tripletstephaniescp

[tripletstephaniescp]

Don't know where this is headed but I am down for the ride!

Look, Don't Touch 2

Warnings: this fic includes noncon/rape, stalking, breaking and entering, possible blood and violence, and femcel energy. Tags are not exhaustive and more may be added as the series progresses.

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

Summary: You get bored of watching and that makes you careless. (dark!reader)

Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes

Note: Well, well, well, if it isn’t another bad decision.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like snakes love Woody’s boots. Take care. 💖

Your hands are bound behind you, the belt looped through the bars of the wooden chair. Your stomach bubbles uneasily as you watch Bucky paw through your bag. This isn’t happening. How the fuck did you get here? He wasn’t supposed to show up! 

He throws your bag down as he holds your phone. He nears and turns the screen to face you. He waits and checks it. You don’t use facial recognition, the piece of shit’s too cheap to have that feature. He sighs. 

“What’s your code?” he asks. 

“Fuck off,” you snarl. 

His gloved hand balls and he grits his teeth, “don’t make this–” 

You kick out and your heel meets his crotch, his legs folding as he slips to one knee. He inhales with a gristle as he grips his thigh, barely keeping a hold on your phone. He clears his throat and stands. He slams the phone on the table and stomps out. 

You laugh but not for long. He’s back with duct tape. He tapes your legs to the chair and winds several layers around your waist. You shake your head and curl your lip. 

“Look, dude, it’s really not that deep,” you say, “it’s a grift. I squat. Just when people are out of town. I don’t take nothing and I leave everything as it was–” 

“You’re lying,” he taps your phone as he frowns, “and you can keep playing wise but I will figure you out.” He grins, “bingo.” 

He waves your phone, your wallpaper confirming it’s unlocked. You roll your eyes. 

“You should call the police,” you say. 

“So you can lie your way out of this? No thanks,” he swipes as he puts his hand on his hip and turns away. He stops pacing and brings the phone closer to his face. He grimaces, “you're a sick bitch, aren’t you?” 

He tuts and shows you the image of Steve fucking his one night stand. You laugh. “Me? What about your friend?” 

“I’d say the fact you recorded it is a lot more fucked up than him having a bit of fun,” he snorts, “you’re sly. I saw your equipment.” 

“Thanks,” you say smartly. 

“You’re not making this easy on yourself,” he says. 

“Well, you got your evidence so… police?” you divert. 

“You know what the police do to stalkers? Nothing,” he sneers. 

“Stalker? I told you, I’m a squatter–” 

“Enough with that,” he points at you sharply and goes back to scrolling, “hmm,” he hums then says your name aloud, grinning up at you. 

“So.. if no cops, what are you going to do?” you finally let yourself ask. 

“I know how to handle things internally,” he says, “so don’t you worry.” 

“Are you going to call Steve?” 

“Steve?” he scoffs, “you speak as if you know him. You don’t know shit. And no, got a lot more things more important than you.” He runs his gloved fingers over his stubble as the dimple in his chin deepens, “I gotta do some running around.” 

“I thought you were here to water the plants,” you taunt. 

“The ferns can wait,” he says, “you just sit pretty and I’ll be back soon.” 

He tucks your phone in his jacket and grabs his keys from where he dropped them on the table. He disappears into the hall and you heave. Well, what the fuck do you do now? 

The door snaps shut, the beep of the security system follows, and you’re left in silence. You look around the open dining room, the kitchen visible just through the next doorway. You pull at your hands, the belt digging into your wrists. You wriggle, the chair wobbling, as you try to twist your ankles free. 

You grunt in frustration as helplessness floods your chest. The chair tilts forward and you panic, swing back too hard and tip it over completely. Your head hits the floor above the back and it leaves you dizzy as you blink away stars. 

“Shittttttt!” you yell at the ceiling. 

📷

Bucky finds you on the floor. He does nothing to help as you crane to watch him. He puts down a black bag before he nears. He stands by the legs of the chair and kicks the bottom of the seat with his boot. 

“Bored?” he teases, “restless, maybe?” 

“I need to piss,” you huff, not a full out lie. 

“You can wait,” he leaves you there and you listen to his footfalls in dread. The whisper of the zipper as he stops. The rustle of unseen objects, pages flipping as his sole squeaks. 

‘I saw him again today,’ Bucky begins, ‘but he didn’t see me. He never does. I wonder how. Maybe I’m just that invisible.  

But I see him. I see everything he does. Even when he’s not there, I can’t stop. I think about him all the time. Sometimes I pretend my toys are him. Touching me, though I know he never will–” 

“Stop,” you growl, “now.” 

‘It used to be that I’d imagine anyone. Any man touching me, but now the thought of anyone else disgusts me.’ 

You’re quiet, humiliated. More angry than anything. You want to strangle him. You want to smack the smug look off your face you imagine in tandem with his mocking tone.  

“Stop,” you say again, “you think I don’t know what I am. Obviously, I know. I’m stupid enough to write it down.” 

He laughs and you hear the journal hit the table. He strides around the chair and stands beside you. He watches you, squats to look you in the face. 

“No, I don’t think you realise how fucking sad you are,” he says, “how pathetic.” 

“You think you’re the first to tell me,” you sneer, “I know, asshole. But I never hurt anyone and wasn’t going to start. I just watch–” 

“Break and enter as well, huh?” He smirks, “I mean, you can tell a lot about a person by where they live. Found out a hell of a lot about you, doll.” 

“Don’t call me that,” you hiss. 

“Small place,” he stands, “cramped. Guess a rat like you doesn’t need much. Couple packs of ramen and a bottle of vodka. I had better rations in 1944.” 

“What about Hydra? They feed you well?” you retort. He’s silent. “Hit a soft spot? I’m sure a cyborg like you didn’t need much.” 

He kicks the chair and it jolts you. It’s your turn to laugh. He puts his foot on the crossbar and swings you back up to four feet. You teeter but stay upright, chafing in your bonds. 

“You really are that stupid, aren’t you?” he chides. 

You shrug and glance at the wall, “I really do need to piss.” 

“You think you’re going to get out of this one?” he asks. 

“I just want to go to the–” 

“I’m not worried about you making a run for it, doll,” he leans against the table and slides a thumb in his pocket, “I mean, what do you think is going to happen here? You think I’m gonna give you a lecture and let you walk?” 

“Haven’t thought about it really,” you say flippantly, “guess I assumed you’d revert a little. Clean up the problem the way you used to do when you had that red star stamped on ya–” 

Suddenly, he’s in front of you. His hand is on your throat as he bends to snarl, “shut your fucking mouth or I’m gonna break it.” 

You grin as you choke down air and make a show of clamping your lips together. You raise your brows and he stiffly rescinds his hand. He rounds the chair and tears through the tape before unbuckling the belt. Your arms fall loose but he grabs you by the back of your neck, pinching so you cry out and claw at his hand. 

“I squeeze any tighter and I’ll do some real damage,” he warns as he guides you to your feet, “then you won’t be running anywhere ever again. Got it?” 

“Sure,” you grit out as pain ripples down your spine. 

He grunts and urges you into the front room and down the hall. He enters the bathroom with you and flips up the seat. He releases you and takes a step back, a hand on the counter as he stares. 

“Um, a bit of privacy?” 

“You go now or not at all,” he demands, “so…” 

You exhale sharply and turn, unbuttoning your pants as you focus on the wall. You push your jeans down and sit, a slight pause before you manage to trickle out just a little. Your bladder releases and the pressure relents, leaving you lighter but not relieved. You wipe, pull your jeans up as you stand, and flush. 

He grabs your arm and yanks you back into the hallway. His metal grip makes your muscles burn as he drags you on. You glance across the front room, the doors not that far.  

You push your toe under the carpet so it catches and you stumble, pulling him back with your unexpected falter. “Hey, stay on your f–” 

You stomp his toe and he recoils as he grunts. You spin awkwardly, barely staying up right as you scramble away. You knock over the tall vase by the doorway as you flee. He tackles you from behind and you plummet forward, hitting the floor as he lands on you. You wheeze as your ribs ache beneath his weight. 

“Jesus, you’re fuckin’ heavy,” you snarl into the hardwood. 

“And you’re fucking stubborn,” he raps his knuckles on the back of your skull as he pushes off you. He plants his feet on either side of you and lifts you, both hands on your arms as he steadies you, “stupid, too.” 

You scoff as he urges you back down the hall and shoves you through to the dining room. His hand crawls up to your neck and he bends you over the table. You growl and kick out your feet as you pick at his impenetrable grip. 

“Like I said, had some running around to do,” he reaches into his bag with his free hand, “got some things to keep you in line.” 

He circles his fingers around your wrist and a metal cuff expands around it. Then he does the same to the other. He lets go of you and steps back. You straighten as he takes out his phone and taps the screen, your wrists snap together behind you, as if magnetised. You struggle as the force sets you off kilter. 

“Neat little gadget, usually reserved for sinister individuals but they’ll do for you too,” he frames your shoulders and angles you around, urging you back into the chair, “since you want to make this interesting.” 

You scowl and say nothing. He really is annoying. He goes back to his bag and reaches in again. He returns to you and secures another pair of cuffs around your ankles. You try to kick out as he does and he squeezes your leg meanly. You snarl and sit back angrily.  

He pushes a pin into each leg of the chair and stands. He picks up his phone again and your ankles attach to the wooden legs. He rounds you and parts your wrists, pulling them between the bars and letting them snap back together behind them. 

“We’re gonna be here a while and I’m not in the mood to be chasing you around,” he goes to the table and sets his phone down. 

He peels off his jacket and drapes it over another chair. He sits and retrieves the cell, his thumb moving lazily across it as he ignores you. You furrow your brow. There’s no give in the restraints. 

“Not exactly how I wanted to spend my night,” he grumbles as he smirks at you, “not that I had any plans.” 

“No plans? A gem like you? How are the girls not lining up?” you roll your eyes. 

“You’re one to talk, aren’t you?” he scoffs. 

You shrug and sit back. You’re starting to feel the toll of the night; stuck in that chair, pinned under his weight, the knock to your head. You’re tired but you can’t let him see it. 

📷

The smell of food makes your stomach growl. You can’t remember the last time you ate. It’s a bad habit. You eat only when it hurts and it fucking hurts. 

Bucky sits at the table with his paper bag and cup and eagerly peers inside. You try not to stare, instead focusing on your lap. You salivate as your guts knot with temptation. You listen to the rustle of wrappers and Bucky moans as he takes his first bite, chewing loudly. 

You exhale through tight lips. It’s deliberate, you know it. It’s his specialty, isn’t it? Torture? Cruelty? You peek up from beneath your lashes as he scarfs down a mouthful of fries. 

“Oh, you know what,” he sits back and grabs a napkin, wiping his fingertips, “I didn’t even think. I should’ve ordered you some. You must be starving.” 

“I’m fine,” you insist as you drop your gaze and your stomach rumbles loudly. 

“Sounds like it,” he slurps from his cup, “we’re all human, so if you’re hungry, all you gotta do is ask nicely–” 

“Human? You?” you look at his left arm, concealed under his henley and gloves, “sure. I told you, not hungry.” 

“Alright,” he grabs the burger and takes another sloppy bite. You turn your face away and ignore the pangs deep in your gut. “You really should consider a bit of common decency,” he says through a mouthful, “make it easy on yourself.” 

“Why’s that?” you mutter, shoulders sore from the awkward position as you try not to lean back on your arms. 

“I don’t have to be an asshole,” he says. 

“Really? You have more than one mode?” you snip. 

“What do you think’s gonna happen when Steve gets here?” he asks and shoves the last bit of his burger in his mouth. He watches you as he chews. 

“Does it matter? What I think or what happens?” you glower, staring at the faded denim of your jeans. “You saw my apartment, you think I have much to lose?” 

“You’re alive,” he ventures. 

“If that’s what you call it,” you laugh darkly, “so, that’s it? He’s gonna kill me? You lost your spine or something?” 

“You’re pretty self-aware for someone so pathetic,” he remarks as he shovels up more fries. 

“My sole virtue,” you say mockingly, “at least I know what I am.” 

“Do you? Do you really understand how fucked in the head you are?” 

“I should ask you the same,” you counter. 

He laughs and scoops up some more fries, “right, well, these next few days are going to be fun.” 

He stands and cleans up the garbage, shoving it all into the paper bag. He crumples it as he goes into the kitchen and you hear the lid of the bin as he tosses it. The light flicks off as he returns and he nears you. You sit rigidly as he grabs the back of the chair and tilts it back. 

He drags you out of the dining room and into the living room without a word. He shoves the coffee table over with his foot and puts you right in front of the couch. He lets the chair fall to four feet and strides away. 

You watch him as he makes up the couch with a sheet tucked around the cushions, a pillow against the arm, and a blanket on top. He pushes his head to one side than the other, a loud crack releases the tension. He sits and unties his boots, sliding them off as he focuses on the task. 

He strips down to his briefs and undershirt, as if you’re not even there. He settles onto the couch with a sigh, a bit too big for it but unbothered by that fact. He shifts as he plays with his phone and a voice suddenly rises from the speaker. He puts it on the back of the couch and lets it play, some narrative of a forgotten battle. He folds his arms behind his head and sighs. 

“Helps me sleep,” he smirks as he closes his eyes, “might help you too… if you can get comfortable.” 

[tripletstephaniescp]

Well, this is heading into a great place. Can't wait!

If you're still taking ficlet requests, maybe a dark or soft dark Bucky who works for your dad?

I hope you like where I went with this, nonnie!

Dollhouse

Pairing: Soft Dark!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: Over 900

Warnings: Toxic family, implied cheating (not reader or Bucky), drug and drinking reference, inspired by the song Dollhouse. Soft!Dark Bucky Barnes and implied future dubcon/noncon.

You didn’t want to come home for the weekend. You lost track of how many times you told your dad that. It didn’t matter that you weren’t a child anymore or that you weren’t living at the mansion. The expectation was that you would play the part of a supporting daughter in front of his employees no matter what. It was laughable, if not utterly sad. Either most didn’t know your family was far from a happy one or they didn’t care. And why would they as long as they got what they wanted?

Places, places, get in your places. Throw on your dress and put on your doll faces.

“Dad, I’m going to change and go for a swim,” you announced.

Your dad along with the group of men that surrounded him turned their heads toward you. Most of the men averted their gazes after a moment, except for one: Bucky Barnes. Ever since he started working for your dad he took an unexpected interest in you. He was always asking about your personal life, and he seemed all too happy when your recent relationship ended. Your dad, of course, loved him because he was a hard worker and made him money.

“Where’s your brother?” your dad asked, making you look away from Bucky.

“Couldn’t tell you,” you answered. If you had to guess, he was off in his room getting high.

“Okay. Just enjoy your swim, princess.” You did your best not to roll your eyes at the nickname. “But make sure you’re set for dinner. Your mother’s cooking your favorite.”

You did roll your eyes this time, and Bucky continued to stare. Your mom never lifted a finger in the kitchen. She’d order out and make it look like she did it herself.

Everyone thinks that we're perfect. Please don't let them look through the curtains.

“Of course, dad,” you said, leaving without another word and feeling a pair of cold blue eyes follow your every move.

The chatter from the main room filled the hall as you went to your room to change, the sound muffled once you shut the door. You blocked it out as best as you could as you selected one of your bathing suits and changed. You hoped your mom wouldn’t drink too much and embarrass herself at dinner. You also hoped your dad was smart enough not to bring a side piece around until after she passed out. It could be a little entertaining though if your brother ran his mouth.

Picture, picture, smile for the picture. Pose with your brother, won’t you be a good sister?

“Well, look at you.”

Your heart leapt to your throat when you turned around to see Bucky standing by your bed. He held your cover up in his hand. How the hell did he get in your room so quietly? Why was he there?

“What the hell are you doing?” you demanded.

“Sorry. I was trying to find the bathroom,” he said. A terrible lie, like he didn't even try. “Such a large place, you know. Easy to go through the wrong door.”

“Do you normally pick up garments that don’t belong to you when you’re 'lost'?” you asked, trying to take it from him.

He pulled his hand out of reach. “Not normally, but I couldn’t resist,” he said, not hiding the lust in his eyes as they landed on your chest and slowly drifted down. “You know, you have a pretty fucked up family.”

“Tell me something I don't know,” you scoffed.

Everyone thinks that we're perfect. Please don't let them look through the curtains.

“Allow me,” he offered as his gaze flickered back to your face.

“No, thanks,” you said, attempting to grab the cover up again as he narrowed his eyes.

"Turn around,” he ordered, his voice deeper and gruffer than before. “I won't tell you twice.”

Tell, not ask.

You hoped your trembling wasn't noticeable when you turned and faced the mirror, having to look at his reflection as he slowly walked up behind you. He was handsome, you couldn’t deny that, and large. He could overpower you easily.

“This is such a beautiful color on you. Must drive all the boys crazy when you wear it. Also must be why your daddy keeps you locked up as much as he can,” he said more to himself than to you as he ran a gloved finger down your side. “But I’m not a boy, am I?”

“He doesn’t keep me locked up,” you whispered, unsure of why you were arguing. Maybe it would distract you from his touch.

He brought his mouth to your ear, his eyes locked with yours in the mirror. “You think because you live on your own that you’re free? That you aren’t watched at all times?” He asked, chuckling when you shivered again. “You may be your daddy's princess, but you'll be mine soon enough.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I make your dad a lot of money. He owes me.” He straightened up and slipped the fabric over your shaking frame. “As much as I hate to cover up such a beautiful piece of art, I may lose control if I don't,” he said, as if he had the right to do so. “Keep your door unlocked for me tonight.”

“I won't-”

He had a hand around your throat, but didn't squeeze. “You will,” he said, kissing your temple. “And we'll see if you can keep quiet.”

Love and thanks for participating in Ficlet Friday! ❤️ And this one may be fun to continue.

[tripletstephaniescp]

I love this so much, the angst, the regret and Bucky being so soft. 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

Catharsis

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader A/N: Follow up to Mirthless Monday Thought! Sorry for subjecting you all to the moody vibes and leaving you hanging on that cliff. Hopefully, this makes you all smile. Leave me a thought if you enjoyed! Also, special thanks to @stellar-solar-flare for giving me a push by doing the 'writing weekend!' Thanks, love! Look how much it helped, Stella. We should totally do these more often. ;) Warnings: Fluff | Distress due to sustaining injuries. Nothing graphic | Non-fatal injuries | Protective Bucky | Mutual Pining | Happy Ending | Clearing up 'n' Confessions | Crying Bucky, gosh, he's so fucking sweet, I wanna smother him with love | One scorching kiss or two | Language | ~4k | Unedited | Lemme know if I'm missing anything Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! Banner credits to me. Picture credits to the internet. Divider credits to @buck-star Thank you :) Check out my other works: Masterlist

Indulge Away!

Oh.

Oh.

Kate Tucker from Middle School. The memory of punching her for bothering a boy named Blake crept into your mind vividly. Did Kate remember that? Did Blake? You hadn't thought of either in years, yet here they were, haunting the hallways of your mind with other unwarranted thoughts.

A fractured chuckle escaped your lips at the sheer randomness of your delirious thoughts.

The rustling beside you brought your focus to the squirrel, frozen mid-step, staring at you with shiny eyes. The moment you tilted your head, you groaned at the pain that shot in your back, and the poor thing bolted, leaping away.

"Sorry," you muttered hoarsely after the squirrel, wincing as the movement shot sharp pain through your body again.

You leaned your head against the tree behind you; the rough bark, though slightly uncomfortable, felt like the greatest support. You would probably feel more comfortable at the safehouse in view, maybe a quarter mile away, but in your condition, it might as well have been across the ocean.

You could see the dilapidated-looking walls of the shack. It just looked that way, and you bet it was fully equipped to last anyone for a few days.

You shifted your longing gaze from the warm confines of the safehouse and looked ahead at the evening sky. The warmth from the sun gave you some respite from the shivering chills your body felt. You've always loved sunsets, but this one felt dreadful.

The sun was still high on the horizon. You'd slumped here around morning to escape the harsh light, but now, as the shadows grew behind you and the air turned colder, you couldn't shake the fear that the night would dawn for you much earlier.

A strong gust of wind had you hugging yourself for the warmth. You had thrown away the jacket and the tracking device in the water as a diversion for the two agents trailing behind you a few hours ago. You've lost them at the creek, and they must have thought you fell into it after sustaining injuries.

That was a few hours ago. Now, as the sun traversed into the horizon, doubt crippled you.

And just like that, your mind sought solace in thoughts of Bucky like it usually did.

When he fell off that train, did he lay there in the cold, half-conscious and hopeful. Did it feel like this? Or was he blissfully unconscious until his fate was sealed?

You've hated Hydra for everything that they did, but you hated them with vengeance for what they did to the man you loved.

When you first met Bucky, you were floored by how intensely handsome he looked. But you never intended to be anything but friends despite the crush. But after a year, you irrefutably fell for him. Nobody knew about it as you didn't share it with another soul for fear of mockery.

That stupidly gorgeous, brooding, ocean-blue-eyed, perfect man deserved whatever he wished for in this world. And he didn't clearly wish for you. He made it clear time and time when he avoided you.

'Mind your business.'  That memory vividly haunted you every second since the moment he uttered those words. Your heart splintered with pain, unable to contain.

In hindsight, your taking up this mission was fueled by the aftermath of the emotions.

Now, there was a chance you would never see him or your friends.

In intellection, you shouldn't have poured your heart into your journal. What if someone read it? What if Bucky read it? Would he feel sad if you weren't around anymore? Would he feel a twinge of guilt for what he'd said to you that day?

Ugh!

Bucky did have a point, though. You should have minded your business, but the heart was a greedy bitch. Right? You were so hopelessly smitten with that man.

Your eyes followed a leaf cascading down gracefully from the tree, and it fell right on your wounded calf.

You picked it up, your fingers trembling as you examined the crimson stain it had collected from your bruise. For a moment, a morbid thought crossed your mind. Maybe you could write your thoughts in blood. Would anyone even find them?

There's so much you wanted to tell. There were so many things left undone. You wanted to tell Peter to stop being a coward and confess to his friend. You wanted to give Natasha her birthday gift and see the rare softness in her smile. You wanted to take Steve to that art gallery featuring sketches you'd secretly submitted under his name. You wanted to visit Laura and the kids, hug Pepper, and one-up Tony.

And Bucky. You wanted him to find happiness. And you also selfishly wished that he smiled at you once, just once, before…

The edges of your vision blurred, and you flailed sideways, letting your hand take the weight of the body you collapsed at the foot of the tree uncomfortably.

You should probably muster everything in you to get yourself to the safehouse, but it felt like a Herculean task. Still you tried and moved an inch, but you collapsed right there, sprawled on your back.

It was what it was.

Keep me company. You mouthed to the tree above, the trilling birds, and the squirrel that curiously kept its distance, munching on the acorn it had carried from the tree you laid beneath.

You tilted your head and felt the evening hues dance behind your teary lids before you fell asleep.

****

George Finley was intimidated by Bucky Barnes, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he was the former Winter Soldier, now Avenger. No, it was not the reputation that made George fear the man, but it all had to do with the sheer animosity directed his way by the supersoldier.

George wondered why because he had only met the Sergeant three times, including today, but each encounter had left him a bundle of nerves that almost had him take Benzodiazepines.

The second time had left him the most shaken. George had watched, dumbstruck, as Bucky crushed a metal water bottle in his bare hand. It hadn't even been his metal arm.

At the time, George had foolishly believed Bucky's excuse: "Still getting used to the strength," he'd said with a shrug to George's colleague, Tina, who shrieked in fear. Bucky looked straight at George, flexing the Vibranium arm for good measure. George hadn't given it much thought then because he hadn't realized then what had triggered the display of strength.

After today, George wasn’t just intimidated--he was terrified, and for good reason. The strong grip of the Sergeant’s hand from earlier, when he had hauled him out of the medbay and barked that he had 90 seconds to pack everything necessary, had been enough to leave a red, angry bruise on his wrist. The memory of being all but carried to the jet by the towering supersoldier made George’s stomach churn.

George avoided the Sergeant throughout the long jet ride, staying as far away as possible. He briefly considered striking up a conversation with the pilot to ease his nerves, but quickly dismissed the idea, fearing that any movement, however innocent, could trigger the supersoldier's wrath toward him.

So, when George watched the Sergeant freeze at the sight of you lying wounded on the ground, partially covered by scattered leaves, it all became clear. George had assessed your condition upon finding you-you’d lost blood, but you still had a pulse and were stable. Yet the super soldier stood utterly motionless, as if paralyzed, and on the verge of collapse.

"Sergeant, we need to get her to the safe house." George could see nothing was registering in the supersoldier's head. He had to explicitly yell at him, "SERGEANT BARNES, SHE's OKAY… we need to get her there to treat her better."

George had seen a lot of cases in his modest experience, but he had never seen a more apt representation of 'breath being restored.' Sergeant Barnes took a startling breath, nodded helplessly, and lifted you carefully, wincing himself at your injuries, chanting, 'You're okay' under his breath.

And it became as vivid as a 3D ultrasound image to George now. That fateful day, when he and his colleague, Tina, had been talking casually, George had mentioned that he thought you were cute and wondered if you might go on a date with him. He didn't notice Bucky standing nearby until he heard Tina's shriek and turned and saw the bottle crumble in the Sergeant's hand.

Yeah, the animosity made sense after one whole year.

Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes was hopelessly in love with you.

~

Somewhere while treating you, the super soldier softly grunted an apology for earlier and he had muttered, "Call me Bucky," and George internally sighed happily.

Later, as the two sat in tense silence, George clung to a sliver of hope. Maybe--just maybe--helping to take care of you would finally earn him a spot in Bucky's good books. Or, at the very least, it might get him out of Bucky's bad ones.

So far, it didn't seem likely.

The night dragged on awkwardly. The few words exchanged were clipped and terse. Bucky had mentioned that their jet had gone for backup, ferrying prisoners from a nearby Hydra camp, which meant they were stuck here for now.

They'd eaten instant noodles in silence. George had unapologetically finished his portion because he was barely surviving on a pizza that he ate last night during his shift at the Compound. Bucky barely touched his noodles, twirling the fork while sitting beside you and watching you. After he ate, Bucky pointed at the couch and said, "Sleep."

George was grateful and knew no storm could move Bucky from your side. So, he scurried away to catch up on some sleep after staying awake for almost a whole day. God, it felt like his residency days.

As he lay there, he wondered whether Bucky confessed his feelings because, as far as George and a few other guys who crushed on you knew, you were very much single.

~

George was jolted awake a few hours later by a sharp, insistent shaking. His eyes flew open to see Bucky looming over him, tensed.

"Why isn't she awake yet?" Bucky hissed lowly, and George scrambled upright. He cast a look your way and then at the tall man.

"She's fine," George croaked, rubbing the sleep away from his face and trying to sound calm. "Painkillers are working. She just needs rest."

But Bucky's piercing glare didn't waver.

Resigned, George got up and checked on you again. "She's doing better," he said after a moment, gesturing toward you. "See? Steady breathing, color's back. Temperature's normal. You can relax."

Bucky nodded curtly and moved to the kitchen, fussing over the coffee machine.

George was not lying. You were recovering much faster. He saw a cup filled with water and a rag of a cloth beside the cot. Bucky must have sat beside you all night. It must have helped bring down the fever.

"Did you sleep at all, Sergeant?" He asked curiously, but all he got was a grunt. George took that as a "no."

Leaning back against the wall beside the small aisle of the kitchen, George sighed, exhaustion settling over him after sleeping on that hard, rickety couch. Please wake up soon, he thought. If not for your sake, then for the sanity of a supersoldier.

****

You woke to the aroma of coffee. And then you heard the shuffling. The surface beneath you felt much softer than you remembered, too soft to be the cold, hard ground.

Were you dreaming?

Your hazy consciousness urged you to move your head, and as you did, you felt the unmistakable comfort of a pillow beneath it.

Oh.

Slowly, you willed your eyes to open, squinting as they adjusted to the warm light of the room.

A figure hovered nearby, and he looked oddly familiar. You blinked again, the image sharpening into focus.

Dr. Finley?

"Your hair's longer," you mumbled, or at least, you thought you did. The words came out slurred, and the effort left your throat burning.

"What?" Dr. Finley's voice sounded distant, as if muffled by a cloth, "Sorry, I didn't catch that. Relax. You've gotta have some water…take it slow."

You licked your lips. Water. Yes, you needed water.

Before you could nod, you became aware of the presence on your other side. A tall, muscular man, all too familiar scent.

Bucky.

He sat beside you, the bed dipping under his weight, a small Dixie cup of water in his hand. Seeing him made you gasp softly, from exhaustion or maybe disbelief.

This had to be a dream.

Your eyelids fluttered closed again tiredly.

But then you heard Bucky calling your name so softly. It felt too real yet unbelievable. Your eyes cracked open, the haze in your mind lifting ever so slightly.

"Drink it, please," Dr. Finley said, but it wasn't his voice you were focusing on. It was Bucky's warm, calloused hand slipping beneath your neck, cradling it as he carefully lifted you.

"Slowly," Bucky murmured, his tone softer than you'd ever heard it. His touch was warming, soothing, and worrying you all the same.

The cool water met your parched lips, and you drank greedily, welcoming the relief it brought to your dry throat.

"Good," Dr. Finley said, watching you closely as Bucky eased you back down, his movements almost unnervingly tender.

"You hurt yourself pretty badly. Lost a lot of blood, but you're okay now. Nothing some rest won't fix." Dr. Finley said.

You nodded faintly, your voice hoarse as you asked, "Did they catch the two agents? The Hydra base?"

Dr. Finley hesitated, his eyes flicking to Bucky. "Yeah, the team handled it. But you should focus on healing…"

You barely heard the rest. Your mind was spinning, questions bubbling to the surface.

Why was Bucky here? Was this Steve's doing? Memories of your last interaction with Bucky vividly flashed, 'Mind your business.' It made your body tense instinctively, and the shift didn't go unnoticed.

Both men were staring at you now, concerned.

"Hey, easy," Bucky said quickly, his brows furrowed. "Are you okay?"

You nodded curtly, though your pulse quickened under the weight of his gaze and the hand resting on your forehead and scalp. You were too exhausted to deal with this, with him. Maybe… maybe if you pretended to fall back asleep, it would all go away.

"You should rest as much as you can," Bucky said. You didn't reply. Instead, you closed your eyes again, letting the warmth of the pillow pull you into the safe, inside hell and heaven of your mind.

****

Washing away the tiredness and the dried blood felt good. Bucky had gone out of his way to set up everything for you--a chair, a bucket of warm water he'd heated himself, and a clean towel he must've found somewhere in the back room. He'd even stepped outside, giving you privacy as you awkwardly washed up.

Every time you glanced at the closed door, you could practically feel him stare at you from the other side.

The blue Henley, his worn blue Henley, sat on the chair nearby, and he apologized for not carrying your clothes when he carefully removed his shirt and sat it on the small shelf beside the shower, reachable to you. You had no idea what to say to that except nod with a barely there smile. Your mind ate away at the idea of wearing his clothes. It was such a terrible circumstance, and you really wanted this all to end.

Earlier, when you requested to wash up after waking up all sweaty as your fever came down, you were looking straight at George, asking him, but George shared a look with Bucky— who you've been trying to actively avoid looking—and hurried outside about making a call, flashing an awkward grin, mumbling, 'He's got it.'

No. You groaned internally. George didn't understand that Bucky didn't want you to be anywhere near him.

Why was Bucky even here? Why was he going out of his way to help you? Was he guilty? Did he feel bad? Was that it?

By the time you were finished and had carefully changed into the Henley that smelled like him, felt like a warm hug on a cold day, and made you even giddier, exhaustion tugged at your limbs.

Bucky appeared a moment later when you called him, moving cautiously, his eyes scanning you, checking for any signs of distress. He carried a bottle of water, twisting off the cap before handing it to you without a word.

You accepted it with a murmured thanks, sipping slowly. His eyes flickered down your body briefly before returning to meet yours. You flushed under his watchful gaze.

Neither of you filled the silence, yet it felt threateningly loud!

~

Bucky helped you ease onto the bed, his brow furrowing as he caught your wince. Your legs stung despite his gentle touch. Once settled, you sat upright, your legs carefully placed on the floor.

You glanced up at Bucky, craning your neck from where you sat. "You didn't have to… do all this," you murmured uncertainly, guilt lacing your tone, and you averted your gaze. "I mean… thank you, but… you shouldn't…"

Bucky cut you off before you could finish, shaking his head vehemently, "Don't," he rasped, his voice intense. His eyes locked onto yours, almost pleading.

"Bucky," you called out softly, and to your utter shock, he dropped to his knees in front of you, his metal hand bracing on the floor while his right hand hovered near your leg, hesitant, unsure. The sight made your breath hitch, and you instinctively leaned back, utterly shocked.

"I haven't heard you call my name for four days." Bucky rasped, clearing his throat. He stared for a few long seconds before ruefully continuing, "I've been desperate to hear it," he admitted with a humorless chuckle, the sound edged with self-deprecation.

"Wh… what?" you stammered dumbly, your mind scrambling to process his words. Why would he say that?

He smiled at you, his smile not reaching his eyes, almost sad, making your heart tug painfully.

"Don't thank me," he said hoarsely, straightening so he was at your eye level. His voice cracked as his head dipped slightly, his shoulders slumping, "Don't… don't make it sound like that. Like you're not worth."

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. Your throat tightened, the lump of unspoken emotion making it impossible.

"I'm sorry, doll," he murmured, his eyes searching yours.

When you looked confused, he cleared his throat, and his gaze shifted.

Gently, he reached out and pushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His touch sent instant warmth to the last of your nerves.

He licked his criminally pink lips, "Sorry for saying… you know," he gestured with a tilt of his head, silently pleading with you to understand without making him say it aloud.

A scorned heart could wound anyone, but couple it with a marching mind on painkillers; it made you say things without a damn filter.

"Mind my business?" you asked rather softly.

He exhaled a long sigh, his eyes squeezed shut as he shook his head. "I..."

You watched as his shoulders trembled. His right hand gripped the edge of the bed beside your leg, his knuckles white under the strain while the other rested against his side, the Vibranium glinting faintly in the dim light.

"I'm sorry," he choked out, his voice ragged, broken. His head dipped lower, the tremors wracking his body with every inhale. "I'm so sorry…"

"Bucky…" you whispered, your voice barely audible, your chest aching at the sight of him like this.

He looked at you then, his eyes red-rimmed, tears streaking his face, raw and vulnerable. You'd never seen him so torn. It hurt you to see such a formidable, resilient man so vulnerable before your very eyes.

"I didn't mean it," he rasped, his voice cracking. "God, I didn't mean it. I was a coward. I was scared, and I... I pushed you away because I thought I didn't deserve you. I don't deserve you." He sucked in a shuddering breath, his eyes glistening as he shook his head. "But I can't do it anymore. I can't act like you…"

There was a lot to unpack there. You didn't want to assume where the conversation was headed. Your mind was still grappling with everything he was saying.

Your hand moved on its own, gently brushing the dampness from his cheeks as you leaned forward, your heart lodged in your throat. "Bucky, it's okay…"

"NO," he hissed, his voice breaking. Tears spilled freely down his face. "No… you were this close to… I almost lost you, and I would've lost the chance to tell you how much I… how much I love you..."

"What," you let out a disbelieving laugh.

No. No. It couldn't be. But he was before you, his hand gripping yours so firmly, hovering over you so close that you could feel the heat of him, his warmth wrapped around you like a blanket.

"Make me your business," he exclaimed, his voice trembling as he grabbed your hand, firmly clutching it to his face. The stubble on his jaw felt rough against your palm, a strangely sensual sensation that sent a shiver down your spine. "Please. Make me your goddamn business. I don't care if I don't deserve it. I don't care if it's selfish. Just...let me be yours."

Your lips parted, your breath catching as his words slammed into you. His eyes searched yours desperately, pleading.

If you were in a state of better comprehension and reception, you might have called him a dork, an adorably hot one, too, because who else would say, "Make me your business"? It almost made you smile.

"Bucky…" you whispered again, your voice shaking, your free hand brushing back a strand of hair from his forehead. "I…I didn't think you…"

Tears blurred your vision, the intensity of his unfinished words leaving you breathless. You hesitantly cupped his face with both hands now, your thumbs gently wiping away the damp trails of tears on his cheeks.

Your heart ached, trying to find the words.

"Don't cry," you murmured, your own voice cracking as you leaned in closer, your forehead resting against his. "Please don't cry. I'm here. I'm right here."

His forehead dropped against yours heavily, his breath uneven and ragged as his shoulders shook with silent sobs. You held him there, your hands gentle on his face.

"I don't want you to mind your business… never, never… just make me your business… I'm not perfect, but please… just give me a chance… and I will treat you right..." he confessed, and your entire body trembled.

A happy sob broke free from your throat, shaking your head in disbelief, unable to fully comprehend.

"I would," he said, his voice fierce, his grip on your hand tightening as he surged forward just enough that you could feel his lips so close against yours. "I would. Every damn day. Please…”

It pained you to see him plead.

His confession made you euphoric, yet speechless.

You wanted to shout it, to scream that you loved him too, that you had always loved him, but the words caught in your throat.

Somewhere in the depths of your mind, this felt like a fairytale, one that you would wake up from any moment, realizing you were still lying under the tree, cursing your mind for crafting such a beautiful dream.

When you didn't say a word, his expression faltered, and he began to inch away, shoulders and jaw clenched.

"Did I... did I get it wrong? Do you not like me?" he whispered, and your heart shattered at the vulnerability in his voice.

Even if it felt so surreal, and even if it was a dream, you couldn't be the reason for his sadness. So, you shook your head, blinking away the tears that blurred your vision, and a smile formed on your lips effortlessly.

"No, Bucky... you didn't get anything wrong," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I am hopelessly in love with you. It's truly worrisome how much," you added with a soft chuckle, the sound light and shaky, your heart bursting.

He chuckled, relief washing over him as he leaned forward again, carefully cradling your jaw. "Can we have tea tomorrow? You don't have to lift a finger. I'll make it for us and get all your favorites from Deniro's, even those weird-looking cake pops," he pleaded, his eyes warm with hope. You laughed, nodding frantically, heart swelling with joy that he remembered your favorite cafe.

"Get up and sit here, please. You've been kneeling there; sure, your old knees will start aching..." You pointed gently at the spot beside you.

Bucky rolled his eyes with a playful glint dancing in them, he inched forward, bringing his body even closer to you, careful to avoid your legs, his frame engulfing yours.

"I just need to do this…" He whispered against your lips, waiting.

You leaned forward, heart pounding as the heat of his lips tickled yours.

You really had no idea what kissing Bucky Barnes would feel like. You imagined it a million times, though, but you hadn't realized how perfectly consuming it would be. Bucky kissed like it was his first-ever kiss. Maybe it was after Hydra and everything, the way he pecked slowly at first and then sighed with a groan. Then, he licked his lips, carding his fingers in your hair and pulled you even closer.

"You taste so goddamn divine," he growled, softly breaking the kiss, letting his lips suck onto your lower lip, and you moaned helplessly. The sound spurred him on, and he suckled on your lower lip, tongue, and teeth, tracing your lips.

You couldn't take it anymore. Desperately, your hands found his neck, and you pulled him, and he eagerly pushed his tongue against yours. You clenched delightfully at the way you were turned on, and a moan escaped you. Bucky frantically grabbed your back, pressing you against his chest. His undershirt didn't hide his broad muscles flexing making you even more hot and bothered. Your tits practically smushed against his broad chest, and you readily complied, reducing the space between you both even more if possible.

A shooting pain made you hiss, and Bucky pushed himself away, his eyes wide, flushed, and dazed.

"Fuck, I'm sorry, so sorry…" he whispered, placing his hands gently on your outer thighs. Your skin blazed where he touched, goosebumps trailing in its wake.

Your breathing was shallow as you gulped, one hand resting on his cheek and the other clutching his right palm.

"I'm okay. Don't apologize. You're fine, more than fine. We should probably just wait it out," you blushed, gesturing to your bandaged legs.

Bucky nodded, smiling, his darkened eyes crinkling with lightness, and you felt your heart skip a beat.

He was so bloody gorgeous. It was fucking unreal.

An exaggerated sound of someone clearing their throat broke your reverie. Dr. Finley stood at the entrance, wide-eyed, awkwardly shifting on his feet. You felt embarrassed, wondering just how much he had witnessed.

"Um... sorry to interrupt, but the jet is here... We are expected to leave," Dr. Finley said, his voice nearly at a squeaky pitch.

Bucky glared at the man.

"Thanks, Dr. Finley," you managed to say.

"Take as a doctor's note," he paused, glancing at you, "You should probably avoid any strenuous activities until you heal," he said, awkwardly shuffling on his feet before taking off.

Bucky rolled his eyes, and you choked on your breath.

"Ready to go?" Bucky asked, unbothered, with a grin on his face. You nodded. His thumb gently grasped your lower lip, pulling it away from your teeth. It made your heart frolic in sweet agony.

"Don't tempt me, please." He growled, making you gasp at the tone.

And it truly felt dreamlike that night when Bucky held you in your room at the compound, sleeping soundly like a baby. He wrapped you tightly in his arms, your legs resting on the wedge pillow he 'borrowed' from someone's room. You'd probably find out tomorrow when everyone was back.

You slept feeling perfectly whole. And you felt invigorating, like finally accomplishing something you'd suffered through for so long or shedding a heavy weight you'd been carrying for far too long.

Baring your souls and unburdening emotions to become one!

A perfect catharsis, indeed!

Well?🩷🥹

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[tripletstephaniescp]

OMG, girl. This was hilarious. From the Tangled reference to the, oh shit, moment at the end. I wanna see this play out in real life. So good. Really, you just keep getting better and better.

Half-baked, damn!

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader x Bucky Barnes, ft. Ransom Drysdale Warnings: Fluff | Language | You found yourself in a pickle | Crack fic | Poly relationship | A teeny bit of non-graphic threat | Allusions to the Blip (but canon-divergent, all's fine and dandy in this universe) | Unedited | ~1.8k | Let me know if I’m missing anything. A/N: This is a half-baked idea that couldn’t wait, so I’m serving it fresh while it’s still...meh. Kindly indulge. I've had quite a day 🥹🩷 And yes, the squirrel incident is inspired by true events from my own life. The left side of my face swelled up so much I had to see a doctor. EVERYONE--even the X-ray guy--had a good laugh...except for me. I was on pain medication for over a week, and now my family tells the story to anyone who’ll listen. It happened almost 12 years ago and I figured...take the inspiration from life. So, here goes🤭🙂‍↕️ Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! Banner and Divider credits to me. Picture credits to the internet. Thank you :) Check out my other works: Masterlist

Indulge Away!

In your modestly chaotic life, a lot of unbelievable shit had happened.

Some of which you were still processing. Stuff that would blow people's minds if you ever played Two Truths and a Lie.

Like the time a squirrel slapped you silly when it fell from a tree while you were riding your moped. Stupidly perfect timing!

Or...

The time Captain America, the former Winter Soldier, and Iron Man broke into your tiny apartment--and in a dazed panic, thinking they were intruders or serial killers--you went full Tangled on Captain America (he was the first through your door), smacking him with your 8.6-inch cast iron pan (a graduation gift from your late Aunt Beth... poor pan, though, cracked right down the middle)

Between the Avengers breaking into your apartment, Tony Stark recruiting you for your weirdly diverse research skills when his AI evolved needing to play God, the purple guy snapping his fingers, then Hulk unsnapping them, and the absolutely insane realization that two ridiculously gorgeous, criminally kind-hearted supersoldiers loved you and you loved them just as much, life had basically blessed you with carefully crafted absurdity.

So, yes, you were proud--extremely so--to say that nothing could possibly surprise you anymore.

Fallacious thought, indeed!

Life could be chaos galore, royally so, because here you were, standing in the dimly lit street, face to face with one of your best friends from middle school, Ransom Drysdale.

He offered you a cookie, and you blinked in surprise, a noise of disbelief escaping you ungracefully as a wave of nostalgia hit.

An image of a boy, almost the pure and innocent reflection of the man before you--so disparate--popped into your mind. He hadn't even reached your height back then. He used to bring you cookies in a Tupperware every day without fail, as a thank you for always defending him from bullies. You used to be badass like that.

But that was a lifetime ago.

Now?

Now you were with two overprotective, over six-foot supersoldiers who made a big deal if you got a papercut.

Dope, right?

And after the shenanigans of Ultron and the blip, you realized you were better off in controlled environments. Plus, it was probably for the best...for the sake of your century-old men's healthy, pumping hearts.

Your career choice was fascinatingly fitting for you, and you were happy.

Ransom Drysdale, however, chose a career that was unimaginable. For someone as smart as he was, you had expected he'd be a writer, lawyer, scientist, hell, any damn thing, really. While not insipid, Ransom chose a surprisingly rad career as a mob boss for a huge Vibranium smuggling cartel. And this man who just dragged you out of the restaurant was no boy, nor did he have that pleasant smile. His smile felt too tainted, too twisted. He filled out a grey cashmere sweater, broad and towering, standing almost as tall as Bucky, maybe even on par with Steve's height. You couldn't really tell when he leaned against the lamppost, his shadow grazing your feet.

Ransom raised a challenging eyebrow, pushing the tissue-wrapped cookie toward you.

Was he just carrying them in his expensive coat?

Anyhoo, of course, you took the cookie, mumbling a thanks. It would’ve been rude not to, right?

You loved cookies. Ransom knew that. And so did your men, because Steve’s voice, "Do not eat that" came sharply through your left earpiece--a Starktech microchip, conveniently concealed in your ear, which was covered by your hair.

You flinched, fearing and praying that Steve's hiss did drown in the silence of the night. God, if you could, you'd smack him. Why would he even think you'd eat it?

"Ya know, when I got the call for such a huge quantity, I had to come personally to see who it was. But I did not expect you," Ransom chuckled, munching on a cookie.

Me neither, Ransom. Me neither.

The only reason you were even on this undercover mission was that the guy, "the link," who took the orders had a type, and, quite unfortunately, you fit the bill. So, the team (minus Steve and Bucky, of course, because they were off on another mission, thankfully) had begged you to dress up and spend the evening flirting with some shady asshole to lure him into leading them to the big boss.

Easy peasy, sweetheart. They’d said.

It’s for the people. They’d said.

All you need to do is get him to say the words. They’d said.

You really thought it was a super simple mission, too. If the guy asked too many questions, you just had to convince him of the technical aspects of why you needed so much Vibranium until his brain rotted.

Your role had a character, and she dressed up sexy, too. Me likey, you thought.

And while you were on your way to this fateful mission, Steve and Bucky got back from theirs.

Hell broke loose.

After a horrendous back-and-forth, you tried to convince them you'd be fine. "We got this, we're so close," Nat had exclaimed to your fuming boyfriends.

And you agreed with her. They got this. You believed in their "Easy Peasy" plan. And then Ransom Drysdale strutted up to your table in that fancy restaurant, crumbling the "easy peasy."

"I can't believe my sweet sunshine went rogue," Ransom exclaimed, pushing himself off the lamppost. He sauntered to your side, leaning against the brick wall, facing you with a teasing smile.

You cleared your throat, shrugging, "What can I say? I adapted after the…blip," you said, almost sounding wistful.

Hopefully, you did sound convincing. Gosh, you needed to get paid--preferably a dozen cognitive perception UTMs for your lab-- for all the improv you'd been doing ever since Ransom met you in the fancy restaurant instead of the supposed Edward Silas.

Ransom chuckled, leaning closer with a glint in his eye. "You have a special place in here, sunshine. You know that?" He winked and patted his chest.

Your heart tugged slightly at that.

What can you say?

You were a bit emotional, and those bouts of nostalgic reminiscence spread through your mind like a fog. The warmth of old memories clashed with a growing unease--a fear for yourself and the quiet terror of wondering if your borderline-cavemenish men would burst in, guns blazing.

Ransom was smart, and you'd give him that.

He led you to the side of the restaurant...a real impasse, a pickle of a situation. All three sides were boxed in with towering walls, the back end cluttered with a few garbage bins from the commercial space. The only exit was blocked by Ransom's men, standing stoically, keeping you trapped.

One of Ransom's men stepped forward and murmured something to him, but despite your best effort to listen, the blood pounding in your ears drowned out everything else.

Ransom chuckled softly, nodded, and waved the man away with a casual gesture.

If this went south... Would they make it in time to save you? Ransom had been your friend once. But would that be enough to keep him from pulling the trigger? The thought gnawed at you.

You gulped; this was not what Nat had prepared you for. This was not supposed to happen.

Ransom hadn't said a single incriminating word, no matter how much you had prodded after the initial shock of recognizing each other and the small talk about family. He’d clammed up, keeping everything vague and impenetrable.

You had to get him to talk. You had to.

"And what about you, Ransom?" You asked, trying your damned hardest to keep your tone casual. "What got you into all…this?" you gestured wildly.

Ransom shrugged, offering no answer. "So, what exactly do you need the package for?" He asked instead.

To pack you off to Wakanda so the Dora Milaje would Ka-boom your ass for stealing from them.

But you couldn't obviously tell him that.

"An experiment. I'm a scientist, you see. It's gonna be… let's say…profitable," you grinned conspiratorially, hoping you weren't coming off too creepy.

You immediately felt like you might’ve gone a little too far with the tone, but you held your ground, watching Ransom’s expression. He simply hummed, eyes narrowing slightly as he finished his cookie. He dabbed his mouth with the tissue, carelessly tossing it.

You hated when people did that, and the urge to pick it up and throw it in the bin located a few feet away was itching.

"Don't," Nat's voice came too assured that you were thinking exactly that.

You stifled a curse, resisting the impulse, and cleared your throat instead.

Ransom said nothing, just continuing to stare at you in that almost unnerving way like he knew everything. Did he?

"So…" You started, hoping he'd talk details, plus the silence was killing you.

Ransom’s grin stretched wider like he was really enjoying this conversation. He took another step closer, and your muscles tensed as the guards subtly shifted around. Your heart was pounding so hard, that you were convinced Ransom could hear it.

"Tell you what, honey," Ransom said, straightening up and stepping closer. A couple of his guards shifted forward, and you instinctively flinched.

"Why don't you come over to my place? We have a lot to catch up on, don't we? We can talk about the deal, and I'll personally deliver the package to you," Ransom grinned.

Before you could even begin to respond, Nat’s voice crackled through your earpiece. “Play it cool. Stall. We’re on our way.”

You didn’t even have time to appreciate the reassurance. Your eyes widened, anticipation ate you up like a termite, and you shifted uncomfortably on your feet, trying to compose yourself.

“Umm… sure, I mean, I’ve never done these dealings before,” you stammered, forcing the words out. "It would be a great help. But only if… if it won’t be an issue for you… Do you wanna fix a time? I’m free tomorrow afternoon… or anytime in the week…” You babbled, forcing an awkward laugh, praying your voice didn’t shake.

Ransom’s lips twitched. “Adorable as ever, aren’t you, Angel?” He stepped back, tilting his head. “I told you, you have a special place in my heart. It’s funny you think I haven’t kept tabs on you, sunshine.”

Then, without warning, he pulled a gun from under his coat, pressing it against your side.

Your heart thumped wildly.

“Wh… wh..” You couldn’t even form a sentence, your brain short-circuiting as your mind went blank. In that split second, all you could think of was whispering, I love you to Steve and Bucky.

No. No. No. No.

"I don't wanna hurt you," Ransom said, almost apologetic. "But I have to protect myself, right? So why don't you ask your little boy band to back off before things get ugly?" Ransom's voice was low.

"Ransom."

"Come on, honey. We have so much to catch up on," he said smoothly, gesturing for you to move.

His guards were all ready with guns pointing in various directions.

You complied, walking beside Ransom as he led you toward the car. A guard opened the door, his own gun drawn, facing the street.

"I don't fucking think so," Bucky's voice boomed from behind.

Before you could even think or sigh, Bucky tackled Ransom to the ground out of nowhere, pushing Ransom's gun into your hand.

Then chaos.

In the next few seconds, the fastest action sequence of your entire life unfolded--Clint, Nat, Steve, and Bucky took down Ransom's guards with terrifying efficiency, it was almost mind-bendingly sexy.

Steve strode straight for you while Bucky held Ransom tight, staring him down.

"Buzzkills! You really need to learn to share. I mean, come on...We were having such a fun reunion, weren't we, Sunshine?" Ransom said smugly.

Steve grabbed your hand, firmly pulling you from behind Bucky and took the gun away from your shivering hands.

"Don't worry about the reunion," Bucky gritted, securing Ransom. "There's plenty planned for you, asshole."

And as Ransom was directed into the car, he turned to you and winked, flashing a smug, almost warning smile.

Steve's hold on you tightened.

"You were friends with that shit?" Bucky growled as he walked close to you.

You groaned, faceplanting into Steve’s bicep with a muffled curse, because holy shit…

Well… did you enjoy this crumbly mess?

Wanna be tagged?

@nekoannie-chan   @salvatoreitmeanssaviour   @bitchy-bi-trash   @theallknown213 @tripletstephaniescp   @greatenthusiasttidalwave   @zaraomarrogers   @shadowrose13-blog1   @king814318   @yiiiikesmish @buck-star @thiquefunlover63 @blackhawkfanatic @notsostrangerthing @iamtamera @blackhawkfanatic @pebbles20 @starsrfun   @iwudbutnah @daydreaming-lightly @kpopgirlbtssvt @slytherinmates   @doilooklikeigiveafrack @bubblessunshinehoney @rnurse-kole @astheskycries @unclearblur @saiyanprincessswanie @soelstress @stellar-solar-flare @zandra-42

[tripletstephaniescp]

Oh, my God. This was perfect. I love how she started out thinking she was in control but how he subtlety played along but then the second she cedes control he TOOK control. Amazing.

A Lesson in Temptation

Pairing: Reed Richards x female reader (Professor AU)

Word Count: 1.7K

Summary: You're not happy with the grade you received on your most recent paper in Professor Richards class so you pay him a visit to sort it out (PS these two are already in an established relationship-most likely keeping it quiet lol and she's not necessarily a lot younger than him- as a matter of fact probably a grad student so could be any age you want bc we can go back to school whenever we want! :)

Author's Note: I had originally posted this with Javi in mind but it tanked royally and I just decided to chuck it and then after the Fantastic 4 trailer came out the picture below gave me some simple inspo and I tweaked it a bit and ended up here! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: it has some plot but it's mostly pwp lol, light dirty talk, and dom for both reader and Reed, p in v (wrap it up), and there is softness bc it's me

The faint scent of chalk and something sweeter wafts around you as you step through the door and into his office. Your eyes land on him instantly, and your heart jumps at sight.

He’s sitting behind his desk, leaning back in his chair, hands fiddling with a broken piece of chalk as he stares off at the far wall. His dark hair is tousled as if he’s been running his fingers through it. Your own twitch at your sides.

He looks relaxed, but the frown that pulls at his lips tells you otherwise.

“Professor…” you start. “Are you busy?”

With a hum, his eyes open, meeting yours, their intensity making your steps falter.

“Depends…” he says, not moving from his position.

He remains quiet, his unwavering regard feeling like a physical weight. Your pulse hammers and you step closer, making your way slowly around his desk toward him.

“Sweetheart,” he starts, his tone unexpectedly gentle. “I’m…”

“Stop talking,” you interrupt.

His brows draw together, and his dark gaze follows as you move between his legs.

“What can I do for you?” he asks.

You don’t respond, trailing your fingers down his face and then closing them around his tie, giving it a slight tug to draw him closer. His eyes drift closed, an almost imperceptible sigh escaping his lips as he surrenders to your touch.

You straddle his lap, and his muscles tense under you before he spreads his legs, providing you more space to settle onto him, his hands leaving the armrests to close around your waist.

Your arms wrap around his neck, and you bring yourself closer, chest pressed to his, and lean in, kissing his neck softly.

His eyes open, and he looks at you through long lashes.

“What game are you playing right now, sweetheart?”

You kiss him again, just below his ear, and his breathing grows shallow. His hands flex at your waist and he murmurs your name in warning.

“Be quiet,” you order. “If you don’t like this then stop me. Otherwise, zip it.”

His gaze grows dark with desire, and he stays silent.

Your hands find his tie once again and you fumble with the fabric until you have it untied, opening the top buttons of his shirt so it falls open to expose his chest. His muscles grow taut as you press a hand to his skin before slowly dragging it down to the waistband of his pants.

You keep your eyes locked on his face the entire time, watching him react to your attention. His tongue darts out, wetting his bottom lip in anticipation.

His hands grip your waist, using you as leverage to tilt his hips up, grinding into you.

“No,” you say, pulling your hand from his now open belt.

“I’m going to ride you and you’re going to sit there quietly and keep your hands to yourself.”

His fingers dig into your skin for a moment and then he releases you, returning his hands to the armrests.

You push yourself off him to undress, starting with your shirt, slipping it over your head then moving to the zipper at the back of your skirt. You continue until you’re completely bare, and his heated gaze never leaves an inch of your skin.

Your hands go back to his belt, unbuckling it until his cock springs free, hot, and thick between your fingers. You can’t hide your reaction, your lips parting and your breath catching in your throat.

“Stay dressed,” you tell him, trying to keep yourself in control.

He smirks and shifts in the chair, so you have more room to sit. You place your hands on his shoulders, using him for balance as you straddle him again.

With an unsteady breath your gaze catches his and you reach between your bodies, taking him in your hand. At first you tease him, rubbing the head of his cock along your wetness until it coats him.

He lets out a low, impatient groan and his knuckles turn white with the grip he has on the chair.

You sink onto him, taking him all at once and relishing in the burning stretch. He inhales sharply and you watch the muscles in his throat work with his hard swallow. To his credit he remains still as you adjust to him, your legs already shaking.

“I love you like this Professor,” you whisper, lifting yourself.

He moans in response, and you sink back down. Increasing the pace, you slide up and down, gasping softly at the feel of him so deep. Every roll of your hips pulls another sultry sound from his parted lips.

Your fingers ghost along the broad width of his shoulders and down across the open buttons of his shirt. He bucks his hips, but you remind him not to move with a breathless warning.

His body trembles, the veins in his forearms prominent with his exertion of restraint. The sight has you moving faster, the need to watch him unravel making you frantic.

“Kiss me.”

He wastes no time in bringing his lips to yours, kissing you roughly and desperately. You spread your legs wider, trying to take him deeper and deeper. He lets out a hoarse groan against your lips, catching your bottom lip between his teeth and biting down.

His breathing becomes more labored, his moans increasing in between kisses as you roll your hips. You break the kiss, taking his jaw in your hand.

“Look at me. Tell me how good this is.”

His broken moan is all you hear before he finds his words.

“You have no idea how good this is, how good you feel gorgeous. I can’t get enough.”

He bucks his hips again, his restraint slipping.

“Don’t,” you warn.

His head falls back, and you lean forward to lay kisses and soft nips along his neck.

“I need you to do something for me Professor Richards,” you say, forcing yourself to focus.

His only response is the slight tilt of his head as sweat begins to bead along his brow.

“The grade you gave me on my gravitational lensing paper…”

His brows furrow, a small sign that he’s pushing through his haze of pleasure. You slow your movements to a teasing pace, making him savor every roll of your hips.

“I need you to change it.”

His parted lips move but nothing more than a strangled groan passes them, and you stop your movements.

“Well?”

“Why would I do that gorgeous?”

His voice is strained, and you start to pick up your pace again as you drag your nails down his chest and press your lips to his jaw, tracing the strong outline until you meet his ear.

“Because I should have gotten an A+.”

He growls out a curse but doesn’t respond so you stop moving again.

“Say you’ll do it, and I’ll let you touch me,” you purr.

With his jaw clenched tightly he holds your gaze, eyes dark and full of heat.

“Fine,” he hisses. “Now…say it. Tell me I can touch you.”  

You nod, feeling your release build.

“Say it!” he hisses.

“Touch me Professor.”

One of his hands grabs your ass, gripping it tightly, and he rises from the chair throwing you down on his desk. He spreads your legs, angling them back to push deeper.

He pounds into you, and you cry out at the intensity of his pace, loving how he’s taking over complete control now. He gathers your wrists in his hand and pins them above your head. His free hand slips between your legs to rub your clit.

You close your eyes, trying to breathe through the overwhelming sensations, feeling your orgasm grow closer. Your back bows as it washes over you, but he doesn’t slow his pace, his dark hair sticking to his forehead as he grunts, “again.”

Your eyes fly open. “I can’t Reed,” you pant.

“You can baby.”

His fingers continue to work over your clit, swollen and oversensitive.

“You’re going to come for me again,” he murmurs. “Beg me for it.”

“Reed…”

“That wasn’t a request,” he warns, and he slams into you hard enough to move the desk.

“Please,” you whisper.

“Louder,” he says.

“PLEASE!”

“You can do better than that gorgeous.”

“Please make me come Professor.”

He strokes you a few more times, pushing deep, and you come around him, feeling your legs give out even under his support.

His jaw tightens and his low rumbling grunt is all the warning you get before he spills inside you, filling you up.

He lets go of your legs, gently resting them along the desk on either side of him and leans over you. He presses butterfly kisses to your collarbone, lazily rocking inside you before pulling out.

After cleaning you up he helps you to stand, tucking you against his chest and pressing his warm palm to your cheek, sweeping his thumb along your jaw then kisses the soft skin below your ear.

“Is this how you plan to beg for all your grades from now on?”

“No.”

He smirks and you dip your head to his neck, burying it there with an inhale. His thumb brushes the inside of your wrist as he takes your hand in his, kissing each fingertip.

“I knew what you were up to the moment you walked in here,” he whispers.

“That’s why you gave me a B…you knew I’d march down here to get what I deserve.”

“Whatever the reason you came here I wouldn’t have been able to stop you anyway sweetheart.”

You pull back, searching his gaze, a sassy quip at his soft words dying on your tongue at the unbridled desire you find in his eyes.

“You have a dangerous amount of power over me…and all I want is more of you,” he murmurs against your lips.

[tripletstephaniescp]

Rapidly becoming some of my fav people.

Obsidian Stain & Sin Series

tattoo artist modern au

Getting your first tattoo at the Obsidian Stain & Sin Studio turns out to be a decision that has a lasting effect.

Pairings: Ari Levinson x curvy Female!Reader x Curtis Everett

Content Warnings: [check individual parts for their respective warnings] explicit smut, mfm threesome, questionable initial consent

SERIES: ↠ Obsidian Stain and Sin [8.1k] ↠ Taking You Home [6.2k] ↠ Worship in the Bedroom [3.3k] ↠ Get Closer to Me [5.8k] ↠ Sleeplessly Embracing You [2.4k] - CURTIS POV more coming soon

EXTRAS: ↠ making pasta from scratch

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest Chris Evans Characters Collection

[tripletstephaniescp]

Love you right back!

Tag-list Update!

I’m trying Google doc because Google form has been giving me a headache. So, please take a moment and add yourself underneath the characters you wanna be tagged for. I’ve added a few of you from my previous list. Please go through and edit your username to reflect any characters you want to be added or removed.

It was about time, and I’m sorry for tagging you in things you didn’t want to be tagged in. I hope this sorts everything out.

Feel free to reach out to me if you have any questions! I'll be happy to help ☺️

Thank you for taking the time! I appreciate you all so much 🥹🫂

~

I’m adding my current taglist here and in the reblog because Tumblr has a '50-tags only' limit! ☺️✨ Thank you for all the love and support--you keep me going, my loves! 🥹🙂‍↕️

@nekoannie-chan @salvatoreitmeanssaviour @bitchy-bi-trash @theallknown213 @tripletstephaniescp @rogerscut @greatenthusiasttidalwave @zaraomarrogers @shadowrose13-blog1 @king814318 @yiiiikesmish @steviebbboi @bernelflo @saiyanprincessswanie @blushingrn @looking1016 @mimisweetz @navyhua23 @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @shadyloveobjects @alexxavicry @astheskycries @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @patzammit @soelstress @8crazy-freak8 @stellar-solar-flare @stuckysgal @bval-1 @slowlyshycomputer @rogersbarber @avengersfan25

[tripletstephaniescp]

It's perfect for me. 🥰🥰🥰🥰

Tag-list Update!

I’m trying Google doc because Google form has been giving me a headache. So, please take a moment and add yourself underneath the characters you wanna be tagged for. I’ve added a few of you from my previous list. Please go through and edit your username to reflect any characters you want to be added or removed.

It was about time, and I’m sorry for tagging you in things you didn’t want to be tagged in. I hope this sorts everything out.

Feel free to reach out to me if you have any questions! I'll be happy to help ☺️

Thank you for taking the time! I appreciate you all so much 🥹🫂

~

I’m adding my current taglist here and in the reblog because Tumblr has a '50-tags only' limit! ☺️✨ Thank you for all the love and support--you keep me going, my loves! 🥹🙂‍↕️

@nekoannie-chan @salvatoreitmeanssaviour @bitchy-bi-trash @theallknown213 @tripletstephaniescp @rogerscut @greatenthusiasttidalwave @zaraomarrogers @shadowrose13-blog1 @king814318 @yiiiikesmish @steviebbboi @bernelflo @saiyanprincessswanie @blushingrn @looking1016 @mimisweetz @navyhua23 @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @shadyloveobjects @alexxavicry @astheskycries @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @patzammit @soelstress @8crazy-freak8 @stellar-solar-flare @stuckysgal @bval-1 @slowlyshycomputer @rogersbarber @avengersfan25

[tripletstephaniescp]

I really do hate the orange turd.

[tripletstephaniescp]

So soft and fluffy.

Puppy Love

Pairing: Curtis Everett x Fem!Reader x Jake Jensen Word Count: 2,566 Summary: With each passing day, you, Curtis, and Jake settle more and more into your new routine as a pack. Warnings: Explicit sexual content. Explicit language. A/B/O. M/F/M. Pet play elements. Lots of praise. Even more fluff. Also a ridiculous amount of hand holding. Vaginal fingering.   

A/N: I was pleasantly surprised that PT!Curtis & Jake won my recent poll! I hope you enjoy their next installment ❤️

POUND TOWN MASTERLIST

You angled the three pillows together, shaping them into an almost headboard. Taking an extra moment to fluff them in a way that made them look even more cozy, you lingered–uncertain–before finally stepping back. 

“How’s that?” you asked, shyly peeking up at Jake as he stood beside you in the master bedroom.

His smile was beaming, lighting up his whole face as he earnestly replied, “I think it looks perfect, omega.”

The happy chirp was quick to rise up your throat and bubble free, and Jake’s smile turned soft as he wrapped his free arm around your back and tugged you against him. 

“Are you sure I did it right?” you fretted as your judgmental gaze flickered back to the nest you had fashioned in your, Jake, and Curtis’ bed. 

“You did it just like the video tutorial,” Jake promised, holding up the tablet in his other hand that he had used to help you learn how to make a nest properly.

Like a good omega.

Because that’s all you wanted - to be a good omega, the best omega, because that’s what your new alpha and beta deserved. 

You had only been with them for about a month now, but you already felt like you truly belonged here with them. You also felt like you had stepped into an actual dream, as each day, Jake and Curtis treated you like the most precious, cherished gift. 

Like today, when you had shyly asked Jake if he could help you learn how to make a nest so you could surprise Curtis with it once he got home from work.

Jake hadn’t judged you or your request at all! He hadn’t made you feel stupid because you didn’t know how to do something so basic. In fact, Jake had seemed genuinely excited that you asked him for help to learn this new thing, and you were all the more smitten with him because of it.

“Maybe we could make some videos,” Jake muttered quietly.

“Huh?” you looked over at him, surprised to see his eyes wide and his face turning bright red. 

“Uh, sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.” He gave a short laugh, before jostling you against him and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Ignore my lizard brain, pretty girl, sometimes I can’t control it, especially when it comes to you.”

You felt your insides flutter at the use of “lizard brain.” That was something you had heard Jake say a few times now, usually when sex was involved.

It took a second, but you put two and two together, remembering Jake’s words and the video you had watched together a bit ago. 

“You want to make a video of us…doing…you know?” An embarrassed and excited kind of heat flooded your face at the very idea, and it looked like Jake wasn’t fairing much better.

“Uh…”

Before he could get much further than that, you heard the sound of the front door opening, and your heart skipped a beat. 

“Curtis is home!” you squealed, grabbing Jake’s hand and pulling him along with you as you hurried out of the bedroom and downstairs to greet your alpha.

Curtis had barely shrugged off his coat before you were pouncing on him and hugging him tight. You breathed in his scent so deeply that it made you dizzy, but you didn’t mind one bit as you popped your head up to meet your alpha’s warm, blue gaze.

“Hi, alpha,” you whispered. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, sweet omega,” he rumbled back. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, Curtis smoothed a hand over your head, his amused gaze flickering to Jake, who was openly grinning.

Neither of them had actually commented on it, but they loved this trait of yours - how excited you got when one of them arrived home from being out. You were always so quick to greet them at the door with a hug and your warm gaze and quiet, “I missed you.” 

It reminded them both of a loyal, overexcited puppy, and they absolutely adored it. 

“Hey, bub,” Curtis greeted Jake. “Did you two have a good day?”

Because you sort of had a routine now. 

Jake worked from home, doing tech work for a company based out in California, so his days were usually flexible, and the remote work allowed him to stay home with you. 

As a railroad engineer, Curtis was usually gone for most of the day, and sometimes well into the night if he had to travel for his job, and as much as he seemed to enjoy his career, he seemed almost relieved–and very much at peace–once he was home with you and Jake.

“Yeah,” Jake shrugged. “My workload was light so we just hung out most of the day and…” he trailed off, realizing he didn’t want to spoil your surprise.

When his eyes met yours and he cocked his head in question, you immediately followed his train of thought, perking up with a happy, excited sound as you took a step back and eagerly grabbed Curtis’ hand.

“I have a surprise for you!” you were nearly vibrating as you bounced in place. “Can I show you? Please? Can I?”

Lips twitching into a smile, Curtis nodded, laughing quietly as you squeed and turned to pull him upstairs, Jake trailing you both.

Once you were in the bedroom, you stood close to Curtis' side, gazing up at him as his eyes took inventory of the nest you had crafted. 

“You made this for us?” he murmured, his eyes finding yours as his hand touched your back, warming the spot between your shoulders.

You nodded, feeling shy again as Curtis’ gaze returned to the bed. “Do you like it?”

“Sweetheart, I love it,” he smiled down at you. “It’s perfect, just like you.”

Your chirp escaped just before Curtis’ lips touched yours. The kiss was soft and tender, and had your belly somersaulting as you leaned into him more to return his affection.

Humming as he pulled away, Curtis rubbed your back, his eyes so fond as he met your floaty gaze. “Thank you for making us a nest, omega. I can’t wait to curl up in it tonight with you both.”

At the mere thought, a trill fell from your lips–the sound new, even to you–and it immediately had Curtis and Jake converging on you as one for a thorough smushing.

“God, she’s so sweet,” Jake murmured as he nosed along the crown of your head. 

The room began to grow heavy with all of your scents flooding the space, and after a long moment, Curtis sighed before straightening. “Alright, let’s order some dinner and get our sweet girl fed before we lose an entire night to…shenanigans.” 

He gave both you and Jake a faux stern look that had you giggling and Jake trying to look innocent and failing miserably, because the two of you were usually the cause for said shenanigans–most often of the sexual variety–and you both knew it. 

Wanting to obey your alpha, you took his hand in yours, your free one reaching for Jake. “What should we order for dinner?”

“Whatever you want,” Jake and Curtis answered at the same time, and you had to bite back a sound of joy as you allowed them to wrangle you between them and lead you downstairs. 

Even better than your daytime routine with Jake was your evening, pre-bed routine with both Curtis and Jake.

Because it included bath time, which was your absolute favorite. 

So, a few hours after dinner, when Curtis turned off the TV and took your hand to lead you upstairs, you were practically buzzing in anticipation as he led you into the beautiful bathroom just off the bedroom. 

Jake moved past the two of you, turning on the tub and adding your favorite bubble bath. The scent immediately began to fill the vicinity and had you chirping happily as Curtis gently held each of your hands in each of his, waiting.

Your eyes drifted from his beautiful face down to his neck, to where the imprint of your teeth was nicely healing and balancing out Jake’s own bondmark on the other side. Simply looking at your mark on your alpha’s throat had you becoming even more aware of the bond between the three of you.

All of the sudden, now that you were focusing on it, you were nearly bowled over by the feelings flooding through the connection you had with your alpha and beta. 

You could feel Curtis’ almost feral fondness for you, as well as the undercurrent of desire and attraction for you that was always there, a part of him now, just like you were a part of his life, and his pack. 

Jake’s energy was more excitable and uninhibited. You could feel his emotions ping ponging all over the place - joy to be here with both you and Curtis, excitement for bath time and to see you naked, how much he was looking forward to caretaking you in this way, and–much like Curtis–that underlying affection and lust for you always.  

Suddenly, the added heat at your back signaling Jake’s arrival had you blinking back to full awareness, and you shivered as your eyes flickered up to Curtis’. His gaze was much darker than before, and knowing. 

You realized that he could probably feel the way you were just probing your bond with them both–and reveling in it–still in awe that they were yours and you were theirs and you were all connected in this deep, eternal way now.

A pack.

Your pack.

You were sure that all of the feelings rising up within you, as well as slight embarrassment at being caught lost to the bond, was now flooding the bond, but it still didn’t deter your ever focused alpha from the task at hand. 

“Sweet omega,” Curtis husked, ducking down to kiss the tip of your nose. “Ready for your bath?”

You nodded so eagerly, it got a laugh from them both, and then their hands were moving as one. Jake tugged your cute little graphic tee over your head as Curtis pulled down your leggings. 

Your nipples pebbled hard when Jake let loose a happy hum once he undid your bra and tossed it aside. Gasping as his big, warm hands rounded your chest to palm your breasts, you blinked owlishly, catching Curtis’ gaze from where he was crouched down before you, slowly tugging down your panties. When his nostrils flared, you knew he was breathing in the scent of your cunt, and you couldn’t help but whine, your bath suddenly forgotten as your need for them hit you like a freight train.

“Not quite that kind of night, sweetheart,” Curtis winked at you, slowly rising to his feet. “Jake,” his voice was a little more stern as he said your beta’s name, and Jake’s hands instantly froze in their groping of your tits.

“Sorry, I can’t help it,” he pouted at your back before his touch slowly fell away.

Curtis chuckled. “I know you can’t, but let’s get her in the tub first, before the water goes cold.”

They moved as one again to get you settled into the tub, and you hummed at the way the hot water engulfed your body, soothing away all the bits of tension you didn’t even realize you carried until now. 

Jake got to the brightly colored loofah first, grinning at Curtis’ amused look as he reached for the bottle of body wash and squirted some onto the little scrubber. He was gentle as he began to clean you, his gaze lingering on your boobs, which were just visible above the surface of the bubble-filled bath water. 

You caught his gaze, smiling shyly at his attention, and then you were gasping out a quiet, “Oh,” as Curtis’ fingers were suddenly beneath the water and trailing up your cunt.

“Hey!” Jake squawked. “I thought it wasn’t that kind of night!” 

“It's not that kind of night, but this kind of night,” Curtis smirked. “Besides, we want our sweet omega to relax fully, don’t we?”

“Yeah,” Jake nodded without hesitation. His smile was encouraging as he eased you back against the tub wall, where the soft tub pillow was awaiting you. 

Without needing to be asked, you spread your legs to give Curtis more room to work with, a quiet keen escaping you when his fingers circled your clit and had what felt like electricity zipping through your entire body as a result. 

By the time two of his long, thick fingers were filling your cunt and curling to find that spongy spot that made you whimper, Jake had abandoned the loofah altogether to pluck and tug at your hard nipples with his fingers instead.

It took barely a few moments of their combined attention to have you cumming around Curtis’ fingers, your hand reaching for Jake and holding on tight as your body trembled and tightened with wave after wave of pleasure.

And, as per usual after orgasming, you were floaty and sleepy, having barely any recollection at all of your two loves rinsing you off before helping you from the cooling tub.

You could only blink owlishly, a small, dreamy smile curling your lips as Curtis coached you through brushing your teeth before leading you back into the bedroom and drying you off. Then Jake was before you, eagerly applying your moisturizing body cream before Curtis appeared from the walk in closet with a soft, cozy nightgown to dress you in.

You became a little more aware once they turned you toward the bed and your nest came into view. You smiled at them both before carefully climbing into the center of it, then turning your expectant gaze to them.

Sharing a soft smile, Jake and Curtis joined you in bed, one on either side of you, and for the very first time, you were sharing a real nest–made by you–with your alpha and beta.

“See, it’s perfect for us,” Curtis praised as he tugged your favorite blanket up to cover the three of you. 

“You did such a good job,” Jake murmured as he gently caressed your head. “Look at how well you’re taking care of us, giving us our very first nest ever.”

Happy tears blurred your vision as you snuggled between them, so beyond content and filled with joy, that you swore your heart was fit to burst. One of your hands reached for one of theirs, and you took a turn pressing a gentle kiss to each of their knuckles before hugging their hands to your chest as you sank further into the nest.

“I love you both so much,” you murmured sleepily, your happy scent flooding the space as Jake and Curtis shared a look of soft elation. “Thank you for picking me.”

As your heavy eyes blinked shut and stayed that way, your foggy mind descending closer and closer to sleep, you felt your two loves move even closer. Gently sandwiching you between their big bodies, they each echoed your declaration with one of their own before softly petting and caressing you until you fell into a deep, restful sleep. 

🥹🥹🥹 This was basically just pure fluff with a hint of horny, but I don’t think you’ll mind. Please take a moment to drop me some feedback! Thank you for reading! ❤️

—

I no longer do tag lists, but if you'd like to be notified when I post new writing, follow my side blog @‌sirisshamelesshoelibrary​ and turn on notifications to get pinged when I drop some new hoe fuel 😘

Please note that I do not give permission for my work to be translated, reposted, or published anywhere other than my Tumblr. I also do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI platforms. Reblogs are most welcome and encouraged though! ❤️

[tripletstephaniescp]

So soft and loving. I love these two.

Band-aids (2)

Summary: Your alpha needs you again.

Pairing: Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader

Warnings: a little injury, dramatic omega, overprotective omega, fluff, a little blood, pregnant omega

Catch up here: Band-aids

“Crap!” Bucky exclaims loudly. He wanted to build up the furniture for the nursery and ended up hitting his thumb with a rubber hammer. “Stop resisting. I need to finish the cradle too.”

Bucky fights with one of the shelves you bought for all the toys and plushies he bought after getting to know you’re pregnant. Your alpha loves to go on a shopping spree for his first child.

“Bucky? Alpha!” You storm into the room, the first aid kit clutched to your chest. “Where does it hurt? What happened? Did you get hurt? Are you bleeding? Where’s the wound?

You’re working yourself up once again. Not weeks ago, you freaked out over a scratch, and now you are close to tears seeing the tiny wound on Bucky’s thumb.

“Uh—it’s nothing,” Bucky lies. He tries to hide his bleeding finger, but you won’t have it.

Faster than expected from a pregnant omega, you wrap your hand around his wrist to inspect the wound. You sniffle but try not to cry. The wound is nothing to worry about, but you’ve been hormonal these past days.

“You’ve got hurt again,” you tear up. “Oh no. Wait. Let me get the sanitizer and sterile swabs. I’ll take good care of you.”

“Y/N. Omega,” Bucky sighs. “It’s nothing. I hit my thumb with the rubber hammer.” He smiles as you struggle to keep yourself from wrapping him in a blanket and make sure he won’t get hurt ever again. “Baby, I want you to take a deep breath.”

Your lips wobble, and you sniffle as Bucky trusts his bleeding thumb into his mouth. He chuckles around his thumb as you gasp loudly. There’s mischief in his blue eyes, but you don’t care.

“No! Don’t do this! That’s unhygienic, Alpha!” You tug at his wrist to get his thumb out of his mouth. “Bucky.” You whine and cry. “Never do this again.”

“Baby doll,” Bucky softly speaks to you. He knows you’re hormonal and can’t think straight whenever he gets hurt. “How about I let you clean the wound and take care of it?”

Bucky ends up on the armchair you bought for the nursery before he can protest. You carefully push him onto the seat, humming happily as you open the first aid kit.

Your alpha watches you open a package with sterile wipes, a soft smile on his face. His chest swells as you gently clean his wound.

“What do you say, doll? Will I make it?” He tries to be funny, but your features sadden at his question.

“Bucky, don’t make fun of it. You got hurt. Again. I don’t like it when you get hurt.” Bucky nods slowly. He knows you’re not talking about the tiny wound on his thumb, but the wounds he got during fights with his enemies. You still remember every bruise, cut, and broken bone the monsters from his past caused.

“Doll, I’m sorry for worrying you so much. I didn’t want to hit my thumb with the hammer.”

“I should stay around to make sure you’re not getting hurt again,” you say while putting a band-aid on the wound on his thumb. “It’s decided; I’ll stay here with my first aid kit.”

Tags in reblog.

[tripletstephaniescp]

These two are hilariously sweet.

Bucky & Ducky (3) - Growing friendship

Summary: Bucky Barnes. Ruthless mafia boss. Soft only for his wife and…well, Ducky.

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Side pairing: Mobster!Bucky Barnes x Ducky the duck

Warnings: mafia business, fluff, unusual friendship

A/N: Thanks to @buck-star for the idea and brainstorming with me. I did it…😅

Catch up here: Bucky & Ducky (2) - Warming up

Bucky & Ducky Masterlist

“Morning, handsome,” you coo as your husband walks toward you. He looks handsome as ever in his tailored suit and with his neatly styled hair. “What are you up to today, Mr. Barnes?”

“First of all,” he chuckles and cups your face. “I’ll kiss my beautiful wife.” Bucky kisses you softly, smirking against you. “And then, I have a meeting with Steve and Sam. We want to discuss a few things—”

You press your index finger to his lips to stop Bucky from talking too much about the business. House rules – no talking about his business, yelling, or violence.

“What are you up to today, doll? How about you have a spa day? I want you to relax and have a day off.” Bucky pecks your nose, earning a giggle. “I mean it, baby doll. You work so hard and take care of the house, garden, and me.”

“Oh, Ducky! Why are you here, sweetie?” You gasp watching your newest family member waddle toward your husband. You put the duckling into a small plastic tub in the kitchen, but Ducky has other plans. The duckling quacks loudly, demanding Bucky’s attention.

Your husband crouches down to pick up the tiny duckling. “Punk, what are you doing here? Don’t you want to take a nice bath?”

The duckling snuggles into Bucky’s hand and quacks loudly. “Uh—I think Ducky believes you’re his mom or dad.” You smile softly. Your heart melts watching your husband, the dangerous mafia boss, care for a duckling. “What now? The little one won’t be happy if you leave now.”

Bucky looks at you and then at the duckling in his hands. He sighs because the tiny creature looks up at him like an innocent child. “Alright, Ducky. Let’s go to work together then.”

“What?”

“Can you hold them for a moment, doll?” Bucky carefully hands you the duckling to put his coat and scarf on. “Hmm…wait. I can’t take Ducky with me like this. They are going to freeze.”

“I could put them into a box with a blanket,” you offer.

“I’ve got this, doll,” Bucky jogs back upstairs to walk into your bedroom. He gets one of his scarves. He smirks as his eyes land on one of your plushies. A bear wearing a tiny bowtie. “Oh, look at that, Ducky.” He hums before grabbing the bear.

Bucky walks back downstairs, the scarf tugged under his arm, and a tiny bowtie dangling from his finger.

“Now we can go to work, punk,” Bucky says as he puts the tiny bowtie around Ducky’s neck. “You look good. A heartbreaker, just like your daddy.”

“Buck, what are you doing?” You snort watching Bucky wrap the scarf around the duckling. “Maybe Ducky should stay here with me.”

“No, it’s decided. We will go to work and have a blast messing with Sam, and maybe Steve too.” He holds Ducky in one hand, to cup your chin with his free hand. “Have a good day, baby doll. I’ll be back in no time.”

Bucky kisses you softly. He reluctantly steps away and turns to leave your home, Ducky still in his hand.

“Have a good day too, Bucky and Ducky,” you giggle and laugh as your husband, the ruthless mobster, is carrying a duckling around.

“Morning, Steve, Sam,” Bucky nods at his friends and partners in crime. He throws his scarf and coat on the couch at his office and wants to go straight to talking about business.

“Uh—Buck,” Steve laughs and points at something on the ground. “What’s that?”

“What is what?” Bucky looks around the room until his eyes land on Ducky. The duckling stands next to his foot, still wearing the tiny bowtie.

Sam snorts. “Bucky, are you blind? There is a yellow thing on your shoe!”

“Sam, Steve,” Bucky clears his throat as he points at the ducking. “Meet Ducky, our newest family member. He wanted to see my office.”

“That’s a duckling,” Sam chuckles. He holds his stomach before bursting into laughter. “…and…and…it’s wearing a bowtie!”

“Buck, be honest with us,” Steve says and places his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Y/N brought that little thing home, am I right?”

“She saved Ducky,” Bucky huffs when his friends stare at him as if he lost his mind. “They wanted to kill him because he was the weakest. She brought him home.”

“Why in the world would you put a bowtie on that thing?” Sam crouches down to look at Ducky. “Is it just me or does the duckling look pissed?”

“He looks pissed because you keep calling him a thing!” Bucky crouches down to pick Ducky up and places him on the couch.

“You’re carrying around a duckling,” Steve points out. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“I love Y/N and, he didn’t want to stay at home. I guess Ducky sees me as his father or something.” Bucky narrows his eyes at Sam, who tries to grab Ducky to get a better look at the duckling. “Hands off. No one touches Ducky!”

“Calm down,” Sam backpaddles, but laughs about Bucky’s reaction. “I only wanted to get a better look at the duckling.”

“How about we go back to work and talk about business.” Steve tries not to laugh when Ducky quacks loudly. “I hope he’s domesticated.”

“He won’t poop on your jacket, Steve.” Bucky grins at his friend. “Just you know, no one is going to disrespect Ducky. He’s part of the family now.”

He glances at Sam, giving him a stern look. Sam shows his palms and huffs. “Whatever, man. If your duckling is part of the family, it is part of the family…”

“Honey, we are home!” Bucky walks into the bedroom, Ducky in his arms. “We had a fruitful meeting with Steve and Sam.”

You smirk, watching your husband place Ducky on your bed. “I ran a bath for you. The water is nice and warm. I didn’t add bath salt this time. In case Ducky wants to join you.”

Bucky grins and picks Ducky back up. “What do you say, buddy? Do we want to take a bath before dinner?”

[tripletstephaniescp]

I can imagine how that one generous act would change everything for Bucky. Really beautiful thought you had.

You know what I was thinking of all day? Comforting our sad baby Bucky who just wants a hug. He's tired from a bad mission. His body aches. He saw things he didn't want to. He could really just use something.

Even just a smile?

He doesn't have a lot of friends and most people around the compound outside of the team avoid him. Even those who'd worked with him for ages were still wary, scared he'd snap if they just asked how he's doing. He would have liked it, even just a hello in passing. When he walks by with a scowl on his face, no one meets his eye. If they did, they would have seen the storm that was brewing inside was not an angry one.

He just needed to be held.

When he continues to make his way towards his room, he's given a few nods from a couple of teammates but he knows they're doing it while holding their breath. He reaches his room and the damn is about to break, he hasn't been held in years, he feels so cold and empty, was he really so terrifying, no one would-

"Sergeant Barnes?"

A gentle voice calls for him, forcing him to swallow the lump in his throat. He knows that voice, mustering his best smile as he turns around to find Tony's lab assistant with a cup of chamomile tea in his mug and a file with the mission report he was supposed to fill out.

"Everyone's filling their reports in the conference room, I figured you'd rather have some privacy so I thought I'd bring it to you" You give him the same warm smile you grace everyone with, handing him the steaming cup, "and of course, your favourite"

It's too much. Normally it wouldn't be but he's never given such kindness but he always gets it from you. You're so unbelievably affectionate to everyone and he really doesn't feel worthy but today he needs it so he graciously accepts the tea and file with a soft thank you.

"and call me Bucky, doll"

You stiffen at the slight crack in his voice, frowning when he keeps his eyes trained to the floor. It wasn't unusual for Bucky to keep to himself but you catch his reddened nose and glassy baby blues and it breaks your heart.

He opens the door to enter his room ready to drown in a lonely storm when that voice calls again. Surely he was dreaming. He sets down his things, turning to find you still at his door.

"Bucky?" You enter his room, standing before him when he doesn't ask you to leave, "Are you okay?"

He doesn't trust himself, nodding and desperately blinking back tears. He wished you'd leave, he wished you'd stay, he wished he could just tell you what he needed, his hands fisted into balls by his side, he should just suck it up, what was he expecting-

"Come here" You whisper, your hand coming to cradle the back of his head, bringing it to rest into your neck where he can let go, your arms wrapping around his body.

Bucky doesn't get a chance to realize what's happening because as soon as he feels your touch the first sob escapes. He's hidden himself away in your hold, his tears wetting your skin with no remorse. He clings onto you like a lifeline while you coo and comfort him, playing with his hair and rubbing his back.

You don't let go, allowing him to cry for as long as he needs. Even after his cries turn into sniffles, you comfort him, pressing a kiss to his temple while he holds you extra tight.

When he's finally ready to let go, albeit reluctantly, he's instantly shused from trying to apologize. You don't ask questions asking what happened or why he was upset. It really didn't matter. You just knew. Bucky whispers a thank you, making a mental note to get you some flowers to properly showed you how much he appreciated it.

Of course you'd always just know when he needed it so he'd thank you again with coffee.

Dinner.

Dinner again.

Eventually, a ring.

You always knew what he needed.

A hug.

That was all.

[tripletstephaniescp]

This was so much fun to read. I love how completely taken aback he was with his emotions. I imagine he will get away with very little with her by his side. Great story and great writing as always.

The Curious Affairs of Mr. Holmes

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x F!Reader Warnings: Fluff | Romance | Angry Sherlock is a hot man, alright | Madly in-love Sherlock | Smug Mr. Holmes | Possessive Sherlock | Smidge of Angst | Kiss | Loose depiction of era-specific knowledge | My first ever time writing this man, so, kindly forgive me of any indiscretions | ~4k | Lemme know if I am missing anything. A/N: I was innocently writing for Steve & Ari when, during a short break, I was randomly dusting off old docs and guess what I found? 🤭😏 I thought, why not share it with you all! This man has my thoughts twisted in ways I can't untangle. There are definitely some errors you might find in here, but I will tend to them as soon as I can. Please do leave your thoughts if this remotely piqued your fancy! It would mean so, so much. 🩷 Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! Banner and Divider credits to me. Photo credits to the internet. Thank you :) Check out my other works: Masterlist

Indulge Away!

According to Sherlock, love is a dangerous disadvantage. He was soon going to learn that the heart, once moved by love, is no longer its own master; it beats to another’s rhythm.

For Sherlock, it began as a matter of inconvenience.

One dreary afternoon, caught in the relentless downpour, he sought shelter at the quaint little bookshop tucked between the bustling streets. The sign reading George's Bookshop was familiar to him, as he'd passed it countless times before, though he had never ventured inside.

He expected to find an older man, a bit stooped with age, who walked with a slight limp. But as he pushed open the door, the scene inside caught him entirely off guard. Instead of the elderly man he knew should be there by his mere deduction, Sherlock found you.

You were seated behind the counter, your face resting lightly on your left palm, gloveless, hair unruly and cascading around your shoulders, deeply engrossed in a book.

You did not immediately notice him, but Sherlock took his time admiring, or rather analyzing. The way the dim light from the shop caught your features, the stillness of your form, so divine. He felt the same sensations burgeon and spread as when he played his violin.

After a moment, your gaze lifted from the page, and your eyes met his. There was no dramatic reaction, no eager recognition of him as the famous detective Sherlock Holmes, something that he was more accustomed to.

Your gaze briefly flickered at him and then to the rain outside. You gave him a barely-there smile, one that seemed to acknowledge his presence. Then, without another glance, you returned to your book.

Sherlock, usually so composed, felt his rational mind falter. His heart quickened; an emotion far more complicated than curiosity—or perhaps even desire— gripped him.

That fleeting moment of your look had undone him. He battled internally as he calmly stood there and stared at your beautiful form.

And it bothered him.

No.

No one should hold such power over his heart. It was just a mere sense of indifference that made him uncomfortable, restive, and skittish.

Yes, perhaps that was it. No, most certainly, that was it.

With that conviction, he waltzed into the street and walked home drenched in the chilling rain.

~

The days that followed were filled with unwelcome and persistent thoughts of you. The logical part of his mind told him to dismiss the feelings that clouded his thoughts, but he found it increasingly impossible to reason with logic.

And so, Sherlock returned to your bookshop, determined to understand this inexplicable sensation.

This time, you stood by the large bookcase in the corner of the room, and when you heard him enter, you walked around the shelf and stood before his large form confidently, curiously, gorgeously.

You cast a look outside and then at him and smiled. Sherlock's poor heart withered like a prune and galloped like a horse. He'd never felt such conflicting sensations in the entirety of his life from another human.

"You should have carried an umbrella, sir," You spoke as you walked away to the trolley where you set the books.

When he stood motionless, you peeked at him again.

"You seem lost," You murmured as you arranged the books. "Though I wonder, whether in direction or intention."

Sherlock frowned.

The words reverberated, piercing through his inner turmoil. He cleared his throat and clenched his fists, a practiced habit when his thoughts threatened to spiral.

He didn't speak for a whole minute, and you had rolled the trolley to its place in the corner and walked around him to seat yourself at the chair behind the table.

"Do you make a habit of standing idly in bookshops, sir, or have I the honor of being your first victim?" Your tone was light, though you eyed him curiously.

He straightened his shoulders, finding his footing. "Not idly, I assure you. My standing here is quite deliberate."

"Oh?" you mused, tilting your head slightly. "And what does this deliberate visit seek to uncover?" A lock of hair fell over the side of your cheek, and he had the urge to push it back and caress your skin.

It stirred something in him. He stepped closer, hoping to be graceful yet restrained, careful not to disrupt the tenderness and do something entirely unruly.

"I seek... context," he said finally, staring at your beautiful eyes.

"Context for what?" you asked, one brow arching slightly as you leaned casually against the counter.

"For why someone as..." He paused, searching for the right word. Intriguing? Divine? Painfully gorgeous?

"...as unexpected as yourself would be here, in a place like this."

You laughed softly, the sound warming his insides, and Sherlock was certain he'd never heard anything quite like it.

"Unexpected, am I? That's an unusual compliment, Mr. Holmes." You chuckled. Not answering his question, though.

Sherlock was pleasantly surprised. You knew him.

"You've heard of me?" he asked, his curiosity piqued. "And what do you make of me, then?"

Your smile deepened, and you leaned forward slightly. "I do not lend out my compliments or opinions easily, Mr. Holmes."

An unbidden smile took over his features faster than his mind could compute.

That day, he almost stepped out in the rain joyfully, but you stopped him, handing him an umbrella. "Now, now. Don't want the greatest minds catching cold, Mr. Holmes." You bit your lip playfully and turned away.

"I thought you didn't lend out opinions easily, darling," Sherlock smugly pointed out.

Mistaking a fact for an opinion would be imprudent, Mr. Holmes. My grandfather taught me better than that," you quipped, grinning at him as you answered his previous question. So, you were George's granddaughter. He should have guessed, but he was rather lost in the perception of your beauty.

His smug expression faded, and he shook his head, clearly taken aback. A smile soon took its place. Sherlock walked home wearing that silly smile and slept peacefully as if he had just solved the most complex of cases.

~

Sherlock's daily visits to the bookshop became a ritual, though he maintained the pretense of browsing books. Each time, you engaged him in conversation, often with a quick wit that left him equal parts impressed and irked. He'd spend most of the evenings at the bookshop despite anything.

One crisp evening, as the amber light of sunset filtered through the bookshop's windows, Sherlock sat at the chair near the fireplace, meticulously thumbing through a volume he had no real interest in. You, perched on your usual chair behind the counter, watched him with amusement.

The bookshop was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the fire and the turning of the pages.

"You do realize, Mr. Holmes," you began, your tone soft but serious, "that you're buying books far faster than you could ever read them?"

Sherlock's fingers paused on the page, but he didn't look up. "I assure you, I am quite adept at consuming knowledge," he replied smoothly, though there was a faint hint of defensiveness in his voice.

You tilted your head, studying him like he usually did when he held your gaze. "Perhaps," you said, "but even the sharpest mind cannot possibly have a genuine interest in all of the topics you've purchased."

He closed the book with a soft thud, finally meeting your gaze. "Are you accusing me of insincerity?"

"Not insincerity," you replied with a faint smile. "Just... strategy. I've noticed a pattern, Mr. Holmes. You only purchase books when you've spent more time here than you intended. A convenient excuse, I imagine, to justify your prolonged visits."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "You're implying that I... wager my money for your time?"

That sounded preposterous, but it was true. You were, as always, right.

You leaned forward slightly, your smile widening. "Am I wrong?"

His jaw tightened ever so slightly, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of amusement. "If that were true, I'd consider it a worthy investment."

The candidness of his reply caught you off guard, but you refused to let him see it, but he was a sharp man.

"A very generous sentiment, but unnecessary. I'm not struggling with money as you might have already gathered," you shrugged, leaning back in your chair. "You could simply stay without feeling obligated to buy something."

He stood up and walked slowly, holding your gaze. "Could I?" he asked, his voice quieter now. He did not miss the reddening of your cheeks. "And if I did, would you still indulge my presence?"

"Perhaps," you said softly, unwavering. "If you asked."

Sherlock leaned down closer to you, his palms flat on the table. The smell of you consumed him. The room seemed to shrink around you, the silence thick with unspoken tension.

For a moment, Sherlock appeared almost uncertain, a vulnerability creeping into his otherwise confident demeanor.

"Then consider this my request," he said at last, his voice low and deliberate. "For your time. Not as a transaction, but as a privilege."

You blinked, momentarily speechless. But as his words settled, a warmth spread through you, and you found yourself smiling in spite of yourself.

"Granted," you said, your tone teasing but your eyes sincere. "Though I expect you to at least pretend to enjoy the books you've bought."

Sherlock allowed a rare smile to curve his lips, the smallest trace of triumph in his expression. "Wouldn't that be insincere of me?" he jested, his gaze lingering on you.

You chuckled, shaking your head. "I concede my point, Mr. Holmes."

~

It was one warm evening that his routine shifted. Sherlock approached the familiar corner of the street, his steps quickening in anticipation. But as he rounded the corner, his heart sank. The shop was locked. The curtains were drawn. He stopped in his tracks, staring at the sign that read Closed Until Further Notice in your neat, looping handwriting.

Sherlock's mind raced with possibilities. Had something happened? Were you ill? Why hadn't you mentioned this during his visit yesterday?

The lack of your presence had him suffocating, and the worry deepened as the clock ticked.

He lingered outside the shop longer than he cared to admit, hoping for some clue, some sign of your return.

For the first time in years, Sherlock felt powerless.

And he despised it.

Two days flew by, which were agonizing. Even the case he found interesting felt wanting, and the prospect of dissecting Lestrade's latest blunders failed to amuse him.

His pain won over the rationality he'd been compartmentalizing when you were involved, and he started to think. He retraced the steps he knew you frequented, asked subtle questions of the few patrons who'd crossed paths with you, and pieced together fragments of your life that you'd never openly shared.

And then, it struck him. Without hesitation, he quickly rang a few contacts.

~

The next afternoon, as he turned the corner near Regent's Park toward St. Bartholomew's Hospital, he spotted you.

You were seated beneath the shade of an old oak tree, chatting softly with an elderly woman on a nearby bench. Your smile was as lovely as ever, though it didn't quite reach your eyes. Even so, your mere presence eased the ache in his heart.

He wanted to call out to you but hesitated, choosing instead to wait. When the elderly woman finally left, leaving you alone with a small notebook in hand, he quietly approached and sat beside you.

You turned to face him. "Mr. Holmes," you said, surprised with a faint note of amusement coloring your expression. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"I might say the same," he replied, moving closer. "Your shop has been closed for three days. I assumed you had vanished."

Your expression softened, a flicker of guilt pressing over you. "I didn't mean to worry you," you said quietly. "I needed some time away."

He silently observed you for a while. "Sorry about your grandfather," he said at last, his tone unusually gentle.

For a moment, you looked taken aback, but you composed yourself with a small chuckle. "Thank you," you murmured. "The doctors say he should be up and about in a few days."

You hesitated before offering a smile--not the dazzling one he had grown accustomed to, but a softer, quieter one. "Did you miss my little bookshop?"

The question lingered in the air, delicate and uncertain.

"No," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, his gaze steady on yours. "I missed you."

That admission came to you as a surprise, but for Sherlock, it was an act of surrender. Surrendering his mind to the power of heart!

Sherlock often believed luck was an offensive concept that idiots relied on, but he might just start reconsidering a few aspects of it!

Weeks passed, and Sherlock never missed a visit. He often initiated conversations, though they were sometimes meandering and subtle. Yet, he couldn't ignore how you quietly withdrew, shutting yourself off in ways so discreet that most might overlook them. But not him. It bothered him deeply.

"I'm visiting my uncle tomorrow," you mentioned one evening, handing him a cup of tea. "I'm unsure if it'll be just a day or two."

Sherlock shifted in the well-worn armchair by the fire, his ocean-blue eyes lifting to meet yours, studying your expression.

You offered him a polite smile, but something about it didn't sit right. He nodded simply and returned to his book, though a quiet unease curled in his stomach at the fleeting look in your eyes.

~

Sherlock rarely paid attention to the conversations Watson and Mrs. Hudson often indulged in. Their chatter usually drifted past him like white noise. But when he heard your name mentioned, his focus sharpened instantly.

Through their exchange, he learned that Henry Thatchery, Watson's colleague, was planning to propose to you.

For a moment, Sherlock was stunned. The revelation shocked him, planting a deep fear he couldn’t shake. The lingering thought of what might have happened if not for this sheer dumb… coincidence of him knowing about it gnawed at him. Were you planning to say yes to the marriage? The idea infuriated him even more.

And he did the most gentlemanly thing he could possibly do.

~

The ride from London had been arduous. He had pieced together the truth behind your sudden, unexpected trip to your uncle's estate. He was simmering like a storm cloud about to burst open.

But he acted strategically.

His knock at the heavy oak door was answered by a surprised butler whose wide eyes spoke volumes about the shock of seeing the famous detective on their doorstep. Moments later, your uncle appeared, his brow furrowed in confusion.

You are," your uncle exclaimed, stepping forward. "What an honor, Mr. Holmes. Forgive my manners. Please, do come in." Sherlock stood nearly a foot taller than the man before him, and the height difference seemed to leave your uncle visibly intimidated. He nodded quickly.

"You must be chilled to the bone." Sherlock was ushered inside, his eyes darting around. The warm glow of the estate's interior was not calming him in any sense.

And then he saw you.

You stood at the base of the staircase, your face frozen in surprise and panic. Your gaze flickered to his, and for the first time since he'd known you, you didn't hold his stare, nor did you look confident. You looked guilty.

Good, he thought with grim satisfaction, his own emotions threatening to boil over. You should feel the weight of what you've done.

"Mr. Holmes!" your uncle exclaimed, "What an unexpected visit! What brings the great detective to our humble home?"

Sherlock offered a strained smile, though his attention never wavered from you. "A most unfortunate circumstance, I'm afraid. My carriage suffered a wheel failure on the road, and I found myself stranded. Your estate was the closest, and I hoped I might impose upon your hospitality until the matter is resolved."

"Of course!" your uncle said, clapping his hands together. "We'd be honored to have you. Please, make yourself at home."

Ever eager to entertain such a renowned guest, your aunt and uncle immediately fell over themselves to welcome him. He also found the man he didn't mind wringing the neck of standing nearby, Henry Thatchery.

However, you remained frozen, gripping the banister as if it were the only thing keeping you upright.

Sherlock inclined his head graciously, but his eyes were still locked on yours, a silent battle of wills playing out as your family fussed over him. You finally tore your gaze away, your voice unusually soft as you murmured something about helping the staff prepare.

~

Dinner was quite an affair. Sherlock, however, was only half engaged in the polite conversation around the table. His focus was on you and, more pointedly, the man beside you: Dr. Henry Thatchery.

The doctor was a handsome man. Not deserving of you, certainly. Sherlock could see how your family had been taken in by his demeanor, but he also noticed how your shoulders tensed whenever Thatchery leaned too close or whispered something meant only for you.

It was during dessert that Sherlock decided to strike.

"Dr. Thatchery," he began smoothly, setting down his glass. "I understand you've been practicing medicine for some years now."

Thatchery nodded, his smile almost too perfect. "That's correct. It's a fulfilling profession, and it keeps me busy."

"You are a great man, indeed. Mrs. Berksmith told me how fine a man you are."

The table fell silent. Your fork clattered against your plate as you froze, your eyes wide in disbelief.

Thatchery's smile faltered. "I beg your pardon?"

"Mrs. Berksmith," Sherlock repeated, his tone casual but his gaze unrelenting. "The widow who resides near your practice. I've seen you enter her home quite frequently, often late in the evening. So, I assumed you were courting her. Aren't you?"

Thatchery's face turned an alarming shade of red. He stumbled through a clumsy denial, but the damage was done. Your family was already looking at him suspiciously, their faith in his character shaken.

When an argument ensued between your uncle and him, Thatchery simply got up, muttering humiliation and left.

Sherlock, the epitome of anything but innocence, feigned surprise at the uproar his truth-telling had caused. Your uncle, recovering first, explained that Henry had come to propose marriage to you. And he thanked Sherlock for saving them from a scandal.

Sherlock avoided meeting your gaze, well aware that he wouldn't be able to suppress the self-satisfied smirk threatening to surface if he did.

"Excuse me," you muttered, your voice tight as you retreated to your room.

His thoughts lingered upon you.

It also didn't take much persuasion from your uncle to make him stay the night either.

The madness of love is not always sweet, but it is always consuming

"Sherlock," you hissed under your breath later that evening before his room once everyone else had gone to bed. Your eyes blazed, and Sherlock searched yours with the same accusing fire. "Why are you here?" You whispered angrily.

"Whatever do you mean? My carriage had trouble." He smirked.

"How very convenient!" You chuckled humorlessly. "Why are you really here?" You asked again.

The faint moonlight made you look more divine in that off-white dress, and Sherlock, leaning against the doorframe, couldn't tear his gaze from you. The angry look only made desire grow in his depths, and for a brief moment, he forgot that he was angry with you.

But he brought his bearings straight.

His jaw tightened. He couldn't help the way his lips curved into a thin, tight smile. "I did not peg you for foolish, darling," he mocked.

Your breath caught, a sharp gasp escaping you. "Foolish?" you echoed, your eyes flashing. "You think I'm foolish?"

He stepped closer, his tall frame towering over you in the dim light; you had to crane your neck to look at him. It felt powerful after weeks and weeks of agony to see you being so vulnerable in his presence. He wanted to caress every part of you with his mouth. But he kept the minute distance.

"Foolish enough to hide from me the real intention for this visit." His voice dropped lower, almost a growl, "Why?"

You narrowed your eyes, his tone throwing you off balance.

You took a step back, crossing your arms defensively. "And what? Do you think you have some divine right to know everything about me? To dissect my every move?" Your voice quivered, but you refused to let it show. "Why should I have told you, Sherlock?"

He watched you carefully, his eyes betraying none of his thoughts, but his frustration was palpable in the way his fists clenched at his sides. "You've been avoiding the truth for far too long," he muttered, the words sharp but quieter now. "It's eating away at you, isn't it? All this pretending."

"Pretending?" you scoffed, your posture stiffening. "I'm not pretending anything."

He gave a small, bitter chuckle, his eyes darkening as he took a step forward, his breath mingling with yours.

"Are you not?" His hand reached out, brushing a lock of hair from your face, a gesture that had haunted him since the moment he met you.

Your pulse quickened. His fingers lingered on the shell of your ear before he reluctantly retreated his touch.

You swallowed, looking undone. "You think you know everything about me, don't you?" you whispered, almost as if to yourself. "Well, you don't."

Sherlock took another step closer, backing you up against the wall, his presence overwhelming, and yet his voice remained controlled, almost too calm. "Then enlighten me." He challenged.

For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to meet his gaze fully. The tension was so thick it seemed physically engulfing.

"Why do you care so much?" you asked, the question barely leaving your lips before your eyes widened. "No, actually, do not answer that."

Sherlock chuckled, satisfied. He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your ear as he spoke in a low, steady voice. "Because," he said, his words deliberate, "I can't stand watching you self-destruct."

You shuddered, leaning away slightly. "Self-destruct?" you repeated, almost mockingly, but your voice betrayed you. It was soft, vulnerable. "Is that what you think marriage is?"

Sherlock's gaze darkened, "That's exactly what I think it is if you agreed to marry Thatchery," he muttered. His face hovered so close to yours now that you could feel the warmth of his breath, the tension so thick it felt almost suffocating. "Or any other, for that matter."

You swallowed hard, your mind racing as you tried to gather the pieces of your composure.

"You don't get it," you said, shaking your head slightly. "You never will." And yet, despite every word you spoke, despite the defensive walls you tried to erect between the two of you, there was that pull you failed to acknowledge.

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into that sharp, almost teasing smile of his. "No?" he murmured, his tone laced with an unspoken challenge.

Sherlock anticipated you would close the painful gap between you and perhaps just embrace him, but you didn't. Instead, you remained rooted to the spot, though your breath was uneven. So, he took matters into his own hands. Just as the distance between your lips seemed to shrink, you took a breath and stepped sideways, breaking the spell.

"Goodnight, Mr. Holmes," you said quietly, your voice betraying none of the internal chaos you felt.

He didn't move as you left, his gaze lingering on you as you retreated down the hall.

The confrontation did not end there.

~

By the time you were back in London, you were much calmer, unlike Sherlock, who was a storm of emotions, his mind spiraling and uncharacteristically untamed.

He staggered into your shop, his usual poise lost in a haze of spirits and restless frustration at your unbothered countenance.

"Do you not see it?" he spat, his words slurred but his gaze sharp. "I am undone! For weeks, I have been at your mercy, nothing more than a puppet, pulled by… by whatever devilish charm you possess!"

You raised an eyebrow, unshaken by his outburst. "Mr. Holmes, you do yourself a disservice."

"Do I?" His voice thundered now, laced with more emotion than he was used to showing. "Then explain it to me." For a moment, he softened, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your breath catch. "Say it. Admit that you feel the same. For I am certain, maddeningly so, that you do."

The silence between you was heavy with the truth.

"No." You said.

Sherlock Holmes was not accustomed to rejection. He was accustomed to being right, to unraveling every puzzle. But you had proven to be the exception to his every rule. And now, as you stood before him, he felt his temper ignite in a way he hadn't thought possible.

"Do you mean to tell me," he began, his voice tight with restrained fury, "that after all this, after every moment we've shared, you would so carelessly brush aside what is glaringly obvious?"

You blinked, taken aback by the sharpness of his tone. "Sherlock,"

"No!" he interrupted, pacing now, his coat billowing with every agitated step. "Do not take me for some fool incapable of understanding your reasoning. I know what this is. You are afraid. Afraid of me."

"That's not true," you said, though your voice wavered. "It's not about fear...it's about practicality."

"Practicality?" He stopped in his tracks, whirling to face you. His piercing gaze bore into yours, the intensity almost overwhelming.

"I have never...never allowed myself to be consumed by anything or anyone, and yet here I am, standing before you like a… AS a lovesick imbecile, begging for you to acknowledge what is so painfully evident." His voice cracked, though he quickly masked it with a sharp inhale. "And you dare deny me?"

Your heart raced, a storm of emotions churning within you. "Sherlock. Feelings aren't logical."

"Exactly!" he snapped, his hands clenching at his sides. He stepped closer, his towering presence almost suffocating. "You cannot deny me on the grounds of practicality." "And do not mistake my anger. I am angry because I cannot bear the thought of a world where you are not mine."

You stared at him, stunned, as his words echoed between you. The weight of his confession left you breathless, and yet you found yourself shaking your head, unwilling to give in to the overwhelming tide of his emotions.

"I can't," you whispered. "I can't be what you need."

Something inside him snapped. "What I need?" he repeated, his voice rising.

"Yes, Sherlock. Marriage is important to me, and I cannot let this…" you wildly gestured between you both, "...give me false hope, knowing fully well that you consider marriage irrelevant and self-destructing, as you called it. And you are right. I should stop pretending and do myself a great service by understanding this. Thank you for reminding me not to pretend. So, yes, I can't be what you need."

"You are already what I need." his breath wavered as he took a step closer to you. He took your hand suddenly, his grip firm. "You will marry me," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Not because I think it is what you want, but because it would be insincere of me if I said I didn't want it. Because you are the only person who has ever made me feel alive. Because I…"

He paused, the words catching in his throat. For a moment, the fire in his eyes softened, replaced by something raw.

"Because I love you," he finished, the confession breaking through his anger like sunlight through a storm. "And I will not let you pretend that you don't feel the same."

The silence that followed was deafening.

"But you said…"

"I did feel it was irrelevant paperwork, and I said you would be self-destructing if you married any other man... but not me."

You blinked slowly, grasping, and then your grip on him tightened.

"You really mean that?" You asked softly.

He nodded, cradling your jaw with his free hand. "I love you, you infuriating woman."

You laughed and nodded.

"What? Are you not going to share your opinions on this matter then?" He asked, irked at the lack of your response. Cheeky woman.

"I love you, you obnoxiously convoluted man. I do."

He chuckled, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. "Good," he said, before pulling you into a kiss that reoriented his very existence.

He cornered you into the table and kissed you deeply, tasting every bit of you until he thoroughly ensured you understood the depth of his love for you.

Imagine the shock Watson and Mrs. Hudson would feel when he announces his marriage nuptials within a fortnight.

Well? 🫣

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!

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[tripletstephaniescp]

How could anyone say no to that face? Adorable!

https://www.tumblr.com/bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky/758693964824068096/birthday-boy?source=share

Is this the scrunchy face/nose Bee have?

That's the face. She stole the scrunch from Bucky. Imagine trying to be stern with these two, and they're looking at you like that.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader, daughter nicknamed Bumblebee.

A/N: Part of my Bumblebee series.

"Mommy, we 'cciden'lly spent all the monies. By 'cciden'." She's on his shoulders, one tiny singular Dior bag in her hand. Your gaze shifts behind her, and Bucky turns, so his body blocks the mountain of shopping bags, taking up ample space on your bed.

Your brow raises, a sardonic hum rings in your throat. "Really Bee?"

"Weally." She nods earnestly. "We gots 'cited when we was shopping and next thing all our monies gone," she explains with a shrug, like it was completely out of their control. In their defense, it was.

You can't leave these two alone in their favorite stores because Bucky loves to go overboard, and Bee is her father's daughter.

"Uh huh. Sure, it was an accident." You try to glare. Force your smile down. Prepare to tell them to take it all back. And then Bucky grins. Bee does the same. Literally. Her little nose scrunching up like his.

"I has so much fun, mommy, and I loves our 'prises."

In an instant, your defenses crumble into dust, floating away into the abyss.

"Fine, you can keep it," you mutter with a playful roll of your eyes. She cheers, her happiness making your heart swell. "But no more shopping this week. As a matter of fact, no more spending any money. "

Bee glances down at Bucky. He whispers something, and then they both look at you. "Okays, but we—we was gonna takes you out for dinner. And movies. For a 'prise. Pwease can we spends a wittle more?" That sweet smile paired with that nose scrunch should be illegal.

How can you say no to your adorable baby or your husband when they're looking at you like that? "Okay, but only a little."

Her happy little yay is priceless. One day, you'll be able to resist the cuteness these two wield like a sword. But you get the feeling that it's not happening anytime soon. And honestly, who can blame you?

[tripletstephaniescp]

Feral Bucky. Yes, please.

For your consideration:

Imagine Bucky, the strong and dangerous and stern super soldier that by all accounts is terrifying as an opponent, being unable to stop himself from coming in his pants because of you. Maybe you don't even have to touch him; he gets so lost in the taste of you that he has to start grinding against the mattress, and accidentally comes when you do.

I've had this image in my head for days and had to share it somewhere, sorry 🫠

Nonnie, I love this so much. 🫠

Feral

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky gets a little feral now and then.

Word Count: Over 1.2k

Warnings: Oral sex (f. receiving), implied sex, possessive behavior, slight feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Hope you lovelies enjoy. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky gets in a feral mood every now and then. He may let you know with a text that simply says, “Be ready.” and other days he won't give you a warning at all. By the time you hear his deep growl or see his pupils so blown that the blue irises nearly disappear you know you aren't leaving the bed for the next day. Or two.

Today you don't even hear him coming.

You’re in the middle of a shower when he suddenly shoves the curtain aside, and you’re lucky you don't have a heart attack or slip and fall. A shriek still leaves your mouth when you lock eyes with the ex-assassin and you see the blown pupils, and you're about to have a heart attack for a completely different reason. You hope your schedule is clear because you know he’s going to thoroughly ruin you and you’d rather not try to pull yourself back together for a while.

“Bed. Now.” His growl should make you move, but you’re still under the water and trapped by his massive body.

You don't move around him fast enough and he doesn't care that his clothes get wet when he grabs you and throws you over his shoulder. All he cares about is making you wet. At least he has the good sense to shut the water off before carrying you away. He’s thoughtful like that.

He drops you unceremoniously on the bed, the comforter now soaked as well thanks to your dripping wet body. Removing his shirt and tossing it aside, you get a moment to take in the view of Bucky Barnes looking at you like a man starved. He’s a beautiful canvas of muscles and scars, yet he looks at you like you're a real work of art. You wordlessly spread your legs and invite him to feast on what belongs to him. It would've been rude to keep him from his meal and you weren't cruel.

Not to mention no past lover can ever live up to how Bucky Barnes eats pussy.

He drops to his knees and pushes your legs open more, licking his lips as gazes at your twitching hole on display. He brushes some of the hair from his face to get a better look, and it only makes him look more wild. Untamed. It doesn't take much for him to arouse you, but the way he growls at the sight of you has you feeling like a goddess. You’re on your back, but he’s on his knees ready to worship and you’ll gladly accept his offerings. However he chooses to give them to you.

“I know you’re starving, Bucky. So eat,” you finally tell him, wanting him to have his fill. Whatever puts him in this mood, you’ll go along for the ride.

But before he dips down to feast, he moves up your body like a sleek cat and fastens his mouth to yours. He won't take from you without at least one kiss. You moan low as you kiss him back and feel him grind against you. It surprises you that he still has his pants on, but he’s getting rid of them soon enough.

You can't help but touch one of the scars near his shoulder, making him gasp into your mouth. He’s so strong. So powerful. Life dragged him through hell and he didn't escape unscathed, but he survived.

“Mine,” he murmurs so softly you almost miss it as he kisses down your body. Every kiss is a reminder of who you belong to. You’ll always be his.

“Yours,” you gasp when his nose nudges your clit and he inhales deeply. You remember when the smell of your arousal used to embarrass you, and now you wonder why it ever bothered you since he loves it so much. His metal fingers part your folds and he drags his tongue along your slit with a hum, lapping up your wetness. “Fuck…” you whimper, bringing a hand up to play with your breast.

“Not yet,” he growls, pushing his tongue deep inside.

Your free hand flies to his head and you choke on a moan as you clench around him. If he was speaking more, he’d tell you how beautifully bittersweet you taste, how your pussy is made for him, how desperate you are for him to fuck you with his cock, how you're all he needs. A mix of praise, profanity, filth, and love. Hearing him growl and grunt as he feasts tells you more than enough.

“So good,” he grunts between licks, his flesh hand digging into your shaking thigh when he slips two metal fingers in. You recall gushing all over the metal the first time he made his arm vibrate. He likes having the scent of your arousal on the metal, almost as much as he likes having it on the fingers of his right hand.

You lift your head when you hear shuffling on the bed, your eyes wide when you see his hips rise and dip. You’re all too familiar with that motion. “Bucky… are you…”

“Pussy’s so fucking good. I can't… I can’t stop,” he groans, rolling his hips like he can't stop himself from humping the bed because of how good you taste. “‘m so fucking hard for you.”

Your man’s cock can be sensitive some days. Grinding against him can make him get off in his pants. You went down on him once and just the feeling of your breath against his shaft had him shooting off before you wrapped your mouth around him. And with his rebound rate, you never have to worry if he gets off before you because he’ll still take care of you.

“That’s so hot,” you admit, your mouth falling open when he moves his fingers and tongue in time with his hips. “It’s okay, big boy. Make a mess in your pants for me,” you beg, wanting him to get off to you.

His growl has a bit of a whine to it when he looks up at you, his lips and chin glistening. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smile, your fingers carding through his hair again. You don't want him to feel embarrassed.

He looks relieved. “Then make a mess on my face first,” he demands, dipping his head back down and making quick work of building your orgasm back up.

Pulling your hips down to meet his mouth, it isn't long before your orgasm tears through you. Your head nearly falls back as the tidal waves crash over you, but you keep it elevated enough to catch the stutter in his hips and the telltale husky moan against your sensitive hole. It almost triggers another orgasm watching him rut before he slumps against the bed like you.

Your head spins. Your heart pounds. And you smile. Bucky Barnes just came in his pants because you came. Yeah, you feel like a goddess and then some.

“You came in your pants for me,” you breathe. “That’s love.”

Your smile only widens when he pulls his mouth and fingers away to unbuckle his pants, your walls clenching when takes himself out. He’s large and thick as he strokes himself, and you can also see a bit of the evidence of him finishing in his pants. It gets you hot all over again, and now you need to make a mess around his cock while he finishes inside you. It’ll satisfy you both.

“Yeah, that is love,” he groans, brushing his thumb over the weeping tip. He still has a bit of the feral look in his eyes. “Now I need to fuck you with my cock at least twice before I eat again.”

Yeah, you’re in for a long and fun weekend.

I need him, okay? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[tripletstephaniescp]

This was deeply disturbing. I loved it

Roll the dice (1)

Summary: You’re in trouble, and it’s all your fault.

Pairing: Mobster!Steve Rogers x fem!Reader

Warnings: mafia au, angst, mentions of criminal activities, mentions of sickness, mentions of stealing, scared reader, bruises, hand around throat (non-sexual)

Catch up here: Roll the dice (Prologue)

Holding your breath, you watch it land on… 3

“Three,” you murmur, scared to the bones. While Steve smirks darkly, you wring your hands. This can’t be good. Of course, it can’t. All your life, you never had luck in the game. Why change your bad luck now? “What does it mean?”

Steve crouches down to grab the dice. He chuckles as you try not to faint. His cheer presence is intimidating. Having him up close while he holds your life in his hands is terrifying.

“OH, you got lucky, doll,” he taunts. Steve grabs your hand to place the dice in the palm of your hand. “Three means roll the dice again.”

“Again—” you whimper. Rolling the dice once was scary, and you made peace with death, even embraced it with open arms to end this nightmare you’re living in. Rolling it again means doom. “No… please decide.”

“I don’t make the rules,” he lies while his smirk deepens. His cheeks dimple and he almost looks like a beautiful angel, if not for the dangerous glimmer in his ocean-blue eyes. “How about I explain what every number means before you roll the dice again?”

A question is not in his words. He will tell you what the numbers mean, whether you want it or not.

You nod the moment his features darken. “Yes. Please.” You’re surprised the words come out of your mouth at all. It was a struggle to bring yourself to speak to him.

“One means quick death.” You shudder at his happy smile. “Two means painful death.” You whimper as he cups your jaw to force you to look him in the eyes. “You already know what three means.”

Steve watches your eyes glistening with unshed tears. He grins like the devil as he leans closer, his nose brushing yours.

“Four means an eye for an eye. In your case, it means paying me back my money, but ten times the amount you stole from me.” He hums when you silently start to cry. “I like five very much. It means working for me for the rest of your life. You already know about six, too.”

None of the options are appealing to you. Steve lied. There’s not a chance you get to walk out of his office alive and unharmed. You’ll never roll a six.

“So, go ahead,” he purrs your name and points at your hand. “Roll the dice again.” Steve gets back up to sit back down on his armchair, smirking as you stare at him with teary eyes. “Now!” He growls as you hesitate.

“Okay,” you sniffle and drop the dice, not even looking at it. You hold your breath and close your eyes.

“Aw, you’re a lucky lady,” Steve whistles. “A three again. Wow! I don’t think anyone ever got it two times in a row.”

You shudder. A three means you must roll the dice again. For a third time, you grab the dice and throw it toward Steve’s feet. It’s all a game to him.

“Another three,” he laughs in your face. “Pick it back up, lucky doll. Maybe this time, you’ll get a six, huh?”

Gritting your teeth, you glare at Steve. He’s toying with you, and you hate that you’re too weak to fight him. Before he can get mad, you move toward the dice to roll it again. You watch it stop at three and sniffle.

“Again.” He says.

You roll the dice. Three.

“Again, doll.”

Three.

“And again.”

Three.

You scream and throw the dice against the wall. “Why don’t you just kill me? I know this dice is manipulated!”

“You accuse me of lying!” Steve rises from his seat to grab you by your throat. “I gave you the chance to save your life! You’re not only a thief but ungrateful too!”

“It only ever shows three!” You claw at his hand, trying to get it off your throat. “Three. Three. Three!”

Heat speckles all over your face and neck. Your body becomes heavy, and your eyes flutter shut. You try to fight the invisible power dragging you into darkness, but it's useless.

“Hmm…yeah. That’s much better, isn’t it? Letting me take control over your body, life, and mind. You never stood a chance, doll.” Steve presses a kiss to your trembling lips before your head lolls back. “Did you honestly believe I would let you walk out on me? Of course, the dice shows whatever I want.”

A few weeks earlier, the night you stole from Steve…

“Steve, I don’t know why you let her get away with it. Man, she didn’t even avoid the cameras,” Bucky grunts. Steve and he are watching you walk toward the back entrance, your bag filled with the money you stole from your boss. “Let me stop her.”

“No,” Steve smirks. “I want to know why she found the guts to steal from me. She was always a shy little mouse. I wonder what happened.”

“With all due respect, that’s just stupid,” Bucky huffs. He can’t believe his friend lets a random employee get away with stealing from him. “This could ruin your reputation.”

Steve chuckles. “Buck, she won’t get far. I told Sam to keep an eye on her, and Jensen is checking on her digital life. I’m still Steven Grant Rogers, not some inexperienced newbie. Likewise, I know what I’m doing.”

“You’re playing with fire, Steve.” The brunette can only watch you sneak out of the door, the money still in your bag.

Steve grins like the wolf he is and says, “I think it will be worth it, Buck. I haven’t had much fun lately. I’ll get me a sweet little mouse to toy with...”

Tags in reblog.