peaches1958

[peaches1958]

To find the rest

butterflygirl738 (4)

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

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, sickness, medical bills, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: You love butterflies and your mother, but life isn’t that simple. As life gets complicated, and expensive, you find yourself in need and an unexpected miracle presents itself.

Characters: Steve Rogers (CEO/Sugar Daddy)

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

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

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

You give the stranger your name but he just tells you to call him S. He seems a lot more important than you, so that makes sense. He must be if he's throwing around money so easily. A lot of money.

That seems to be on his mind too.

"Did you get the transfer?" He asks as he takes off his sunglasses.

You rub between your thumb and index nervously. You can't stop fidgeting. You glance around for what must be the dozenth time. You feel like everyone is watching you, that they all know you're doing something so stupid. Yet, nobody is looking at you.

"I... didn't check," you murmur. "I've just been waiting."

"Sorry again for making you wait," he puts his large hands on the table, framing the tall mug with his fingers. "You know what they say about meeting people online."

You snort, "ha, yeah."

You look out the window and exhale. That only stirs your nerves. You face him and sit back in the chair, folding your hands in your lap.

"I'm sorry. I think this was a bad idea." You say.

"Is it? We haven't even talked."

"Yeah, but... I should be looking for a job or... my mom. She's all alone..." you wring your hands.

"I want to help with that," he turns his hands and taps his fingers on the table. He sniffs. "I'm trying to figure out how to say what I want to say. And that's what it is. I want to help."

"But why? I don't know you. You don't me." Your teeth want to chatter, you're so nervous.

His chests rises and falls. His throat bobs. He resets his posture.

"That would be part of it." His blue eyes bore into yours. They're so bright and bold. "Getting to know each other."

You shake your head, confused.

"I could help with the medical bills and groceries. Whatever you need. It would just be..." he extends his fingers as he gestures with his hands. "An exchange. An arrangement. All you have to do is spend time with me."

You stare at him. Your eyes search his face. Your mouth slants. You want to laugh. It sounds absurd. Yet, he looks serious. You straighten your lips.

"By spend time you mean..." you shiver and mash your hands together in your lap. "They don't have people you can pay in New York."

He sighs. "It's not just... if physical things happen..." he pauses and his cheek twitches. "I'd prefer we just feel it out and see where it goes."

You look down. He can dress it up and say it as carefully as he likes. You've heard about these things. There's women on TikTok who post videos about new handbags or designer shoes and their 'daddies'. But they are so beautiful. They are interesting. You're just... afraid.

He coughs and shifts his chair closer. "I know it's not easy to be in your position. Sick parents are difficult. My mom... when I was about your age, she was really sick too. Still is but we manage."

You peek up at him. You don't know what to say. There's that voice in your head telling you that the answer is clear as day; no. You're not a prostitute. No, you have dignity. Then there's the other one, the louder one. You have nothing and you're about to lose even that.

"How about this? Before you make up your mind, let me take you around town. We'll just get to know each other. Baseline." He suggests. "We'll have our coffee, order some lunch, and you can show me around."

You bite your cheek. That's not too bad. He's not pushing you. If anything, he seems just as unsure. That makes you feel a bit better.

But can you really do this? Can you sell yourself like that? He's still just a stranger. Still just S.

Your head is reeling. What would your mom think? Well, you couldn't tell her, just like you never told her what you're really doing right then.

You bring your hand up to rub your shoulder. You hook your fingers around, shielding yourself, and nod.

"Alright, I'll try." You agree, keeping the rest of the sentence inside; I don't have any other options.

His cheeks dimple. The lines on his face only add to his good looks. He really isn't that bad. A bit older. Maybe a lot older.

"So, you hungry? What do you want?" He looks over at the chalkboard menu.

You follow his gaze. You focus on the menu. It's a bit easier to do that.

"My treat," he assures.

"Um, thanks," you scratch your neck nervously. If it were up to you, you wouldn't waste the money. "The veggie croissant sounds okay."

"Sure, anything else," he stands.

You push your shoulders back and and shake your head. "Thank you. That's more than enough."

"No problem," he turns and struts up to join the line.

You watch him. His shirt is taut across his shoulder blades and around his biceps. He's built better than any man you've seen before. Confident. He's cool as he waits patiently and steps up calmly to order. He slides out his wallet and swipes his card. Not a second thought. No tallying up rent or bills or even just the cost of a bag of rice.

He folds up his wallet and spins. You avert your attention to the table. He approaches and sits again.

"They'll bring it to us," he says.

"Okay," you accept. You can't look at him.

He shifts. "Look, I don't see you as just... I see you as a person. I hope you realise that. I really do want to help you."

"Yeah, I know." You swallow. "I'm sorry. I'm just... thinking."

"That's okay," he assures. "Not rushing you. So uh... I'll tell you about me a bit. If you want?"

You nod and make yourself look. His eyes are almost sparkling as they stick to you. You're a stranger to him too. How can he be so interested? Just you and your butterflies.

"I have a business. I have been running it for the last fifteen years. Before that, I did some corporate work but I really didn't like the politics, so started my own thing," he explains. "I live in New York, I watch baseball, I like to draw. Or liked to. I don't have a lot of time for that anymore." He pauses and holds up his finger. "One sec."

He reaches to his chest pocket and flips up the flap. He slides out a napkin. He unfolds it on the table.

"Got bored on the plane," he slides it over to you. It's a sketch of a butterfly. It's really good too.

"Wow, you did that?" You ask.

"Mm hm," he hums. "I'm a bit rusty."

"No, it's really good," you lean in to admire it. "Wow."

He's quiet. You put your fingers on the edge of the napkin as you look it over.

"My mom used to draw. Paint, too. She's really good. Like you."

You peek up at him. There's a subtle curve in his lips.

"It's... nothing but you can keep it if you want."

"I think it's more than nothing," you pick it up. "That's so cool."

"Ha, thanks. Think the real thing is cooler."

He sits back and looks over as one of the cafe employees approaches. She puts down your plates and tells you to enjoy. You tuck away the napkin.

"Looks delicious," S says.

It does and it smells even better. You hesitate as he picks up half his sandwich. You stare at yours.

"Everything okay?" He asks.

You think about your mom. She doesn't eat much these days but you wish you could bring her good food like this. You resist a frown.

"It's all good," you assure. "Thanks so much. It looks great."

You pick up half the croissant, careful not to let the contents spill out.

"So, where do you work?" He asks.

You nibble and swallow tightly. "Oh, just... customer service at a few stores. Nothing special."

"Hm, that must be stressful."

"It can be," you shrug. "Not the most stress I have right now... but er, whatever."

"Not whatever but I can understand not wanting to talk about it." He says. "Any other hobbies? Besides the butterflies?"

"No..." you drone. "Just watch some TV here and there. Go for walks when I can. There isn't too much going on around here." Not much you can afford.

"Any recommendations? I don't watch much but I'm always open to binge," he says.

"Not unless you're a fan of 90s sitcoms," you shake your head.

"Don't mind them," he says.

He leans forward to take a bite. You focus on your own sandwich. Your stomach is mulching painfully with each morsel. You only realise then how hungry you are.

🦋

S is even bigger walking next to him. You take him down the block to the park. You don't often come to this part of town but it's nicer than your neighbourhood. There's a fountain there.

You collide with S as he tries to follow the path but you find yourself distracted by the birds bathing in the water. You apologise and back up. He chuckles and turns to look at the fountain.

"Pretty. Peaceful," he says as he stops to watch them. "Different. New York is just... everything."

"Oh, it must be super busy there."

"Yeah, very," he agrees. "This is nice though."

"Probably boring to someone like you."

"Boring is nice. Boring is... easier," he says.

He starts toward the fountain and you follow. He stops at the edge and turns to sit. You do the same. The water trickles, the scent of it stirring the air.

You peer around. Another mother with her stroller, a couple and their dog, a brood of kids and their parents. It's all so nice and perfect and sweet. All these people are so happy. They don't have to worry about a thing.

You can barely remember the days when you weren't bound in anxiety. When you were the little girl skipping down the pathway. It feels like it's always been this.

You turn away to hide the gleam in your eyes. You don't know why you're thinking about that right now. You dab your eyes with your knuckle and sigh. You make yourself sit up.

"It's pretty here," you say.

He's watching you. You can feel it. Did he notice?

"It's gorgeous," he agrees but he isn't looking at the trees or the flowers.

You sniff and turn to watch the birds again. You make yourself smile. He shifts to see them too.

"Is your mom waiting for you?" He asks.

"She'll wonder where I am. She always does," you cross one arm across your middle. "I told her I was going to the bank to pay bills and do some running around."

He looks at you and nods.

"I didn't mention you. She doesn't know at all." You say. "It's just... I wasn't sure..."

"You weren't?" He wonders. "What about now?"

You clamp your lips and tilt your head. You open your mouth but can't find the words. You drop your shoulders.

"I don't know. I... I'm very lost right now." You look away.

He exhales. "I know it might not be very obvious, but I am too. I came all the way here and I was sure I was going to sit there alone all day. I kept checking your page thinking maybe you might delete and disappear with the money. Which is fine, that's fine. Your mom needs it but I just... the money is nothing to me." He sucks in air and laughs grimly. "New York is lonely. Being the boss, it's isolating. I didn't know what else to do and I... I just want something simple."

You listen, rolling around your thoughts on your tongue, poking your cheeks. You might be gullible but he sounds honest. Vulnerable even.

You hang your head and turn so that you're facing the open park path. You lean forward and wiggle your feet. "I just want my mom to be okay," you utter. "And if she isn't, then I don't want her to spend the time she has left like this."

He's quiet for a moment. You could wilt right then. All the stress crashes down on you and threatens to smother you.

"I can make sure that's not the case. I can help you keep her comfortable," he slides his hand across the stone and touches yours. "And you don't have to tell her about me."

"Yeah, she doesn't need to worry about me," you push yourself straight. You look him in the face. "I think we could try."

[peaches1958]

Sigh

BUCKY BARNES + hairstyle: short hair edition

SEBASTIAN STAN as JAMES "BUCKY" BARNES ↳ CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE FIRST AVENGER (2011), dir. JOE JOHNSTON ↳ CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE WINTER SOLDIER (2014), dir. ANTHONY AND JOE RUSSO | Flashback scene ↳ THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER (2021), season 1 ↳ CAPTAIN AMERICA: BRAVE NEW WORLD (2025), dir. JULIUS ONAH | Cameo

[peaches1958]

To finish later

Bleeding Between the Lines

Lloyd photo edit credits to @randomagnes0210 from Pinterest. Amazing edits on there, check it out!

Disclaimer: This and all works on this blog are a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. This work and all works on this blog are not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content, adult content and themes, language, etc. By reading this work or any works posted, shared or reblogged on this blog, you agree that you are at least 18 years of age.

READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. 

The author of this work claims not to own any characters outside of the OC(s; original character(s)) here within. 

In addition, works posted on this blog are NOT to be reposted on any other website. This includes WattPad, AO3, fanfiction.net or any other entity of the like. I, the author and creator, DO NOT consent to have ANY work hosted on any third party app or site or translated. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but Tumblr, it’s been reposted WITHOUT permission.

By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer and ALL warnings posted here.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! 

A @spectre-posts​​ & @what-is-your-plan-today​ ​ Collaboration

What is Dead Masterlist

W/C: 7.5k

Prologue – There’s a Fine Line Between Love and Hate (Kinktober 2022)

********************

Despite your best attempts, you didn’t manage to intercept Six in Prague. Instead, you’d been forced to watched the chaotic scene transpire from a safe distance. And chaos it was. Explosions, a fire fight in the middle of a public square, and a train wreck. It was an all-out war for the price on Six's head, with plenty of collateral damage, which Denny had then told you to stay behind and clean up. 

You’d wanted to protest, remind Denny that you were done cleaning up after Lloyd, but really there was no other option. Had you ignored him and gone after Six, you’d have been in violation of a direct order, which while it wasn’t unheard of on your part, you knew that Carmichael was looking for an excuse to kick you out of the door. And you weren’t going to give him one.

So, you’d done as asked. Stayed behind, managed the clean-up and the liaison with the authorities. And you’d done it well, and for the most part with a smile on your face as you’d satisfied yourself with the fact that Court Gentry had evaded Lloyd again, which would be pissing off your tight trouser, loafer wearing douche of an ex just as much as you could.

Some 24 hours after the debacle in Prague you’d returned to your spacious, Eastern Italian coastal villa. You hadn’t heard anything from Lloyd, Denny, or Suzanne…or anyone else for that matter. But you didn’t care. the events of the previous few days had left you with a bitter taste in your mouth. When you’d arrived at Lloyd’s base in Croatia, you’d put a hard face on when telling him to screw Fitzroy to obtain Six’ location, when truth be told you’d felt sick thinking about it. You liked Fitz, he’d been good to you when you’d joined the CIA, almost becoming part of the Sierra outfit yourself. Instead, you’d made your name as part of the back office for Covert Ops, and as such had consulted closely with Fitz and a number of the Sierra team. 

That’s how you knew Gentry, you’d oversaw him a few times while he’d been out in the field. And how you also knew Cahill, another reason Carmichael would be more than happy to boot you out of the door. Your perceived support of the old guard.

Sleep didn’t come easy to you that night, and you’d been up with the lark the next morning. You took your breakfast outside, sat by the pool, perusing the news to check the cover stories you’d put out were reported just the way you’d specified.

It was then that the call came in. To your secure line. You took it without question.

“What?”

“Hansen is dead.” came Carmichael’s cool tone.

“Dead?”

“Yes, Six shot him.”

“Where is Six now?”

“In my custody, cuffed to a medical unit en-route to a secure location.”

“And the drive?”

“With us.”

You tried to keep your tone nonchalant, even though you were feeling anything but. Your best-laid plan was currently smoldering at your feet.

"Fitzroy and the girl?" 

“The old man was collateral damage, the girl, with me.”

“Fitz and Cahill, huh. That’s some unfortunate collateral.” 

Denny chuckled, “you don’t count Lloyd in that?”

“He isn’t what you’d call collateral.” you licked your lips.

“No, but unfortunately you are.”

"Me?”

“I’ve talked to the Old Man, he agrees that given how Lloyd invariably fucked this up, that having you, his ex-wife…someone who benefits, shall we say, from his questionable methods…doesn’t look good. So, with that in mind, you can consider your employment with the agency terminated with immediate effect.”

“You’re firing me?” you felt the heat rush to your cheeks as you leaned forward in your chair.

“Yes.”

“Because of a divorce settlement which is totally above board and has been declared yearly in my security checks? I take twenty percent of the total takings from my ex-husband’s business, I can’t be the only person who-”

“It looks bad. Think about it. You work for the CIA, the CIA employ a Mercenary company, you take a cut…”

“Never bothered you before. In fact, I can recall a number of times where the CIA, in particular you, have found it quite handy when you’ve needed someone to do the jobs that are too dirty for you to do directly.” 

You paused, and waited, daring Denny to challenge you. But he didn’t because he couldn’t. You were right. Being married to Lloyd had paid off, for both of you, which is precisely what he had meant when he told you that he had “made you.” the last time you’d seen him.

“That was before Hansen lit up half of Prague.” Carmichael finally spoke.

“I warned you not to use him!”

“I just thought you were trying to screw him out of work following your divorce…”

“You literally just fired me because you said that the CIA hiring a company I profit from looks bad, but now you’re saying you thought I was trying to stop you from hiring Lloyd, which in turn would have stopped my profits!” You started to laugh. “Well come on, which one is it you dumb fuck?”

There was silence.

“For the record, I told you not to use him because I know Court Gentry, and I knew he’d end up getting under Lloyd’s skin, and here we are…” Your laughter trailed off into a sigh as you sat back, crossing your right leg over your left, left foot planted on the floor. “Let’s cut the shit, we all know why you’ve done this. You can’t stand the fact that I don’t just fall into line, that I actually valued what the old guard, so to speak, stood for. You’ve seen a chance, and you’ve…well, you’ve taken it.” You took a deep breath. “I should congratulate you, on a job well done. You finally got what you wanted, me out the door.”

“Guess so.”

“Listen, Denny, let me give you a little advice.” You took a sip of your coffee. “First off, you wanna be very careful about climbing that ladder, because the person that’s holding it steady now, whoever this mysterious ‘Old Man’ is, won’t hesitate to shake it and watch you fall from the top rung if the occasion calls for it. And two...” you smirked to yourself, “keep your doors and windows locked. You won’t hold Gentry forever. No matter how you dress this up and sell it to the public, he’ll hold you responsible for Fitz’s death. He’ll come for you, and I can’t wait to see how that plays out.”

With that you hung up, took a deep breath, and finished your breakfast. 

**********

You spent the afternoon on the pool deck, pushing the conversation with your now ex-boss out of your head. The warm sunshine beat on your skin and heated you through to your core. A cold martini sat in your hand as you sunbathed. The Bond Girl like bikini you wore covered the right places and exposed just enough skin to leave little to the imagination. You were enjoying the afternoon rays when a shadow loomed over you. 

A crack of your eyes behind your shades unveiled a beaten, bloody and near dead shell of a man. 

"And the dead shall rise again," you stated flatly, your cool outside demeanor not betraying the utter shock you felt inside.

The fact your ex-husband didn’t fire back with any form of sarcastic response told you exactly how injured he was.

You picked up your phone and hit a single contact. "I need you. Bring the O neg and morphine."

With a stumble, Lloyd fell onto the sun lounger, which was next to yours, separated only by a small table. It was on that table that you now placed your drink before you, stood, pulling on your little crochet cover up.

“Fucks sake, Lloyd, you’re bleeding all over the damned place! This furniture wasn’t cheap! It’s quality rattan!”

"I know," he groaned, "I fucking paid for it."

“No, you didn’t, I threw the old stuff out. Well, actually, I burnt it when I caught you on it with that little blonde slut.”

"I'm dying here. Can we cut the shit?"

You rolled your eyes, “I just called a doctor, what else do you want me to do?”

"Care."

You scoffed, "try again."

There was no further conversation as Lloyd passed out and two of your bulkier men carried his limp body inside.

Under your instructions, they took him to one of the spare rooms where you gave a little wince as you pulled down the duvet and let them lay him on the linen sheets. Then, you dismissed them and told them to bring the medic straight up, before you set about grabbing a bowl of warm water and a set of towels.

You allowed yourself a little smirk as you cut away his shirt, knowing that he’d have paid a small fortune for his outfit. You examined the wound to his abdomen that was causing the most issue and with a sigh you placed a towel over it and your eyes strayed down to his blood soaked trousers, where he’d at least tried to patch himself up by tying some kind of scarf around his thigh.

“Christ, Lloyd.” You mumbled to yourself, “what the fuck happened?”

For all his faults, your ex was a slick worker, and you’d never known him to fuck up on a job yet. But, then again, he had been up against Court Gentry. And just like you’d warned, the top class Sierra Agent had gotten right under Lloyd’s skin and managed to poke the bear so to speak.

With a loud exhale you mentally cursed your ex, Carmichael and Six for ruining what you’d planned to be a nice, relaxing few weeks round the pool.

*****

Your concierge physician arrived less than thirty minutes later, and along with a few helping hands, made quick work and shut the room down into a surgical space and recovery room. The first words spoken by the good and well-paid doctor were that Lloyd was lucky to be alive. So lucky, in fact, it was a God damned miracle.

"He's in an extreme state of sedation for now. It'll allow his body to heal. There's no recovery for the missing fingers, the tissue is necrotic and since he doesn’t actually have them, they're gone. I took care of the bullet, it perforated organs and there was striation damage to his insides. The stab wound to the thigh was deep and he'll require intensive therapy to recover. His organs are no doubt covered in hematomas and there was a lot of internal bleeding. Like I said, boss, I shocked he's not dead or didn't bleed out on the ride here." 

You snorted, “I’m not shocked at all. Anything to make my life a misery…” 

"He's on several drips. I'll send a nurse to oversee the changing out the bags and emptying the catheter.”

You nodded.

"Good. If he pulls through, he's got a long road back."

"Great." You licked your teeth. "Thanks, Doc."

“I’ll see myself out. I’ll call in a few days, see how he’s doing.”

You nodded this time and stood in the doorway between the immaculate hall and Lloyd's room.

“Hey, doc…how long is he gonna be out like this…until…”

“Like I said, I’ll call back in a few days, check his progress. But I can’t say for sure.”

“Right…”

“Listen, permission to speak freely?”

"Of course," you nod.

“I’ve known you both now, for a long time. I’ve patched you both up numerous times, okay granted, more so him…but this is about as bad as I’ve seen. You should be prepared for the worst.”

You swallowed, and then rolled your eyes, giving a little scoff. “He’ll live. If nothing but to spite me.”

The doctor pursed his lips, "I'd sort his affairs."

Then he turned and left, taking a right to head down the stairs.

You looked in on Lloyd. Foot in front of foot, you walked to his bedside. You sat in the cushioned, high back chair and stared at him.

“You stupid prick.” You shook your head, and then had to give a little chuckle to yourself. Sorting his affairs…well, you guessed everyone would be expecting that given they assumed him dead.

But you were divorced, you’d no idea who was now his next of kin. He had no family, no friends either.

“Maybe we should bury you at sea.” You arched a brow, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. “Push you off that Yacht you love so much. Or, better yet, maybe I'll bury you at Harvard, on the football field that ruined your dreams." You gasped, "no, your parents’, that's it! Next to them both!"

You snorted to yourself, and then despite the gravity of the situation you started to laugh.

Your laughter soon stopped when you had a sudden thought. His “body,” or lack of would surely cause some questions.

“Fucks sake…you’re such an asshole,” you groaned as you stood up, your practicality kicking in.

It was time to make a few calls.

**********

An hour or so later, it was all ironed out. You’d called a few people, spread the word that Lloyd’s body had been ‘recovered’ to avoid the CIA getting their hands on it. You knew it would get back to Carmichael, and that he’d buy it as one final finger up at him over being terminated.

“I’m going for a shower.” You passed one of your security detail. “No one goes into that room bar the nurse, who should be here soon. And I want a heightened patrol round the property tonight.”

"You got it, boss," one nodded and the other was quickly on comms securing your request.

In your room, you sorted out your things and sighed. This was turning out to be a real shitty week. You opened the doors to your balcony and allowed the warm air to flow in.

Briefly, your mind wandered to when the two of you had bought this place. You knew it was blood money that bought it, but such was the nature of the freelance business. And, hypocritical as it was, you also didn’t care much. It had supposed to be a special place for the pair of you .A home away from home. Somewhere for you to spend your time when you weren’t required to be in work in person, and for him from which to base his European ops. 

But in the midst of his transgressions, it changed. You’d turned a blind eye twice, but when you’d caught him here, with the blonde bitch you’d mentioned earlier, you were done.

You guessed that most people would find it strange that the house you were adamant you received in the divorce was the one in where you’d found him balls deep in some local hooker, the final indiscretion that had pushed you over the edge.

But you couldn’t explain it. This house had your heart.

And now it extended its hospitality to the dickhead currently comatose in one of the spare rooms.

With a huff, you turned towards the bathroom and stripped as you went. You knew Lloyd turning up here wasn’t the end of this shit show, in fact it was likely just the beginning. Why the fuck he had felt the need to darken your doorstep was anyone’s guess.

Just another way in which he was still making your life as awkward as fuck.

**********

It had been a full five days since Lloyd had shown up, bleeding out until the doctor stitched him up. Five full days of him lying in the bed he was in, rotting, nonetheless. 

For the first few you tried to stay out of his room. Telling yourself you didn’t care, and that it would be easier if he did just fucking die. But, as the days went on, you found yourself looking in on him more and more. Particularly in the evenings, where you would sometimes even sit in his room and read.

And you had no idea why.

The doctor, as promised, came to check in on him, switching out bandages and swabs. Checking vitals and the coloration or rather discoloration of his bruises and gums.

On the sixth day, you came back from a shower and found the nurse by his bed, a frown on his face.

“What is it?” You asked immediately.

“He looks…better.” he said, “I can’t explain…”

Your heart skipped a little as your brain told you differently, "great. I should cancel the embalmer." You peered over at your ex-husband and did in fact see the color returning to his already previously pale features.

“Want me to call the doctor again?”

"Let's see what happens. He's still on the morphine, it could be days until he's coming to or even off it."

“Sure thing, I’ll keep an eye on him.”

"No need, I'll be here." You licked your lips and sat again at the chair that had recently worn a bit in the seat cushion.

He merely nodded and left.

"Why the hell do you insist on haunting me? I can't kill you, Gentry can't fucking kill you." You rolled your eyes, “why do I even care? I mean…do I even care? Maybe I should just call Denny and tell him the truth.”

There was another question, which begged an answer. “What the fucking hell am I going to do with you when you wake up?” You sat back and chewed the inside of your cheek. The silence of the room hurt, and you weren't entirely clear as to why.

You looked around the dimly lit room. At one point the space was meant to be for something else, someone else. It never happened, for which you were thankful. Those kinds of things were baggage and easily useful when shit went awry. And to be frank, Lloyd would have made an appalling father, as much as he made a shitty husband. You leaned forward and settled your elbows on your knees.

"You either need to die or wake the hell up you son of a bitch."

A twitch of his fingers stopped you cold.

“Lloyd?”

The monitor bleeped a little faster as his eyes slowly fluttered. But, then Lloyd began gagging as the tube down his throat suffocated him.

"Hang on, Jesus," you hurried from your seat and called for the medic.

The nurse was back and set about removing the tube and fiddled with the dials on the drip. “I’ve upped his morphine but lowered the sedation just a touch. I’ll call the doctor back.”

You nodded, watching Lloyd come in and out of an odd state.

Within the hour, your surgeon was back for his third visit within a week.

“His vitals are pretty good all things considered, I’m astounded.”

The look on your face must have been one of annoyance and disgust for the doctor snorted. "Great."

“I think I’m happy to stop the sedation completely, let’s see how he is when he comes round.”

“Do you have to?”

"Yes, I do."

"Can't I pay you more to keep him out?"

"You could pay me to kill him, but it doesn't mean I will."

"Whose side are you on here?"

The surgeon merely chuckled again. "With the sedation off, the morphine will still make him drowsy, and he'll want to sleep, a lot. Let him. But I'll suspect he comes to from twelve to twenty-four hours."

"I can't wait."

"Oh, my dear, you should hide the distain better for when he comes to. One might think you still cared.”

You didn't see the doctor out. Instead, you just sat and stared at the still pale but apparently thriving asshole who decided to play too hard of ball a week ago.

"I really fucking hate you."

With that, you stood and left, knowing he wasn’t going to die was enough for you. You needed a drink.

*****

Exactly twenty four hours from the time the concierge had pulled that sedation drip from his arm, Lloyd woke. And when he did, you had the unfortunate mishap of being in the room with a book, as had now become your nightly routine. 

"Miss me, Sunshine?" He croaked.

You felt a shiver up your spine but kept your cool demeanor as you flicked your eyes upwards and peered at him over your book. “No.”

He snorted and then coughed a little.

“Sure, you did.”

“Six didn’t.”

“Huh?” Lloyd blinked and then groaned a little.

“Six didn’t miss you. Was a good shot, not to mention the stab to your thigh, and the beating he gave you. Not good enough though, it would seem.”

“Six…he didn’t….it was…fucking bitch.”

"Brewer?" You frowned, “Brewer shot you. Not Gentry?”

Lloyd gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“And the, uh, the fingers?" You held your hand up and wiggled your own.

Lloyd merely glared at you and then closed his eyes again. “You liked my fingers.”

"So did your whores," you shrugged. "lucky for you, and them, it’s your left hand. Doc said they're gone, and you'll need further treatment to take care of the necrotic tissue. That comes in time. For now, it looks like you'll live. So, let’s figure out where you can convalesce and get you there."

Lloyd swallowed and groaned, "I should be dead."

"Yeah, you should be. Clinically, you were."

“Lucky me, huh…”

“Hmmm.” You looked at him, “I knew you’d live.”

"Why's that?"

"Because you just can't leave me to be happy and at peace."

“And me being dead would make you happy, huh, pumpkin?”

“Yup, but you know what would have made me happier is having my hands on that drive and the leverage to push Carmichael out. But you couldn’t even manage that.”

Lloyd made a noise, and you sat forward a little.

“You know what I don’t get?”

“What?” he turned his head to look at you.

“Brewer. Why did she shoot you? I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re a grade A asshole…I can understand why she would be tempted…”

“Cover up.” Lloyd swallowed.

“Yeah, but…she shot you, and not Gentry. Surely, if it were a cover up, it would be cleaner to have both of them dead. Unless…” You trialed off, the dots connecting in your mind. “Oh, Suzanne…that’s…I underestimated you.”

“Well don’t hold out on me, sweetheart, I got plenty of time for a story.”

“She’s gonna use this situation as leverage. You and the shit show in Prague have given her the perfect opportunity. She pins you for the whole thing, helps Denny bury it, and she’s got him over a barrel…” you bit your lip, “and she’d need witnesses, someone to corroborate her story. Which is why she left Six alive.”

There was a pause, and Lloyd coughed again. “And they’ll use the girl.”

You looked at Lloyd, “you mean the child who you were fully prepared to kill…”

“I wasn’t gonna kill her,” Lloyd rolled his eyes, “I was just using it as a threat. Which is what…what they’ll do to Six, to keep him compliant.”

You exhaled loudly.

"So where do you fit into all of this? You weren't sent to me just because I fucked..." Lloyd staggered a sharp hiss of breath, "I fucked up in Vienna."

“I was in from the start. Remember the call when Suzanne said she’d happily punch you in the dick? I was in the office too. She was sent in an attempt to keep you reined in. It didn’t work.”

"So Carmichael sent you." He scoffed, then moaned. "Send the ex-wife, she'll clean up.

“After Vienna he was raging, sent me in to…light a fire under you, shall we say. But you know what? In all the clandestine, off record shit I’ve seen Denny do…I’ve never seen him as rattled as he was then, even before Prague. Whatever was on that drive, it’s bad for him. I don’t buy for a second that it was simply military secrets. At all.”

"It's compromising information. That was all I was told. Retrieve the asset and kill Six."

You shrugged. “And now Brewer will no doubt be blackmailing Carmichael about what went down in Prague, in exchange for whatever she wants. And I’m out of a job.”

“Out of… they fired you?” Lloyd’s brow furrowed.

“Yup.” You sat back. “Let’s face it, they’ve been looking for an excuse to get rid of me ever since they gave you to boot for your questionable ethics. This whole shit show was the perfect opportunity. I’m paraphrasing here, but essentially, they need to cut all ties with the person and company they’re pinning the fucked op on, and it makes them look a whole lot better. And Brewer will be laughing her tits off. She hated you, she hated me. Now she’s gotten rid of us both.”

Lloyd gave a little chuckle, “you know, I’m kinda impressed with Brewer. Never thought she had brains, or the balls. Even at Harvard she was always the quiet one…” he licked his lips. “you were the sharp, ruthless one.” Lloyd looked at you. “It’s what first attracted me to you.”

“And look where it got me. Jobless, and no income stream at all. I mean, I know the settlement agreement was only twenty percent of your income for five years but…I had another three to go. Now I’ve got fuck all. Not now you’re alive. I mean, if you’d died I might have had a chance of swooping in and taking over…”

“You can take twenty percent of my dick, how’s that?” Lloyd laid back and closed his eyes.

"I'd rather drown."

“Not what you said a few days ago.”

You ignored the maddening smirk on his face as you rose from your seat. “I suggest you get some sleep, preferably the type you don’t wake from.”

You left his room, closing the door behind you.

******

With Lloyd having slept off the majority of his heavy sedation and continuing his morphine naps, you had settled into an odd routine.

Before he woke, you'd check in on him then when the nurse came, you'd go. You took breakfast in the veranda and spent your afternoons at the pool. You'd checked back in on him after you'd spent the day in the sun just before dinner and when he'd had his liquid meal for the night, you'd slipped in just before midnight to see him again.

The doctor was in again and checking on his sutures and wounds, paying particular attention to his left hand and what remained of it.

You had no desire to be there for that, so you were more than happy to spend a little longer round by the pool.

It has been another nine days now since Lloyd had shown up, taking it to fourteen in total since the entire debacle had gone down.

You'd heard nothing from anyone at the agency, not that you expected to, but you kept your ear to the ground for that little snippet of news that would tell you Gentry had escaped.

So far, nothing.

The sun felt particularly warm today while there was a comforting breeze every now and again that would flow over the pool and sun deck. You'd finished your book and subsequent drink. Now you were relaxed and feeling the effects of a nap coming on.

You drained your glass of crisp white, placed it down and set your lounger to recline a little more. With a deep sigh, you closed your eyes and settled your arms above your head, your knee bent as you drifted off.

Your mind took you to a time when things were different. A time when you'd just bought the villa. A time when you and Lloyd were newly married and the abhorrent growth on his face didn't exist.

“Tell him he can go to hell…” Lloyd was on his phone as you headed down the stairs, “I’m busy…”

You’re perfectly painted, deep coral toes flashed against the white tiles as your foot reaches the bottom step. 

“I don’t give a fuck how much he’s paying. I’m not taking the job. I’m off grid, for the next month. So, if you, or anyone else associated with him calls me again in that time period, I will head straight over, castrate you with a pair of rusty pliers and feed your balls to your cat.”

There was a pause, “no one likes cats…okay…glad we understand one another, pumpkin.”

You smirked at the way he always dealt with clients. A fiery mouth with spiteful prose. You made your way to the huge open plan living space and stopped, Lloyd was stood by the sofa, overlooking the pool area. His tartan pajama pants hung low on his hips, and his Dolce and Gabbana slides sat on his feet.

Unlike you, he couldn't stand to be barefoot.

He noticed your reflection in the floor to ceiling windows and smirked as she spun to face you.

“Good boy, now don’t fucking call me again.” And with that he cut the call and tossed his phone onto the sofa.

"Done for the day?" You asked as you closed the space between the two of you.

His eyes unabashedly raked over your body. And you'd left little to the imagination. The slender cut of the bikini you wore caused him to swallow hard.

“Yup.” He popped the p. “And all by ten am.”

“I’m impressed…” your hands slid up his chest, “you turning work down…never thought I’d see the day.”

“Well, being your own boss has it perks.” His hands fell to your hips. “Just a shame you’ve only got the next week…”

"It's been a nice break." You ran your hands up his bare chest. "I feel like a swim. Are you joining me outside, Mr. Hansen?"

“Let me change, Mrs. Hansen.” He winked, leaning down to kiss you softly. “And…you could take longer, you know.”

“I can’t, we’ve been over this…”

“Quit, come work for me.”

“Work for you or with you?” You leaned back, flicking your brow up.

"Details..." he kissed you again.

“Well, as tempting as it is, I’ll stay a silent partner.” You hummed against his lips, “both you and I know working together and living together would be a recipe for disaster. I’d kill you.”

“Shame. Hansen Government Services could use a broad with your skills.” He winked.

You pinched his side, "watch it."

He chuckled a little before he stepped back, his eyes straying to your chest. He gave a hum of approval. "You're welcome," he smirked with a flick of his brows.

"No, you're welcome," you turned and walked off. It was absolutely no surprise your breasts were store bought and you were not ashamed.

Lloyd watched you got before he gave a little groan, before he headed out, taking the stairs two at a time. 

He made his way into the master bedroom, looking around at the freshly painted room.

It hadn’t been on his agenda, buying this place. But…well, you’d seen it in a real estate office as you’d explored the little village your yacht had moored in on your honeymoon. And he’d been looking into European property as a base point for his work.

A quick call, with a viewing later and he'd offered the full asking price.

Your face when he’d handed you the envelope with the completed paperwork over breakfast in your Virginia penthouse six or so weeks later had been a picture.

It has been worth the extortionate price tag, and the shitty job in Peru that had paid for it.

He’d promised you in college that one day you’d have everything of which you could ever dream. And, even in your brief break up, a year or so after he had left the CIA, when he’d been burying his dick in whichever chick he’d managed to pick up in whatever bars he was frequenting around the world, it had always been you on his mind.

With a smirk, he stripped off his pajamas, and dropped them in the laundry basket. Pulling a fresh pair of tight swim shorts from the drawer he pulled them on, slipped his feet back into his slides and made his way back downstairs.

You were on the lounger across from the covered veranda, his view of you in plain sight. You knew he was watching as he stalked towards you. With a smirk, you sat up and then stood. With a stretch you walked towards the pool, dipping your foot in. The cool water tickled your toes and with that you tossed your shades onto the lounger and dove into the deep end of the pool.

The splash was minimal, the ripple in the water slow. You looked like a mermaid from above.

“Fuck, princess…” Lloyd mumbled to himself.

You surfaced at the dip of the shallow end, walking the rest of the way. You ran your fingers over your head and smoothed back your hair. "The water's great."

“It should be, the pool guy costs enough.” Lloyd chuckled as he kicked off his sliders. “Which reminds me, when is the chef back.”

“Her name is Loretta, and she’s the housekeeper.” You rolled your eyes, “you’re such an asshole.”

"You hired them, I use them."

"Could you at least make yourself useful and bring me a drink? You're capable of that, I know that much," you sauntered past and started back for your linger around the pool's edge. "Then you should join me. You're looking pastier than usual."

“You just asked me to join you, and now you’re out and asking for a rink? Make your mind up, peach.”

"There's a pot-kettle reference there, but I'll hold back."

You seemed to sway your kips in a further teasing manner as that suit showed off the tight and round globes of your with a high cheek cut.

With a groan, Lloyd slipped his slides back on and huffed towards the bar.

You had him right where you wanted him and very quickly that crisp wine you enjoyed so much was in your hand along with a Hennessy White over ice in his as he took the lounger next to you.

“We need to hire a bartender.”

"I have one coming for you next week. His name Antonio and he checks out."

“Oh, does he?” Lloyd peered over his sunglasses at you.

“I ran his name and credentials. I also made sure he could make your drinks like you like them. He knows his stuff and is on loan to us when we're in town, or should I say you." Lloyd merely grunted in response. "What?"

“Nothing.” He sipped his drink.

"Huh," you sipped your own. 

The quiet settled over the two of you. You had applied tanning oil to your body as you dried. Then the time came for you to turn over and work on your backside. It was cliché, but you turned to your husband and held out the oil. "Would you mind?"

Lloyd took it from you and stood up, sloshing a generous amount over your back. His hands gently massages the oil into your shoulders, and you felt him tut as he found a knot.

“You need a massage.”

"It's the late nights and positions you fuck me in that do it," you reached back and untied the straps to your top. "So, you should book one in for me."

“For a late night fuck or a massage?”

"Both?" You turned your head and groaned as he hit a particular spot near your neck and spine,

“Or I could give you one now…” his lips tickled the shell of your ear.

You literally felt the flip in your belly at the chills that puckered your skin with goosebumps. "I'd be a willing participant."

“That so…” his lips softly pecked at the hinge of your jaw as his hands continued to rub at your shoulders.

"Mmmhmm," you purred. "It is my last week."

“I’m well aware.” His lips continued downward, his smooth cheeks and jawline brushing against your skin. “And I won’t be seeing you again for a while…”

“Two weeks…”

"That so?" He hummed along your spine at the dip in your back. 

"I made Denny promise."

“Well, he owes me a few…so if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll keep it.”

"Yes, the vile and incomparable Llyod Hansen of Hansen Security Services is always in Mr. Carmichael's favor."

Lloyd chuckled against your skin, “Stahp pretending you don’t benefit from it.”

"Oh, I'm not complaining," you felt the nip of his teeth at the swell of your ass.

“Good. Oh, peach…not sure I’m gonna last a whole two weeks.”

“We’ve done longer before.”

“Not since we got married.”

“You’ll be busy, you said yourself. You’ve an office and stuff to set up here…and a job. It’ll fly by…” you sighed as you felt his fingers tugging at the waist band of your Yves Saint Lauren bikini bottoms.

A tilt of your hips and your nose buried between your arms against the cushion gave Lloyd the space to pull the bottoms over your ass and down your legs. His pointed nose brushed across your left cheek, and you whimpered. His hands had left shoulders and were now smoothing down and around your thighs, his lips and tongue tracing their way back up your spine.

"Lloyd..."

“Y/N….”

"Make it real good, baby, please..."

“When is it not…” his lips were back at your neck.

You sat up a bit and tilted your head to the side, giving him more access to your now elongated neck. Your hand reached up and curled around his own neck as your fingers carted over that shorter shorn hair at the back of his head.

You heard a soft moan rumble in his throat.

Lloyd's hands slipped round and over your belly, sliding up until he cupped your breasts. As his thumbs flicked across your hard nipples, you moaned. You could feel him hard against the seam of your ass.

“You want it like this?” He grunted in your ear.

"No," you shook your head.

“How…tell me, sweetheart.”

You tilted your head back more, "slow. Like Paris."

“Paris, huh…” he chuckled, lips sucking. “Turn over…”

You rolled to your back in the crevice of space he gave you to do so. Your top slid between your permanently pert breasts, and you were quick to toss it to the ground. You licked your lips and stuck the corner between your teeth.

His eyes watched your action, and soon his lips were on yours, hands cupping your face.

You gasped through your nose and as he kissed you, you felt his knee slide between your thighs. Your left hand slipped between the two of you, your fingers wrapping around his hard shaft. Lloyd hissed through his own nose as you started to stroke him while his tongue slowly massaged your own.

It was a deep kiss, not unlike the one he had given you when the registrar had told him he could kiss his bride. Chained kisses soon tickled your jaw and then your neck as his tongue licked at your collarbone before giving it a quick nip.

Your free hand slipped up into his hair, fingers wrapping round the stronger strands on top.

He moaned against your skin, but your own words of praise fell flat on your tongue as his own flicked over your left nipple. Your back arched a little, pushing you up into him even more.

A true bite to your the underside of your breast and then to the pointed edge of your ribcage had you writhing. The slow nature of his work was soaking you and you were enthralled by your husband's touch.

His lips traced a path down towards your naval, hands following in parallel, tracing the curves of your hips. 

Your back arched off the lounge as he neared the apex of your thighs and hips. Again, those teeth sunk into your skin, and you whimpered. The feel of his cheeks against the softness of your thigh felt like silk over velvet. By the time his mouth was covering your sensitive sex, you were already a mess.

He used that silver tongue of his, that brought the spoils of his hunts to their weak knees, to make you cum. You writhed under him, so much so, his arm had to keep you grounded.

Twice over he had you pulsing round his tongue.

"Fuck, I...inside...."

Pulling back, Lloyd wiped his face on the inside of your thigh before he gently wrapped his hands around your ankles.

With a final squeeze, his hands released you and Lloyd moved. You looked at him from between your legs to see him stepping out of his trunks. Your eyes rolled back at the sight of him. Lean muscle over that lengthy ripped frame. He was built for stealth, tall and lean, long in leg and torso. Cut abs and an Adonis belt that he didn't shy away from being licked with your hot tongue. Tattoos that only you and those in your inner circle knew of.

He smirked, he caught you looking. And you knew it stroked his ego, just like he was now stroking himself. 

He tugged softly, pulling you down, his knee nudging your legs further apart.

Your chest filled with air as your slack jaw brought those deep breaths in. You could those darkened blues you fell for seductively glaring at you as he fisted his cock above you.

"You're such a good girl, sunshine," he praised. You swallowed as his tip tickled your sensitive clit, rubbing his head over your soaked slit. With one thrust of his hips, he was buried.

“Fuck…fuck…” your hands instantly flew to his back, nails digging at his skin.

"There you go, baby. Fuck you feel so good," he grunted.

Your knees bent a little more until your ankles were raised above the lounger. Your ankles wrapped around his back, and you dug your heels into the dimples above his ass. "Oh, shit, just like that." You were opened up for him, lengthening your channel to take all his length.

His lips crashed to yours again, his hips moving slowly and steadily, just as you’d asked for. When he broke away for a breath your eyes locked  as his forehead pressed into yours.

"I love you," you whispered.

“I love you, too…” he breathed back, without so much as missing a beat.

Your hands made their way over his shoulders and up his neck where you laced your fingers together. Your thumbs swiped at the temples of his face as your back slid along the cushion.

Lloyd's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, one hand at your hip, the other curled gently around your cheek. He was making love to you, out in the wide open without a care. You’d done this before, made love, that is. Of course, you had. And it wasn’t your first time having sex somewhere a little naughty, so to speak, but it was the first time either of those had crossed over.

It painted your heart to watch Lloyd bare himself like he did. Made your heart flutter. It was a side that no one else saw. Not a single person in the world knew he had it in him to be this way.

And that suited you fine.

"S'close," you purred into his ear as the gentle roll of his hips were like the staccato of the waves against the rocky shore below. "Feels so good."

His nose nudged your chin, pushing your head back so his lips could once more chain kisses down your throat. 

Your breath became little cries with each catch in your throat when suddenly you stilled. Tensing all around him and squeezing his hips with your knees as you came.

“Oh, baby…” he grunted again. 

Your body relaxed a little as you came down from the crash, but Lloyd kept pace. He was close too but devoured the sigh of your orgasm in your face. You’re eyes closed, your chest heaving. 

"So beautiful."

Your eyes opened again to lock onto his. "Let go, baby." 

“Fuck…fuck…” with grunt you felt his hips grow sloppy.

"Mmm, yeah. There it is."

With a groan, he buried his face into your neck, and you felt the twitch of his broad back and shoulder muscles as your hands softly tickled up and down his spine.

“Don’t go…” he said softly.

The shrill ring of your phone jerked you from your daydream, and you groaned as you felt the ache between your itch.

“Fucking fuck…” you rolled your eyes as you reached for it. 

“Hello?”

“I’d like to order a Hawaiian pizza, extra olives and pineapple.”

You sat bolt upright as you instantly recognized the code, it was Gentry, checking it was you he was talking to.

“Mushrooms?” you replied.

He exhaled a little, satisfied it was indeed you before his cool, soft tone spoke again. “We need to talk.”

[peaches1958]

@georgiapeach30513, have you seen this?

[peaches1958]

For later

Of course your mob boss encourages things like therapy to help you heal from past trauma, but what other unconventional tactics would he rather try too?

-He delivers a full dossier on damning info about your enemy. You get to decide if you blackmail them, expose them, or get revenge another way.

-You’ve always wanted to hit them, just to see if it makes you feel better. He kidnaps the person and gently coaches you on how to punch using them as a test dummy.

-He assigns several of his men to stalk/terrify them and sends you the tapes of it.You can enjoy seeing them put through what they did to you.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader

CW: Stalking (not by Bucky). John being the absolute worst.

AN: Unbetad and written on my phone. I couldn't help myself after reading @glitter-shrill prompt.

*Poll at the end*

You did everything right. Everything you were supposed to do. And it didn't matter. Not when John worked for one of the city’s most powerful men, Everett.

You're not even sure if the gangster is aware that his employee was taking advantage of his connections. You were though. Painfully aware.

He's been relentless. Openly stalking you. Harassing you. Touching you. Invading every aspect of your life, tainting your cherished, safe spaces with his presence. He broke into your home and refused to leave.

When you called the police, they didn't even bother to take your statement after he showed them Everett's business card.

You overhead him in your living room, joking with the officers sworn to serve and protect. Bragging that he could do whatever he wanted to you and there was nothing you could do to stop him.

He was going to hurt you that night, this was all heading to the one conclusion you knew you'd never recover from.

You couldn't let him do that to you. So you ran.

Leaving behind all your belongings, everything you had worked so hard for. It wasn't fair. You did everything right but because his fragile ego can't handle rejection.

There's only one man who could protect you. Bucky. He's the only one with more influence, more power and resources than Curtis. The only one who wouldn't think twice about going after his enforcer.

While the mobster is impartial to his rivals' business, content to follow the rules established by pakhans before him, he couldn't resist your pleas for help. Your tear-filled gaze slipped past his defenses in a way no other person ever has.

He opened his doors to you. Letting you into his home, giving the safety and protection you needed. Falling for you. Proudly watching as you overcome what John put you through.

Now Bucky will do anything for you.

Bucky offered to get you a therapist. Let you work this out in a healthy way. But the more he learned about your mistreatment, the angrier he became on your behalf.

"Or," He dragged the word out, piquing your curiosity. His hands settled on your hips. Chin on your shoulder, gaze following yours to the pictures of John on his desk. "I can help you get revenge. Personally that always makes me feel better."

You've always done the right thing. And what did it get you so far? John's been allowed to go unchecked, allowed to ruin your life. A man like him will only learn the hard way. Maybe it's time to sink down to his level and make him feel as scared and helpless as you did.

"What did you have in mind?" Your voice trembles but your resolve hardens the more you look at John's smug face.

Bucky grins, he was hoping you'd see things his way. He'll still make you sure you keep that therapy appointment after you have some fun. A little revenge never hurt.

"I have a few ideas."

[peaches1958]

Sweet and spicy

I am convinced mafia!bucky has a special ring tone for his girls so he knows immediately to pick up because otherwise he’ll get around to answering it whenever he wants to (unless it’s from steve or sam and something is Really Wrong)

He does. Very few people have direct access to him. And even then, he's been known to make people wait until he decides their issues are worth his attention.

However when his wife or daughter calls him, he always answers. They're assigned a distinct ring tone and it's barely goes off before he's reaching for his phone. He could be in the middle of a multi million dollar arms deal and he's going to pick up.

Bucky is always patient with them, they get his undivided attention. No matter how he busy he is, Bucky is always willing to spend a few minutes listening to Bee ramble about her secrets and the drama unfolding between Mr. Tato and his rivals. Just like he's always willing to listen to his wife talk about anything and everything.

It's very rare that he doesn't answer immediately but it's usually for a good reason and he always, always calls back as soon as possible.

And he looks forward to the texts and pics Malyshka sends him during the day. Sometimes those pics are the only things keeping him grounded and holding him back from tearing a nuisance apart with bare hands.

And sometimes she sends pics that drive him wild and have him on edge, eager to get him so he get his hands on the real thing so he can show his pretty little wife what she does to him.

[peaches1958]

Too sweet

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DLOmnEaOvVt/?igsh=cmtsZWFrODlqZ2Q2 this is mafia!bucky and his son 😆😆

IF Bucky and Mal has a baby boy, half of their conversations would go like this.

Bucky reaches for his son, gently encouraging him to stand up. "Cmon. We have to go, the girls are waiting for us."

Baby Barnes ignores him and keeps on playing with his new toy, a colorful action figure given to him by Bee.

Bucky sighs. Drops his shoulders. Stares at the ceiling. And wonders where his son got his stubbornness from. Couldn't have been from him.

He would continue this standoff but you're downstairs, waiting to start movie night. "Malyshka said let's go."

That's all the baby needed to hear.

"My Misha!" his son beams, immediately pushing to his feet, legs wobbling.

Bucky's gaze sharpens as he takes his little hand. "Our Malyshka."

He swears his son returns his glare. "My Misha."

The argument continues during the walk to the living room and gets more intense when Bucky tries to kiss you, only to have your son shove his hands between your faces.

Bucky has to admit defeat when his son breaks out the bottom lip. Even Bucky doesn't have a defense against that and the baby knows it.

Fine. At least he has his sweet Bee.

Bucky grins down at her, arms opening. "You can sit next to me, Bumblebee."

She starts to skip over when a little voice rings out. "My BeeBee"

And just like that she changes course with a "sorry Papa, be rights back" and runs to her brother.

You carefully hid your grin when Bucky takes the seat on your other side and slumps down with his head on your shoulder. Bucky glances up at you, baleful blue eyes on your face. "You're all traitors."

"You love us."

Bucky flashes a grin, the same one plastered on the two mini mes beside you. "Damn right I do."

[peaches1958]

This is absolutely adorable. Where can I find it on your Masterlist?

did mob!bucky cry when mal and him took bee to get shots? i feel like he would☹️

Bucky isn't a crier, but those first couple of doctor visits were tough on the mobster and tested his resolve.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader, daughter nicknamed Bumblebee

CW: Fluff, mentions of shots (Bee's first vaccines)

WC: 1.4K

A/N: Part of the Bumblebee series. Inspired by a tiktok of a new dad watching his baby vaccinated.

Bucky can't recall the last time he's felt off balance. He peers down at his tiny Bumblebee, sleeping peacefully in his arms and a fierce wave of protectiveness and love slams into him, churns through his veins, stealing his breath.

It's been two months since she arrived in this world, turning his upside down.

The only other person who's ever made him feel like this sits across from him, playing on her phone. Unaware of the turmoil he's drowning in. Unaware that his protective instincts, driven by a formerly dormant, primal part of his brain that always comes to life whenever you two are around, are demanding that he protect her, shield her from any discomfort.

Irrational thoughts—theres no danger, and this is necessary. He knows it is. He does. It doesn't staunch the helpless feeling seeping through his veins. It's unnerving. He's a fearless, austere pakhan. Known for being a ruthless leader.

Yet his reputation doesn't matter when he glances down at his Bumblebee. Right now, he's just a father worried about his daughter.

"Maybe we should wait. Give her a few more weeks." The words come out before he can stop them.

Taking your attention away from your screen, your eyes coast across his bearded face. Anyone else would mistake his stoic expression for uncaring. But you know better. You know he's been wrapped around her finger even before she was born.

"She'll be okay," you reassure him, reaching across to brush your hand over her downy soft hair. "She won't even remember this."

But he will. He's going to remember every second. Bucky peers down at Bee, his worried eyes warming. He does that every time he looks at her, and every single time, it makes you fall in love with him a little more.

"I know she needs them, but she's so—," he gazes down at her and you understand instantly.

She is so tiny in his hands—adorably sweet, all big curious eyes, chubby cheeks, round belly with even chubbier arms that you love to squish every time you hold her.

"I'll feel better once this over. I just want her to stay healthy even though I hate the idea of her hurting," he confesses, bringing her closer to him.

Even if it's for a moment.

Again irrational. Yet who can blame him?

The thought of his baby in pain makes his chest ache, how is he supposed to get through this? Those baby books didn't prepare him for this itchy, restless feeling simmering under his skin, feeding a growing urge to do something, anything, to get out of this situation.

It's uncomfortable.

They say it's supposed to get easier but he can't imagine getting used to this. And Bucky is accustomed to many things, more than most courtesy of his rough upbringing and the brutal nature of the bratva. But not this.

It's all new territory for him. He hasn't found his footing yet.

It takes all his self-control to not snatch his sweet Bee away when the nurse preps her chunky little thigh with a cold swab. Her head rests in the crook of his elbow, the feel of her soft cheeks under his knuckle keeping him grounded.

The first shot goes as smoothly as promised. For a second, he breathes easier, thinking that he was overreacting, worried for no reason.

But then the second one has Bee's face crumbling. The sight of tears forming in her wide eyes makes his heart stall.

The third has her wailing and it's like a punch straight to his solar plexus. He wishes it had been, it would hurt less than seeing her like this.

Her cries get louder when the first two band-aids are placed on her sore little leg.

Bucky's head slowly lifts and his menacing glare slices through the nurse, his blue eyes harsh and unforgiving. A subconscious reflex to her cries. Unspoken words sit on his tongue, ready to spill out only to be swallowed down when he hears your voice.

"Bucky, she's okay." You keep your tone soft and calm even though you feel anything but because fatherhood looks incredible on him.

You blame your postpartum hormone addled brain for finding this (albeit slighy unnecessary) display of protectiveness unbearably sexy. Maybe it's the knowledge that your man would go above and beyond to keep her safe. Or maybe it's the way he's being so gentle with your baby that it even reminds you of a wolf ready to protect his cub from harm.

Either way— you can't deny it's appealing.

The nurse doesn't share the same inclination. She may be used to dealing with mobsters but none are like the pakhan. She tries not to focus on his focused stare but drops the next two band-aids before gently applying the final bright pink one with shaky hands.

Bucky knows she's simply doing her job, so he takes another breath and smiles—tries to anyway—it's the closest to an apology as he'll get. Unfortunately, it only seems to make her more nervous.

Your own apology goes unnoticed, the poor woman scurrying out of the room like there's a pack of dogs snapping at her heels.

Bucky cradles Bee in his arms, keeping her close to his chest while whispering sweet apologies and promises of 'never again' between kisses pressed to her forehead. His hand gently patting her back as he sways back and forth.

She settles after a few minutes, her cries fading into soft hiccups. Bucky gets her dressed, a few more murmured apologies pressed into her hair when she cries softly after he has to bend her knee to get her leg into her bear suit.

"I know, I got you. You're okay, no more shots today, I promise. It's okay Bumblebee. It's all done. All done, my brave girl," he says, picking her off the exam table. He turns her to you, holding her under his chin. "And I want you to know that this wasn't my idea to do this to you. It was hers."

"What?" Your mouth falls open. Scrambling to find a thread of indignation among the warm, fuzzy feelings enveloping you from seeing your mobster care for your baby, you let out a huff. "Excuse you Barnes?"

Bucky keeps speaking to Bee, his narrowed eyes playful, finally able to relax now that everything is said and done. "She brought us here. I was going to take you to Cristobal's so you could get another toy but she insisted that we come here instead. It's like she gave you those shots herself. Your own mama. Can you believe that Bee?"

Oh. Okay. You know what? You can play this game.

"Snitch." It comes out stern even as a smile desperately pulls at the corners of your lips. "And I'm not the one who was holding you down Bee. That was your papa."

"Don't listen to her Bumblebee. I was trying to save you." Bucky takes her hand and points her index finger at you. "Traitor."

You stare at each other. You break first, soon the rich, smooth sounds of his laughter joins yours. These moments when he sheds his cold pakhan exterior and gets lighthearted are special, it's a side few others will ever experience.

"You know we have to come back in two months." You shrug on your coat before bundling a content Bee in your arms.

"Don't remind me, Malyshka. At least we'll be better prepared next time." He sighs, wrapping his arm around you, guiding the two of you out of the pediatrician's office and down to the waiting car. "Now we can celebrate the fact that we all survived getting our first shots."

Normally you'd roll your eyes, maybe quip about how he's always finding an excuse to celebrate anything she does. Not this time. This time your sweet baby deserves a little treat for her bravery. Even if she won't remember it by the end of the day.

"I still can't believe we made the cutest baby." You grin over at him, as you silently add watching Bucky put Bee into her car seat on your list of things you will never get enough of.

His warm, languid gaze drifts over your face with a thoughtful lift of his lips. "I can."

Bucky naturally spends way too much at Cristobal's shop. He kept insisting Bee needed everything she looked at, you didn't stand a chance against him, not when he was holding Bee in his tattooed hands while he pleaded his case to let him spoil his baby girl.

After that, Bucky would always take her to one of her favorite shops after her doctor's appointment, giving his little girl something to look forward to when she got older so she would stay calm.

Which ended up being a good thing because the baby books got one thing wrong.

He never did get used to seeing his sweet Bee upset. He never has. Yet he's never missed a single appointment, always there for her, distracting her during shots, making her laugh afterward and wiping away her tears.

Because if there's one thing Bucky will always do, it's make sure his girls are safe and happy.

[peaches1958]

So incredibly sweet

What was the first reaction Malyshka had when Bucky started giving Bee cash? Was she like “wtf she’s so little” or “wtf give me cash too”

You thought it was cute. Even though you'll never admit that to Bucky. He doesn't need the encouragement, he's bad enough already.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader, daughter nicknamed Bumblebee

CW: Fluff

WC: Drabble

AN: Unbetad and written on my phone.

Bucky loves giving you 'spending money'. This morning you caught him slipping an obnoxiously thick wad of cash in your purse. He's ignoring your protests that it was way too much for you to spend in one day, a sly grin on his face as he tells you that you'll have to try harder and he believes you can.

Bucky is about to give you even more cash, counting out more from the stack in his hand when Bee wiggles a chunky little arm free from her baby wrap and holds her hand out, fingers opening and closing.

"Papa," she says, flashing a gummy grin up at him. For someone who only knows a few words, she's really good at communicating what she wants. "Hi Papa."

"Yes Bumblebee? You want to take your mama to lunch today?" A smile instantly pulls at his lips when she squeals in response. "Of course you do my sweet Bee. Here's a little extra so you can take her to the toy store after you're done."

Bucky has been talking to her like this since she was born and you love it, hearing the way his voice softens and watching him be so gentle and sweet with her makes your heart flutter.

He peels off a few hundreds and places them in her palm. Her fist closes tightly around the bills, crumpling them as she brings her hand to her face. Her intense focus on the money makes you laugh, her little ponytails shaking under your chin.

You don't bother to take it from her, you know by now that her tiny hands are stronger than they look. It's a struggle to get something away from her once she gets a hold of it. That cash is hers. For now.

"Bucky," His gaze lifts at the warning in your tone. "Don't make this a habit. She doesn't need money. She just learned to walk. Let's wait until she's a little older before you start giving her cash. How about when she's able to count?"

Bucky knows he can't wait that long. You know he can't wait that long. His baby girl needs to be spoiled now. Besides—

"Did I tell you how cute you are today? I didn't? Shame on me. You are as pretty as your mama. Look at her, she's gorgeous isn't she?"

"Bucky," your warning loses its edge when his eyes lock on yours, the sheer emotion in the blue irises makes you shiver even as you lift a suspicious brow.

His smile widens. Her other arm is tugged free and he places more money in her hand. "You girls deserve a spa day, it'll be your treat Bumblebee."

"What? No we—"

Bucky presses his lips to yours, stopping your argument with a languid, warm kiss. His lips sweeping over yours so possessive and passionate as he deepens the kiss that your knees go weak. It's truly unfair how good he is at this.

Then when he knows your resistance is melting away faster than cotton candy in the rain, he breaks the kiss and backs away. "I'll call you after the Stark meeting Malyshka. Love you both."

He waves at his babbling baby before opening the front door. She's too preoccupied with slamming her money together to notice his departure which is a good thing considering there's always a chance she'll cry if she sees him leaving.

"Love you too," you sigh, watching him get into his car. You drop a kiss on her head. "Your papa is impossible."

"Papa," she agrees, kicking her chubby legs out.

"Exactly. I don't know what we're going to do with him either Bee." You glance at the money in your purse for a second. It would be wrong to let it go to waste. He's not going to take it back. A spa day with your baby does sound like fun.

"You know he's right. Let's have a girls' day. We should call Grace and see if she wants to join us." You look down at your baby with a thoughtful expression. "Don't tell him I said he was right because he'll bring it up the next time he tries to give us money we don't need."

An hour later, you're on way to your first spa day with Bee. It's the first of many because Bucky did make it a habit.

He's only happy if his girls are happy and as your man and her father, he's going to ensure that you both have every last thing you need to have a soft, sweet life.

And if you both end up a little spoiled, he'll proudly take the blame for that.

[peaches1958]

So sweet

Mafia!Bucky favorite words are "my wife".

It's my wife this, my wife that. That stunning woman over there is my wife. Oh this tattoo, it's in honor of my wife. Sorry I can't stay, I have to get back to my wife. You think that's nice, you should see what my wife can make. My wife can have whatever she wants. I'm going to go ask my wife what she thinks.

He will find any excuse to remind people that he's married.

And he's always coming up with new reasons to remind you that he's so fucking proud that you're Mrs. Barnes

[peaches1958]

So sweet

The morning of Bucky's birthday, Bee overheard you (playfully) deny his request for another kiss. You had given him plenty, he was just being greedy.

He admitted as much just as Bee waddled in the room, this adorable concerned look on her face, brows furrowed, arms splayed wide open.

"Mommy it's his birfday," she admonished, pointing Mr. Tato in your direction. "You gotta give him kisses pwease. He needs 'em. For his birfday. 'Members how papa says you 'posed to get all you wants on your birfday?"

That does sound like something your husband would say.

You watched this sly, Cheshire grin spread across Bucky's face. "Yeah Malyshka. You're supposed to give me everything I want."

And in that instant you knew that he was going to be an absolute menace for the next 24 hours.

[peaches1958]

So sweet

I know bumblebee has the cutest passport photo, she loves anytime she gets to take pwetty pictures

She got her first passport when she was a couple of months old. She recently got it updated and it's so cute.

She had Bucky put her hair up in her two favorite buns adorned with gold clips. She picked out a cute light pink dress with matching ballet flats. Bee loved getting photographed and Bucky ended up paying for a couple of the pics they didn't use for the passport.

[peaches1958]

So sweet

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DI4C3gNxGii/?igsh=eWZlNHh1cHJrbmd5

Biker Bucky and Gorgeous when she starts riding a bike a little more

Biker!Bucky is protective of Gorgeous. He constantly keeps an eye out for her when they're riding and he makes sure no one messes with her. Anytime another guy tries to hit her on, he's right there scaring them off.

Not because he's jealous or worried but because he's a territorial man.

Gorgeous is the love of his life and he's not letting some random man bother his girl. She loves it because it's tedious fending off unwanted advances. It's so much easier to let Bucky take of them for her.

[peaches1958]

Too cute...I know I'd never be able to pull that hot man out of anywhere.

On TikTok I saw a comment where a woman said that she told her husband to pretend to be unconscious so he was dead weight to see if she could drag him out of the house in case of fire or emergency, she couldn’t even pull him off the bed and she cried so he had comfort her while dying laughing😭😭😂 reminded me of something biker Bucky and Gorgeous would do

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

A/N: Written on my phone, unbetad.

Bucky groans dramatically. "You might as well just leave me here and save yourself Gorgeous."

You keep pulling him with all your strength but he barely budges an inch. You might be able to move him if he'd stop talking.

He doesn't.

"Bury me with my bike." Bucky cracks open an eye, his lips twitching. "And a pair of your panties."

"I'm not doing that." A laugh spills past your lips before you can stop it.

You can't concentrate with him cracking jokes like this. Yeah that's the reason you're struggling to move this six foot something man. It's all his fault.

You keep laughing but the more he thinks about it, the more he likes the idea. "Matter fact, line my casket with your panties and toss in a few of those pics I have on my phone."

"Oh my god."

"Shut. Up."

"I'll know if you disregarded my last wishes," he casually warns, like his massive body isn't splayed on the bedroom floor. Like he's still not budging despite the fact that you're putting your all into this.

"Mourn me for the rest of your life," he sighs sadly, head lolling to the side. Bucky hasn't broken character once, he's fully committed to this bit. "Keep a shrine of me in our bedroom."

"Bucky I'm trying to focus," your breathless giggle lost under a grunt when you try to shove him to the side. Nothing. Damn it.

Eyeing his shirtless, tattooed body, you try new a new approach. Adjusting your grip, you hook your fingers under his upper arms. You can barely get your hands around half of his large, warm biceps. Bracing your feet on the floor, you pull so hard you feel your muscles tremble and ache. Nothing.

"Don't even think about moving on."

"Be quiet," you start. You release his arms, wincing when they hit the ground with a thud. You'd have better luck moving a pile of bricks than your man. "What would you do if I did?"

You're teasing but Bucky takes you very seriously.

He doesn't play when it comes to you. Or his burial requests.

He slowly opens his eyes, his darkening gaze captures yours. "I will haunt you for the rest of your life," he states confidently. "No guy will even breathe in your direction by time I'm done with them. You're going to have a rep because of me."

There's no time to process that because his hands suddenly reach out, grabbing your ankles. You're tugged forward, turned and twisted—he squeezes your ass a couple of times—until you're flat on his chest, his pecs under your palms.

Bucky smiles, his hand cups the back of your head and he brings your face close to his. "If you think I'm a menace now, imagine what my ghost will be like. Just imagine what ghost me would do to you. I'd get rid of your little replacement and then you'd get all my attention. Remember ghost me isn't going to get tired."

Oh.

Oh.

Oh no.

Well maybe that could be fun. Wait.

Your eyes widen at the images his words are creating. He chuckles under his breath. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

Resting your chin on his chest, you have to admit, no man would ever measure up to your bike. And if anyone could find a way to come back and haunt someone, it would be the handsome, incorrigible man under you.

"So you want all my panties or just your favorites?"

"Gorgeous. How many times do we have to go over this? All your panties are my favorite."

"Fine," you concede, failing to hold back a smile. "But you promised me a lifetime together and I'm holding you to that."

Bucky brushes his lips across yours in one sweet, sure motion. His deep voice rolls over your skin leaving goosebumps in its wake. "I have no intention of leaving you anytime soon. I got too many plans for you, Gorgeous."

All of his plans revolve around loving you, protecting you, being with you, caring for you any way you'll let him.

And he's going take his time getting through every last one of them.

[peaches1958]

For later

── ⊹ ࣪ ˖ Lust ˖ ࣪ ⊹ ──

professor!bucky barnes x reader

summary: You’re a literature student. He’s your English professor — brilliant, composed, and entirely off-limits. But the more you write, the more he notices you. And what begins as admiration quietly unravels into something far more dangerous.

word count: 11k

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. curse words, mutual desperation, age gap, honestly this part is nothing but smut with a bit of plot (very self-indulgent as i’m ovulating); dirty talk, praising kink, oral (f receiving) fingering, sex, bondage, overstimulation, PiV, unprotected sex, edging.

Part 5 | Previous Part

You stood outside his door for a second too long, heart fluttering like you were some giddy teenager on her first date. The hallway was quiet, except for the faint hum of an elevator down the hall and your own breaths as you smoothed your hands down your outfit one last time.

Finally, you raised a hand and knocked.

A few beats, then you heard the shuffle of movement on the other side. The door swung open, and there was James—sleeves pushed up past his forearms, a soft, worn t-shirt clinging to him like it was made for him. His hair was a bit messy like he’d run his fingers through it too many times tonight.

And the way he looked at you?

God.

His gaze traveled slowly—from your face, down your body, then back up again—before that tiny, crooked smile broke across his face. “Hey,” he greeted, voice warm and low, stepping back so you could come in.

“Hey,” you echoed, cheeks already heating as you brushed past him into his apartment.

The door clicked shut, and you took a moment to glance around—the light was cozy and golden, the faint smell of something delicious wafting in from the kitchen.

“You look…” he started, reaching up to rub the back of his neck as if searching for the right word.

You smiled. “I look…?”

“Perfect,” he decided at last, eyes never leaving you.

Your stomach did a little flip at that, and you bit your lip to hide a grin. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

And as he stepped closer, close enough that you could feel his warmth, his hands gently found your waist.

He eased you further into his arms, his hands warm and sure at your waist. That gentle heat of him was dizzying.

“You must be freezing,” he murmured, gaze fixed on yours as his thumbs stroked small circles into your sides.

“Not anymore,” you whispered, hands lifting to rest against his chest. Even through the fabric of his shirt, you could feel the steady, grounding beat of his heart—strong and real.

James searched your face like he was savoring every detail. Then, without breaking the eye contact, he leaned in to kiss you—slow at first, like he was testing the waters. The softness of his lips sent a shiver all the way to your toes, and you melted into him instinctively.

A low sound rumbled in his chest as you kissed him back, hands sliding up to wind around his neck. And god, the way he held you—close but gentle, like you were something precious.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmured against your lips, one big hand gliding up your spine to settle between your shoulder blades.

You couldn’t help the small, breathless laugh that bubbled up. “That’s funny,” you teased, forehead pressing lightly to his as you caught your breath, “I was thinking the same thing.”

That earned a quiet chuckle from him, lips brushing your temple before he pulled back just enough to look at you properly. “C’mon,” he said, fingertips trailing down your arm as he laced his fingers with yours. “Dinner’s ready. Let’s eat before it gets cold.”

You followed him into the kitchen, fingers still tangled with his. The warm light over the kitchen caught the rich tones of the food he’d set out, and your eyes widened a little in appreciation.

“You made dinner again?” you said, grinning as you sat down the table “You’re gonna get me used to this, you know…”

He glanced up at you as he grabbed two plates from the kitchen counter, a little smirk tugging at his mouth. “That’s the plan,” he replied casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Your heart flipped.

“Pretty bold of you,” you teased, chin propped on your palm as you watched him move around the kitchen. “Setting the bar this high right from the start.”

James let out a low laugh, setting the plates in front of you before pulling up a chair so close his knee brushed yours. “Guess I’ll just have to keep surprising you, then,” he murmured, voice warm and smooth.

You bit your lip, feeling a flush creep up your neck. “You’re good at this,” you said honestly, gaze lingering on him.

He paused for a moment, eyes locking with yours, and something tender crossed his face. “I’m trying for you,” he answered softly.

Your chest went warm.

The two of you dug in, the occasional teasing comment exchanged between bites, and the easy silence that followed was its own kind of comfortable—one you weren’t used to feeling with someone else. Every now and then, you’d catch him looking at you like you were something special, and every time, it sent a ripple of butterflies straight through you.

By the time your plates were clean, he was leaning back in his chair, hands casually rubbing his stomach as he gave you a satisfied look. “See?” he drawled. “Told you I’d spoil you.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you pushed your empty plate away. “And you’re succeeding.”

He held your gaze a beat longer, eyes dark and warm. “Good,” he murmured, voice low enough to make your pulse jump. “That was the idea.”

You helped him clear the plates, laughing when he swatted your hands away and insisted on washing up himself.

“Guest privileges,” he teased, kissing your temple before turning on the sink.

You drifted into his living room, fingers brushing along the back of the couch as you glanced around. It was warm in here, all soft light and the lingering smell of food and his cologne, and for a second you just stood there, feeling the gentle weight of his apartment around you—how different it was from the chaos of your dormitory.

When he padded up behind you a few moments later, his hands slipped easily around your waist, pulling you back into him. “C’mon,” he murmured against your hair, lips brushing your ear, “let’s get comfortable.”

You followed him to the couch, letting him tug you down onto his lap before shifting you into a cuddle that felt so effortless it made your heart ache.

Your head rested against his chest, legs tangled together beneath the throw blanket he pulled over you both.

“Full?” he asked, fingers idly tracing patterns along your arm.

“Mhm,” you answered, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as you soaked him in. Warmth, steady heartbeat, the subtle hum of his breathing—all of it felt like home.

“You okay?” he asked again, softer this time.

You tilted your chin up, lips ghosting his jaw before pressing a kiss there. “More than okay,” you whispered.

And you could feel him smile, hands tightening just slightly around you like he never wanted to let you go.

For a while, you stayed like that, sinking into the quiet. Until you felt him shift just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing your cheek. “You still owe me that homework redo,” he murmured, voice laced with amusement and a promise that sent a shiver straight down your spine.

You grinned, cheeks warm. “Pretty sure I can manage a little extra credit.”

He chuckled, leaning in to kiss you—slow and deep, until you forgot all about dinner, homework, or anything else that wasn’t him.

You finally pulled back from the kiss, breathless and glowing, and James brushed a thumb over your lower lip before leaning to reach the coffee table.

“Wine?” he offered, and you nodded, smiling as he poured two glasses with that careful focus that made your heart flip.

He handed you one and kept the other, his fingers brushing yours warmly. You took a slow sip and then bit your lip, an idea sparking.

“I have an idea,” you said, straightening up a little in his arms.

His brow arched, lips twitching like he already liked whatever was coming. “Oh?”

“Let’s play twenty-one questions,” you suggested brightly.

He paused mid-sip, blinking. “Twenty-one questions?”

You laughed softly at the slight confusion in his voice. “Yeah—it’s a game. Basically, we take turns asking each other questions. Anything we want. Twenty-one total. It’s an easy way to… I dunno,” you glanced down shyly, thumb rubbing along the stem of your glass, “get to know you more.”

His gaze softened immediately, and that smile — that quiet, genuine one you only ever saw in moments like this—spread across his face.

“Sounds like a plan,” he murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You go first.”

You bit your lip, feeling bold all of a sudden, and couldn’t help the wicked little smirk tugging at your mouth. “Okay,” you drawled, leaning back a bit to look at him properly. “What’s your favorite sex position?”

James’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, then a slow, deep laugh rumbled from his chest. “That’s your first question?” he asked, clearly amused.

You lifted a shoulder, feigning innocence. “Hey, you said I could go first.”

He shook his head, gaze darkening as he shifted closer on the couch. “Mmm, that’s easy,” he murmured, voice dropping. “Any position where I can look at you… see every little reaction you make.”

Your stomach fluttered at his words, heat rising in your cheeks despite your playful bravado.

“You’re up,” you teased, heart racing as you wondered what he’d ask.

James’s gaze stayed locked on you, dark and warm, his thumb idly tracing the rim of his wine glass

He paused for a beat before speaking, gaze dropping briefly to your lips.

“Tell me,” he asked, each word deliberate, “what’s one thing you fantasize about that you’ve never told me?”

Your lips parted as a shiver ran through you.

You swallowed, feeling your face warm as you held his gaze, your voice a little breathless.

“You,” you whispered after a heartbeat. “Just… you.”

His eyes darkened at that, and the corner of his mouth lifted into that small smile that always left you weak.

“That’s not an answer,” he murmured, voice lower now as he leaned in just a little closer. “Try again. Tell me exactly what you mean.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you held his gaze, heat curling in your belly at the way he was looking at you.

“You really want me to say it?” you teased, fingers sliding up his chest.

„You started this,” he shrugged, voice dropping lower, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Don’t hold back.”

Your lips parted as you took a shaky breath. “Okay,” you whispered, eyes locked on his. “I picture my hands tied above my head, you holding me down, pinning me into the mattress so I can’t move. And you—” you swallowed, heart thudding, “so deep inside me I can feel you for days.”

For a split second, all you could hear was your own pulse in your ears.

Then a dark, almost feral sound rumbled in his chest and before you could blink, he was scooping you up into his arms as if you weighed nothing, lips brushing your ear as he growled, “Oh, we can manage that.”

A breathless gasp escaped you as he carried you across the room, his hands gripping you possessively. The muscles in his arms flexed under you as if he was barely keeping control.

“You mean it?” he rumbled, his mouth so close to your ear that a shiver raced all the way down your spine. “Your hands tied up. My hands on you. Nothing but my voice in your ear and my cock buried so deep you’ll feel me tomorrow?”

Your thighs tightened around him at the filthy, perfect picture his words painted.

“Yes,” you moaned, hardly recognizing your own voice. “God, yes, please.”

“Good,” he growled, pushing his bedroom door open with his shoulder before setting you down gently on the edge of the bed. His hands were already tugging at the hem of your top, gaze burning into yours as he stripped it off you like he couldn’t wait another second.

Your breath caught as the cool air rushed across your bare skin, his hands hot and sure as they roamed your sides, thumbs brushing over your ribs before lifting higher to cup your breasts. Every part of him radiated a kind of desperate control that sent a thrill straight through you, his eyes fixed on you as if he were memorizing every inch.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he breathed, leaning in to kiss the sensitive spot just below your ear.

That dark edge in his voice made your thighs clench as you reached for him in return, hands sliding up his chest to grip the fabric of his shirt. “Then stop wasting time,” you whispered, lips brushing his.

He didn’t need telling twice.

In one smooth motion, he was pulling his shirt up and over his head, mussing his hair before it fell perfectly into place again. The sight of him—broad shoulders, toned chest—never failed to make you ache. “God, you’re unfair,” you murmured, dragging your hands across his bare chest, feeling the warmth of him beneath your palms.

He grinned, low and wicked, hands catching your wrists before you could trail lower. “Patience,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss you properly, slow and deliberate, hands skimming to the back of your bra clasp to unhook it with a practiced flick of his fingers.

Your bra slipped away, and he pulled back just enough to drink in the sight of you fully exposed, dark eyes roaming over every curve. “Perfect,” he rasped, and then he was on you again—lips dragging across your collarbone, hands tracing the lines of your waist as if determined to commit every touch to memory.

“Your turn,” you gasped, hands finding his belt, trembling just a little as you fumbled with the buckle. His chuckle was low and dark, lips brushing your neck as he let you work him open, one article at a time.

He moved back just enough to kick off his pants, and you took him in, breath hitching as you pulled him back down over you. Skin to skin, warmth to warmth—your hands roamed his back and tangled in his hair, and there was nowhere left to hide.

He hovered above you, his eyes locked on yours as his hands moved lower to hook under the waistband of your panties. “Lift your hips for me,” he murmured, voice husky and so close you could feel it against your lips.

And as you obeyed, breath held and heart pounding, you could see it in his gaze — nothing but want, nothing but devotion — as he slowly, torturously peeled the last barrier between you away.

As your panties hit the floor, his hands paused, his gaze dark and hungry as it roamed over every inch of you. He moved with purpose, leaning to the side of the bed and pulling a soft silk tie from the drawer of his nightstand.

Your stomach flipped with anticipation as he guided you to lie back, hands gentle but sure as they took your wrists and lifted them above your head.

“Keep them right here,” he murmured. The silk was smooth and cool as he wrapped it around your wrists, binding them to the headboard just snug enough that you could twist, but not too much. A shiver ran through you as he gave one final tug to test the knot, and you felt deliciously trapped.

“There,” he whispered, voice roughened as his hands slid down your arms and across your chest. “That’s better. You look so fucking beautiful like this.”

Your legs shifted restlessly, heat pooling low in your belly. “James, please…”

“I know, baby. I know,” he growled. His hands glided lower, gripping your thighs and spreading them wide until you were fully open to him. The vulnerable thrill of it sent a trembling moan slipping past your lips, and you arched against the bed.

“So responsive already,” he said, eyes locked on yours as he dragged his palms up your inner thighs, thumbs brushing so close to where you needed him most that you thought you might go crazy.

And then, finally—his mouth was on you.

Your entire body jerked against the silk ties as he pressed a slow, deep kiss to your soaked folds, tongue tasting you like you were something sacred. “So perfect,” he groaned against you, hands gripping your hips as he held you still, lapping and sucking until you were trembling and desperate for more.

Your fingers flexed uselessly against the tie as pleasure built higher and higher, every nerve alive, your breath catching in shallow, breathless gasps. “J-James,” you whimpered.

He answered with a wicked, satisfied hum. “That’s it, baby. Let me hear you.”

And with that, his mouth pressed firmer, his hands dug in deeper, and your whole world spun in a dizzying rush of sensation—all while you were tied up and utterly at his mercy.

James didn’t let up for a second. His hands held your hips firmly, his mouth working you with a relentless devotion that had your entire body trembling. Every pass of his tongue sent sparks racing up your spine, and you pulled against the silky restraints, aching to touch him, to bury your hands in his hair—but all you could do was take it.

“You taste so fucking sweet,” he groaned against you, the vibrations of his voice making you cry out, back arching. “God, I could stay right here forever.”

Your breaths were coming in broken, needy gasps as his mouth closed around your aching clit, sucking just hard enough to make you see stars. Every flick of his tongue was perfect, every breath and moan a reminder of just how much he loved making you come apart.

“James, oh my God,” you whimpered, legs trembling and tensing as heat coiled tighter and tighter low in your belly. “Please, please—”

He didn’t even look up, just tightened his grip and doubled his efforts, his nose brushing you as he devoured you like a man starved. “That’s it,” he urged between licks, voice husky and soaked with lust. “Come for me. Let go, sweetheart. Give me all of it.”

Your whole body went taut as the pleasure finally crested, a raw, trembling cry tearing from your throat as waves of bliss crashed over you. Your hips jerked against his face and you felt him groan in approval, holding you even closer as he lapped you through it, taking every last shuddering pulse like it belonged to him.

By the time you finally started to come down, breathless and trembling, he was still kissing you so slowly and sweetly, his hands stroking your hips as if he never wanted to stop.

Your chest was still heaving when James finally pulled back, lips glistening, eyes dark and locked on you like he was nowhere near finished.

Before you could even catch your breath, you felt his hands trail up your trembling thighs, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your skin as if to soothe you—right before two thick fingers slid between your soaked folds.

“Oh, Fuck—James,” you gasped, body arching as he pushed into you slowly, the stretch so good it was dizzying. Every nerve was already so raw and sensitized, the lingering aftershocks of your last orgasm making you clench around him immediately.

“Shh,” he murmured, leaning up to kiss the inside of your thigh, his breath hot against your skin. “I know you can take it, sweet girl.” His gaze was dark with want, his fingers moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm that had you gripping the sheets like your life depended on it.

“You feel so fucking perfect,” he growled, voice deeper as he began to curl his fingers just right inside you, the slick sound of it making your face burn. “I need to feel you come again.”

Your whole body jolted, breathless little whimpers spilling from you as he worked you, every touch lighting you up all over again. “James, I can’t,” you whined, hips shifting instinctively, the intensity so much you thought you’d come apart.

“You can,” he coaxed, leaning over you and pressing his lips to your trembling stomach. “And you will. Trust me, sweetheart—just one more. Let go for me.” His thumb found your swollen clit, rubbing in firm circles as his fingers kept up their perfect pace inside you.

Your hands tugged uselessly against the ties at your wrists, head tipping back with a gasp as that knot of pleasure built again—hotter, sharper this time. “Please,” you moaned, voice breaking.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered against your skin, kiss after kiss branding you as his own. “That’s it, give it to me. Come on, sweet girl… come for me.”

And with one perfect curl of his fingers and a twist of his thumb, you shattered—crying out his name as your entire body tensed, trembling, as another wave of dizzying heat rushed through you. James never slowed, never let up, working you gently through every trembling aftershock as you quivered and whimpered under him, utterly wrecked and utterly his.

Your breaths were still coming in short, trembling gasps when James finally eased his fingers free. You barely had time to recover before you felt him moving over you, broad hands braced on either side of your head, gaze burning into yours like nothing in this world could tear him away.

“You okay, baby?” he murmured, voice raw as he brushed his thumb along your bottom lip. The tie still holding your wrists stretched a little as you arched up into him.

“Yes,” you breathed, already aching for him again.

With a deep, rough sound in his chest, he kissed you—hardand claiming—as he lined himself up with you. The swollen head of his cock dragged against your soaked folds, making your back bow instinctively, a whimper spilling into his mouth.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned into you as he pushed inside in one smooth, deliberate thrust.

You moaned his name, hands twitching against the tie as he bottomed out. Every inch of him filled you perfectly, your walls clenching around him like they never wanted to let him go.

“That’s it,” he rasped, lips trailing down your jaw to your throat as he began to move—slow at first, savoring every inch like he was memorizing you. “Such a good girl.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, dragging him even deeper. Every stroke built on the last, his hips setting a rhythm that was already making your body hum, your breath breaking into sharp little cries against his ear.

“You take me so fucking well,” James growled, one big hand gripping your hip to hold you steady as he rocked into you harder, deeper. The tie around your wrists pulled deliciously taut as you arched up for him, offering yourself completely.

He kissed your throat, your collarbone, every inch of you he could reach as his pace quickened, that careful control beginning to fray.

“God—I can feel you tightening up,” he groaned into your ear, his voice wrecked. “You’re going to come again for me, aren’t you, sweet girl?”

Your answering whimper was desperate and breathless. “James—yes, yes, please—”

That was all it took for him to lose whatever shred of control he’d been clinging to. With a deep, guttural groan, he drove into you harder— his hips slamming against yours, hands gripping you so tightly you could already feel the bruises forming. The tie around your wrists pulled taut as your back arched off the bed, a loud, broken moan tearing from your throat.

“Fuck,” he growled against your ear, his voice wrecked. “I want to feel you come all over my cock.”

Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. White-hot pleasure ripped through you, tightening every muscle as your walls clenched down around him. “James—oh God—!”

Your orgasm shattered you, pleasure exploding outward like a wildfire. But he didn’t stop—if anything, your spasming around him drove him deeper, rougher. The slick sound of him fucking you through it only sent you higher, your hands trembling in their bonds as you begged incoherently.

“God, you’re so perfect,” he rasped, breath stuttering as his own pace became erratic—wild and driven purely by need. “That’s my girl—my perfect fucking girl—”

A few brutal strokes more and he was coming too, a deep, feral groan tearing from his chest as he buried himself to the hilt. Heat spilled inside you in thick, hot pulses, his hands trembling as they held you still beneath him, forehead pressed to yours as he shuddered.

Your chests rose and fell together in a ragged rhythm, bodies slick with sweat and your pulse still racing like you’d never catch your breath again. Every nerve in you was buzzing, deliciously spent and trembling, and you felt him nuzzle your jaw with a breathless kiss—still inside you, still holding you like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

He stayed buried inside you for a few more breathless moments, both of you trembling as you came down together. Then he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple before finally pulling out, slow and careful, his hands immediately moving to untie your wrists.

“You did so good,” he murmured, voice still low and husky as he eased the tie away and began rubbing your wrists, pressing soft kisses over the faint red marks. “Such a good girl for me.”

Your body felt utterly spent, your bones like jelly as you melted into the mattress with a sleepy hum. “James…” you whispered, your lips curling into a tired smile as he brushed damp hair back from your face.

“I’m here,” he answered softly. He leaned in to kiss your lips—slow and sweet this time—before sliding off the bed. “Let me clean you up, okay?”

You nodded, feeling so small and cared for as you listened to him move around the room. A moment later, he was back with a warm, damp cloth, his hands so gentle as he cleaned you, murmuring little praises into your skin every so often—“you were perfect,” “so proud of you,” “love you so much.”

When he was done, he tossed the cloth aside and climbed back into bed, pulling the blankets up around you before gathering you into his arms. His lips brushed your forehead as he held you close, one broad hand rubbing slow circles up and down your back.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper, making sure you were comfortable as your heartbeat gradually steadied against his chest.

You nuzzled into him with a drowsy sigh. “Mm-hmm,” you murmured. “More than okay.”

He kissed your hair again, then tightened his embrace just a bit—like he never wanted to let you go. “Good,” he breathed. “That’s all I care about.”

Your body felt deliciously wrecked, every muscle spent as you lay tangled up in him. James was rubbing slow circles on your back, lips pressed to the crown of your head, and you could feel his heartbeat gradually return to its regular rhythm.

Still, a sleepy smirk pulled at your lips.

“It’s my turn,” you murmured into his chest.

He shifted slightly, a low chuckle vibrating through him. “Your turn?”

“Mm,” you said, lifting your chin just enough to meet his gaze. Even though your limbs felt like jelly, your eyes had a glint of mischief. “Twenty-one questions. It’s my turn now.”

That made him laugh, warm and surprised. “God, you’re impossible,” he teased, brushing his thumb along your cheekbone. “Alright, alright. Fire away.”

Your smirk softened into something affectionate. You pretended to think for a second, even though you already knew exactly what you wanted to ask. “Okay, Professor,” you drawled, lips twitching.

You paused, tucking your hair behind your ear before your voice dropped into something gentler, more personal. “When was the last time you felt truly happy before me?”

That one hit deeper—you saw it in the way his gaze changed, dark lashes lowering for a moment before he exhaled and searched your face.

And you didn’t rush him. You just stayed there in his arms, warm and spent and so close, letting him take his time.

He was quiet for a long breath, fingertips still moving absently along your back as though the rhythm helped him think. Finally, his lips curved—a softer smile than you usually saw.

“Before you,” he echoed, his voice a touch husky. “That’s… a hard one.”

Your chest tightened at his honesty. You tucked yourself a little closer against him, legs tangled in his as you listened.

“I mean,” he continued slowly, “I thought I was happy. Busy, focused on my career. Doing what I thought was right.” His brow furrowed for a moment, gaze distant as though he were seeing it all play back. “But truly happy? That kind of… real, quiet happiness? That didn’t come until you walked into my life.”

Your heart stuttered, heat rising in your cheeks.

He brushed his thumb along your jaw, gaze locking with yours—dark, earnest, unguarded in a way you hadn’t seen before.

“Before you,” he murmured, “I never had anything that scared me so much to lose.”

Your breath caught at his words. You weren’t sure what to say—it felt like your heart was going to burst—so you simply leaned in, pressing a kiss to his chest and murmuring into his skin. “James…”

He held you a little tighter, lips ghosting your hairline as he whispered, “That’s my real answer.”

You felt the warmth of him seep into you, your fingers idly tracing small shapes over his chest. But a stray thought—one that had been hovering in the back of your mind for a while—finally made its way to the surface.

Your voice was soft when you broke the comfortable silence. “Have you ever been married before?”

He shifted just enough to look at you properly, something gentle in his eyes. “No,” he said, voice quiet. “Never.”

You already suspected as much—you’d noticed the lack of a ring the very first time you’d laid eyes on him—but you couldn’t help feeling curious all the same. “Really?” you pressed lightly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Not even once?”

His brow furrowed, as if the idea had never crossed his mind. “No,” he replied honestly, fingers brushing along your cheek. “Never felt like the right thing with anyone,” he admitted, voice low, eyes flicking away for just a second as a faint flush crept up his neck.

Your lips parted in a soft gasp. God, you hadn’t expected him to look so… shy. It was so rare to see him like this—a little vulnerable, a little unsure—and it made your heart do this warm, aching thing in your chest.

“Aww,” you cooed, unable to stop the smile spreading across your face as you brushed your thumb across his cheek. “James…”

He huffed out a tiny breath that was halfway between a laugh and a groan. “Don’t,” he muttered, gaze finally swinging back to yours, his ears tinged pink. “You’re going to make me feel ridiculous.”

But you just melted more, tugging him closer until your lips grazed the corner of his mouth. “You’re not ridiculous,” you whispered. “You’re sweet.”

He paused, blue eyes searching your face like he wasn’t sure what to do with that, then let out a quiet, shaky breath—the last bit of his shyness slipping into a smile as he bent to kiss you properly this time, slow and lingering, like you’d given him something precious without even realizing it.

You shifted, pushing yourself up just enough to swing one leg over his waist and settle comfortably on top of him. His hands instantly found your hips, fingers spreading warmly over your skin, but you didn’t let him hide.

Instead, you caught his chin gently between your thumb and forefinger, tipping his face up so those bright eyes had nowhere to look but at you.

“Look who’s blushing…” you teased, voice a soft purr as you tilted your head.

He groaned under his breath, lips twitching like he was trying to fight a smile. “I am not.”

“Oh, you so are,” you countered, leaning in until your nose brushed his. “And it’s very cute.”

He gave you a playful, narrowed-eyed look—clearly torn between dragging you back down into a kiss and pretending to be indignant—before his hands squeezed your hips in silent warning.

“You’re gonna regret teasing me,” he murmured, voice rough and fond all at once.

Your grin only widened. “Mm, somehow I don’t think I will.”

And God, the way his gaze darkened at that, lips parting like he was going to say something wicked before surging up to kiss you again, made it very clear you wouldn’t regret a thing.

He pulled back just enough to trail his lips along the shell of your ear, breath warm and deliberate as he whispered, “You still gotta fix that grade, sweetheart…”

Your eyes fluttered at the low rasp of his voice, a shiver spilling down your spine.

“Oh, is that so?” you murmured, hands braced on his chest as you rocked your hips down, slow and teasing.

A rumble of approval rumbled in him as his hands slid up your thighs. “Mm-hm,” he drawled, lips brushing your ear again before catching your earlobe between his teeth. “And I’m going to need some serious extra credit if you want me to change my mind…”

You let out a breathless little laugh, melting into the way he held you, heartbeat already picking up all over again.

“Guess I better work extra hard, then,” you whispered back, tugging his face to yours to steal a kiss—long, deep, and promising exactly what he was hoping for.

You hardly had time to catch your breath before James was moving—hands gripping your hips and lifting you straight up off the bed.

“James!” you squeaked, heart thudding as he hauled you into his arms like you weighed nothing. “You weren’t joking,” you giggled, his hands firm and possessive on the backs of your thighs.

James chuckled low against your ear as he carried you through the apartment—straight past the kitchen, past the cozy little living room, and into his office. The overhead light was off, the only glow spilling in from the hallway and the laptop screen left open on his tidy desk.

“Oh, I never joke about extra credit,” he growled, pushing the office door shut with his heel before setting you down on the edge of his desk like you belonged there.

Your hands clutched the smooth surface as you stared up at him, breath hitching. “So this is how I’m gonna fix my grade?” you teased breathlessly.

His gaze darkened, hands already sliding up your legs, voice impossibly deep. “This is exactly how.”

Before you could say a word, his hands were moving higher, warm and unhurried—savoring the softness of your thighs as you squirmed. “You remember your little essay?” he asked, lips grazing your jaw.

Your face burned as you nodded, hands trembling as they rested on his shoulders.

“Mm,” he hummed, spreading your legs a little further. “The one about my fingers inside you… you writing while I ruin you?”

You could only make a breathless sound in reply.

He kissed the corner of your mouth, then pulled back just enough to look you in the eye. “Good,” he murmured. “Get the laptop.”

Your pulse jumped as you fumbled to reach for it, hands unsteady.

James stood between your knees. “That’s it,” he praised, his gaze scorching as you set the laptop on your lap.

Your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you felt his hands—broad and warm—touch your inner thighs.

“Start typing,” he ordered, his voice a silken command.

And then his fingers were right there, gliding slowly between your folds before pushing into you in one smooth, perfect stroke.

Your hands faltered on the keyboard with a shaky gasp.

“You’re gonna do this properly,” he murmured, his other palm spreading warmly across your thigh as his fingers began to move—slow, deliberate, making sure you felt every inch.

Your breath hitched as he pumped them deeper, your walls gripping him already, your whole body trembling.

“You can do it,” he coaxed, mouth brushing the sensitive skin beneath your ear. “Focus, sweetheart. Tell me exactly what you’re feeling.”

Your eyes fluttered as you glanced at the screen, fingers poised over the keys—but all you could feel was him.

“You want me to keep going?” he breathed, his fingers curling just so—and a breathless moan tore from your lips.

“Yes—yes,” you gasped, legs trembling as you tried to balance the laptop.

He grinned darkly, his thumb circling your clit just enough to make your hands shake. “Then write,” he urged, voice a low, heated murmur. “And don’t stop until I do.”

And as you bit your lip and forced yourself to tap trembling words into the keyboard, his fingers moved faster—filling you so perfectly that your thoughts melted into a dizzy haze of pleasure and filthy sentences.

And he just kept you there, stretched and aching and so utterly his—making sure you’d never forget how this grade was earned.

Your breaths came quicker with every thrust of his fingers, the wet, lewd sound of him working you open filling the darkened office. The laptop wobbled against your legs as you struggled to focus, hands trembling over the keys.

“Such a good girl,” James murmured, his mouth hot at your ear as his thumb pressed firm circles into your clit. “That’s it… don’t stop. Show me what you can write”

Your eyes fluttered, a tiny moan escaping you as you forced yourself to type one shaky word after the next—your thoughts an intoxicating mess of sensation and need. Every curl of his fingers inside you had your toes curling, your thighs trembling against him.

“God,” you gasped, blinking at the glowing screen, breath hitching as a fresh surge of pleasure shot through you.

He held you steady with his free hand at your hip, and his voice was darker now, lower. “So pretty when you’re like this,” he growled. “Writing for me while I make you come undone.”

Your fingers kept moving, tapping out sentence fragments even as your body threatened to give in completely.

James pulled back just enough to trail a slow, teasing kiss along your jawline, his breath warm against your skin. His fingers didn’t stop moving inside you, but the pace slowed—deliberately, torturously.

“Not yet,” he whispered, his voice thick with promise. “I want you aching, wanting. Write for me—tell me what you feel, what you want. Make me see it in your words.”

Your breath hitched as his thumb circled your clit gently, drawing soft moans from your lips. You bit your bottom lip, forcing your fingers back to the keyboard, words blurring together in a delicious haze of need and heat.

His eyes never left you, dark and hungry, watching every shiver that ran through you, every falter of your typing.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice low and possessive. “Pour it all out—your fantasies, your craving. Make me hear your voice even if it’s just on that screen.”

Your heart thundered as you spilled your desires onto the page, each sentence more daring than the last, the words flowing out in a stream of heated confessions and vivid fantasies. Every letter you typed was soaked in the ache curling low in your belly, every sentence a testament to how much you craved him right now.

James smiled, wicked and slow, knowing exactly how much you could take—and how much more he wanted to give. His fingers curled deeper inside you, slow and teasing, his touch masterful, driving you wild but never letting you fall over the edge.

“You’re doing so good,” he murmured, voice thick with desire. His mouth pressed to your neck, lips tracing slow, scorching kisses down to your collarbone. “Fuck,” he breathed. “I could never get enough of you.”

The wet warmth of his fingers moved in a maddening rhythm beneath you, your hands were trembling so badly it was almost impossible to hit the right keys, every careful touch against you dragging your focus into a fog of need.

„Good girl…” He whispered. His other hand rested on your thigh, his thumb brushing up and down, soothing and wicked at once.

Your breath caught as you stared blankly at the screen, biting your lip as your body arched into him, greedy for a pace he denied you. Every slick stroke of his fingers made you tighten around him, a soft sound spilling from your lips before you could catch it.

“James,” you breathed, half a whimper, half a plea.

His mouth grazed your jaw as he murmured, “That’s not writing, sweetheart.” His thumb dragged up to circle your clit in a slow, torturous rhythm that had you trembling.

“God—I’m trying,” you managed to gasp as your hands moved back to the keyboard. But it was so hard to concentrate when he felt this good.

“Mm,” he rumbled in approval as you pushed yourself to keep going. “That’s it. Every word you give me is gonna make me go deeper.”

Another languid thrust had your legs shaking, your walls gripping him, and a needy moan broke from your throat as your fingers faltered on the keys.

Your thoughts were becoming a tangled mess—sensations spilling into every part of you as you typed with aching honesty.

He groaned low against your neck at that, his breath hot and uneven. “Goddamn,” he muttered, pushing his fingers knuckle-deep and holding you there until you felt dizzy with it. “That’s it, baby. Just like that. Tell me everything.”

You tried to focus on the keys, typing a breathless fragment of thought that didn’t even make sense anymore. Your whole body was so close—you could feel the heat coiling low in your belly, your breath turning sharp as you tilted your hips, desperate for him to give you more.

“James, please—” you whimpered, barely recognizing your own voice as you pushed back against his hand.

And then he stopped.

His fingers pulled back slowly, thumb stilling just as you hovered right at the edge.

Your hands froze on the keyboard. Every muscle in you tensed at the loss, a frustrated moan spilling past your lips before you could catch it.

“I said not yet,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple as you shuddered.

“You’re cruel,” you gasped, needy and trembling as your fists balled at your sides.

A quiet, dark laugh rumbled in his chest as his hands smoothed up your inner thighs again, inching closer at a painfully slow pace.

“Cruel?” he echoed, lips curving as his fingers began to trail upward. “Or just making sure you earn it?”

He gave your clit a slow, teasing flick, and you moaned—hands gripping the edge of the desk so tightly your knuckles went white.

“You thought you could make me crazy with those messages yesterday,” he continued, his breath hot against your ear. “Now it’s my turn.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as he brushed his lips along your jaw, thumb returning to stroke your aching clit in small, careful circles—nowhere near enough, just enough to keep you trembling on that perfect, agonizing edge.

“You’re gonna wait,” he whispered, “I’m gonna wait until you’re finished.”

Your gaze drifted back to the screen. Your hands were trembling so hard you could barely hit the right keys, the cursor blinking accusingly at you on the screen as you fought to string together a final sentence.

“J-James,” you gasped, eyes glassy as you finally managed to tap out the last few words, then dropped your hands from the keyboard. “Okay—I’m done,” you whimpered, voice trembling. “God, please.”

He made a low sound of approval, lips brushing your ear as his hands finally eased their torturous rhythm.

“Good girl,” he murmured, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your neck as he leaned in. “Let me see.”

Your chest rose and fell as you watched him scan the screen, fingers still resting inside you, making every tiny shift of his hand feel like fire. You were a gasping, aching mess—trembling so much you could hardly sit up straight—but your gaze followed his face as he read. Waiting.

And then that dark, knowing smirk of his appeared.

“Mm,” he drawled slowly, lifting his gaze to yours as he gave the faintest thrust of his fingers, making you suck in a sharp breath. “Looks like you missed something in this paragraph, baby.” Another wicked little stroke inside you, slow and deep. “You wanna fix it for me?”

Your lips parted on a shaky moan as you gripped his forearm, too dizzy to even see straight anymore. “J-James, I swear to god,” you breathed, hardly able to do anything but stare at him—every part of you so wound up you thought you might cry.

He chuckled, low and warm, his gaze never leaving yours as he bent to kiss the corner of your trembling mouth. “That’s my girl,” he whispered, fingers dragging deliciously through you again as he nudged the laptop closer, then his hand guided yours back to the keyboard. “One last edit, sweetheart. Then you can have whatever you want.”

Your hands were shaking as you pulled the laptop back toward you. The screen was a blurry mess of text that barely made sense anymore, but you fought through it—gripping the edge of the desk with one hand, the other tapping at the keys as best you could.

“J-James,” you whimpered, voice trembling as he pressed his thumb against your clit, circling so lightly it was maddening. “God, please, I can’t—”

“You can,” he urged in that low, dark tone you loved so much. His lips brushed your ear as his fingers moved deeper, making you gasp. “Focus, sweetheart. Almost there. Just a few words left.”

Your eyes fluttered, heart thudding wildly as you bit your bottom lip, trying to read the sentence through your haze of pleasure.

Somehow—by some miracle—you managed to type a few changes, your breaths coming short and broken as you added the last word.

“I—okay,” you gasped, hands trembling so much you nearly pushed the laptop off the desk. “I fixed it. Please, James —”

The second the words left your lips, his fingers curled inside you in one perfect, relentless motion.

“That’s it,” he growled, eyes dark and fixed on you as his thumb pressed just right. “That’s my girl. Come for me now.”

Your body obeyed instantly—a trembling cry breaking from your throat as white-hot pleasure surged up your spine. Every inch of you seized around him, legs quivering, back arching as your hands grabbed for his shoulders.

„James—oh, God,” you moaned, your walls tightening around his fingers as he kept up that perfect rhythm, dragging every last bit of bliss from you.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured against your cheek, voice rough with his own need as you unraveled. “Just like that. So fucking good for me.” His other hand was firm on your hip, holding you steady while you shuddered around him again and again—his touch never leaving you until you were dizzy, breathless, trembling in his arms.

And when you finally slumped against him, your forehead resting against his shoulder, he kissed the top of your head and whispered, “See? Told you you’d earn that grade properly. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He held you close, arms tightening around your trembling form as your breath slowly evened out against his chest. His fingers gently traced lazy circles along your back, grounding you back into the moment. Every soothing touch was a quiet promise—he was right there, steady and steadying.

“You did so good, baby,” he murmured, voice low and thick with admiration. “I swear, you amaze me every single time. You’re incredible—strong and smart and absolutely… irresistible.” His lips brushed softly along your temple, sending a fresh wave of warmth through you.

You lifted your head, lips curling into a tired, satisfied smile. “Goddamn you, James,” you whispered, voice rough and breathless, but full of affection. “You’re such a fucking freak.”

He chuckled, that deep, rumbling laugh that always made your skin flush. “And you love it,” he teased, dipping his head to capture your lips in a slow, tender kiss that melted away every last bit of tension.

“I do,” you breathed against him, eyes half-lidded with desire and something softer—something like awe. “I love every messed-up, wild, needy part of you.”

His smile softened, the hunger still simmering beneath, but tempered by tenderness as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Good,” he said. “Because you’re stuck with me. All of me.”

You melted against him, heart swelling with something fierce and warm. Here—in his arms, with his hands still holding you close—you felt like you belonged. Not just as his secret, not just as a game or a thrill, but as something real, messy, and loved.

“And just so you know,” you whispered, voice playful but serious, “I plan on making you pay for every single second you kept me waiting.”

His eyes sparkled with mischief and he shook his head in amusement. “Wouldn’t be so sure about it, sweetheart.”

You blinked up at him, breath still shaky, the remnants of your high making your limbs feel deliciously weak.

“Wanna go back to bed?” he asked, voice low and inviting.

“Yeah,” you murmured, pushing yourself up—but as soon as you tried to stand, your legs wobbled violently and gave out beneath you.

Before you could even realize what was happening, strong arms wrapped around you, catching you effortlessly.

“Oh god, what a mess you are…” he chuckled, his voice thick with teasing warmth as he held you close.

You couldn’t help but smile, heart swelling with affection and something deeper, knowing how much he cared—even when you were completely helpless.

He carried you back to the bed with ease, laying you down gently among the soft sheets. His fingers traced soothing patterns on your bare skin as he tucked the blanket over you.

Sliding in beside you, he pulled you close, his breath warm against your temple. “You gonna stay for the night tonight too?”

You hesitated for a moment, heart fluttering, then whispered, “I mean… if you’re fine with that. If you want me here…”

His lips curled into a slow, confident smile against your skin. “Are you kidding me? Of course I want you here. Always.”

He tightened his hold just a little, as if to make sure you felt it—completely and without doubt.

You melted into him, cheek pressed against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. Almost lazily, you tilted your chin up to look at him. That’s when you caught the playful glint in his eye, the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth — that mischievous spark you’d come to know so well.

“What?” you giggled, brow furrowing as you searched his face.

He brushed a stray lock of hair away from your cheek, fingers lingering just a little too long. “It’s my turn now,” he murmured, voice warm and low, “to ask you a question… We were playing a game, weren’t we?”

You couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Oh? Okay… Hit it, Professor.”

He held your gaze, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. “Did you go out with Theo?”

Your breath hitched just enough for him to notice, lips catching between your teeth. Of course he wasn’t going to let that one slide.

“I did,” you admitted, voice softer.

He exhaled a quiet, self-satisfied huff as he shook his head—halfway amused, halfway exasperated. “God, I knew it,” he muttered.

“Hey!” you protested quickly, laughing as you swatted lightly at his chest. “It wasn’t a date or anything. It was just a bar hangout—a big group. And anyway, Theo’s not my type.”

That made his brow arch, hands tightening their hold around you. “Oh yeah? And what’s your type, then?”

You fought the grin threatening to take over your face. “Mm… jealous professors,” you teased, voice silky.

That earned you a low laugh from him, deep and rich, his arms curling possessively around you as he pulled you even closer. “Alright, that’s enough,” he murmured into your hair, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Go to sleep.”

Your lips brushed his chest as you smiled, eyes drifting shut in the warmth of him. A soft sigh escaped your lips as the quiet settled around you both and with the quiet hum of the city outside, you let yourself drift into a peaceful sleep.

———

The first light of dawn slipped quietly through the curtains, casting a soft, golden glow across the room. You stirred awake slowly, the lingering warmth of James curled up beside you still pressing gently against your back.

For once, there was no rush to get up—no lectures, no deadlines, just the peaceful silence of a morning that belonged only to you.

Careful not to disturb him, you slipped out from under the covers, feeling the cool touch of the floor beneath your feet.

The apartment was still and calm, the faint hum of the city waking up far below your window. A gentle smile touched your lips as you glanced back at James, still peacefully asleep, his face soft and unguarded in the morning light.

You remembered how he had cooked dinner for you twice now—each meal a quiet promise of care and comfort. The way he tended to you, even in the smallest gestures, made your heart swell. And now, here you were, wanting to return even a fraction of that kindness.

Making your way to the kitchen, you moved with deliberate quietness. You pulled out the eggs, some fresh bread, and a few ripe tomatoes—nothing fancy, just simple things that said “thank you” without words. You filled the kettle, waiting for it to boil while your fingers gently brushed over the smooth surface of the counter.

The soft hiss and pop of eggs cooking in the pan filled the room with a familiar, comforting aroma. You breathed it in, letting it settle into your senses, feeling warmth spread from your chest down to your fingertips. The rich smell of coffee soon joined it, steam curling up from the mug you set on the counter.

You arranged the breakfast on a small tray—golden eggs, toasted bread with a hint of butter, sliced tomatoes glistening with a sprinkle of salt—and poured a fresh cup of coffee beside it. Standing back, you took a moment to appreciate the simple feast you had prepared, feeling a flush of satisfaction.

With the tray steady in your hands, you headed back toward the bedroom. Your heart picked up its pace as you approached the door, anticipation blooming in your chest. You gently pushed the door open, finding James still asleep, tangled in the sheets.

A quiet laugh escaped your lips as you set the tray down on the bedside table. Then, softly, you reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

“James,” you whispered, your voice warm but gentle.

His eyes fluttered open, the slow dawning of awareness crossing his face. When he saw the tray, and then you standing there with that shy, sweet smile, his eyes softened, sparkling with something tender and grateful.

“You made breakfast?” he murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

“I did,” you said, your smile widening. “You’ve been so good to me. I thought maybe I could do the same for you this morning.”

He reached out, taking your hand in his, pulling you closer to sit beside him on the bed. “You’re amazing,” he breathed. “Thank you.”

James sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face as if to chase away the last fog of sleep. You passed him the tray with a smile, and he took it carefully, the little crinkle at the corner of his eyes telling you how much this meant to him.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he murmured, looking up at you like you’d just handed him the world.

“Of course I did,” you replied, leaning in to kiss his cheek, savoring the scratch of his morning stubble against your lips. “You’re always spoiling me. Let me spoil you too.”

He chuckled, that low, familiar sound that never failed to warm you, and pulled you closer so you were tucked up against his side. “Well,” he murmured, voice rougher in the quiet of the morning, “I’m not going to argue with that.”

He balanced the tray across his lap and took a bite of the toast first, his gaze flicking to you as he chewed. “Mm,” he said around the mouthful, lips twitching upward. “This is good.”

Your heart did a silly little flip at his approval. “See? I’m not just a pretty face,” you teased, bumping your shoulder against his.

“You’re a lot more than that,” he replied without missing a beat, voice so genuine it made you want to hide your face in his chest.

You picked up the coffee and held it toward him. “Here,” you said. “You probably need this too.”

James accepted it with a quiet hum of thanks, taking a long sip as you settled in more comfortably against him. Every little sound—the clink of the mug against his lips, the faint rustle of sheets as he shifted—felt precious in the softness of this morning. Nothing rushed, nothing heavy. Just the two of you, tangled together in a sleepy bubble that neither of you had any desire to leave.

He fed you a forkful of egg without asking, his gaze soft and intent as he watched you taste it. “Good?” he asked.

You nodded, humming around the bite with a grin. “Very good.”

He brushed his thumb over your bottom lip, chasing a stray crumb, and your breath hitched at the tender, thoughtless gesture. “You’re too sweet,” you whispered, your voice hushed and a little breathless.

James bent his head, pressing his mouth to yours in a kiss that was slow and unhurried, flavored with coffee and morning and something deeper you felt humming between you. When he pulled back, he kept his forehead against yours, his thumb still stroking gently at your cheek.

Your chest felt so full it almost ached. God, you loved him. Loved him in a way you hadn’t even thought was possible — in every easy morning kiss, every quiet moment like this one. And that was what scared you most.

Your hand rested on his chest, the sweetness of the moment suddenly twisting into something heavier. Because this—his lips warm on yours, the way his touch anchored you, the way you felt seen—none of it could last forever. Not like this.

The harsh reality of it rushed back in like a cold draft through a cracked door: the secret glances across campus, the careful distance in public, all the stolen hours spent behind closed doors hoping no one would ever find out. Every perfect morning like this was built on a shaky, dangerous ground, one wrong move away from collapse.

And god, you hated it.

You hated that you had to hide this. Hated that someone might see and take him away. Hated that he had to pretend you were just another face in his class. Hated the constant, lurking fear that at any moment, someone would notice and ruin everything.

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, but the knot was still there.

“I wish…” you whispered before you could stop yourself, the words trembling in the quiet room, “I wish it wasn’t like this.”

James stilled, his thumb halting on your cheek, and though you kept your eyes closed, you felt his gaze on you—sharp and searching, like he already knew what you meant.

“Yeah,” he murmured after a beat, voice so quiet it felt like it could disappear in the morning light. “I know.”

The weight of those two simple words broke something loose in your chest.

He eased back just enough to shift his position, straightening so he could wrap both arms around you properly. Before you could say anything, he was gathering you close—hands spreading across your back, chin tucked over the crown of your head as you melted against him.

You let out a breath that trembled, eyes pricking with the sting of tears you weren’t even sure you could stop.

“Hey,” he whispered, one big hand cradling the back of your head now as you pressed your face into the crook of his neck. “I hate it too.”

That confession was a knot in your gut—hearing him say it made the ache feel less lonely, but also more real.

“I hate having to pretend,” he went on, voice low and aching in your ear, fingers tracing gentle circles across your spine as though he could soothe the fear right out of you. “Every time we’re around people, all I want to do is touch you. Every time I see you in class and can’t do a damn thing about it…”

He paused, lips brushing your hairline before he let out a long, shaky breath.

Your own hands slid up, clutching him even tighter as if you could hide in him and never leave.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last, and there was something so raw and unguarded in those words that it pulled a small, broken sound from you. “I wish this was easier. I wish I could give you more than stolen mornings and nights where nobody can see.”

You sniffled against him, and he just held you closer—arms solid and warm and utterly steady, like he was anchoring you in place so neither of you would come apart.

“You deserve more,” he murmured into your hair, breath stirring the strands. “And one day—I swear to you—I’m going to give it to you. Just… not yet. But I promise you this isn’t forever. And I’m not going anywhere.”

His hands were gentle as they smoothed down your back, then back up to your shoulders like he couldn’t stand to stop touching you.

“You’re it for me,” he whispered, voice rough with honesty. “No matter how long we have to wait.”

And that was the thing—that deep, steady certainty in him that told you he meant every word.

Your eyes finally fluttered open, and you clung to him like you were afraid that if you let go, the morning might vanish too.

But in his arms, tucked against his chest with his heartbeat under your ear and his hands rubbing your back like you were precious, the ache in your ribs eased just a little.

You finally pulled back enough to look up at him.

His gaze searched your face, and whatever he saw there—the lingering ache, the way your lips trembled even though you were trying to hold it together—made his expression crumple just a little.

“Oh, sweetheart…” The words slipped out like a sigh, and his thumb was back on your cheek in an instant, wiping at a tear you hadn’t even noticed had escaped.

“I hate this,” he murmured again, but this time it was different—his voice lower, rougher, threaded with guilt that made your chest tighten.

“You wouldn’t be going through any of this if it weren’t for me,” he whispered, brow furrowing as if the thought physically pained him. “I was the one who crossed the line first. Who pulled you into this.”

Your breath caught, and you immediately shook your head. “James, stop—”

“You deserve better,” he continued anyway, sounding like he couldn’t help himself, like all the thoughts he kept under lock and key were tumbling loose. “A normal life, someone who can give you all of this,”—he gestured vaguely around the room—“without it being some big secret. Without the risk. Without worrying that someone could take it all away.”

Your hands slid up to his face then, cradling his jaw, forcing him to look right at you. “Hey,” you said, voice trembling but determined. “Stop blaming yourself.”

He swallowed hard, gaze dark with worry as he held perfectly still in your hands.

“You didn’t do this to me,” you went on, thumbs stroking lightly across his stubble. “I chose this too. I want you—I want this—because it’s real. You make me feel seen. Loved. Even when it’s complicated.”

Your throat was tight with it all, with every aching truth you’d held back for too long.

“And yeah,” you whispered, “it hurts sometimes. But I wouldn’t trade this for anything.”

He was so close you could feel his breath fan across your lips—and for a long, trembling moment, all he could do was look at you like you were breaking his heart and putting it back together all at once.

“I don’t want you hurting,” he finally said, voice raw as his hands slid up into your hair. “God, I’d do anything to keep you from hurting.”

“You already do,” you told him, leaning into his touch, heart aching. “Every day you make me feel like I matter.”

And that was enough to make his brow ease, to make him draw you in again—forehead resting against yours, hands cradling you like you were something fragile and invaluable.

“You matter,” he murmured, breath ghosting your lips. “More than you’ll ever know.”

Part 6 soon 💋

tags (tysm for all the love and support, If you asked to be tagged and I didn’t tag you it means I couldn’t for some reason 💔): @iamthatonefangirl @hiraethmae @im-feeling-blue-today @beforemdnight @just4w3irdo @bloodmocha @lovinqbella @its-in-the-woods @muchwita @iyskgd @harrietandcats @shortandb1tchy @luv4kook @grovelingmen @buckybarneswife125 @xamapolax @glitterspark @azrielsgirll @mortallydistinguishedwolf @shaheea @simp4f1 @voidanima @buckytakethewheel @thatsbucknasty @herejustforbuckybarnes @sebastians-love @wntersoidiertk @emcharra @user911224 @stell404 @peanutbutt3rcup @heymydearheart

[peaches1958]

Too cute for words 😍

On TikTok I saw a comment where a woman said that she told her husband to pretend to be unconscious so he was dead weight to see if she could drag him out of the house in case of fire or emergency, she couldn’t even pull him off the bed and she cried so he had comfort her while dying laughing😭😭😂 reminded me of something biker Bucky and Gorgeous would do

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

A/N: Written on my phone, unbetad.

Bucky groans dramatically. "You might as well just leave me here and save yourself Gorgeous."

You keep pulling him with all your strength but he barely budges an inch. You might be able to move him if he'd stop talking.

He doesn't.

"Bury me with my bike." Bucky cracks open an eye, his lips twitching. "And a pair of your panties."

"I'm not doing that." A laugh spills past your lips before you can stop it.

You can't concentrate with him cracking jokes like this. Yeah that's the reason you're struggling to move this six foot something man. It's all his fault.

You keep laughing but the more he thinks about it, the more he likes the idea. "Matter fact, line my casket with your panties and toss in a few of those pics I have on my phone."

"Oh my god."

"I'll know if you disregarded my last wishes," he casually warns, like his massive body isn't splayed on the bedroom floor. Still not budging despite the fact that you're putting your all into this.

"Shut. Up."

"Don't even think about moving on."

"Mourn me for the rest of your life," he sighs. Bucky hasn't broken character once, he's fully committed to this bit. "Keep a shrine in our bedroom."

"Bucky I'm trying to concentrate here."

Eyeing his shirtless, tattooed body. you try new a new approach. Adjusting your grip, you hook your fingers under his upper arms. You can barely get your hands around half of his large, warm biceps. Bracing your feet on the floor, you pull so hard you feel your muscles tremble.

"Be quiet," you start. You release his arms, wincing when they hit the ground with a thud. "What would you do if I did?"

You're teasing but Bucky takes you very seriously. He doesn't play when it comes to you.

He slowly opens his eyes, his darkening gaze captures yours. "I'll haunt you for the rest of your life," he states confidently.

There's no time to process that because his hands suddenly reach out, grabbing your ankles. You're tugged forward, turned and twisted until you're flat on his chest, his pecs under your palms.

Bucky smiles, his hand cups the back of your head and he brings your face close to his. "If you think I'm a menace now, imagine what my ghost will be like. Just imagine what ghost me would do to you. I'd get rid of your little replacement and then you'd get all my attention. Remember ghost me isn't going to get tired."

Oh.

Oh.

Your eyes widen at the images his words are creating. He chuckles under his breath. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

Resting your chin on his chest, you have to admit, no man would ever measure up to your bike. And if anyone could find a way to come back and haunt someone, it would be the handsome, incorrigible man under you.

"So you want all my panties or just your favorites?"

"Gorgeous. How many times do we have to go over this? All your panties are my favorite."

"Fine," you concede, failing to hold back a smile. "But you promised me a lifetime together and I'm holding you to that."

Bucky brushes his lips across yours in one sweet, sure motion. His deep voice rolls over your skin leaving goosebumps in its wake. "I have no intention of leaving you anytime soon. I got too many plans for you, Gorgeous."

All of his plans revolve around loving you, protecting you, being with you, caring for you any way you'll let him.

And he's going take his time getting through every last one of them.

[peaches1958]

A sweet little story

hii,how are u??

can I request a scene with Bucky introducing yn to Thunderbolts ?? like that scene from Age of Ultron with Clint and his family,im just obsessed with the movie and need something pleasee

Love your acc❤️

Meeting The Thunderbolts » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Thunderbolts/Husband!Bucky Barnes x Wife/Pregnant!Reader with the Thunderbolts

Summary: Bucky introduces you to the Thunderbolts.

Warnings: Fluff, language, kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the request, nonnie🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckyys-babydoll / divider made by me

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

“I’ll be home in a couple days, doll. I love you and our little soldier.” Bucky says softly into the phone.

“We love you too, sweetheart.” You say with a smile.

Bucky smiles before hanging up the phone and put it in his pocket.

“Who were you talking to?” John asks Bucky.

“Oh- umm- this girl I’ve been seeing.” Bucky says.

Bucky has been keeping you and yours and his unborn child a secret from the Thunderbolts. The team doesn’t know you and yours and Bucky’s unborn baby girl exist. You and Bucky met and got married a few years before the Thunderbolts formed. He’s only keeping you and the baby a secret to protect you two.

The mission went smoothly, but it tired out Bucky and the team. Lucky for Bucky, the mission didn’t take as long as he thought it would and he’s going home earlier than he told you. He texted you to tell you that he’s on his way home. He also made a decision. He decided to finally introduce you to the team. Bucky is going to be nice and allow them to stay at yours and his house. He texted you beforehand to let you know that he’s bringing the team with him.

“Whose house is this?” Ava asks.

“Mine.” Bucky answers.

“Is this what that congressman money gets you?” Yelena asks.

“Pretty much.” Bucky replies.

The Thunderbolts followed Bucky inside of yours and his house. They looked around as they walked inside.

“I’ll be right back.” Bucky says.

The team stayed in the living room while Bucky went in the kitchen, knowing you’re in there making something to eat. He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, placing his hands on your pregnant belly.

“You’re home.” You say softly.

“I am.” Bucky smiles.

You turned around to greet your husband with a kiss.

“There’s a few people in the living room who I want you to meet.” He says softly.

“Ok.” You replied softly.

You and Bucky walked hand in hand to the living room. The Thunderbolts surprised when they seen you. They were not expecting Bucky to have a pregnant wife.

“Doll, this is the team.” Bucky introduces you to the Thunderbolts. “This is my gorgeous wife Y/N.” He tells the team.

“It’s nice to finally meet you guys! Bucky has told me so much about you guys!” You say excitedly.

“Your husband told us nothing about you.” John says.

Ava elbowed John in his side when he said that. John looked at her and narrowed his eyes at her.

“Please don’t be mad at Bucky for that. He kept me and our baby girl a secret, because he wanted to protect us.” You say, putting your hands on your pregnant belly.

“We understand, Mrs. Barnes.” Alexei says.

You gave the team a smile, loving how understanding they are.

“I can show you guys to the guest bedrooms if you want.” You suggested.

“Thank you. That would be nice.” Yelena replies.

You showed the team to the guest bedrooms and Bucky, being the overprotective husband he is, tagged along.

“Thank you so much for allowing us to stay in your home.” Ava says.

“You’re welcome.” You smiled.

“You and Bucky have a lovely home.” Bob compliments.

“Thank you.” You and Bucky smiled.

As the team settled down and got cleaned up, Bucky did the same. You helped him clean up the small cuts he has on his cheek and forehead. Bucky rested his hands on the sides of your pregnant belly as you cleaned the cuts on his cheek and forehead.

“Your friends are nice.” You say.

“That’s what they want you to think, doll.” Bucky jokes.

“Be nice, James.” You giggled.

“You know I’m kidding, doll face.” He laughs softly.

You gave Bucky a kiss on his cheek and forehead when you were down cleaning the cuts.

“All better.” You smiled.

“That’s because I have the most beautiful nurse to patch me up.” Bucky says flirtatiously.

You couldn’t help but blush. You put the first aid kit away and went back to the bedroom, laying down on the bed. Bucky laid down next to you, protectively wrapping his arms around you and placing his hands on your pregnant belly.

“Goodnight, my girls. I love you.” Bucky says softly.

“Goodnight, honey. We love you too.” You almost whispered.

The next morning you managed to wake up early and get out of bed without waking up Bucky. You went to the kitchen to make coffee and breakfast for the team. Bob walked in the kitchen at the same time the coffee finished brewing.

“Good morning, Bob!” You smiled at him.

“Good morning, Mrs. Barnes.” Bob smiles back.

“Call me Y/N.” You say. “Do you want a cup of coffee?” You asked politely.

“Yes please.” He answers.

You poured Bob a cup of coffee and gave it to him. He sat down at the kitchen table and watched you make breakfast. Yelena and Ava were next to walk in the kitchen.

“Good morning!” You smiled.

“Good morning!” Yelena and Ava smiled back.

They got a cup of coffee and joined Bob at the table. Then Alexei and John came to the kitchen. The team was asking you questions to get to know you while you served them breakfast. Then you finally got to sit down.

“You mentioned yesterday that you and Bucky are having a girl?” Ava asks.

“Yes we are.” You answered happily.

“Have you two come up with names?” Yelena asks.

“We’re naming her Jamie.” Bucky answers as he walks in the dining room.

You looked up at your husband and gave him a smile. Bucky gives you a morning kiss and sat down next to you.

“Your wife is an amazing cook!” Alexei tells Bucky.

“That’s one of the many reasons why I married her.” Bucky says, smiling at you.

You smiled back and gave him a kiss on his bearded cheek.

“You guys are really nice. I really enjoyed meeting you guys.” You say sweetly to the team with a smile.

“You too, Mrs. Barnes.” Yelena says and smiles.

The Thunderbolts left after breakfast. You cleaned up the dining room table and took the dishes to the kitchen, putting them in the sink. Bucky walks up behind you and puts his hands on your shoulders, giving them a light and loving squeeze.

“Don’t worry about the dishes. You go relax in the living room and I’ll wash the dishes.” Bucky says softly.

“You’re such an incredible husband. I love you so much, baby.” You almost whispered.

“I love you too, babydoll.” Bucky says softly, kissing you softly.

-Bucky’s Doll