comfort of his embrace washing over you. That perfect mix of musk and something undeniably Bucky wafted over your senses and calmed the chaos inside your head. You tightened your arms around him, the ache of missing him--of missing them--filling your chest.

You could feel the deep rumble of his chest against your cheek, the sound vibrating through you, sending a warmth that felt grounding and exhilarating. And when he tightened his hold around you, pulling you just a little closer, your breath hitched. You flushed, overwhelmed by the intensity of it.

"'S all good, ok?" he murmured softly, his voice so reassuring it made your heart ache. "Let's eat."

Reluctantly, you pulled away, blinking as you tried to steady yourself, the flood of emotions threatening to spill over.

When you walked towards Steve, he grinned at you, and you leaned your forehead against his large bicep, feeling it flex as he worked. His familiar warmth settled around you.

"I hate it when you don't take care of yourself," Steve said. You stepped away before Steve decided to lecture you more.

You grabbed the plates and started setting them aside, wanting to keep busy to avoid the tension in the room. Your furtive glances toward them didn't go unnoticed. Both Steve and Bucky were quiet as you ate in silence. You hated yourself for not suggesting that you play something on the TV to distract from the discomfiting silence. But you were paralyzed emotionally.

When you tried to clear the plates, Steve gently stopped you. You reluctantly handed him the plates, feeling small in the space between you.

Bucky seemed to notice your unease. "Want to have that tea now?" he asked quietly, his eyes never leaving you. You averted your eyes; instead, you leaned against the wall for support. You nodded in response, trying to pull yourself together but not quite succeeding.

Bucky moved to prepare the tea, and you let yourself stay quiet, not looking at him--at either of them--afraid that if you did, you'd spill everything you'd been trying to hold back.

You felt so pathetic and helpless. Wanting to seek their comfort but feeling that would be unjust.

And you watched Steve walk to you, wiping his hands on the towel before walking closer.

He reached for your hand, his grip warm, and it felt perfectly assuring. You could feel the tension in his fingers, the way he held you as if he already knew the answer to the question he was about to ask.

"Let me ask you something. Did something happen that you're hiding?"

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to answer.

The intensity of his look only seemed to make it harder. You shook your head slightly, your voice barely audible as you mumbled, "No."

"Did Buck or I hurt you?"

"No!" you said, loudly and firmly.

"Then why?" His voice softened even further.

You stared at him, feeling the truth stuck in your throat, tangled in a way that made speaking impossible. Your eyes drifted, landing on Bucky, who stood just a few feet away, his posture tense, his eyes flickering between you and Steve.

You couldn't bring yourself to do it. You couldn't say it. You'd spent years building something so beautiful with them, something so right. And if you let it out, if you gave voice to the fear and guilt swirling inside you, everything could come crashing down. What if you lost them? Everything between you, the connection, the love, the trust. What if it all fell apart because you were too weak to keep it together?

That thought should have stopped you, should have held you back.

But the tears welled in your eyes despite your best efforts to hide them. You pressed your palms against your temples, trying to stave off the pressure building inside you. Still, the overwhelming rush of emotion was too much.

"Hey, hey…" Steve's voice was soft, and suddenly, his hands were on you, gently pulling your hands away from your face, coaxing your gaze back to him. His eyes, filled with nothing but tenderness, locked onto yours. "It's okay. Whatever it is, you can tell us. We're not going anywhere. You're not going to lose us."

You couldn't stop the tears from falling now.

You had no idea what to say or what to do next. All you knew was that you had avoided them to overcome the feelings, but here you were, confronting them head-on.

"You've been my home, both of you," you whispered, voice trembling as you looked at Steve and then Bucky. They were both silent and looked almost terrified.

"I was scared when I realized that... that..." You couldn't finish the thought. Steve and Bucky's eyes locked on yours, looking like they were waiting for something.

"I'm scared, selfish, messy, and all complicated," you continued, your voice breaking with every syllable. "I'm not strong enough to lose you both…" You sucked in a shaky breath, fighting to keep your composure. "I'm selfish. To want something I don't deserve. And you might just hate me after I tell you."

You sounded so pathetic to your ears. You couldn't look at them anymore. You couldn't face them. Without thinking, you walked away, stumbling to the drawing room, where you collapsed onto the couch, curling in on yourself. You clutched your t-shirt tightly by the sides and let the tears flow freely, everything from guilt to pain to fear pouring out.

You felt Steve and Bucky both hurry towards you. Steve knelt before you, large palms rubbing your thighs to calm you.

"Look at me," Steve said, voice barely above a whisper. "Say it," his commanding tone was merely begging, pleading.

And you obeyed.

"I can't keep this in anymore, Steve. It's suffocating me. I love you both, and I'm so scared."

You said it, sealed your fate.

For a moment, there was nothing. Complete silence.

You could feel Steve's grip on your legs loosen, his hands falling away slowly as if the weight of your confession had stunned him. Then, Bucky's breath hitched from behind you. His presence shifted, the weight beside you on the couch telling you he sat beside you.

You shut your eyes, silently crying.

You did it. You messed up. Didn't you? You felt ashamed. This was the moment you feared the most. They'd never look at you the same way. You'd ruined everything.

"Do you think I'd let just anyone touch my hair?" Bucky asked, his voice low and trembling. You looked up, confused. What did that have to do with what you said?

"What?" You managed hoarsely.

"You," he said, his deep blue eyes locking onto yours. "I let you cut my hair. I hate when anyone touches it but with you... it's different. It's always been different."

"Bucky..." you whispered, but he didn't let you interrupt.

"I loved you the moment you held me close after that nightmare in Wakanda. Do you remember that? I was a mess, and you just… didn't let go. Not until I could breathe again. I broke your finger by mistake at how tight I held you." His voice broke, and he swallowed hard. "I love Steve. I've always loved him. And then... I loved you, too. It scared the shit out of me, but it's the truth." Bucky sniffled, and continued, "Ever since Thanksgiving, you’ve been distant, and I was terrified, thinking I’d done something terrible and lost you forever. And it fucking hurts, sweetheart."

Your breath caught in your throat. You stood up, stumbling ungracefully as you stepped away, needing to breathe. Bucky moved behind you, his hands on your arms, steadying you. You let him hold you. He tugged you closer, your back against his strong chest, his arms winding on your stomach, letting you put all your weight onto him, effectively calming you.

Steve stepped forward, holding something small in his hand. Your eyes widened as he held up a familiar notebook.

"Do you remember this?" he asked softly.

You nodded, stunned. That's the tiny notebook you gave to him. Years ago, right after he came out of the ice.

Steve opened the notebook and flicked through the pages. Your breath hitched as you saw it filled with sketches of you, Bucky, and moments you'd shared.

"You told me to fill it with things I wanted to remember," Steve said, his voice warm and full of emotion. "But all I could think about was you. I was so scared to feel love again. I loved Bucky for so long, and then you came into my life, and I... I didn't know how to go about it."

Steve exchanged a brief, meaningful glance with Bucky. His eyes softened as he continued, "But then Bucky returned, and I realized he felt the same. I've never been very religious, doll, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't pray for this every darn day."

Bucky chuckled softly, the sound deep and reassuring. "Believe me, we'd be a mess without you," he said, gently kissing your hair. "I love you," he murmured.

"I love you," Steve echoed, gently kissing your cheek.

You blinked rapidly and your mind was reeling. The world seemed to stop around you. Your heart raced, and your breath caught in your throat as you processed their words. But then, confusion took over.

"I... I don't understand. I can't choose," you stammered, your heart torn between the joy and the overwhelming fear of what this meant.

"You don't have to," Bucky said firmly, lips touching your right ear sensually, sending shivers down your spine. "Steve and I are a package deal. You get him, you get me, and vice versa. Take it or leave it. Actually, scratch that. Just take it."

Your lips parted in disbelief, and looked at Steve. He nodded, looking at you hopefully. You let out a nervous chuckle.

"What did you put in that sandwich? I think I'm high," you mumbled, laughing softly.

Steve smirked, his eyes twinkling joyfully. "Apart from Bucky's horribly chopped tomatoes, nothing you don't like," he teased. He crouched slightly to kiss you softly. Just a barely present touch, but it lit a fire so quickly that you trembled. He tasted perfect, just like him, soft and manly.

Bucky followed suit, twirling you in his arms, lifting you to his level, his kiss more fervent, grounding you. He tasted musky and familiar, spicy and so so him.

You pulled back, wide-eyed, your heart racing.

"Oh, boy," you whispered, a dazed smile across your face.

The distant sound of fireworks startled you, and the three of you turned toward the window. Faint remnants of flickering lights lit up the sky. The neighbors must have set the fireworks on the lake.

"Happy New Year," Steve said softly, his hand finding yours and Bucky's.

"Happy New Year," Bucky echoed, his metal arm wrapping around your waist.

Happy New Year, indeed!

And tomorrow, you’d text your aunt out of courtesy, letting her know you have visitors over, while keeping all the lewd details to yourself. Then, you’d go to the vet to check on the kitten, which the three of you decide to adopt and name her Alpine. A purrfect New Year, indeed!

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[tripletstephaniescp]

This was so romantic and sweet.

I met them, and now I’m their princess

You met them, and now you’re more than just their good friend. You’re their princess, the bikers princess.

Pairing: Biker!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader x Biker!Steve Rogers

Wordcount: 1.631 Words

Warnings/Tags: tiny bit of angst, fluff, love confession, more fluff

Authors Note: HAPPY NEW YEAR! Hope you all had a nice start into the year and have a lot of happiness and whatever you wish this year! So here’s a little “Drabble” with our beloved Super soldiers for the start of the year. Divider made by me.

It’s a collaboration with @mercurial-chuckles. We thought it could be a cute idea to have a similar title and use the same prompt to start in the new year. Her work: I met them, and now I’m their queen.

Events: Stucky community prompt-list [Confession before the new year starts to get it off their chest], Marvel OC Hub [SB6010 | Row Three-One | Do you trust me? | @marvel-oc-hub], Stucky Bingo [N5 | Friends to lovers | @stuckybingo]

Masterlist | Stucky Masterlist

You're sitting on the sill of your window in your small apartment. Your eyes are searching the sky for the fireworks that light up the dark night. They follow every little sparkle until they disappear in the night sky, each one following a soft sigh that escapes your lips.

Your eyes are filled with longing — a longing for warmth and the love you feel whenever you're around two people. Two bikers to be exact. Unfortunately, those two people are happy with one another, while you're just their good friend.

If someone watches those big, muscular bikers looking at one another with that sweet, soft expression, affection written all over their face, they wouldn't believe those two are real. They look like the perfect gay couple out of a romance, maybe even the perfect movie.

You didn't mind any of it at all. They are sweet with you, friendly and polite like the perfect gentlemen. But at some point — where the sweetness warmed your heart more than it should, and their smile caused butterflies to go wild in your stomach — you feel slowly but deeply for these two bikers.

While others would admire them for their muscles, their perfect figure, or them just being bikers, for you, it's the soft smile that mostly matches the one they share with one another. Their ocean-blue eyes, which have that adorable sparkle in them when they are happy or excited — especially when they look at you. It's the way the sound of their rough, low voices sounds like honey when they talk to you and the softness and tenderness they always have around you. There is never a hint of fear or embarrassment, no matter what they do; as long as it's the three of you, there is only happiness and laughter being shared.

They even invited you to celebrate New Year’s Eve with them. While your heart was racing and you smiled brighter than ever, you told them you would be busy, trying to find an — any — excuse to not celebrate with them. As much as your heart was screaming at you to say yes, to spend the night with your favorite bikers, you just couldn't. Your mind told you not to, to not bother them while they share that evening with one another; you didn't want to disturb their special moment, and so you prefer when they have New Year's Eve just for themselves — that's at least what you try to tell yourself.

A sudden, loud noise makes you flinch, and your eyes focus on what's happening on the street outside your apartment. You blink. Once. Twice. Only when the two familiar bikes and the broad men on them are still there do you believe that this isn't a dream or any kind of hallucination. They are really there; Bucky and Steve are standing in front of your apartment, talking about something you don't understand while they park their bikes.

Bucky’s the first who takes off his helmet, shaking his head and causing his long, brown hair to fly in the cold wind of the night before they settle down perfectly. He’s always doing it, knowing how much you love when he does that, just as much as you love to run your fingers through his thick hair; it always makes your heart flutter.

Except you and Steve, there's no one who's allowed to touch Bucky's hair. He loves it too much and doesn't like it being a mess, but if you or Steve touch it, he doesn't care how he looks after. He would even laugh with his hair standing in all directions and him only looking hilarious; he would love that if it makes you happy.

Steve laughs softly, his blue eyes brighter when he watches his boyfriend and his little hair show. The blond-haired man runs his fingers through his short hair when he places his helmet on the bike and says something to Bucky once again. He then makes his way to your door; your eyes widen while you notice Steve walking in your direction and Bucky opening the bag he placed next to his bike on the ground.

You watch the scene through your window for a moment. Your eyes moving from Bucky to Steve and back to the brown-haired man. Before you see what Bucky pulls out of his bag, it knocks loudly at your door. You know it’s Steve, but you're too curious to see what Bucky has in his bag, so you remain where you are.

“I know you're there, princess,” Steve says, knocking once again. You huff softly but get up to open the door for Steve. The blond-haired man leans against the wall, a smirk plastered over his face, and he holds his hand out for you. “There you are. May we get your attention for a few minutes, princess? Trust me, you will love it.”

You nod, slightly confused about whatever they have planned. You thought they would celebrate it at their house together or maybe at the bar where they have their biker club meetings often. But it looks like they decided to celebrate in front of your apartment.

So you take your jacket from beside you and slide easily into your shoes before you take Steve's calloused hand. His soft smile is still on his face the whole time while his eyes roam over your body. “Thought you were busy. Busy watching the fireworks all alone from the window of your apartment?”

You blush softly, nodding your head. Bucky's low chuckle gets your attention when Steve nods toward him. It's like they had a bet on what you're planning to do when you said you would be busy. They know you too well, reading you like a book and knowing your overthinking well enough to know that you haven't planned anything but just didn't want to annoy them — which you never could.

Steve leads you further outside, stopping a few feet away from Bucky, who places some boxes on the ground, and you notice that those are fireworks. Bucky takes a few steps toward you, a wide grin on his face as he leans down to press his soft lips against your forehead. You immediately feel tingles in your stomach, and a shaky breath escapes your lips. Bucky chuckles low in his throat, almost purring when he notices it.

“Doll, I know— we know you said no to the invite, and you told us you're busy. But we—” Bucky says, interrupting himself for a moment. He looks at Steve, whose big hands are on your waist, pulling you tightly against his firm chest. Steve's strong arms wrap tightly around your waist. He lowers his head, his nose nudging against your neck. “We know you don't have plans, but… so we accept that you said no to the invite, but—”

“We couldn't start the new year knowing you would sit at home, all alone, longing for something you don't dare to ask for. And… we can’t start the new year without you around us, in our arms, princess,” Steve says, and your eyes widen slightly. Do they know? Did they find out about your feelings for them?

“We know about the feelings, babydoll. We know, and we... we waited for the perfect opportunity,” Bucky confesses. The confusion visible on your face. It feels like he can read your mind, but he can't, can he? Bucky walks back to the little boxes on the ground while Steve pulls you backwards. His lips trailing down your neck, he smirks against your skin when he notices the goosebumps he's causing.

After a moment, where Steve's closeness makes your heart race and your mind spin, you notice Bucky walking closer to the two of you again. He stays next to you, taking your smaller hand in his calloused one while he leans himself against Steve. The blond-haired lets one hand go and sneaks it around Bucky's waist, pulling him closer against the two of you. You're all looking at the sky, waiting for the fireworks to light up the dark night.

“We wanted to wait for this moment. Just before the fireworks will light up the night. We wanted to wait to make it special because you're the most precious and special thing to us. And we love you, princess,” Steve says, just when the fireworks start, your mouth drops open. Not just because of the amazing colors of the fireworks but also because of Steve's words.

“We are longing for you just like you do for us. We love you, not just like a friend. If you want, we would love to be with you. You, Stevie, and me,” Bucky mumbles and kisses your cheek softly. It's so familiar to you that you feel his soft lips against your skin, but it still makes you shiver slightly. You nod, a soft whimper escaping your lips when his lips keep lingering against your cheek and you can feel them turning upwards into that cute smile of his. You mumble a soft yes, agreeing to their idea to be their princess, to them being your bikers.

More fireworks light up the sky when you nod your head. Steve's strong arms pull you and Bucky tighter against him, and you can feel the warmth radiating off of them. Your eyes widen when you notice that there are hearts in different colors visible in the sky. They made personal fireworks just for that moment — they wanted it to be perfect, and they managed to make it perfect. Not just because of the fireworks but because you’re so close and being held so lovely by the two men you love more than anything. That was what you were looking for, the love you found in your favorite two bikers.

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