#mafia!steve rogers x you

[biteofcherry]

Does mafia!Steve's Reader ever get jealous? Maybe there's a businesswoman or mafia related one that Steve has to have meetings with and reader gets jealous?

Nesting

Not an inch away

mafia!Steve Rogers x female reader

warnings for the part below: some angst; soft!dark Steve Rogers; mafia!Steve Rogers; possessive behavior; arranged/forced relationship;

~ * ~

You shouldn't care. You really shouldn't, you tell yourself as you watch Steve open the restaurant door for that other woman to enter.

A woman that looks stunning in a body-clinging white dress and killer heels, not a single thing out of place in her confident persona.

She tilts her head and smiles at Steve, who reciprocates with one of his most charming smiles - one that gets you weak in the knees when he flashes it at you.

He told you he'd be home late because he has boring business meetings to attend to, so you talked your bodyguards slash enablers - Natasha and Yelena - to go to the movies and for some greasy food afterwards.

It's pure coincidence that the spot you picked for your snacking was opposite of a fancy restaurant to which Steve took this woman.

You know plenty of women have successful businesses, but you don't think a mob boss of Steve's caliber would actually do any business with one of them. In a romantic restaurant at that.

Natasha's face is perfectly impassive at the sight, but Yelena cringes as if she feels bad for you for seeing this.

You tell yourself that it shouldn't matter. This whole arrangement, one practically forced upon you after Steve found out about your pregnancy, is one you wanted out of at first, right?

The elegant, shiny ring on your finger, which you grew to love and often looked at with a fond smile, now reminded you of the cage Steve trapped you in. Gold, pretty cage.

With how intense and dotting Steve was, you actually believed the cage could become a warm house, with a faithful, loving husband.

Seemed you were going to become a cliche, instead. A wife to produce heirs to a mafia king, while he fucked around with whomever he desired.

Perhaps you should walk into the restaurant, make a scene, throw a drink in Steve's face. Throw it at that woman's white dress.

But you only clench your hands on the paper bag with takeout you bought to eat at home (your pregnancy is turning you into a bottomless pit). You straighten your back and keep your head up high as you march to the car and get inside, Natasha and Yelena slipping inside soundlessly.

Yelena tries to say something, explain Steve's actions, but you tell her you're not interested.

"I don't care." You announce as coldly as you can, quite proud that your voice doesn't crack with how hurt you feel inside.

At home you devour your food. And some chocolate muffins that you baked in the morning. Each bite as delicious as heavy, your stomach revolting with the bitter jealousy and anger at the thought of what Steve was up to.

Are they having a romantic dinner and smiling at each other across the table? Is he sliding his hand up her thigh and under her dress? Does he make her come silently in front of all the patrons?

Will he take her to a hotel room, or one of his apartments that he owns all around the city, and fuck her into a screaming mess?

Will he fuck her better than he did you last night... yanking a fistful of your hair as he wrecked you into a dripping mess and praised you, A good little wife, taking all of me so well.

Ripping apart another muffin, you decide on your next step. You know running away wouldn't work. For one, you have two guards, who may be friendly, but still were loyal to Steve and what he said triumphed over whatever you wanted.

Secondly, even if you managed to slip out, Steve would find you. And he'd drag you back into the cage and the life he builds with you beside him.

You can't leave the penthouse, but you can make yourself a safe space in one of the free guest rooms.

Since Steve's dipping his dick in other woman's cunt, he doesn't need you sleeping beside him.

You definitely don't want to touch him when he reeks of other woman's perfume. You don't even want to see him.

So after you drag most of your stuff from the main bedroom and hastily put it in the closet in your new room, you close the door. Just in time, because less than ten minutes later the echo of firm footsteps resounds.

You flip a book open, trying to focus on the printed words and not on the way your heart hammers in your chest as you hear Steve's footsteps aiming for the main bedroom.

A vicious part of you hopes that he is a shocked, seeing that you're not there.

Not in the huge bed, naked under soft covers, waiting for your husband lord and master to throw you a crumb of his attention.

The emotionally heaving part of you shudders in sobs at the image of Steve simply not minding that you're not there.

Maybe he's only a little surprised, but brushes it off and simply takes a shower to wash off the remnants of that woman's arousal and his own sweat. Then he'll get into bed and fall asleep sated, uncaring for your state as long as you obediently stayed inside.

You rub at your eyes, cursing the tears away. You shake your head and try once again to focus on the words you're reading.

But then, after a long stretch of silence, footsteps sound through the space. A creaking of door being open. Then another. Slowly moving towards where you are hidden.

Your heart rate increases, fingers trembling against the paper pages of your book.

You take a breath, willing yourself to remain calm and not show Steve how hurt you are. Play it the way mob bosses wives in movies and tv shows do it - cold and indifferent, an armor around you, so nothing can prickle you.

The door to your claimed room opens and Steve stands there in the doorway in all his stormy glory.

He frowns, seeing you sitting stiffly on the bed.

He walks inside. Sleeves of his suit jacket are pushed up, showing his forearms and twirls of tattoos. He braces his hands on his hips and gives you a look that's a combination of concern and blatant anger.

"Can you explain what's the meaning of all this?" Steve's voice is thick and raspy.

You swallow, but shrug nonchalantly as if his heated gaze isn't bothering you.

"I thought it's better to leave the main bedroom, in case you brought your companion home for the night." You say and return your gaze to the book, fighting the urge to wave him away with a dismissive gesture.

"What?" Steve's frown deepens, actual confusion showing on his face.

"I'm not sure your mistress would like seeing me there. Might ruin the mood." You lift your head and sneer at him. "So I simply made it easier for you."

"I have a mistress now?" Steve raises a single brow, remaining calm while everything inside of you was boiling.

You snap your book closed and slam in onto the bedside table. With a little huff you get off the bed and stomp over to Steve.

"No need to lie." You scoff. "I saw you. With her. Didn't know mob business meant taking beautiful women to expensive restaurants."

You push at his chest in anger, but Steve's strong, muscled body doesn't even sway at your outburst. So you push at him again, unsuccessfully, but at least you get to unleash some of your fury.

"Just do me a favor and don't bring any of your whores home once the baby is here. Stay in one of your apartments, or allow me to move into one."

You can't hold off tears anymore and as some pour out, trickling down your cheeks, you clench your hands into fists and slam them against Steve's chest.

Steve's fingers wrap around your wrists, a tight, almost painful hold that keeps your hands bound to his chest.

"You are not going away from me." He declares, a definite order.

His eyes darken, a flash of lethal danger he rarely directed at you.

"In any form." He ads, obviously meaning you switching bedrooms.

Slowly, Steve's face lightens up. Twinkles appear in his eyes and it makes another wave of annoyance surge through you.

He keeps your wrists locked in one of his hands as he uses the other hand to cup your cheek.

"Any moving you're going to do is along with me." He says and tries to lean his forehead against yours, but you pull your head back.

Steve sighs.

"Which is why," he forces you to maintain eye contact with him, "I had a meeting with Camilla. She's a real estate agent who works for me on renovating a house that I bought for us. For our family."

His words make you speechless. A house? Someplace where you'd feel more free and where your kids could run in glee.

Still, you remain suspicious. You want to assume it's just a crafty lie, you're sure Steve's good at those.

"The Infinite is a rather romantic place to talk construction." You narrow your eyes.

Steve chuckles and shakes his head. He lets go of your wrists to wrap both his arms around you, pulling you close to him despite your attempt to squirm away.

"Jealous little bird." He hums and slides one of his hands up to grip the back of your neck.

"In my line of work-" Steve leans closer, his nose tracing the line of your jaw, hot breath tickling your skin making you shiver-

"I manipulate people. Some with threats, some with sugar. And some, like Camilla, with never voiced promise of something they wish for."

Steve's soft snicker puffs across your cheek at your sneer. His lips travel toward your lips. You close your eyes at the intensity of his blue irises and the way your body reacts to the touch of his mouth against yours.

"A restaurant dinner gave her that little spark that will make her work her ass off to grand me all my wishes regarding our house. Even though not once have I even brushed an inch of her body with my fingers."

"It also happens-" the tip of Steve's tongue licks over your bottom lip, his hand starts pulling up the hem of your nightgown- "that I know how to manipulate my wife's body, so she sweats out all that jealousy and anger while she creams on my cock."

Your tiny, needy whimper makes him chuckle in dark victory.

"That what you need, huh?" He grips your buttock and kneads it. "Should I fuck you braindead every day, so that your mind doesn't come up with silly ideas?"

"It wasn't silly." You try to defend your earlier outburst, but it comes out breathy and weak.

"Thinking I could be interested in anyone else when I have your sweet, ripe body at my disposal. Absolutely ridiculous." Steve flashes you a wolfish grin.

He lifts you up suddenly, forcing your arms and legs to wrap around him. His fingers slide from your ass to dip between your thighs as he turns around and walks out of the room.

"You're coming back to our bedroom." He growls a command.

"I'm going to keep you naked and full of cum for the next few days, so it really sinks in that neither of us is stepping away from this marriage. Ever."

[holylulusworld]

Indecent Proposal masterlist

Summary: Your boyfriend wants to be part of their empire. You are the pawn he’s willing to sacrifice.

Pairing: Mobster!Stucky x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, mentions of illegal activities/mafia business/murder, violence, blood, strong reader, arranged relationship, wish for children, shady deals, shitty boyfriend, possible smut in future chapters (including mlm), polyamory, pansexuality, more to be added

A/N: I don't have enough ongoing series. So...suffer with me...

Indecent Proposal (1)

Indecent Proposal (2)

Indecent Proposal (3)

Indecent Proposal (4)

Indecent Proposal (5)

Indecent Proposal (6)

Indecent Proposal (7)

Indecent Proposal (8)💦

Indecent Proposal (8.2) 💦

Indecent Proposal (9) 💦

Indecent Proposal (9.2)

Indecent Proposal (10) 💦

Indecent Proposal (11) 💦

Indecent Proposal (12)

Indecent Proposal (12.2)

Indecent Proposal (13)

Indecent Proposal (14)

Indecent Proposal (15)

Indecent Proposal (15.2)

Indecent Proposal (16)

Indecent Proposal (17)

Indecent Proposal (17.2)

Indecent Proposal (18)

Indecent Proposal (19)

Indecent Proposal (20)

[buckyalpine]

Satisfied

18+

Mob!Steve x reader x Bodyguard!Bucky 

This can be read as a stand alone. What started off as a oneshot turned into a final three part piece with our beautiful menaces. 

Craving

Just a Taste 

Warnings: Cuckolding, Breeding kink, pregnancy kink, lactation kink, dom Steve, switch Bucky, Sub reader, so much dirty talking 

- 

“Ready to take our cocks baby?” 

You were tossed onto the bed while your husband smirked, his best friend beside him with a matching expression, both men ready to utterly ruin you. You could feel your stomach clench, your pussy already making a mess on the sheets watching Steve starting to loosen his tie. 

“You gonna be a good girl for us princess? Listen to everything we tell you to do, make us feel good?” 

“Yes daddy” 

Bucky’s hand went down to palm his aching length, squeezing it at the way you looked up at Steve with pretty doe eyes before your gaze flicked over to him, a whimper slipping past your lips when you watched Bucky rub his erection. 

“Already needy for his cock, hm? Greedy little baby, all it took was one taste and you’re already whining for him to stuff you full?” Steve cupped your face, pulling you down for a fiery kiss, while his other hand worked at his belt and unzipping his pants. You chased more of his lips, your nipples pebbled, skin hot with anticipation, both men still fully clothed while you were bare. 

Bucky’s cock strained against his pants, It was almost painful, hearing your soft whines and whimpers as Steve slipped his tongue into your mouth. He tried to squeeze his length to calm himself down but it was pointless, there was already a prominent wet patch on his pants from where the tip of his cock rested. He watched Steve’s hand come down to rub through your folds, spreading your slick around. Bucky groaned at the sight of your glistening cunt as you spread your legs further, rubbing your clit while Steve stuffed his fingers into your mouth letting you taste yourself. 

There was only so much restraint Bucky had. 

Your eyes grew wide at the deep moan you heard behind Steve to find Bucky with his cock out, his fist working at his length, eyes locked on you. He bit his lip, giving himself slow strokes from the base of his cock, twisting at the head. Steve continued his ministrations, going back to toying with your pussy while he pulled his own cock out. 

“You see what you do to him baby, couldn’t even keep it in his pants” Steve smirked, watching Bucky stroke himself, the head of his length a silky mess. Your husband pulled away, causing you to whine at the loss of contact. 

“Come here and get on your knees sweets” Both men towered over you as you sunk to the floor, looking up at them, their leaky thick cocks hanging above your face. You let your fingers dig into Steve’s thighs as you took his tip into your mouth, moaning at the taste of him, working your tongue in swirls. You took  more of him till your nose was flush against the base, choking and gagging on his length. 

“Look at her, fuck-she’s-oh God she’s perfect” Bucky was already a babbling mess, watching you slobber over your husband, stroking him while you fit as much as you could into your mouth. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty doll” 

Steve grinned proudly, lightly thrusting into your mouth, Bucky’s broken moans making his cock harder combined with your gagging. As gorgeous as you were on your knees for him, his cock twitched at the thought of you putting on a show for him. He shoved his cock deep into your throat, savoring your soft mouth before giving your bodyguard a taste. 

“Suck his cock babygirl” Steve cooed, gently tugging your hair, pulling you off him and guiding you to Bucky’s leaking tip. Bucky’s eyes grew wide as you greedily lapped him up, your hand teaching up to play with Steve’s balls while you wrapped your lips around your husbands best friend. “That’s it pretty girl, give him some nice sloppy head, you dreamed of this didn’t you? Sucking his dick, tasting his balls, my filthy little bitch”  Steve pushed your head all the way down till you choked, tears streaming down your face. Your thighs were sticky with arousal, your hands now clinging around Bucky’s meaty thighs, nose against the dark hair at the base of his cock. Your husband guided your head up and down, while bringing his hand up to jerk his cock at how perfectly slutty you were. 

“Suck it, tell her how much you love it Buck, how much you love my wife on her knees for you with your dick in her mouth. Tell my precious baby how that’s all she’s good for, cockhungry whore” Bucky’s hands replaced Steve’s, carding through your hair as he started to fuck your mouth, his hips already starting to stutter. 

“Your mouth feels good, so-so fucking good baby, think-fuck, I-I think I’m gonna cum” Bucky’s jaw was slack, his balls throbbing. “C’mon, suck-suck my balls baby, get ‘em both in your mouth” You pulled off with a pop, laving at his warm sac, letting your tongue dip to the underside of his balls making him nearly sob in pleasure, “Oh fuck, that’s it, God they’re so fuckin’ full printsessa, suck’em baby, feel how much cum I have for you”

You whined while keeping your mouth full, letting your hands trail between your legs. play with yourself instead. Your eyes rolled back, fluttering closed as you rubbed yourself faster, letting Bucky fuck your mouth, his balls hitting your chin. 

“My poor needy baby, look at her, can’t ever keep her fucking hands to herself, playing with her tingly little button” Steve let out an amused laugh with a hint of a growl in his voice watching you rub your pussy while you sucked your bodyguard, your eyes closed, lost in how good he tasted. You drank every drop of precum, getting sloppy and messy, letting him practically grind his face on you whenever you sucked his balls. “You wanna be filled up with cock, don’t you baby”

You nodded, giving your husband pleading doe eyes; he nodded to Bucky, helping you onto your feet before tossing you over his shoulder and throwing you back onto the large bed. He sat against the headboard, dragging you like a rag doll to straddle his lap, pressing his length against your folds. 

“Daddy, please” You rutted yourself on him, desperate for some type of relief, gasping when the tip of his cock pressed against your soaked cunt. 

“Don’t be a brat, you’ll get all the cock you want” Steve spanked you ass, gripping your hips and sinking you down on his length, moaning with you as he buried himself to the hilt. Bucky couldn’t help himself, kneeling on the bed beside you both, jerking his cock while you started to move, riding your husband. You needed more, your pussy full but your mouth empty, greedily leaning over so you could take Bucky in your mouth, a pornographic moan escaping from his lips, catching him off guard. 

“Oh-oh FUCK baby!” 

“My pretty princess is such a fuckin’ whore” Steve moaned, throwing his head back while you continued to bounce on his cock while gagging and choking all over Bucky, pulling off his length with a pop just to get a taste of his balls again.

“You like those in your mouth, huh baby?”

“Tastes so good Daddy” You gathered the precum off Bucky’s cock, wetting you lips with his arousal before smashing your lips on Steve, letting him get a taste of what you making you so feral. 

“Yeah? You like how he tastes baby? Didn’t realize you were such a cumslut baby, you love cum don’t you?” Steve snarled, thrusting up from underneath you while you let out choked moans, going back to slobbering all over Bucky. He wanted to cum so badly, fill you up but the fucked up part of his brain wouldn’t let him, only wanting to let go once you were utterly fucked out. He pushed you off his cock so you were lying down, beckoning for his best friend to have a turn instead. 

“I wanna see how much of a slut you are baby. This is what you dreamed of, isn’t it princess? My best friend in our bed?” Steve sat against the headboard against the pillows, gripping the base of his length while Bucky crawled on top of you, his heavy cock bobbing between his legs. You whimpered, spreading your legs for him, his length streaking precum onto your tummy. 

“What else did you need pretty baby, you want it fast or slow, you want me to fucking ruin this pussy or make love to you, hm?” Bucky slipped his thumb past your lips, groaning at the way you started to suck, desperate whines making him throb. “Tell us what you want sweets” 

“I-I-

“You what, needy little baby, what does the little princess want” Bucky cooed, kissing up your neck nipping your jaw, his hand stroking your waist. “Spoilt babygirl, thinking of my cock” 

You nodded, wrapping your legs around his waist while he groaned, teasing the tip around before slowly pushing himself in you. You moaned for him, digging your heels into his ass till he was all the way in your tummy. He started to rock his hips, grinding and rutting it cock deep in your pussy, a mix of lust and a tinge of envy coursing through his body. 

“F-Fuck, you kept this little slut a secret” He groaned, thinking about all the times he thought you were too sweet, too precious, too innocent to even masturbate to. All the times he hated himself for thinking about his best friends pretty wife, the pretty angel he’d never get to touch, the pretty angel that was letting him now pump his load in her. “You gonna let us pump of full of cum baby?”

“Fill me up Bucky” You slurred out, too fucked out by the stretch of him to care about how needy and desperate you sounded. Steve cocked and eyebrow, watching you mark your bodyguard, dragging your nails across his back, nearly breaking the skin, digging your teeth into his neck. You were so feral for another man, so innocent to the outside world. Fuck he was so lucky. 

“Look at you, moaning for another man in our bed baby, letting him fuck you raw, you feel his cum leaking in you sweets, you letting him make a mess in that tight little pussy?” Steve moaned out, stroking himself faster, watching Bucky pound your pussy, wrecking your body as if he owned it. “You want that baby, want my bestfriends cum in you baby? Say it you fuckin’ slut, say you want another man to cum in you”

“Want-I want his cum daddy!” You cried out while Bucky brought his knee up to fuck you deeper, thrusting into you till the headboard shook. He grunted, sweat beading at his forehead, keeping his face hidden against your neck, utterly lost in how badly he wanted to bust in your pussy. 

“Steve-m’gonna cum-fuck-FUCK” Bucky started to pound you faster, fisting the sheets while his friend let out a breathless chuckle, his own orgasm crawling down his spine watching his wife get railed.

“She’s got you fucked huh? Her pussy makes you never wanna leave-shit” 

“She’s so tight, how-fuck-how are you so tight baby, how the fuck are you taking my cock” Bucky pulled away from the crook of your neck, looking down at where you were both connected, nearly sobbing at the sight of his creamy cock sliding in and out of you, your cunt swallowing his length. “God, I wish you were mine, baby, I never wanna pull out, wanna be in this pussy every. Damn. Day” His hips slammed into you with each word, his balls growing heavier. 

“Hear that princess, you like that?” Steve tucked some of the stray hair away from your face, your teary eyes gazing up at him. Your needy whiny whimpers just made it more difficult for either men to hold off much longer. 

“Princess, can’t-I can’t hold it-m’gonna cum sweets, m’gonna fuckin’ bust in you”

“Want your cum James!” That was all he had to hear, thrusting and fucking you with abandon while Steve shoved his cock into your mouth, both men using you while you were a teary soaked mess. 

“Oh fuuckk babygirl, you’re gonna get it baby, I promise, every fuckin’ drop till my balls are empty, m’gonna cum in you till I can drink your milk” Bucky smirked at the low growl he heard from Steve, fucking you harder, faster, both men going higher and higher. “Gonna get you so fuckin full of me, these tits are gonna be leaking for days baby, you’re gonna feed all of us, yeah?”

You nodded, letting out a muffled moan, feeling your husbands cock harden in your mouth. Bucky dipped his head down to latch onto your breast, sucking your nipple until it was sore and swollen. 

“This is how you’re gonna feed us, huh princess, gonna feed us so fuckin’ good when you’re leaking with milk” Bucky moaned around your nipple, tugging it between his teeth while you mewled, squeezing his cock in your pussy. “Yeah, you gonna feed our baby, then feed your baby daddy? When daddy gets all hungry for mama’s sweet milk?”

“Gonna-fuck-gonna feed you James!”

Steve grinned, watching your eyes roll back at those words, he could tell you were so close, so fucking close. He tilted your face to meet his eyes, cooing at the way your clung onto Bucky. 

“You gonna let him get you pregnant in our bed sweets? What about when you’re all swollen and round babygirl, all pretty and pregnant? You think he’s gonna take his eyes off you?” Steve smirked, knowing how protective Bucky was over you. “We’ll-we’ll be gentle sweets, don’t worry, he’s gonna take care of his little princess and her sensitive little button when you can’t reach over your belly” 

“Mmmm,-hng- don’t-just shut the fuck up-” Bucky gritted, struggling not to cum, Steve’s words making him absolutely feral, picturing you pregnant. 

“Don’t what, you don’t think she’ll look so pretty with that perfect belly all round, too swollen to even take care of herself”

“Oh god”

“Begging for someone to play with her down there when she’s all needy”

“Sh-shit” 

“You think my slutty little wife won’t beg for your cock if I’m not home to take care of her? You know how needy and full she’s gonna get, she’s gonna feed us so good, Fuck-she’s such a whore, my fucking perfect little whore-oh SHITTT” Steve threw his head back, his hips lifting off the bed as he shot cum onto your face, painting your face with his cream. 

“Steve-I-fuck, gonna fill her with my cum, theres-fuck baby theres so much, m’sorry, s’too much princess, m’gonna make sucha mess in your pussy, gonna ruin your fuckin’ sheets-Take-fuck-take it, I’M CUMMING IN HER, FUCKK”

“Cum in my wife, fucking cum in her, give my little slut all the cum he wants” 

“I’M GONNA GET YOU PREGNANT BABY, TAKE ALL MY CUM” Bucky roared against your neck, his hand flying to the head board, letting it splinter under his grip as he stilled, his cock bursting with cum. You cried out with him as your own orgasm clenched around his cock making him shudder, everything around you a dull buzz, spots clouding your vision. 

You felt like you were floating, too fucked out to register the warm cloth that grazed your skin or the cool lotion that was being rubbed onto your body. You only faintly felt the soft kisses that were peppered onto your body, whispers of what a good girl you were between praises of how much you were adored exchanged between Steve and Bucky.  

You yawned, letting out a content sigh, feeling the warmth from your husband on one side, your bodyguard on the other, both men wrapping a protective arm around you. 

“Rest up lil mama, you need it” 

They didn’t see the little playful smile that curved on your lips at the feel of their still semi hard cocks; a nap would be a good idea before the rest of the night continued.

“Sleep well, babygirl” 

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[mrs-illyrian-baby]

Mob Rules - Cockwarming with Bucky (& Steve)

Cockwarming | Bucky Barnes x Reader | Drabble 800w

After a long day you settle down on the sofa with Bucky and Steve

Warnings: Sexual content & language. D/s themes, cockwarming, oral (m receiving), dirty talk.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and @saradika-graphics

Masterlist | Mob Rules | Poly Fics |Bucky | Steve

The house was quiet again, no raucous laughter or bantering, no loud banging as the rest of the Cap and Sarge's crew came and went. No phone calls or meetings. Just peaceful, blissful, silence. 

The sofa under you was plush and soft, the TV a low hum in the background of your thoughts. You'd sprawled out around an hour ago, changing out of the cute pink outfit Steve had chosen and into one of the many silk robes that lined your closet. 

“There you are, Bambi.” Cap’s voice was rough, he'd been berating the lower ranks of the crew earlier for some dispute about territory and he looked wrung out by the whole thing. “Been looking for you.” 

“Sorry-” you began to scramble back up from your prone position but he motioned for you to lie back down, picking up your feet and placing them in his lap. 

“No, baby, you lay down, it's been a lot, hasn't it, meeting everyone.” 

You nodded, looking up at him with wide eyes. He’d taken off his black suit jacket and rolled his sleeves up. His tie was undone, hanging around his undone collar, and his dirty blonde hair was ruffled, pushed back from his forehead. He looked wonderful, his large hands encompassing your feet and squeezing gently, rubbing the sore arches. 

“You've been such a good girl, let me take care of you.” Closing your eyes you let Steve rub his calloused hands over your feet and up your thighs, massaging the tight muscle and brushing dangerously close to the hem of your panties. 

“So this is where you're hiding,” Bucky chided from the open doorway. Behind in the evening light spilled through the tall windows, casting him into shadow. 

You tried to sit again, but Steve patted the top of your thigh, “stay.”

Bucky gave you an indulgent smile and kissed your forehead before sitting down as well, lifting your shoulders and laying your head on his thigh. 

“You did so well today, baby, so good for us.” He praised, resting his arm over your shoulder and stroking his thumb down your cheek. 

“Thank you, Sarge.” You felt the hard line of his cock twitch under his black suit trousers, the zipper pressing up briefly. 

“Such a sweet girl,” Steve agreed, his hands working up your thighs again, his thumbs brushing the gusset of your lacey panties. 

“Going sweet on us now aren’t you?” Bucky slid his thumb over your lips and into your waiting mouth. 

His thumb was warm and heavy, pressing down gently on your tongue as you laved at his fingerprint. Bucky’s hand was so large that he could cradle your face, covering your ear and protecting you from the slightest noise. It was so safe, under his care, that you closed your eyes and began to suck absentmindedly, humming gently and leaning into his touch. 

“There you go, Bambi - so sweet - happy?” He asked, his voice low and rumbling, you could feel each word running through your body from the plain of his chest where the back of your head rested, to the soles of your feet in Steve’s hands. “Need you to do something for me now.” 

You nuzzled deeper into his lap, his cock now straining against the zip of his trousers, and your squeezed your thighs together around Steve’s hand, contemplating his next request. “Anything, Sarge.” 

Bucky’s head fell to the back of the sofa with a soft thump and his tattooed left hand came into view. For a moment you pulled back, hoping to lick at the colours and patterned inked into his skin, the twirl of flowers, the patterns, the dates, you wanted to worship him. But he tucked his hand behind your head and tugged down his zipper instead. 

“Sit up, sweetheart.” Steve picked you up gently and you watched, rapt, as Bucky’s cock sprang free. He was already rock hard, his head a deep red and you thought of cherry ice lollies, your mouth watering. 

Between them, Bucky and Steve lowered you back into his lap, his open fly revealing his toned abdomen and his adonis belt pointing down to his delicious looking dick. Without thinking you licked a bold stripe from the base to the tip, dipping your tongue into his slit and moaning with delight when the salty tang of his precum hit your tongue. 

“Fuck, Bambi, how’d we get so lucky with you? Perfect little cockslut, that’s right -” his left hand cupped the back of your head, guiding you further onto his cock, “open that tight little throat and let me keep my cock just - ugh -here.” You settled, mouth full and nose brushing against his abdomen, and whined. The noise vibrated through him and he thrust up slightly, hitting the back of your throat. You gagged, pulling back, but he kept his hand firm guiding you back down. “Shh, settle there, good girl, just open your throat and clear your mind.” 

So you did, slowing your breathing and letting his cock sit heavy on your tongue and that safe, kept, feeling washed over you.

[sweetsbfreex]

drunk and obsessed

Summary: a little something about a drunk steve. in the mafia steve universe

Pairing: drunk!mafia! steve rogers x reader

Warning: none rlly

-

“Baby, baby,” you giggle, a bit tipsy, as you try your hardest to fit the key into the door's lock. “I can’t open the door with you all over me.”

You laugh once more when Steve begins kissing your neck once again. His trimmed beard tickles your neck. 

On the other hand, Steve had a bit too much to drink. And that's all your doing. 

You know he feels he can never have too much to drink at these events, especially with you there. The events are filled with some of the most inimical people worldwide. So he always wants to be on his A-game for you. But that’s what body guards are for, you had argued. Pushing for him to have the time of his life with some of his friends.

Now here he was: drunk and his body cradling yours, as the two of you struggle to get in the house. 

“I just love you, baby,” his words slur as he kisses your cheek. 

“I love you too,” You tell him, so close to getting the fucking key to fit. 

“I can’t wait to get you inside,” his voice rich and husky as he seals his promise. 

“Baby, I don’t even think you could get it up right now.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Steve removes himself as your shell, both arms up in defense while he takes a few steps back.  

When your senses finally catch up that he’s no longer hovering over you. You quickly turn, just stopping him before he tumbles down the step. 

You hold both his hands, then let one go to grab the side of this face, “Honey, your drunk off your ass right now—“

“I am not! You just called my game weak,”

“That’s not what I said, but I need you to stand silently so I can open the door, okay?”

“Okay, pretty” he answers, landing a soft peck on your lips.

You smile as you finally open the door, reaching behind you to clasp Steve’s hand so you can pull him in. 

You close the door behind him, toeing your shoes off, giggling when he has trouble with his. But five ‘fucks’ later, he finally gets it done. 

“Woooo!!” Steve shoots his hand up in a v, as if his team just won the super bowl. 

You’re quick to drop his arms back down to his sides, “Shhh, baby. You’re screaming.”

“I am?! I’m sorry,” his hands cup your cheeks as he pulls you for yet another kiss. 

“Honey,” you laugh into his sloppy kiss. “Let’s go to bed, hm? And get some water into you.”

“I don’t wanna do bed,” he whines. “I wanna do you,” he smirks, moving one hand to grip your hip.

“Tomorrow, okay? I’m really tired.” You feign a dramatic yawn. 

“You are? Okay, that’s okay, okay?” he kisses your nose this time. 

Drunk sex isn’t something that hasn’t been checked off your and Steve’s list. But Steve is sloshed and can barely walk straight, so sex would not be on the menu for tonight. 

“Let’s head up.” You wrap his arm over your shoulder, walking up the steps carefully. 

-

He’s sitting at the end of the bed, his coat beside him, as you unbutton his dress shirt. You would’ve let him do it himself, but he was struggling with his lack of hand-eye coordination. Playfully slapping your hand every time your hands got close to his shirt. Giggling and joking that there would be no sexy times. That was until he had made you oath you’d keep your hands innocent. 

Ever your affectionate, drunk lover. 

“Are you sure you feel alright? Don't need to throw up or anything?” You ask Steve once again. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he tells you then takes another swig of water.

It only takes ten minutes until he’s in his sweatpants, with no boxers (under his request). You’re changed and ready for bed, tired out from an eventful day. Steve’s favorite movie playing in the background. 

Steve cuddles up close, half his brawny body on yours, his leg splayed over yours, and his head nestled on your chest. 

Your fingers run through his hair soothingly. 

“Y/n?”

You hum a response.

“Thank you for taking care of me, I love you too,” 

“I love you too.” you laugh breathily at his mistake. 

A comfortable pause ensues. 

“Y/n?” His hand shimmies under your t-shirt, to caress your soft skin. 

“Yes, honey,” you can’t help but laugh at the way he calls for your attention. You don’t think you’ve heard your actual name from his mouth so consistently. 

“I think I wanna— I know I want to start trying soon. I wanna be a dad, a good dad.”

Your hand stills.

“What?” Your voice is quiet and relayed with shock. Your heart no longer in your chest. 

He wants to try. The two of you tied the knot two months ago. However, talk of whether you guys wanted to start a family or not was shut down by Steve every time. You never wanted to push, but you also wanted to know what to expect. 

Either way, He was adamant that he wasn’t ready. There was no way he could raise a baby to be half a decent human being with his trauma lingering in the shadows, among other things

He sits up abruptly, “I know, I know. I’m not sober, but I’m not lying either. I’m ready, honey… if you are.” He grabs your hand and kisses your knuckles.

“Okay,” you smile, “If you remember, we’ll continue this conversation tomorrow?”

“Okay.” He kisses your cheek before cuddling into you once again. “I wanna be the perfect dad, y/n. The best.”

“You will be.” 

You tell him sweetly, your eyes stinging as you run your fingers through his hair once more. 

-

a/n: srry it's been so long, college keeps me busy 24/7! here's this as i try and finish binky fairy pt. 2

if you enjoyed pls don’t forget to reblog or give feedback if ur up to it <3

[themorningsunshine]

Pancakes

Pie eyed over you - Chapter 4

Mafia - Baker AU

Masterlist                        Series Masterlist

Previous Part

Pairing - Mafia!Bucky x Baker!Reader

Summary - When a new baker in town refuses to abide by his rules, Bucky has no option but to go and take care of it himself. But nothing could prepare him for what stood on the other side. Nothing could prepare him for you.

Warnings - Implied smut, Making out, wounds, brief mention of first aid, fluff and angst 

Word count - 5.9k

a/n - I really tried writing smut for the first time for this chapter, but realised soon enough that it’s not my cup of tea. Alteast not yet. Maybe some other time. Till then, please let me know what you think :) 

(I couldn’t find a more accurate gif. It in no way represents the reader) 

"y/n, y/n!"

Wanda's voice and her brisking past you to switch off the coffee machine brought you off the hole you were glaring into the wall with your stare.

Your feet walked on your own as you picked up the cup and walked towards the elderly woman, handing over the cup, a smile plastered on your face.

"Are you okay, dear?" The elderly woman, Mrs. Hudson, asked in a gentle voice.

You nodded your head and with a more convincing smile at her concern, replied, "Yeah, yeah, I am totally fine, Mrs Hudson. Just a lot on my mind right now."

"You have to take care of yourself, child. How else will I get the best coffee in the world?"

You chuckled before replying, "Don't worry, Mrs Hudson. You and this town aren't going to get rid of me this easily."

She gives you a wider smile and with small steps, carries her cup and box outside. You wanted to help her and make sure she reached home safely, but after all these months, you just know how stubborn she can be.

"Y/n, you seriously need to take care of yourself. You look tired."

You dismiss Wanda with a shake of your hand, you knew you were tired. You felt tired. But it had nothing to do with the bakery or your chores, you knew it and if nothing else, they were a pretty good distraction from what had been plaguing your mind for what felt like forever now. "I am fine, Wan. Don't you worry about me? You have got enough on your plate." And you meant it. Ever since Wanda gave birth to the twin boys, she had been super busy and the both of you hardly got any time to hang out together, but you understood. She was a mom now. She would eventually take out some time for the both of you, and she did. If the shopping bags and the skip in both of your steps were any indications, she came back for a wonderful girls' day out after all.

"I am never going to stop worrying about you, y/n. It's kind of my birthright." She noted before picking up a cupcake from the shelf.

After a moment of comfortable silence and a couple of customers, when you found yourself lost in your thoughts once again, Wanda spoke up. "Come on, y/n. I know it's been a month and that's a pretty long time, but you need to stop thinking about the worst-case scenarios. Maybe he is safe and sound, and you are just worrying yourself over nothing."

You sighed. You knew she was right but there was absolutely nothing that could calm down your nerves. "I - I don't know, Wan. That day, Steve said it was an emergency. They sounded so worried. And I have got no damn idea about what it even was about."

"What emergencies would mechanics have that could take a month?" Wanda asks with a furrow. The first time she had met James, flashed back into her eyes. She knew something had not been right about him. She just couldn't pin out what. She didn't want to tell you and worry you about it if it was nothing.

"I - I think something is not right, Wan. I think there is something huge he isn't telling me." Your throat contracted as the words left your mind. You had been thinking that for quite some time now. But giving voice to your suspicions and putting them out there, was a different deal altogether. It wasn't just a thought running into your mind anymore.

"You think he has been lying to you?" Wanda whispers, her heart sinking in her chest at your dejected expression. You didn't deserve this. You didn't deserve lies or even half-baked truths and it hurt her so much that she could do nothing about this.

"I don't know. I mean, he could lie to me, right? It's not like he owes me anything. He could straight up one day decide to never show up at the bakery again and there is absolutely nothing I could do about it."

"But he wouldn't do that. You know it." She puts her hand ahead to try to comfort you.

"Then where is he, Wan? Where has he gone for one month without a single word? And hell, I can't even ask around if someone has seen him, because guess what, he is supposed to be nothing to me." You half screamed with exasperation. You wished it wasn't this way. You wished that he hadn't just gone without any contact for a month and you wished that it didn't hurt this much. You wish you could just care less.

"But is he? Is he nothing to you, y/n?" She asks, knowing the answer all too well, but she needs to hear it from you. But your silence and the slight tears brimming in the corner of your eyes are an answer enough for her.

She puts her hand around you to comfort you before stating what has been obvious to her for a long time now. " You're in love with him. "

You suddenly take a step back, running your palm on your face, before replying, "What? No, no, no. That's not true."

There is a pang in your chest that tells you otherwise. The way the bakery hasn't just been the same since he left tells you otherwise. The way your smiles haven't truly reached your eyes for the past week says otherwise. The way your eyes always instantly look at the door at the voice of the bell, hoping with everything you have that it's him, tells you otherwise.

But you wish to stay in denial for a little longer. You wish to ignore all the feelings James Barnes has ignited inside you locked up a little longer. Because for some reason, you knew that it could only lead to inevitable hurt, and you wish you could live in this blissful ignorance a little longer.

Wanda just puts her arms around you and engulfs you in a hug, muttering comforting words into your hair.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

It was a dead silent night.

The only thing illuminating his path were the few streetlights and lights of the shop that were still open.

Bucky flinches slightly as the wound on his face makes its presence known.

He knows he shouldn't be here. Maybe at work, informing everybody of the long mission, celebrating the fact that one of his biggest enemies is gone for good now, or maybe getting some medical care, but definitely not here.

But it has been too long, and if he doesn't see you right now, make sure that you're okay, even though he's the one who has been in near-death situations more times than he can count, he is not sure he will be able to breathe.

Maybe he should have stopped for a moment and thought about what he would tell you about the scars and the wounds, but right now, he was a desperate man.

As the bakery comes into view, he lets out a sigh of relief when he notices that the light is on.

You would be cleaning up after the day right now. Maybe, if he was lucky, you would let him just sit there for some time and not send him away from the door. After the radio silence he has given you for more than a month, he will deserve that, but he is not sure if he will be able to live with it.

When he reaches the bakery, he stops for a moment and looks inside.

There, you are. In all your glory, wiping the counter with a determined look on your face.

Bucky is stopped in his tracks. Just like the first night he had met you, he needs a moment to catch his breath, to look at you for a moment longer to convince himself that this is real. You are real.

To him, you get even more beautiful every time he looks at you.

As if on instinct, you look up from the counter towards the door, and your movements halt when your eyes meet the blue ones you had missed more than anything.

You stand there, staring at him for a minute, to make sure that this is actually true, that he was here and it was not just your mind playing games.

When you are finally able to get your feet to move, you walk towards the door to the bakery and pull the door open.

Bucky looks at you with a small smile on his face. Even after he had fought through literal hell the past month, the mere sight of you made it all better. It was like he had been lost into the sea for far too long and you were the first sight of civilization, of peace, of life.

But there is a slight fear in his eyes. He knows you had all the right in the world to just ask him to get lost, that after the radio silence he had put you through, he would deserve everything you had to say to him.

But he couldn't have expected what you did next.

You took hurried steps toward him and before he knew it, you brought your hands around his neck, engulfing him into a tight hug.

"James" You breathed his name as you held onto him tighter. You wanted to be angry with him, to let him know just how much he had worried you, to give him a chance to silence all your worries, but the second you saw him, all you could get yourself to care about was that he was here, and he was fine.

After the initial shock, Bucky brought his arms around your waist, bringing you impossibly closer and burying his face into your hair, letting your smell and the feeling of you pressed against him, engulf his senses.

He doesn't know what peace felt like, but he is pretty sure it feels a lot like this.

The both of you stay like that for a moment longer before anger comes sweeping back to you and you pull away.

"Where the hell was - " Your words die on your tongue at the sight in front of you. James' face is bruised and he looks like he has been through hell. He looks tired, and all the shine that you had started to associate with his eyes is completely gone now.

"Holy shit." You almost shout before bringing your hand towards his face to gently run your fingers over his bruises.

He flinches first before closing his eyes and leaning into your touch and you can't help but feel guilty for being angry with him when he has clearly been going through something.

"How did you get hurt?"

He bites his lip and slowly opens his eyes, but doesn't look at you, instead choosing to focus on your palm that's still resting on his face. "I - I got into an accident." He says, cringing at the way he hesitates. He used to be able to lie like a breeze. It was the easiest thing in the world for him. But there is something in your eyes and something inside him that's begging him to stop this. To just come clean and face the consequences. But he knows for a fact that once he does that, your hand wouldn't gently rest on his face like it's doing now, healing wounds that he didn't even know existed and you wouldn't be looking at him like that. Like he could ever in this lifetime be deserving of the affection of someone like you. And he realizes he needs it, maybe just for tonight, but he needs to live in a false lie.

You bring your hand away as his words settle in. There is a hesitation in his voice and a pang in your chest that tells you he's lying, even though you desperately want to believe him. You search for something in his eyes, anything that could convince you that he was telling you the truth, but you find nothing.

You look down, blinking back the tears that are threatening to spill.

You shake your head and then look up only to be met by his battered face and you take a deep breath before reaching out for his hand.

You needed to help him right now. If you knew something about James that was not a lie, it was that he could be extremely stubborn and he would never take care of the bruises himself. You could either wallow in self-pity or demand the truth later. For now, you take his hand in yours and pull him towards the stairs leading to your apartment.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩

Bucky very slightly flinches in pain as you put the tweezers down on the plate, his bare minimum reaction to everything you were doing would have been a concern to you but you knew just how strong he could be.

You look up at his face and feel relieved at what you see. The wounds weren't very severe and you were thankful for the first aid box you always kept tucked inside your washroom.

It had been almost an hour since the both of you stepped into the apartment. His wounds were all catered to now, including the ones on his chest and back.

He sat there, shirtless, in the kitchen of your apartment as you slowly looked after the bruises one by one, using everything you had not to stare at his bare chest. It really should be illegal for someone to be this good-looking.

You could see the scars where metal met skin and you couldn't help the pain that swept into your chest. You had gently run your fingers across them as if that would somehow relieve his pain and Bucky would never say it out loud, but it somehow did.

Not a single word had been uttered between the both of you since you stepped into the apartment. James had tried talking, anything that would make you look at him even for a fleeting moment but your sheer reluctance to meet his eyes made his words die on his tongue.

When you are finally done mending all the wounds, you keep the first aid box to the side and take a seat in front of him, still refusing to look at him.

James looks at you but is met with complete ignorance from you. He knows he deserves this, but he would apologize if you just gave him the chance. He finally decides to fill the silence that has surrounded the apartment for so long. "Sweets - "

"How did you get hurt, James?" You cut him off, looking up to look directly into his eyes for the first time that night, begging him through your eyes to be honest for this once. To just cease your fears and tell you whatever he is so adamant about hiding.

Please, please, be honest with me, James.

I want to be able to believe you, to be able to trust you, to love you.

Please, don't lie to me.

"I told you, sweets. It was an accident."

You feel the worry and hurt morph into anger. "And where were you the past month? Preparing for the accident?"

You watched as he shook his head, unable to meet your eyes and you could feel your stomach drop. You didn't want to do this, not right now. He was hurt, and tired and your heart was begging you to stop and save the little shred of hope left between the both of you, but you had to know.

James let out a sigh and closed his eyes before muttering, "Sweets, I told you. It's nothing."

You let out an involuntary humorless chuckle, before closing your eyes shut, "Why is it so difficult for you to be honest with me, James?"

Bucky closed his eyes shut and clenched his fists, anything to stop him from spilling out everything to you. You sounded broken, hurt and he mentally berated himself for making you feel this way. There's nothing more he wanted than to let it all out, to lay the pieces of his soul bare in front of you.

But he instead leans his head closer, his forehead brushing against yours, willing you with everything he has to Munster and everything he couldn't put into words.

You let a silent sob as your lips quivered and a tear rolled down your cheek. "I - I don't know, James. You were gone for more than a month and I had absolutely no idea where you were. I was worried, but I shouldn't be. You don't owe it to me to tell you where you were, you don't owe me anything - "

"That's not true." He interrupted, voice pleading, something that felt so foreign to him, but for you, he would do it. For you, he would get down on his knees if it meant you would stop hurting.  "I need you to know that that's not true, sweets. You have no idea how sorry I am that I couldn't reach out to you, but please, believe me when I say this, I would have if I could, 'cause it was killing me. Every single moment not spent with you, not knowing how you are is torture, a torture I am not sure I will be able to survive for long."

You let out a broken sob as he brought his hand behind your neck, gently pushing you towards him, your foreheads now completely leaning on each other, your breaths mingling and you involuntarily close your eyes.

The whole world ceased to exist at that moment. The both of you comfort each other with your mere presence. There were a lot of things unsaid, a lot of things unvisited, for that small moment right there, all that mattered was that you had found each other.

After what felt like an eternity, you let out your worst fear. Something that has plagued your mind for a long time now. "Sometimes, I - I feel like I don't even know you, James like all of this is a huge lie, a front that would fall apart someday."

You don't let him answer as you pull back and stand up quickly to turn away. You had to get away from there. The intimacy of it all, and how real it felt, filled you with dread now.

But before you can walk away from him, James's hand shoots up and grabs hold of your wrist. His hold is gentle, but firm, keeping you with him. He looks up and you see in his eyes how vulnerable he is. How important this conversation is for him, too.

He gets up and takes a step forward and your heart begins beating so fast, you are pretty sure he would be able to hear it.

You take a step back if only to save your heart from getting away, a meek attempt at postponing getting it broken by the man in front of you, the man who had held your heart for a long time now, only for your back to hit the counter.

As James took another step ahead and with nowhere to go, you saw in his eyes as several different emotions pooled through his blue orbs. The intensity of his gaze makes you look away.

He slowly brings his hand under your chin and makes you look up at him and you realize there is hardly a few inches of distance between the both of you. Your thoughts turn frantic and it becomes impossible to focus on your breathing.

"You know me, sweets. You know me in ways nobody has ever before."

He whispers the sentence as if it was something to be kept just between you two, his voice dripping with conviction and honesty. His eyes determined to make you believe every single word falling from his lips, which were now mere inches from yours.

He knows it's true. In all those times when everything became a little too much and he wasn't himself, even when he didn't even realize it, you did. You could read him like a book and it would have scared him if it wasn't for what came after. Your comforting words, your slight touches that made him believe that this world hadn't gone to shit just yet, that everything could still be okay. You didn't have to know what troubled his mind and plagued his nightmares but you made it all better and silenced the whisperings of his troubled mind nonetheless.

You know it's stupid, but you believe him. You believe every single word that falls from his mouth, and you realize the man in front of you was always going to hold a piece of your heart, even if he had no idea. Because he might have lied about something that you didn't know, but it didn't have to matter. Nothing else in the world had to matter if he kept looking at you like this.

His intense gaze falls from your eyes to your lips for a fleeting second and you would have missed it, if not for your sheer inability to focus on anything else but him at that moment.

Your breath mingles as he leans closer, his eyes never leaving yours.

The world stops spinning when his lips finally touch yours.

The silence around you explodes and a world of colors appears from behind your closed eyes.

Every thought in your mind is stripped out and replaced with him.

Just him

The kiss is gentle, soft, almost tender. All the things that have been missing from his life for as long as he could remember.

He doesn't just feel the kiss on his lips, he feels it in every fiber of his being.

The way his bones feel like they are on fire. Like his soul has finally found water.

Like every part of him that came from a dead star is alive again.

It is everything he has ever wanted. You are everything he has ever wanted.

he slides his hand to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as if even an inch of distance between the both of you was too much for him.

You encircle your arms around his neck, your fingers gently running through his hair.

You taste like coffee and cookies, and it's all exceptionally sweet and he wants to taste it all like a man who has been devoid of air for a long time.

When the necessity to breathe arises, you pull away. But James doesn't let you get too far, as he walks you toward the counter, trapping you between his arms.

Your lips are parted, still breathing heavily, when he leans in again. Now that he knew how your lips felt, he never wanted to be away from them for even a second.

This kiss is passionate and desperate, hands wandering, tongues desperately exploring each other's mouth, your back pushing against the counter.

James' hands get lower towards your thighs and he picks you up effortlessly placing you comfortably on the counter, stepping between your legs, not breaking up the kiss for even a moment.

He bites your lower lip and you let out a sinful moan, making all his blood run south.

He breaks up the kiss before bringing his attention to your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your exposed skin.

"James" You hiss out when he kisses that particular spot.

James suddenly stops and looks at you. You would think he didn't want to take this further had it not been for the desperate hold he had on your waist.

He looks into your eyes, not an ounce of hesitation in his eyes, before saying, "Tell me to stop."

You frown before he continues. "Tell me to stop, sweets and I swear I will, 'cause if you don't," He swallows before continuing. "I can't promise you that you will be able to walk tomorrow."

You are soaking wet, which is proof enough that you want this as much as he does, so you don't ask him to stop. Instead, you pull him towards you by his collar and press your lips to his in a passionate kiss giving him all the permission he needed.

He brings his hand under your thighs before picking you up and you wrap your legs around his waist, encircling his neck with your arms, holding onto him for dear life.

He walks the both of you towards your bedroom without breaking the kiss.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*

The warmth of sun rays falls on your face as you slowly open your eyes.

The feeling of an arm splayed on your stomach makes your heart stop for a second before the memories of last night come sweeping back to you.

It all felt like a dream and considering just how good last night was, you would have actually considered it a dream if it wasn't for James' hand laying gently on your stomach while also effectively pinning you to the bed and the feeling of soreness between your legs.

But you didn't mind. Not when he had taken you apart more times than you could count last night, leaving you a mumbling mess every single time.

You look to your side and your eyes land on his sleeping form.

With gentle hues of the sunlight sweeping its away through the window and onto his face, he looked dreamy, ethereal and you couldn't help but stare at him.

It was still early into the morning but you knew you would have to get up soon enough, so, in a desperate attempt to engrave this memory into your head, you brought your fingers to his face, gently touching his cheek, his stubble a little rough under your touch.

It is a tender moment for you. One in which you can engulf in your feelings for him a little longer, before facing reality, a reality in which he might never feel the same way.

You watch as his eyes slowly flutter open, immediately turning into a warm look when they land on you and you can feel your cheeks turning warm.

He smirks before saying, "I could get used to this."

You chuckle and take your hand away before he holds it in his and brings it to his chest. "Good morning to you too, James."

"Good morning, sweets." He leans in and places a light feathery kiss on your lips and it's already the best start to a morning you've ever had.

When he leans back, his eyes never leaving yours, you attempt to get out from under his hand to get the day started, but he doesn't move his arm an inch, effectively keeping you in the same spot.

"We both have got work to do, James." You tried your hardest to be stern but the way he looked with his bed hair and a carefree smile on his face made your insides melt.

"Nope, it's too early." He mutters, closing his eyes and pressing his face on your neck, his breath on your exposed skin making your skin tingle.

You chuckle before wrapping your hands around him, already drifting toward sleep and you feel him smile.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩

The sound of footsteps brings you out of your stupor and you flutter your eyes open.

The bed beside you is empty and before you could think much about it, a voice from the door brings a smile to your face.

"Good morning, sweets."

You turn your head towards James who is leaning at the doorway his arms crossed. He isn't wearing a shirt and even after last night, it doesn't stop amazing you just how perfect he is. Your eyes drift over his form, noticing how his sweatpants hang low. You shook your head, willing yourself to not let your mind go there.

"Like what you see?" He says, a smirk is evident in his voice.

You shrug before blatantly lying, "I have seen better."

He pushes himself from the doorway. He knew you were lying. The goofy smile on your face, and the blissful look you adorned told him everything he had to know.

When you hang your legs from the bed, about to get up, he told you to sit right there, before walking out of the room. Even when he was gone, you couldn't help the smile on your face. Your sheets smelled like him.

He came back a couple of minutes later, a mini table in his hand.

When he kept it in front of you, you gasped as you saw what was on it. There was a plate full of pancakes, a warm cup of coffee, and your living room flowers in a mug beside it.

You looked up and whispered under your breath, "James, you didn't have to do this."

"Are you kidding, sweets? God knows how many sweet meals I owe you. There are a little too many, but this is a good start.

You chuckled before leaning in and pressing your lips to his in a brief kiss.

You took a piece of the pancake and tasted it, doing everything in yourself to not let the grimace show on your face.

James was good at a lot of things. Intimidating people, physical strength, reading, shooting (apparently), knowing exactly what you wanted, and definitely sex. But cooking wasn't one of those things.  

"So?" He asked, squinting his eyes trying to gauge your reaction.

You smiled at him before shoving the piece down your throat. "It's amazing."

His smile widened before he leaned towards the plate. "yeah, I knew it. Let me taste it."

"No, no, you don't - "

You were too late as he took a bite of the pancake and gagged before spitting it out. "It's terrible."

He leaned again and took the plate away from you. "No human should be subjected to this."

You chuckled. "It isn't that bad, James."

He shook his head in disapproval.

The both of you had coffee (which was pretty good) with you telling him everything you had planned for the bakery that day.

Bucky looked at you talking and sipping coffee and couldn't help the grin on his face. Your messy bed hair, sitting in an oversized shirt, talking so passionately about something you loved, filled his heart with warmth.

It was all so peaceful. So serene.

And he might not accept it right now, but if he got to start his day exactly like this for the rest of his life, he wouldn't mind one bit.

Unable to help himself, he leans in and captures your lips in a kiss.

You taste like fresh coffee and terribly baked pancakes, it's his favorite taste in the world.

You reciprocate the kiss with equal fever before realizing you were involuntarily slipping into his lap.

It took everything in you to break the kiss. "Nope, we both have got work to do."

You get up from the bed, walking away from him.

"Maybe I could convince you to spend the day in bed?" James said with a voice that made walking away almost impossible.

"It's not gonna be that easy, James." You said with a smirk before reaching the doorway and turning to look at him.

"Your underestimation of me hurts me, sweets." He said before getting up and walking towards you.

You took off from the doorway and ran towards the living room, giggling.

You hadn't even reached the sofas when you felt a pair of strong arms wrapping around you.

James picked you up from the ground, his bare chest pressing to your back before giving you a twirl and turning you towards him.

"Knew I'd catch you, sweets."

Your lips were parted breathing heavily as he brought his lips to yours, entering his tongue into your mouth. His hands pulled you by your waist bringing you closer, before reaching towards the buttons on your shirt.

You gasped as you felt his clothed length against your core, all your resolve fading.

The ringing of his phone became a background noise initially before jolting the both of you out of your haze and you reluctantly pulled back, pointing towards the kitchen counter he had kept his phone on the previous night.

James growled before stepping towards you again, choosing to ignore whoever it was who wanted his attention so badly.

But you leaned back, adamant about him picking up the phone. It could be important.

He stepped towards his phone, pressing it to his ears without checking the caller id.

Steve's voice bellowed against his ear and Bucky knew he was pissed. "Where the hell have you been, Buck? I have tried reaching you since last night."

"I was - I was in the middle of something, punk. Is this important?" He deliberately doesn't tell him where he is, wanting to keep everything between you for as long as he could.

"Of course it's important. We have a meeting with Stark in 15 minutes and you are not even here. This deal is important, Buck and you know, he doesn't like to wait."

"I don't give a shit about Stark, Steve. Why can't you or Sam handle this?"

"Because you know about these weapons more than any of us. I don't understand, you spent months trying to get this deal. What is something so important now?" Bucky could hear the suspicion rising in his tone.

"Fine." He sighed. "I will be there in 10."

He cuts the call before turning back and walking towards the kitchen, where you'd sneak off to give him some space to talk on the phone.

"Sweets, Steve called. I have to go."  He sounded disappointed and regretful.

You tried to hide the disappointment in your voice before saying, "I told you we both have work to get to."

A moment of silence passed between the both of you, slightly awkward before he walked towards the bedroom to get dressed.

He walked back into the kitchen 5 minutes later, bid you goodbye, and walked towards the door.

He hastily turned back and took hurried steps towards the kitchen.

You looked up from the counter and frowned when you saw he had come back. But before you could utter a word, he pressed his lips against yours for a brief yet firm kiss.

"I was wrong, sweets. You are the best damn thing I have ever had."  He spoke with a smirk before walking back towards the door.

You felt red creep up to your neck and you were stuck in place for a moment before shaking yourself out of your thoughts.

For the rest of the day, you felt giddy, happiness settling inside you, making you feel like you were flying.

But here's the thing.

Flying felt a lot like falling till you hit the ground.

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[sarahowritesostucky]

Happy Little Family

📖"Taking Back What's His"

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6170

Tags: dark!Bucky, mafia/mob au, dubcon/noncon, a/b/o, threats and coercion, rape, forced pregnancy, forced domestic "bliss", yandere, kid fic

Summary: You thought you'd left behind the man who turned out to be more dangerous than you'd ever imagined. But one day he walks back into your life and reminds you that, come hell or high water, you're all going to be one happy. little. family.

This chapter: You try one last, desperate ploy to escape, but it doesn't exactly work out. And James hasn't come alone. The next time you wake up, you're a long way from home.

Nickname Dictionary: vorishka = "little thief" mamochka = "mommy/little mother" kotenok= "kitty/kitten" omegya = (made up) Russian spelling of omega omegechka = (made up) "little omega" krasotka = "Pretty(n.)/pretty one" pchelka = "little bee"

2. Taking Back What's His

(Wait! I haven't read part 1 yet!)

He says something to you, after. Words that might as well be in his native Russian, for how well you take them in. But they're soft, and reassuring—he’s pleased. His body weight moves off the bed.

When you finally open your eyes and blink up at the ceiling, it’s the softest baby pink all around the edges, like smoke curling into your vision. It’s nice, peaceful. Feels good-all-over in that way that painkillers do. You haven’t experienced it since the last time you had sex with an alpha.

Which James unfortunately seems to have figured out was with him, almost two years ago. 

“Oh, kotenok, You haven’t been fucking anybody.” 

You’re still in the afterglow, mind muzzy, all of your previous panic and fear blunted near to the point of erasure with how nice it feels to float, when you hear James’ pleased chuckle from where he’s getting dressed. He comes back and leans over you. “Hey Sweetheart. Feeling good?” 

You frown at him, though it takes a concerted effort to make any expression of displeasure. You want him to know you aren’t happy, that this state he’s fucked you into isn’t real. You want to slap that smug fucking look right off his face. All you manage to come up with is a pouty little “no" that makes James laugh.

“Come here.” He fixes your dress, then helps you up off the bed. He seems to be checking to make sure you’re steady on your feet before he lets you stand on your own. “You good?”

“M’fine.” He knows you too well, knows how intense it can be for you, how strongly you react to him. You avoid his knowing gaze. You’re not completely useless like this. You can still remember everything that’s going on, can still remember June. “Please,” you say again, trying to change the tone of your voice. “Let me give her to Hilde.”

James rolls his eyes. “Right, right. Your friend across the street.”

“Please James?” You look up at him, pink edges all around his face, so pretty. Goddamn him. “She’ll be safe there.”

Again, something passes through his eyes too quickly for you to identify. It might be annoyance. He sighs, and the look, whatever it was, is gone. “Sure thing, Doll. Babies need a lot of stuff. You might as well pack up what she needs.”

You nod tearfully, going to your closet to grab a bag. He follows close behind, sending a clear message that he’s not planning on letting you out of his sights while you do this. James isn’t stupid, you’ll give him that.

In the nursery, June is happy to see you and wants you to pick her up. You talk to her in a sweet, placating voice as you go around the room grabbing different things that she’ll need and stuffing them in the bag. At this point you know to be grateful for the haze. Even as it tapers off, it’s blunting the sorrow that you know would otherwise have you sobbing and your voice clogging with tears. This way at least, you’re able to keep June thinking everything is alright. This way she isn’t scared. 

It’s when you’re crouched beside the changing table, stuffing diapers into the bag with James behind you that you get the idea: Downstairs: the kitchen: in the drawer. Your gun.

You stop moving long enough that James notices. “What’re you doing? Come on.”

You stand back up. Yes. You have to do it. This is the only chance you have at getting out of this and not losing June. You lick your lips nervously before turning back around to face him. “I … have to get her bottles and stuff from downstairs,” you say, hoping that the lingering post-coital haze is enough to keep your true intentions off your face. Your eyes flick up to James, who’s squinting at your tits.

“Bottle?” He starts to smirk, and you glare at him.

“Yes. Asshole. I won’t exactly be around to feed her, now will I?” 

His face softens at that and he gives you an apologetic look. “Right. Well go on, then.” 

You move for the hallway, realize he’s not following you, and turn back in confusion. He’s beside the crib, holding his hand out for June to touch. Your heart leaps from your spot in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

He arches an eyebrow. “I’m waiting right here until you come back upstairs,” he says, his message clear. 

Your pulse picks up, but you force yourself to nod. You’re useless without that gun. You have to get to it. He narrows his eyes at you while June giggles and reaches for his wiggling fingers. “No games.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, and turn and head for the stairs. 

It’s pure torture to move at a casual speed, especially as your mind is clearing and the fearful emotions returning. In the downstairs hallway, you check once over your shoulder that James hasn’t followed you, then pick up your pace, hurrying into the kitchen and heading straight for the drawer where you keep the gun.

Your eyes tear up as you maneuver past the digital lock that you installed for nothing. June’s still crawling. She never even got old enough to toddle over here. You press the code into the keypad, cringing when it does its quiet little two-tone ‘beep’ at being unlocked. You wait, heart in your throat until you hear the mechanism moving, then rip open the drawer. 

Your heart stops and your brain freezes and all you can think is: No. No, no no— 

“Looking for this?” 

You whirl around, and there he is: standing on the other side of the kitchen, leaning against the sink as he holds your only weapon in his hands.

His face is relaxed, Goddamn him, as he pretends to ignore your horror and instead holds the gun up to flippantly inspect it. “I have to say, Doll, I’m impressed. I would’ve expected some puny girl gun. Ruger, Derringer. But this?” He turns the Skorpion in his hands, and chuckles softly when he sees the cartridge. “Jesus. You really wanted to blow a hole in somebody, didn’t you?” His eyes finally drag up to you, the hand he’s holding the gun with dropping down by his side as he starts walking over, slowly, step by step, eyes boring into you with a growing anger.

Oh shit. Dread curls in your gut but you’re frozen. Bolting now wouldn’t even get you to the staircase. He presses in close, pinning you against the countertop. He brings the gun up and nudges your jaw with it, leaning in and breathing in your face, “Did you really think I wouldn’t find it, vorishka?”[little thief]

He’s taunting you with your own failure, and you can’t stop the whimper that breaks from your throat at having your one and only plan foiled so pathetically easily. “James,” you plead, “I didn’t—”

“Shh sh sh. None of that, now.”  He’s speaking softly, sweetly, but he’s furious. He drags his lips over your cheek and the barrel of the gun you stole from him over the other. “So what was the plan? How were you going to kill me with my own gun? Pop upstairs and shoot up the nursery?”

“N-no.”

“Ah. Right. You’re smarter than that. You would’ve waited for me to come down and see what the fuck was taking you so long, or put it in the duffle and waited until we dropped the whelp off at the neighbors. Is that it?"

You sniffle and nod, angry at him for being such an all-knowing asshole. “You can’t hold that against me,” you say, trying to defend yourself.

He nods thoughtfully. “Hmm. Yes, I suppose you’re right. I can’t blame you for that.” Your shoulders start to relax, that is until he pulls back to glare at you and holds the gun to you again, this time pointing it right underneath your chin. He looks angrier than you’ve ever seen him. “But do you know what I can hold against you, Little thief?” Your face pinches in fear, sure that you’re about to be shot, and he digs the muzzle cruelly into your skin, forcing you to look at him. “The fact that that pup up there is ten months old, and I’ve never even fucking seen her.” 

Your eyes widen as you realize: he knows. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but he beats you to it.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to tell she’s mine?” 

“James,”

“All this time!” he hisses, hurt lancing through his features. “You kept her from me! What gives you the right?” 

“I—I didn’t—”

He growls and pushes away from you, several steps back, glaring. “Nothing, is the answer you’re looking for. You had no right to do that.” 

You try to edge to the side, but freeze when he straightens his arm and points the gun right at you. “James, wait …”

He aims it at your face, but then lowers it for a center mass shot, which is what really convinces you you’re about to die. “Say goodbye, mamochka,” he says, with steely eyes and his finger curling over the trigger. 

It’s a submachine gun that fires in three shot bursts, or fully automatic. Either way, you know you’re about to be riddled with bullets, so you start to hyperventilate. It’s an embarrassing reaction, but at least you have the dignity of knowing what your last words on this earth would’ve been. “Don’t hurt her,” you gasp.

His eyes fill with rage and he pulls the trigger. 

… Nothing happens, but you’re bracing so hard that it takes you a full two or three seconds to realize it. Then, when you do realize it, and you see James standing there looking grim but completely unsurprised that you haven’t been shot, all of the breath rushes out of your lungs. You feel like you’re about to faint, which is apparently what he’s waiting for. 

He ejects the empty magazine, shaking his head in disbelief. “You really thought I’d do it, didn’t you?” He takes a step forward, but pauses when you flinch back. “What the hell have you convinced yourself that I am?” 

You step back again when he moves. “Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t.”

“Don’t, don’t,” he whispers, mocking you. “Don’t what? Don’t take back what’s mine? The mother of my pup? A pup I didn’t get to see grow or come into this world?” Your breath hitches with emotion and he doesn’t miss it, the bastard. “Yeah,” he says darkly. “You robbed me of that. But I’ll get over it, don’t worry.”  He leers up and down your body in its flimsy sundress. “I’ll be putting another one in you real soon.”

You see red. Fury sweeps through you and stings your eyes, roars in your ears. You grab the nearest thing to you, which is the edge of the utensils crock on the counter. It spills over and your hand closes around the handle of the meat mallet. You cry out and swing at him, wanting to smash his smug fucking face to smithereens. 

“Woah-ho, easy there.” He laughs and takes a surprised step back, as though you’re nothing but a tantruming child. “Stop being so dramatic.”

You growl and lunge for him again, but cut off in a shriek as someone suddenly grabs you from behind. The meat mallet clatters to the floor as you’re hauled back against the hard body of another man. One big arm wraps around your middle, and the other holds a cloth up at your face, pressing it over your mouth. “Mmph!” you yell out, muffled, and get a huge inhale of chlorine-like smell into your lungs for your trouble. You hold your breath and thrash, but it’s less than useless. The person holding you is large and strong. When you try to headbutt him, it doesn't even clip his chin. You bring your hands up to try and claw at the hand holding the cloth over your mouth, but your nails meet metal instead of skin, and you gasp in another inhale of chemicals as you realize who it is. “Mmph!”  

James steps up close, smirking fondly as he watches you fighting the urge to inhale. Eventually he tuts and reaches up to cup your cheek. “Shhh, omegechka. Stop. Stop fighting now. It’s all over.” 

“Nngh!”

“Just take a deep breath and go to sleep. Everything’ll be alright, I promise. Just relax.” You whimper as you feel yourself running out of air, knowing that your body’s going to force you to draw breath in a second. James leans in and kisses your forehead tenderly. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispers, just as your vision starts to fade out, “or our daughter.”

The smell of professionally scented, circulating air hits you first, and then the taste of old pennies in your mouth. Then, a gradually increasing sense of awareness of your body in space and time. At first you think you're somewhere very bright, as colors and rainbows dance through your lashes, but the more you blink your eyes open, the more the brightness fades and your vision comes into focus.

And there he is: holding a crystal tumbler and looking like he's been waiting for you to come round. "Well hello there, Sleepyhead,” he says. “Welcome back." He takes a sip of whatever it is he’s drinking, the ice cubes clinking softly against the sides of the glass. He looks totally relaxed.

You sit up straighter in the seat where you’d been slumped, moving your tongue around inside of your dry mouth and trying to remember what happened. And then reality hits you in waves, each one more devastating than the last:

James—He found you. 

June—She's not there.

"How're you feeling? Thirsty?"

You blink, dazed, a few lingering specks still floating at the edges of your vision. You look around the room you’re in, clocking your surroundings. Windows, cabin—Shit. You're already on a plane. Pressure builds rapidly at the backs of your eyes as you fight not to cry, thinking of your baby girl left behind, never getting to see her again.

You didn’t even get to say goodbye. 

Bucky’s eyes sharpen on you when your stifled sob breaks out and you throw a hand over your mouth. "Steve,” he says, still watching you in concern. “Get her a bottle of water."

“Sure thing, boss.”

And then the worst realization of all: You look over and see the winter fucking soldier walking down the aisle, holding your baby.

They've got June.

Your eyes widen and you make a distressed little ‘meep’ of a sound. “Steve!” you blurt, and he turns to face you. He looks surprised that you’ve spoken directly to him. He’s not wearing his usual black mask, but he still looks huge and intimidating, and it’s like seeing a wild animal right next to your baby—dangerous, wrong. Your mouth works uselessly as you stare at his hands on June’s body: one supporting her head, and the metal one scooped under her butt. You see her back rise and fall steadily through her bumblebee onesie and you realize that she’s asleep. “I-is she okay?” you ask, heart in your throat. 

Steve’s eyes narrow at you, but he nods curtly. “She’s fine.” 

Across from you, James scoffs, drawing your attention back to him. “He’s going to put her down. There’s a crib in the back. She’ll be fine,” he says, when he sees you stiffen in protest. “You and I have some catching up to do, vorishka.”

“I thought we did that back in my bedroom,” you snap.

“You still want the water?” Steve asks.

“That’s okay.” Bucky keeps his eyes on you. “I’ll take care of her. You just stay back there with pchelka while she sleeps.” 

Steve nods, and you can’t help yourself. “Wait! Please. Please give her to me. Steve?” You sit forward with your arms outstretched, but can only watch helplessly as the other man obeys Bucky and ignores you, disappearing back into the next section of the plane. Bastard never did like you. 

“She’ll be fine,” Bucky assures you. “Just sit back and relax. We won’t be in the air for too long.”

You hate it, but you do sit back in the chair. James won’t hurt her. You know that. Especially now that you know he knows. You look around the cabin, taking in the wide, leather seats and gleaming wood finishes. There’s a couch, tv, a bar. A fucking electric fireplace. It's the sort of luxury you used to go starry-eyed over; incredibly rich men, fat or old or ugly, tripping all over themselves to spoil you.

… Only, James was never any of those things.

“This is your plane?” you ask, dragging your hand over the arm of your seat.

James smirks. “What? You thought I’d kidnap you and then fly commercial?” 

You purse your lips at his joke. “I guess not.” You relax back, trying to get your bearings. It is bad news that you’re already on a plane with him. You’ll be landing at his private airstrip at the Siberia compound, which gives you no middle ground to run. You bite your lip as your thoughts race and you try to think of anything you might be able to do once you get to—

“Stop it,” James says quietly, drawing your attention back to him. He’s giving you a stern look. “You barely got away before, and that was on your own. Now we’ve got our daughter. Anything you try will put her in unnecessary danger and you know that.” He shakes his head, some of that sadness from before creeping back into his eyes. “You’re not leaving me again, omegechka.”

“I’m not?” you echo, stuck in place by his stare, by the memories you share with him, and the fear you have of what he’s planning for your punishment. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m just taking back what’s mine, Sweetheart. You do realize that?” You fail to answer him and his gaze hardens just a little bit. “That’s okay. You’ll see it eventually. This isn’t a bad thing. If you had just stuck around a little longer instead of lying to me and running off, then you would’ve seen it before, and we wouldn’t have to be going through this right now.” He raises his drink to you in a little salute. “You, me, and pchelka? We’re going to be a family.”

You don’t refuse the water he gives you, or the drink that he mixes for you, after. If James wanted to keep you drugged up until reaching Siberia, he certainly could’ve done so without allowing you to wake up on the plane. You’re only conscious right now because he wants you to be. And because you know that, you don’t protest the drink he prepares for you over at the bar. To be honest, a stiff one actually sounds really good right about now.

“Thank you,” you murmur as he hands it over, still unmoored by this drastic shift in circumstances. A few hours ago you’d been safe in your cottage, then suddenly you weren’t. One minute you’re sure you’re about to get a bullet in the face from this man, and the next, he’s got you sipping thousand dollar vodka on his private jet, calmly explaining how he intends to keep you and force you into some twisted form of domestic bliss. 

“I had a whole renovation done for her,” he tells you. “Pchelka will have plenty of room to play and grow.”

You frown, hating the idea of your daughter growing up in that cold, Siberian fortress. You don’t care if he’s bought her an indoor waterslide and a herd of ponies. It’s no place for a child. “What does that mean?” you ask grumpily. “That word: chelk—? You keep using it. You can’t just rename my daughter.”

Hurt flashes in his eyes, but he wipes it away fast. “Pchelka means little bee. The outfit you put her in has bees on it.”

“Oh … Right.” You love that set. It’d been another gift at the shower, from Hilde.

“And she’s my daughter too,” James says tightly.

You gulp at the bitterness in his tone, at his eyes boring into you with reproach. It’s silly, but you do feel bad about hurting him in this one way, at least. “Her name is June,” you offer quietly.

His face draws tight with emotion that’s impossible for you to decipher. Mostly you just sense hurt coming off of him, tingeing his scent and making it into something mournful and awful. He stares at you for a long time. “You made me think you’d lost it,” he eventually whispers. “How could you do that to me?”

You shake your head. “I’m sorry.” 

“No you’re not. You’re just sorry that I found you.”

“I saw you kill people, James!” you cry. “I saw who you really are. I couldn’t stay. Not after that.”

His mouth ticks up at the corners. “Oh, Sweetheart. You’ve got no idea who I am, or what I’ve done for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

His eyes gleam and he lifts his drink, tipping back the last of it. “Do you even remember where we met?” 

You frown. “Of course.” You’d met him on a yacht, off the coast of Greece. At a party you’d been paid to attend as one of a flock of similarly hired ‘pretty girls’. Five hundred bucks just to sit around and drink cocktails for a few hours and make whoever owned the yacht look like a successful playboy. James had taken one look at you and made it his mission to charm you off of that boat with him. And you’d fallen for it, hook line and sinker. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You don’t know as much as you think you do,” he says disdainfully. “Don’t know how lucky you really are. I saved you.”

You scoff. “You’re no different from those boat guys. You think you’re so special, God’s gift to omegas, I get it.”

“No,” he grits. “You really don’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I don’t know! I know what I saw. All over the floor of your goddamn office. I slipped in it for Christ’s sake!”

“Right, right. The men you saw me kill,” he says, referencing the scene you’d walked in on just before you’d faked your miscarriage and fled. “You were eavesdropping outside the door, weren’t you, Little thief?”

You jut your chin out. “Yes. So what?” 

“You know, I’d always assumed you heard the entire conversation. Now I realize I was wrong.” 

“What?”

He laughs under his breath—at your expense, you suspect. “Who exactly do you think they were?”

“Your business associates. The same sort of underworld, black market scum as you. Only they didn't work for you. You screwed them over and they were there to collect what you owed them, and you murdered them instead.”

James scoffs and smiles angrily, sticking his tongue into his cheek as he looks away in frustration. "Figures," he mutters.

“What?” you snap. “You’re gonna deny it?”

“I’m not denying anything. But I killed them for you.”

“Oh please. Just stop it. Stop lying! I know what you do for work.” 

Granted, you'd been a little slow on the uptake back then, too enamored and swept up in the whirlwind romance with your first Alpha that you hadn’t ever stopped to wonder where his money came from, or where it was he jetted off to “on business” every few days. It’d taken a year for you to piece it together, to see the true magnitude of the enterprise he ran, and how dark it really was.

Sitting in front of you now, he doesn’t deny it, which only bolsters your disdain for him. “I don’t want that in my life,” you hiss. “Arms dealing, drugs, smuggling, mercenaries. And apparently human trafficking as well.”

His eyes flash. “They don’t call it that, you know. It’s called the ‘skin trade’.”

“I don’t care.”

He gets up to go pour himself another drink at the bar. “Right,” he snaps, like you’re an idiot. “You’re so fucking naïve, krasotka [pretty (n.)]. So convinced that I’m the devil. But you have no idea how much worse it could’ve been for you.”

“You threatened to sell your own daughter before you figured out she was yours!”

Refusing to be provoked, he returns to stand right in front of you, forcing you to look up at him towering over you. “I knew she was mine from the second I walked in that house,” he says, making your breath catch. 

“How?”

He smiles nastily and takes a sip from his drink, then sets it aside. He leans over you with his hands on the back of your seat, caging you in. You can smell the expensive alcohol on his breath as he gets in your face and tells you, “I put that baby in you, moya omegya. She’s a part of me. You think I wouldn’t be able to figure that out? Think an Alpha doesn’t know the scent of his own flesh and blood?”

You tense, fighting not to shrink away. “You’re making that up.”

He chuckles lowly and puts his face right next to yours, cheek to cheek, savoring your reaction. “Sweetheart,” he purrs, “I may not have forced a mating bite on you back then like I should have, but there are other ways to leave your mark on someone.” He dips in to kiss your neck, right over your unbitten glands. “I found you by your scent,” he whispers. “Sniffed you out.”

You shiver at his hot breath on your skin and the deadly soft tone of his voice. The way your body responds to him isn’t anything you can control, and he knows that, but it still makes you flush with embarrassment when he takes a deep inhale in the bend of your neck and hums with satisfaction when he smells the effect he’s had on you. “I wouldn’t have sold her anyway,” he tells you, pulling back and picking up his drink. “I want you to know that. I don’t participate in the skin trade.”

You swallow thickly, watching him watch you as he waits for you to react to him in some way. You don’t know why you believe him about this one thing, but you do. “But you’re aware of it,” you say. “You know it happens, and you don’t do anything to stop it.”

His jaw works in frustration. “I’ve interfered a time or two, when I could get away with it.”

“Well, aren't you a hero.”

“I didn’t say that,” he snaps. “I said I’ve done what little I could. These men make a lot of money dealing in omegas, and they don’t take kindly to being stolen from.”

“I can imagine.”

“No,” he mutters into his drink. “You really can’t.”

There’s something oddly bitter in his tone, like he's working hard not to tell you something. You bite your lip and watch him for a minute. “... How much?” you ask.

“What?” His eyes darken when he figures out what you’re asking. “No.”

“Tell me.”

“It depends,” he grits, glaring at you. "Now cut it out."

Sober, you might have; but half a vodka spritzer after nineteen months of no alcohol has you bolder than you usually would be. You look down at yourself, feigning flippancy. “Well what about me? How much would I go for?”

“Kotenok,” he warns lowly, growling when you continue to press him with a snotty little, 

“Come on, I thought you were such a dangerous criminal? You can’t even discuss a little human trafficking with the weak omega you just trafficked?” 

He probably knows you’re trying to antagonize him, but he still rises to the bait. He sits back and lets his eyes drag over your body in a way that makes your pulse pick up. “Well,” he drawls, “you just had a baby. So that’s less right there.” Your nostrils flare angrily and he gives you a look. “You’re the one who asked,” he reminds, waiting until you give him a nod to continue. He gives you another onceover, this time lingering in certain places longer, a softer look in his eyes for the softer parts of your body. He almost seems to get distracted. He catches himself overindulging and looks away, like it’s hurting him to consider you this way. “Most people want their omegas untouched,” he says quietly. “Especially if the buyer's alpha, which they usually are. It’s an instinctual thing for us. We’re very driven to possess. We don’t like to share.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” you mutter.

His gaze snaps back to you, a painful amount of familiarity in his eyes. “You’dve been a couple million, back when we first met.”

Your eyes widen. You weren't expecting that. “But … I wasn’t even a virgin.”

He arches an eyebrow. “I said untouched, not virginal. Not in that way. Alpha buyers want unbonded and never bred, first and foremost.” He leers at you. “Not that there aren’t some who’ll pay a little extra to pop a girl’s cherry. But that’s not the main thing they’re looking for, when they buy.” 

You scowl. “Right. So I guess I’m damaged goods now."

“Oh no, mamochka,” he says seriously. “You’ve only gone up in value in my eyes. Though believe me when I say I’m more than happy to contribute to the depletion of your market value." He raises his glass to his lips, looking darkly pleased. “You’re not for sale, and you never will be. You’re mine.”

You're embarrassed to be the one to break eye contact first, but you can’t keep listening to him talk about how much he likes you and watching him look at you like you’re his most prized possession. With any other man you’d just be disgusted, but James has always had a knack for getting you flustered, and he knows it. There’s always been an inexplicable pull between the two of you, and he knows that, too. It’s the main reason why you've always refused his attempts to bond you. You're terrified of what it’ll be like after, since you already know how pathetically helpless you are around him without a bond.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you mumble quietly. “Where is it?” 

“Just down there.” He nods in the direction behind you, opposite from where Steve had gone with June.

You press your lips together and get up without looking at him, but you can feel his eyes on you the entire time you’re walking away.

“Don’t take too long in there, kotenok,” he purrs from back in his seat. “Or I’ll have to come in after you.”

In the bathroom, you splash water on your face and lean against the sink, looking at the girl staring back at you in the mirror. You blink, and she blinks, but it feels like you’re looking at another person, someone you don’t know. She looks fragile. Tired, and dazed. June’s been sleeping through the night for months, but it’s been a hell of a day.

You scrutinize your reflection, smoothing your dress and tucking your hair behind your ears, thinking about how you have zero makeup on. Then you scoff at yourself for caring what you look like in front of him. You think about how much you’ve changed in the seventeen months since you ran away. Not just physically, but mentally. You’ve had to be so strong. For June, for yourself. It’s been awful, and lonely, and you’ve hated yourself for not being able to stop missing him. 

You sniffle and splash more water on your face, grumpily thinking that postpartum hormones are so much worse than the pregnancy ones. You grab the towel off the wall, but freeze when you bring it up to pat your face dry and get a smell of it.

Oh.

You whimper, unable to keep from pressing it harder to your mouth and nose and inhaling deeply. It’s James’ scent, and it smells so good. It smells like Safety and Love and Alpha. You hear the sound of your own, needy mewl and you gasp, yanking the towel away from your face and tossing it into the sink, trying to keep your shit together. You brace your hands on the counter and glare at your reflection to tell her to stop it, stop it, stop it, but all it takes is seeing your lower lip quiver, and soon your entire face is collapsing in long-repressed sadness. You turn away from the mirror with a pathetic noise, throat aching from the urge to keen. 

Why does this have to be happening?! You’ve tried so hard, for so long. To be strong for June, to get over him, to move on! You bury your face in your hands and choke on a wrenching sob. You know you have to be quiet, have to stop, have to pull yourself together before he—

A soft knock comes from outside the bathroom. “Doll?”

You whine and hastily search for a lock on the door, but there is none, and James hears your crying and pulls the door open. “Honey,” he mourns when he sees you. “What’s wrong?” 

You push past him, hurrying in the direction he isn’t blocking. “Leave me alone!” you cry, hating the blubbering in your voice that makes you sound just as weak as James thinks you are. You arrive in a perfectly made up bedroom with no point of egress other than the one you arrived through. You whine in distress, circle around helplessly, and then throw yourself onto the bed when he arrives at the doorway looking worried. “Leave me alone!” you cry, curling onto your side and pulling one of the pillows down to bury your face in. At least it isn’t suffused with James’ scent. You still cry though, unable to keep it in anymore now that you’ve started.

He tuts sadly from the doorway and comes into the room slowly. He stands there for a long minute, silent, before he sighs and his weight comes onto the bed. “Sweetheart,” he says.

“Just leave me alone,” you whine miserably. “Go away!”

“Shh sh sh.” He curls up behind you, arms around your waist and legs pushing in behind yours. He kisses your shoulder and hugs you, but it only makes you cry harder at how achingly familiar it is. “It’s okay,” he murmurs between kisses. He doesn’t try to get you to stop crying, or ask you what’s wrong. He seems to know exactly why you’re breaking down, and he simply devotes all his efforts to helping you calm down in your own time. “S’okay, s’okay. Everything’s gonna be okay,” he keeps saying, soothing you with a deep rumble in his chest. “I’ve got you, Sweetheart. I’ve got you now. It’s all gonna be okay. Shhh.”

At first, his placating makes you angry, but not enough to stop your crying, and once that tapers off from sobs to quiet, sniffling tears, you can’t seem to dredge up the anger anymore. It isn’t there. 

“You feeling a little better?” he asks kindly, gently tucking your hair behind your ear and then hugging you again.

You whine when you feel his lips against your neck. “I’m fine,” you rasp, voice coming out scratchy from all of the crying. You cringe and scrub your face into the pillow in embarrassment. “Just got a little sad.”

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly, giving you a supportive squeeze. “That’s okay.”

You hate how he says it, because it’s obvious that he knows why you were crying: Poor, sad little omega, bawling her eyes out over how much she’s missed her Alpha. He nuzzles into your neck, telling you it’s okay and that you’re allowed to cry. As much as you hate him being able to see into you so easily, you’re just grateful that he isn’t rubbing your face in it right now. The way he's holding you and comforting you feels good. You don’t fight to get away from him.

The two of you lie there together for what feels like a long time. Once you’ve stopped crying and are only giving the occasional sniffle for your runny nose, he goes back to running his hand over your side. It’s a gesture of comfort. He’s not groping you, but even still, you blush at the vulnerability of it. You find yourself glad that you’re facing away from him. 

The plane shifts noticeably, and James’ hand pauses on your hip. “Pilot said we’re landing soon,” he murmurs. “Should probably go and get pchelka up.”

You sniffle and fight off the urge of resurfacing tears at hearing him reference June. One day of knowing his daughter and already he’s got a nickname for her. You should be annoyed by that, but instead it just makes your heart squeeze with emotion. “Pchelka,” you whisper, trying out the word. 

“Yeah.” He hums happily and kisses your shoulder one last time. “Little bee. Come on. Let’s go.”

You don’t think about how it’s far too soon to have arrived at your destination, until you’re back in the main room of the cabin on the way to where Steve disappeared with June, earlier. You pause at the windows, peering out at the landscape. “This isn’t Russia,” you say, confused. The plane is definitely descending, but you’ve only been in the air for a few hours at most. “James?” you ask, as he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. Together, you both look out at the looming mountains and turquoise waters below. “Where are we?” you breathe.

James rests his chin on your shoulder and sighs happily. “Home,” he says. “We’re home.”

A.N.: See? Much less Rapey! Plenty more mega-dub con to come though, so don't you angst-lovers worry. Thanks for reading!💖Sarah

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[jtargaryen18]

His Inheritance ~ Chapter 34

Part 34: Renewal

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Words: 3.9k

Pairing: Mobster Steve Rogers x Mobster daughter reader

Warnings: References to mafia, reference to violence and violent acts, references to sexual violence. Strong language. This is a dark fic. Please read responsibly.

Disclaimer: The author of this work claims no ownership of characters aside from the reader, and original secondary characters mentioned. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and darker themes. By reading this work or any works on my blog (jtargaryen18), you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work hosted on any third party app or site. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but archiveofourown and tumblr, it has been reposted without my permission.

Summary: For @alexakeyloveloki. Your father is the head of one of the most powerful crime families in Boston but he’s protected you from that life. In your quiet home outside the city, you’ve been cared for and protected. When the desires of a more powerful man with the will to dominate bursts into your life, all your illusions are shattered as he comes to claim what is his.

Your very amorous husband was waiting for you when you walked into the bedroom you shared, his eyes bright and cheeks flushed. Steve swept you up into his arms the second the door was closed, shoving you back into it with surprising force. His lips scorched yours with a need that took your breath away as you hung on, his hips grinding into you, trapping your lower body between his and the door. 

When his mouth blazed a trail across your cheek to your neck, you took a deep breath. You needed him with the same desperation, but the two of you had to talk first. Carefully, you worked your hands between you, trying to gently push him back.

"Nuh-uh," he muttered against the sensitive skin of your throat, the brush of his beard pushing your own desire even higher. "Later."

"Steve," you tried as his lips danced over your skin, just the way you liked. You hesitated to enjoy that. It was all the time he needed to sweep you away from the door with a speed that surprised you considering in his recovery. Your back met the bed in the space of a heartbeat and Steve was on you the next, stripping off his suit coat like it was on fire. 

"I know you want to talk," he said breathlessly between heated kisses. "I just... can't wait."

You'd dressed up in case you were needed in that meeting. Your husband's blue-eyed gaze swept over you lustfully as he worked his blood-red tie loose. His big hands just ripped open the black silk blouse you wore, tiny buttons flying as he did. The snap of your bra stung your skin as he impatiently tore that off and tossed it away. He went after your breasts with his hands and mouth, teasing your nipples. His handling was a little rougher than normal. His tongue was a fleeting tease on one nipple, an apology for his soft bite which came next.

Without any thought, your hands worked their way into his silky hair, pulling a moan from him that was indecent. Before long you struggled to remember what was so urgent you needed to talk about it now.

Your entire body was burning up. Your thighs were clenched around his slender waist, one hand clamped over one firm ass cheek, urging him to get on with it. You were getting light-headed. The intensity of your desire had your soaked panties clinging to you obscenely.

He paused long enough to pull what was left of your blouse completely off you. You tried to sit up to help him but he none-too-gently pushed you back. It was worth it when he ripped his own shirt open, even though you winced at the bullet wound that was still healing. All those tattoo-covered muscles had you shivering in need. Still your fingers gently traced around the wound and you looked to him in concern. 

Batting your hand away, he shook his head. "No."

"Your stitches," was all you could manage to whisper as he moved down your body. 

"Doc can restitch me," Steve told you, the ripping sound of your skirt giving way loud in the cool, silence of your bedroom. Instinctively, you reached for the strap of your heels and again, he brushed your hand away. "No. They stay."

You were all laid out across your bed in black stockings, black panties, and four-inch strappy heels. Now that he had you exactly where he wanted you, Steve threw off the remains of his shirt and pressed his face into your panties. Moaning, he rubbed his face in you. Embarassment heated your face at how wet they were already. He picked up on it, chuckling.

"And you wanted to talk," he teased, his hand twisting in the wet crotch and pulling them off you with little effort. 

You were anything but prepared when he dove into you. Wrapping those heavily-muscled arms around your thighs, he pinned your lower half to the bed. Your husband held you there and took you apart with his lips and tongue. At first he avoided where you needed his touch the most, chuckling darkly at making you squirm, at having you fighting to get closer to his mouth. 

Steve had you so worked up that by the time his tongue finally gave your neglected clit the attention it craved, you came screaming into your hands. The intensity of the orgasm had you struggling to breathe, fighting his iron grip on you. He didn't let up, his wicked tongue robbing you of your sanity as one release bled into another. His hot breath, the softness of his beard, the maddening patterns his tongue burnt into you had you right back on the edge in no time while you tried to catch your needy cries and moans in your hands. 

Just before he sent you sailing again, he wrenched one arm free and slapped your ass hard. "I want to hear you," he growled.

"Steve?" His name was a high, desperate sound that died on your lips as he kept at you. His tongue zeroed in on your clit and the sight of his tawny head between your legs was your undoing. Your hands flew to your mouth and he smacked you again, harder. The sting was so good, pushing you over the edge until you screamed. His tongue never stopped moving, sharp slaps of his hand on your ass had you howling as you came hard enough for your vision to fade.

Dazed, you just focused on breathing as he hauled you up the bed. You were sort of aware of him reaching back over the bed for something. A flash of red. He already had one of your hands secured to the bedpost with the crimson silk of his tie by the time you realized what he was doing. 

"Someone's having a hard time listening today," he said with a tight grin when you couldn't pull your hands off the bars at all. "I want to hear you. I want the entire house to hear you."

You were both fearful and excited at the darkened glance he wore now. When he moved above you, he was all you could see. The earthy smell of him was all around you, invading your senses. His head dipped to claim your mouth in a searing kiss, letting you taste your own juices on his lips. When he was done, you were panting and he wasn't even touching you.

The desire in his expression made you pause.

"I want the entire fucking neighborhood to hear how good I fuck you," he warned.

At the moment, you couldn't say that you cared at all who heard what as long as he fucked you. Now. But you knew you would care later and that anxiety only fanned the flames of your own lust. When his fingers slid through your slick folds, you bit your lip in frustration. When he worked one long, rough finger into you, your body clenched around it in sheer need.

When he pushed in two fingers, you groaned, moving your hips with his tantalizing touch. It was good. But you wanted more. Using the sleek heel strapped to your right foot, you nudged him at his lower back. You wanted his cock so bad right now. And the bastard knew it too.

"You want more?" Steve asked, knowing the answer to his question.

You nodded, your gaze on that swollen part of him he was touching over the expensive suit pants he still wore. You weren't surprised at how fast he undid those slacks, pushing them down his slim hips, kicking them off. What you didn't see coming was how quickly he moved up your body, straddling your chest and putting exactly what you wanted right in front of your face, long, hard, and swollen.

Before he could say something clever, you got your mouth on that. Your hands were tied but that did little to stop you. It was gratifying to hear your husband make that desperate little sob above you. As you working him with your mouth, making a mess but loving it, he clutched the headboard above you with both hands, his hips working with you with a little force. You adjusted, let him hit the back of your throat. You gagged once or twice but gave as good as you got, even with your hands out of play.

You pulled another sob from him, and that sound had you desperate for some relief yourself. Using your tongue, you teased the underside of him, just the way he liked. When he slid back, you moved your mouth away, taking one of his balls into your mouth and teasing it in all the ways you knew he loved.

That was when he stopped, laughing and breathless. Steve pulled himself out of reach. With a hand, he stroked himself, and you just knew he was too close. Wiping your mouth the best you could on your shoulder and panting from your efforts, you grinned up at him. Shifting your body, you wrapped your legs around his thighs and your dancer's legs were strong. You almost succeeded in toppling him, getting him where you wanted him. 

Steve shook his head, his grin one of pure delight. "I love my ferocious little queen," he said.

"Then give her what she wants," you dared him, sounding as wrecked as he did. "If you have enough strength left."

His brows shot up at that. And you could tell he was tiring. But you weren't going to get away with throwing down that challenge and you knew it. And Steve played right into your hands. 

Positioning himself on his knees between your thighs, he pulled your lower body to him. And you were drenched. Steve impaled you in the blink of an eye. He split you open fast and the quick flash of pain from so many nights without him dulled when compared to the sensations of having him inside you again. He stretched your walls and held, strong hands gripping your hips tightly. Quickly, your hands reached for the bars they were bound to, hoping to brace yourself for the ride you knew was coming.

He didn't disappoint. The entire bed shook as he fucked you, sharp quick thrusts hit all the hidden triggers inside you. You tried to keep quiet but you didn't last long. The push and drag of his cock against your slick walls that tried to grab him had your head spinning. Watching all those muscles work across his chest and heavy arms, watching the black ink of those tattoos dance made you insane. You moaned and wailed just as he wanted and you didn't give a good damn who in the house or beyond heard you as long as he didn't stop.

It wasn't long until your vision was fading and your pussy tightened around him as release chased you. Your heels dug into his ass as you urged him to keep going, to speed up. Your husband kept at you, his thrusts sharp and fast, punching the air from your lungs. When you came, you screamed. Pleasure flooded your bloodstream and the world spun away from you as your twisted and cried out, captive beneath him. 

He didn't wait for you to recover. All too quickly, you drifted back. It wasn't like you had a choice. Steve was still fucking you hard, one hand now between your legs. His fingers were delicate on the pearl he played with, a perfect counterpoint for the sheer force he was using to fuck you into oblivion. 

But it was all too much. You were too sensitive, tried to move your body away from that touch. Steve looked as wrecked as you felt above you, his mouth slack, his fingers and hips working frantically. Strands of his tawny hair were stuck to his forehead. He wasn't stopping. With all that color flooding his face, neck and chest, you knew he was so close. You also knew he wouldn't relent until he brought you off one more time.

You just didn't know if that was even possible. Your breath came fast, you pussy walls tried to grab him and failed. Steve pounded you over and over until he pushed you off the ledge and you were sailing. He jumped off after you, his final thrusts bringing an edge of pain that made your pleasure that much sweeter as your bodies worked together in a devastating climax.

You husband collapsed on top of you but didn't stay there long. Carefully, he lifted from you, his cock pulling free making you wince from the movement. Oh, you were going to be sore in so many ways from your lower body to your wrists that he carefully untied. When he collapsed onto his back next to you, you rolled to snuggle into his side. Fortunately, it wasn't the side of his chest where the wound was. 

You both panted as you laid there, recovering. Steve hummed in contentment, his fingers tracing small patterns over your shoulder.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

You snorted. "Are you?" 

"It's getting better." His voice was raspy now. "I'm not a hundred percent yet. But I will be."

I will be. That's what you wanted to hear.

"What happened?" You wanted to know. Barnes left earlier looking very unhappy and here was Steve, fucking you like a conquering hero in his state of excitement. He did well then in the meeting he called with the families of Boston. You were both relieved and happy for him. "Why did Barrnes leave within the first half hour?"

Your husband's triumphant gaze met yours. "Who told you that?"

You shook your head. "I saw. They drove him slowly around the front of the house. He rolled down his window and just stared at the house from the back seat. It was creepy."

You read determination in that blue-eyed gaze. "You know I'm never going to let him anywhere near you, right?"

With a sigh, you nodded. But you knew a lot more about his world after all you'd been through.

"How are you going to avoid that?" You needed to be realistic. "I'm not going to be Rapunzel in her tower here, Steve. I spent too many years already, locked away for my safety. I'm your wife. I'm going to be out in the world. And I'll need to make appearances with you. I can handle myself."

Worry crept into his expression. It darkened those baby blues, diminished the moment. You didn't want to go in that direction. Not right now.

"Tell me what happened," you re-directed impatiently. "I've been dying here."

Just like that, he smiled. Oh, he was proud of himself about something. You made a mental note to get Dyson's account later. Probably tomorrow. You knew it was going to be good. 

It was a testament to Steve's recovery that he was still up and around and able to do what he just did to you. It was the first day he'd been out of bed so long and while you admired him for making it this far, you were a little worried about the impact it could have on his recovery. Carefully, you sat up in bed next to him.

And you listened carefully as he told you everything from the meeting. You would have loved to see him laying down the law to the other famiilies, getting in Barnes' face when he shamelessly owned the horrific things he was guilty of and took him to task for challenging his leadership. You listened, enjoying how animated he was in telling you how it all went down. It was obvious he was happy with how it went.

It was obvious Steve was taking the heavy reigns of leadership he was so eager to have with a new atittude. Now he saw the position for what it really was. Leading the five families was a heavy burden, something he could no longer take for granted. 

Just like he'd stopped taking you for granted.

You paused a moment, wanting to make sure he had time to explain everything.Your heart sang at how animated he was, the color back in his face. The doctor assured you he'd make a full recovery and if he was this animated to the other family leads, his strength wouldn't be in question. At least, not as much.

"Wait," you said, going over his story in your head. "How much about what happened was brought up in your confrontation with Barnes?"

Steve's smile widened. "Well, I made it known that both you and Nat were victims of Barnes' scheming. Thor Odinson pointed out that Nat may have deserved what happened to her because she was cheating on Banner. I just didn't know how widely that bit of knowledge spread."

Your husband must have noticed your agitation because he quickly added, "I pointed out that Banner had been plotting with Barnes in hopes of being his new consigliere. That allowed me to mention that he'd also conspired with Neal."

You shuddered, remembering how Hansen shot Neal in the face without a thought. 

"Barnes tried to paint me as weak," Steve explained. "He claimed it was too easy to hit those who I'm supposed to protect. Shops on our turf, my people, my sister... my wife."

"But you did protect us." You wouldn't let him doubt himself now. "Steve, that bullet might have killed me."

His expression softened at that. Sadness crept into his expression.

"Taking a bullet for you shouldn't have been necessary," Steve told you somberly. "Everything that led up to that? It was my fault. I didn't listen to you. I let my egotistical view of who I thought I should be and who I thought you should be cloud my judgment. I believed Neal over you. I could have lost you."

"But you didn't." You smoothed a hand over the side of his face. Turning his face, he pressed a kiss into your palm. "I'm still here. Nat and Dyson? They are still here."

It didn't seem to relieve the tension in his face. "As you've seen for yourself, my world, our world is dangerous. I think you understand now just how dangerous it is. Barnes is struggling physically. But, like me, he'll recover. If nothing else, pure willpower and the need for revenge will pull him along. I'm not the only one he's going to come after."

Steve didn't have to tell you that Bucky Barnes would be coming for you. You knew that. 

And you put up a good front for him, for everyone in the family. You wanted them to believe you were unafraid. And you were pretty sure they believed you. A chill ran down your spine as you stopped to consider that one day, you'd have to face off against the enemy you made. A man who already hated you because of your mother's deeds. A man that sent Hansen after you, starting an unnatural obsession with him that could have resulted in your death twice. 

And the way Barnes himself looked at you? It gave you chills just to think about it.

"Ever since I came out of the coma," Steve said slowly, "I just... I can't believe I actually allowed you to go in the first place."

"You changed your mind five minutes later. Steve, you were there."  You made him look at you, meet your gaze. "You saved me. And I trust you to keep me safe from Barnes. I trust you to keep all of us safe."

When he dropped his head, your heart squeezed in your chest. "You shouldn't trust me."

"Steve, you've never been in this position before," you told him. "You're learning."

"Well, I need to learn faster," he told you. "What good is leadership if I can't protect the ones I love?"

"Steve, you're figuring it out." You willed him to believe you. "You're not the only one learning. I knew nothing about your world when you pushed your way into it. I've made mistakes. I'm learning too."

Shaking his head, Steve blew out a sigh. "And in a short period of time, you could see things about my world I missed. You were way ahead of me."

No, you weren't letting him beat himself up now after everything you'd been through.

"We have another shot at it." You needed him to understand. "But we have to deal with Barnes to have any chance of keeping you on the throne."

And he was all too aware of that. But when his gaze returned to yours, he said, "I don't even fucking care about the throne. Not if I lose you."

"Steve, I'm right here," you told him, your heart squeezing your chest. 

Your conversation had taken a dark, angsty turn. It wasn't the way you saw the rest of the evening going. It really wasn't. But there was another issue you needed to address with your husband before things went the way you intended for them to. 

"You know, before this last confrontation, we weren't in the best place in our marriage, Steve," you said quietly. 

Slowly, he nodded. "You're right.  I'd confined you to this room because Neal told me what had happened the day the so-called nurse came to the house. I was pissed that you lied to me."

You had to own that one. "I did lie to you. In my defense, you were talking about starting a family and I was scared. As much as I care about you now, at the time I wasn't ready to start a family. I wasn't ready to be someone's wife. But still, I could have communicated that to you." 

"Apparently, I didn't made you feel safe enough to try and talk to me about that," Steve said.

That was also true.

"Sweetheart, if we're going to survive," he said, "no more secrets. I've made you part of my council. I'm trusting you with everything. I expect the same. It's the only way I can protect you."

"I agree to that." You meant it. "But I need you to promise me that you'll stop trying to push me in directions I'm not ready for."

"Yeah, cause it's not even possible." Steve's gaze held yours. Slowly, he nodded. "Can I ask for things I want?"

Something told you he was referring to starting a family. You blew out an exhale. You might be open to that one day. But not until you had the business with Barnes and the challenges to Steve's authority completely dealt with.

"Will you take no for an answer?"

Steve grinned. "I can be persuasive."

Yeah, you knew just how persuasive he could be.

@valsworldofcreativity @21stcenturywitchcraft @coconutqueen21 @bval-1 @caffiend-queen @sadlittlecountess @candy-and-writing @capsicle-shield @chaoticfiretaconerd @chrisevansgirl @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @coldmuffinbanditshoe @daughterofthenight117 @hv-chw3 @iheartsebstan @imanuglywombat @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @justrae9903 @lokislastlove @mariaenchanted @maxwelllee2020 @nekoannie-chan @nerdwholikesword @notyourtypicalrose @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho @peaceinourtime82 @rainbowkisses31 @rayofdawnworld @richonne4life @rissysthoughts-blog @saiyanprincessswanie @scarletsoldier21-blog @shygirl-00 @supernaturaldean67 @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @team-iron-wannabe-man @titty-teetee @tonib666 @villanellev @vitamingummies @what-is-your-plan-today @what-is-your-wish @xoxabs88xox @rosalynshields @naturalthrone22 @marvelovernfan @gotnofucks @eralen @kawairinrin @bluemusickid @geminievans1 @daughterofthenight117 @sunmoonandbuckyrecs @jesevans @kandis-mom @salvatoreitmeanssaviour @kmc1989 @curiousandjoyous @marvelouslyme96

[neonovember]

Deceit

Mafia!au x Steve Rogers

CHAPTERS: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

summary: your escape to Brooklyn was harboured by secrets and a harrowed past, left abused and betrayed, you accepted your destiny of being swallowed by the crowd. Until the King of New York showed up in front of you and wanted a piece of you for himself.

divider by @firefly-graphics​ !

Taglist 🏷️ (send an ask to be part of my taglist for this series!)

@tinkerbelle67 @patzammit @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory@nomadstucky @nessie2183 @shamelessfangirl-3 @namelesssav @marvel-phoenix @euphoric-goddess @roseeatta @abschaffer2 @louderfortheback @stupendouslovegardener @wandamaximoff-simp @thedonswife13 @hpsimpspot @samsgirl93​ @cynic-spirit

Bucky is quiet the ride over, dark steel greys surveying the road eagerly, like he was waiting for someone, or something to give him a reason to jump out and spill blood. 

The wheel wains in his grip, and his dark hair falls over in waves, pushed back behind his ears and smelling of pine nut and mint. There's a hint of a smile on his face, he knows you're watching him.

You avert your gaze quickly, looking towards the mountain trees on either side of the asphalt road ahead.

The relief you had thought would fill you as Bucky pulls into the potholed road of your apartment is blank, and your chest fills vacant without the heat of it. Your mind is restless, and the entire ride over had given you ample time to think over everything that had happened earlier. 

You had folded and unfolded every piece of information Bucky had told you about Steve and all it had done was make you feel like you were intruding, like you were given privy to something you had no right knowing. Like peeking through the cracks under closed doors as a child listening in on their parents.

Where your street had once been busy with loitering huddles of gaunt faced men, a quiet murmur settles over the ground floor of your apartment complex, all the way up to the hallway to your place. 

And as you pass by a few stragglers who blanch when Bucky shifts his hard gaze towards them, stuttering over their own feet and rushing back to their alleyways, you have an inclination that it was all Steves doing.

His reach was absolute.

You didn’t know what to feel, you’ve known displacement for too long. 

Separating from your betrothed, separated from the life you had been half folded into, separating from the very syllabus of your name. 

The spaces between the letters get further and further as the years go by. Until you can hardly remember if your namesake is really yours, just a frightening sound that came out of your husband's mouth.

This is different though. Until now, your instinct has always been right. And yet, when you think of Steve? When you try to find footing in your gut it comes up wobbly and unsure.

Was he something more than he let on? Did he only uncover pieces of himself for his own benefit? 

Bucky had told you he had lost his own wife, and young too. Forced to be exposed to the brutality of the world before he could even get a chance to indulge in youthful recklessness. 

You feel a sense of empathy for him, but also, also surprise. It isn’t the murder, or your own husbands doing that causes a slight slip of your heart. The truth is much more foolish instead.

There was a time Steve was ready to forsake this entire life, live forever looking over his shoulder, turn back on tradition that was as deep as marrow, all for love.

You could laugh if you had remembered what that felt like. The thought outright unnerves you. Steve? The gluttonous leader who held sanctions of New York with an iron fist? 

It drives a pit in your stomach when you think too hard about what it means. 

There’s a fiery jealousy that swarms you, you had never understood the wielding power that love carried all your life. It was a feeling, just like any other was it not? 

Yet it had men like Steve falling to his knees!

And all that swarms your mind is how it’s so unfair, that you’ve never experienced such a thing. That you may never will. Forced to succumb to the life that was only half yours, down a path so far the ground had changed beneath you.

What did it feel like to give in? To show all your misgivings with unabashed apprehension? To let yourself, all of it, to another person?

Anything close to a love like that had come from the faded memories of your father, his warmth and deep gritted protectiveness over you. And that had been stripped from you quicker that you were able to forsake it.

You suppose that wasn't meant to be dealt in your cards, which you had come to understand were drawn years ago. You lie to yourself, but during some nights the aching desire to feel something, to taste the deep gripping love that had caused even Steve to lose focus explodes deep in your gut. 

Your longing for connection was something you hid well, and god didn’t you get awfully good at hiding these years? Fit yourself in nooks and crannies that were too small, smoothed out your jagged edges to click into the puzzle pieces.

And yet, the empathy you had silently shared, the intimate conversation you had had with Steve in your mind is stamped out with swiftness as Bucky walks you to your door.

That was then, now Steve had made it perfectly clear where he stood. The cool indifference and hardening this life caused had stolen any shine or hope that Steve may have held those years ago. Everything he did now was calculated, for the betterment of broadening his kingdom. 

He might as well have died along with her.

Bucky leans against the hallway, eyes surveying the decrepit halls lit by overexerted linoleum lights. You hesitate a moment, before popping your keys into your door, twisting it this way and that to get it to open.

You flinched as the door opened wide, almost like you were expecting someone to be standing right behind it, waiting for your arrival before pouncing. You’re a child, waiting for the ghoul in the closet to jump out.

Yet all that is there is the same peeling walls of your small entryway and some shoes and a coat strewn to the side in your haste to get to the diner early those days before. 

You’d much prefer the monster.

Days, it had only been days, so why did it feel like a lifetime since you stepped foot into your home? 

You don’t know what you were expecting, for your apartment to change when you had been kept away from it unceremoniously? For someone to have cleaned out the dishes lying in the sink, and ruffle the pillows lying on your old sofa? 

You had craved mundanity for so long, craved consistently at a time where you didn’t know which face of your husband you would meet those days. 

When the monster living underneath your husband's skin would jump out.

But now, you crave something more. It simmers right under your skin, deep within your chest and its shadowy fingers flutter over every inch of you.

Your apprehension is evident by the way Bucky shifts his way towards you stuttering frame.

“Hey, I wouldn't be so keen on coming home to this place either. Those carpets don’t look that inviting" Bucky replies, there is a sight lilt in his voice as he drags his eyes across your depressing furnishing.

You cut your eyes towards him, narrowing your lids.

“Not everyone lives in an exorbitant palace you know” You gruffly reply, shuffling into your door in a way that was more spite than eagerness.

Bucky breaks out in a grin that takes up half his face, his hand stuffed into his suit pockets as he rocks on the balls of his feet.

“Talking like a woman who hasn’t done just that half her life” Bucky replies, cocking his head to the side.

Oh right, your husband's estate that took up half of the city. One that was never, and would never be in your name.

You drop your handbag onto one of the hooks attached to the hallway, turning towards Bucky with a sigh.

“That’s different” You reply evenly

“Oh yeah? How so?” Bucky murmurs, eyes shining with a smile

“I was never welcomed in that home- house. God it would never be a home no matter how many architects and designers dressed it up. You think I escaped ‘cause it was my safe haven?” You cock your head to the side and Bucky’s face evens out. The smile adorning his features morphs back into his face as a look passes through his eyes.

“You don’t have to worry about that with Steve-”

“Oh yeah? Because he is the most upfront person to talk to. Right. This place, as depressing as it looks, is solely mine. It’s the only thing I have on this goddamn earth that hasn't been mauled and changed with my husband's fingers. Or the life he leads. You might not understand it, how important that is but-”

“I do. Trust me” Bucky replies, cutting you with and he offers you a nod that was more understanding than half the world's he promised to you.

Can I? You wonder thoughtfully. Was this just a part of some elaborate plan that Rumlow had clued you on? You were everywhere all at once, topsy turvy and turned inside out. This was the life you had to live now.

“Good” You say instead, wringing your fingers as Bucky’s phone begins to buzz from his pants pocket.

You wait for him to reach for it immediately, but he doesn't, just remains quiet as he taps his foot against the hardwood floor. There seemed to be a look of understanding that passed between you when he had racked his fist against the wall adjacent to your door. 

The blues of his eyes twinkled under the sun peeking through the hallway window, and you didn’t realize it then but it was trust that shined in his eyes. Like the words he had shared with you warranted the same secrecy he held with the other men he worked with. 

You had paid in flesh and blood for your silence, what more was another pound?

The ring runs through, and the silence soon returns between you both.

“I’m not going to the mouth off to half of Brooklyn that their most influential business man likes painting” You reply with a murmur, eyes darting left and right as if neighbors were listening in. Enough of them had watched you walk to your apartment door, eyes strained on Bucky and his shoes that shine too bright. Faces that had never even said hello had craned their necks as you passed, of course. Whispers of inquisition under their breath.

“I know you won’t” Bucky replies instantly. “Just- let him explain the rest of it, yeah? ‘S only fair you hear it from him” 

“Fair?” You raise your eyebrows, “You’re talking about fairness now? Bullshit. If you were guided by some moral compass I wouldn't have been forced into this, you wouldn't even be in this life” You snark unconsciously.

Where does this all come from? You hadn't even raised an eyebrow at your husband, and now you were bad mouthing a man with a gun poking through his waistband. You look down, staring at the unusual stain in the hallway carpet you never quite knew what was. The anxiety and timidness you were used to coming back tenfold.

Bucky doesn't retaliate, just looks towards you with a feather-like smirk.

“I was wrong about you, y’know?” Bucky whispers, leaning in as if he were divulging in a secret he couldn't let be spoken in the open air.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re everything like Steve.” Bucky replies thoughtfully, a far away look taking over his dark features. 

He’s miles away, reminiscing about parts of Steve that had been left in the dark. He looks younger than, when you notice the way his eyebrows scrunch and his locks fall flat over his face. 

But it's enveloped back into Bucky in a second, a sad smile replacing his grin.

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call” 

Giving you one last nod, he turns back towards the hallway entrance and it takes you a few moments before you realise.

“But I don't have your number!” You call out, leaning out your door

His brown locks shift as he turns back to you

“You sure about that?” A raise of his eyebrows at the ping of your phone, waving you with two fingers.

You don't have to pull it out to know it's him. And you can't help but let out a chuckle before turning back and shutting the door firmly.

You find yourself accompanying your time scrubbing down the floorboard and yellowed walls of your home, filling your hours since Bucky had left with meager tasks. It helps you think, concentrating on little chores around the house so you don't have to think about the thoughts that rattled loudly in your mind.

It’s still well into the morning, and as the sun filters through your drapes you lean back on your heels nodding accomplished at the glint of the shining floors. The walls were an impassive yellow, never yielding no matter what cleaning products you threw at them, but beyond the old entryway carpet the apartment was lined with pristine hardwood floors that shined with a little elbow grease.

Not that shitty huh Bucky?

Wiping the sweat that had grown increasingly uncomfortable above your brow, you make way to your small enclosed kitchenette, swiping a cup from the drying rack before you watch the water fill to its glass edge. You gulp half of it down, before your much needed break is interrupted by the faint buzzing of your phone emitted from somewhere in the living room.

You forage for it quickly, searching till you find it wedged between the cracks of your couch. You pause for a moment, considering whether it might be Bucky, or Steve calling but as you see the vibrating screen of your manager's face you slide the receiver across the screen.

You brace yourself for the inevitable screech of her voice, you haven't been to work in days, an irregular for you considering the mountain of bills that left your bank account squandered each month. You needed this job, and now Steve hand upended your life, you fear it’ll slip through your fingers.

Manager calls, you pick up, she’s very quiet and apprehensive and is all sweet in a a way you remember she never had been before. She’s almost scared to talk to you, asking about a shift you could cover and you say yea without thinking. You need a distraction. Even if Steve had made it clear you no longer needed to worry about work.

“Hello?” You reply, eyebrows furrowing at the beat of silence that fills the space usually used up by ** loud un yielding demands.

“Y/N? Hey, how are you doing” Replies carefully, as if choosing her words.

“What?” You blurt out

You can’t help the confusion that puzzles your voice, who was this person? In the months you had spent working at that dead end job not once has she ever asked how you were. Not when you had spent half your break with your head in your toilet the first few months you had escaped. A cat on edge, nerves frazzled by even the slightest heavy stamp of a dress shoe.

What had changed?

You don’t have to kid yourself, you know the answer deep down. Him, it always goddamn is.

“Sorry, uhm I’m been doing good” You reply “I apologise for kind of just disappearing on you and the Diner”

“Oh that? That’s totally fine, once your friends cleared that up” 8 gulped, the sharp exhale of breath filling the receiver at the mention of this friend of yours.

“Friend?” You reply

“Don’t worry about it, I’m glad your doing alright. Uh-, so uhm ’s sister dropped her kids off at 4am last night at hers, she cant her shift. And * got SAT prep. Can you fill in if possible it’s totally okay if you can’t, I needed to stay back a few anyway-”

“Sure” 

You needed the distraction, you felt stifled in the walls of your apartment. It wasn’t meant to be a prison, and yet the only time you felt truly free now was when you slammed the door behind you.

“-oh, Oh thank you! Thank you so much. If you could come in at 12, it’s just the afternoon shift. And if you need to leave for whatever reason it’s totally fine you don’t even have to tell me-“

“Mare?

“Yes?”

“Relax. I miss the diner and it’s crappy linoleum lights anyways”

Mare snorts into the receiver “The teams missing you too”

After passing a few more instructions on the wave of Russian tourists coming through Brooklyn this time of year you let your phone clatter onto the coffee table.

Sure, your manager could be a pain in the ass but being passive aggressive didn’t warrant a mob leader holding you at gunpoint.

You wonder what Steve had said to her to cause her to be this shaken up, she was the most stubborn woman you’ve ever met. It couldn’t have been easy to have her yield, at least not without some sort of real threat.

Especially in New York.

You rifle through your bag before grabbing your work uniform. The musty smell of old oil and grease makes you throw it haphazardly into the laundry basket before reaching for a clean shirt.

You try to look presentable, washing your face with the bathroom tap that never not juts out cold water. You avoid your reflection when you pay your face dry, which is interestingly enough, hard to do since it’s well..your face.

Drawing the wisps of coils that spring free you pull your hair back into a bun. You don’t bother with makeup, it never quite sat right on your face when you did it. Reaching for your bag and throwing your phone and the rest of your miscellaneous, you hurry down the steps of your apartment complex. 

Popping in your earphones as you step into the train carriage, you memorise the dock and pull of the train ride till you feel your stop. Your music swims through your veins, and you breathe it in before opening your eyes to the tram doors opening.

[marvelvillian23]

PLEASE!! I need fics rec for all of these! Especially the Convict. Please be multi Chapter fics.

It even can be Steve in these situations instead of Bucky I don’t mind.

*Photos From Pinterest

I’m currently reading Blood Moon Rising on AO3 by Sarahyellow.

It’s a A/B/O prison story where Bucky’s the convict and pre serum Steve is the prison counselor…I think. A riot breaks out and Bucky takes Steve hostage. 5/8 Chapters are up so far.

[bigtreefest]

You Catch More Bees With Honey Masterlist

A Mob! Bucky x Farmer! Reader Series

Part of the Outta Nowhere AU

Main Masterlist

Series Summary: Bucky doesn’t always have to personally negotiate his business dealings, but what happens when one of them insists they’ll only deal with him? He heads out to the country to get it sorted, of course.

1. Digging For Gold

2. Ouch, That Stings

3. Honey Trap

4. Under Pressure

5. From the Ground Up

6. San Antonio Stroll

7. Have a Cow

8. Golden Hour

9. Looking Over Fences

10. When a Friend Asks for Help

11. Barn Burner

12. Tippin’ Tractors, Takin’ Names

Drabbles & Extras

Hop to It

Shared Things (ask answer)

Honeybee vs Decks Character Distinctions

[biteofcherry]

To find the light, we must first touch the darkness

Please also check out @bluepinkangel​’s amazing hot moodboard for this universe 🖤

dark mafia!Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: When you unexpectedly are appointed to run a health center, you foresee many struggles along the way, but not one in the form of a merciless mob boss. Steve Rogers’ core aim is to own and he won’t take no for an answer. To any of his demands.

warnings for this chapter: dark!Steve Rogers; manipulation; power imbalance; forced marriage; D/s undertones; ex-pli-cit; knife kink; choking; choking kink; praise;

word count: 7k

Touch the Darkness Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Chapter 6. Downpour

~ * ~

Victims often described the events of their traumatic experience as a blur. Or a film montage of chopped scenes, often black and white, or with one color prevailing. Sometimes their minds protected themselves so strongly they dissociated, their consciousness floating away into a safe space.

Nothing of the sort happened to you on your dreaded wedding day. 

If anything, you felt more present in the moment than in the days leading to it. 

Colors were vibrant, sounds clear, your feelings vivid. 

You felt the constriction of the built-in corset of your wedding dress, the soft swish of the embroidered, shiny tulle in the chalice of the wide skirt; as well the warm amazement at how beautiful you looked. 

Even though your spite tempted you to pick a dress that would manifest how much you didn’t want to say your vows, you couldn’t help the flaming love you experienced at the sight of yourself in a stunning wedding dress. 

A fucking princess style, out of all. 

You wanted to hate it, to cross it out purely to not give Steve the extra satisfaction, but your parents teared up when they saw you in it. Maybe they had some qualms about the speedy wedding, but they sure got on board with it when they saw your face glowing. 

You didn’t have the heart to tell them it was because you felt beautiful, not because you loved your future husband. 

Whose handsome face you couldn’t look away from as your father walked you down the aisle. 

Dressed in a sharp suit, steel gray a tone warmer than his cold heart, Steve watched you every step of your way to him. Others perhaps saw in his face awe, getting all mushy over how much he had to be in love with you, but you knew it was a glint of triumph. 

You said your vows in the wide garden surrounding Steve’s property, under an arch of lush peonies and vines. You were sure it’s only thanks to the two glasses of Prosecco and Steve’s hand holding yours a tad too tightly, that you recited your promise to him without a hitch. 

With how smooth and soft Steve’s voice was, how he held your gaze captive, you’d think he was expressing true, deep feelings when he said his vows. 

True was his possessiveness. 

Steve displayed it first in the way he kissed you - draping you over his arm, like in old Hollywood movies, and branding your lips with a breathstealing, passionate kiss. Unable to resist, your arm sneaked around his neck, fingers splaying on the back of his head, while your other hand gripped onto the lapel of his suit jacket. 

Then by keeping you occupied each dance, allowing only your father to lead you through two songs. 

To your further annoyance, Steve turned out to be a really good dancer. Or maybe he was simply good at holding you and controlling your body as he guided you across the wooden planks built into a dance floor specially for this occasion. 

“You look beautiful, Princess.” 

There was no breathtaking awe in Steve’s voice, like you used to imagine your true love would say those words one day. But it was no coy game, either. Steve meant them, it was an honest compliment. 

It was also his pride in owning you. 

“I’m already your wife, all is signed. No need for bullshit,” you stared over Steve’s shoulder, stubbornly refusing to meet his gaze and see what desires may shine in the ice cold blue irises. 

He twirled you suddenly, then pulled you back to him. Kept you pressed against him tighter as he brushed his lips along your cheek. 

“I’d think by now you know I don’t really bullshit anyone,” he whispered in your ear. “I do find you stunning. And I’ll repeat those words later, when I have you naked in our bedroom.”

Heat filled you faster than after that shot you sneaked right before soup was served, to calm your nerves and numb yourself further as the reality of being now Mrs Rogers started settling in. No, that fast dose of booze didn’t scorch your insides the way Steve’s promise of the wedding night did. 

“Not gonna happen,” you tried sounding fierce, but your voice came much breathier than you’d like. 

“We’ll see, won’t we?” Steve chuckled, tip of his tongue flicking the shell of your ear, eliciting goosebumps to appear all over your skin. 

His hand on your back was placed low, but he dipped his fingers even further, toying with the ribbon of your corset right above the curve of your ass. 

“We have a deal, after all.” He reminded you. 

You wanted to argue with him, that technically you didn’t agree to it, but you knew it’s futile. You suffered some disturbing sexual deviancy and your pussy tingled at the mere thought of Steve touching it. So you planned on simply being sneaky and wiping yourself dry before entering the bedroom. And then staying resolved and unbothered, so that Steve’s dark touch didn’t force a single drop of slick out. 

You considered stuffing your nose with something too, because the scent of Steve alone now that he was pressed to you so close, was enough to warm up your body. 

To ignore your own responses - to his smell, to his touch, to the images of wicked acts he could do to you - you focused your gaze above Steve’s shoulder. Glancing at random guests, at the stunning flower arrangements, trying not to hurt from the fact your parents looked so joyous. 

You frowned, noticing Natalie smirking around the rim of a champagne flute as she talked to a man whom you recognized as Steve’s most trusted right hand, Bucky. While flirting at a wedding wasn’t something unusual, alarm bells rang in your head at the prospect of Natalie endangering herself. She was already at risk, being associated with you, but to dance with a wolf was like playing with fire that was surely going to consume her whole. 

You didn’t know much about Bucky, practically nothing, but if he was this close to Steve then there was no trace of innocence or clear conscience in him. 

No one could stay pure, if they followed in Rogers’ murky wake. A realization which made you wonder, if your own core may rot and dissolve at his feet. 

Your heart fluttered, as Steve twirled your body again. Chalice of your dress opened, shimmering in the sunlight as if encrusted in crushed diamonds. In reality it was a faint sparkle compared to the actual bling of the diamond ring on your finger. 

You glared at it with disdain when Steve first put it on your finger, seeing nothing but a leash. A brand of ownership and reminder of torment. But the more glances you stole, the more irresistible it was to admire. 

It was truly beautiful and you hated it for it. 

Steve pulled you back to his body, pressing you even closer than before. Tip of his nose grazed along yours, the icy blue of his irises warming into the shade of pure sky. His breath tickled your mouth, mingling with yours as your lips parted on a gasp. 

Then his lips were on you. Soft and coaxing, tempting you to respond in submission. 

You told yourself it’s the surprise of it that made you give in, the spectacle you had to continue for the guests, but you couldn’t completely deny the jolt of excitement that spurred heat into every crevice of your body, then melted it into a pliant surrender. 

You were vaguely aware of the camera flashes as pictures of you were taken. The sound of cheering and clapping barely registering through the haze of your heartbeat pounding in your head. 

There was no triumphant smirk on Steve’s lips when he reluctantly pulled away, which would undoubtedly shake you out of daze. Instead, there was a dark hunger that clenched your heart in fear and your cunt in anticipation. 

You found yourself surprisingly reluctant to step out of his embrace as the song ended and Steve took the opportunity to build the lie further by asking your mother to dance.

Trying to avoid dancing with Steve wasn’t as clever a solution as you first thought, because the bastard found other ways to instigate small gestures of intimacy that confused your brain and tickled your clit like a living tongue. 

Like him smoothly commenting how delicious that seasoned rib was and how you should try it, then promptly feeding you a piece of it.

With his fingers. 

Purposely slipping his fingertip between your lips along with the meat.

It was a split of a second, but enough to have a wave of heat wash over you and your thighs clench.

You thanked heaven that you picked a princess dress, because the layers of the skirt at least hid the movement that would otherwise betray you.

A gulp of wine couldn’t wash away the sensation, nor did it wipe the lewd image of Steve forcing his fingers into your mouth. Would they be salty? Would they feel heavy as he pressed them against your tongue? Would his rings feel cool? 

Then you didn’t even have alcohol to numb yourself. Steve made sure your glass was filled with water only as the celebrations proceeded. When you glared at him, trying to yank your hand out of his grip, he said he won’t have you sloshed on your wedding night.

“Don’t want you to worry it was only the booze that got you wet,” he sucked on your earlobe. 

But made it look so sweet, the way he pressed his cheek to yours and gently held your hand, that to the others it had to look as if he was whispering love admissions into your ear. 

The bastard played supportive and soothing as he caressed your back when you were saying goodbye to the guests leaving the reception late in the evening. Your mom took your teary eyes as an overwhelming, but positive emotion that made her all mushy as well. 

You couldn’t cling to her, or your dad, crying in despair that they were leaving you with a monster. Not when that monster was constantly by your side, being most respectful and charming towards them. Displaying a twisted care for you that eased your parents’ worries while irritating you. 

There were fireworks bursting in the sky in abundant splashes of color as Steve led you to the master bedroom. 

Everyone was gone, only the wedding planner’s team was rushing around like busy bees, cleaning up and packing leftovers. And they all pretended they didn’t see you. You thought some of Steve’s men were also circling around, but you didn’t know yet if it was to keep an eye on the workers, or if it was their routine to guard Steve’s mansion. 

Once inside the bedroom, you blurted out your need to use the bathroom and promptly locked yourself inside. Only for a few moments you entertained the thought of staying in and sleeping on the tiled floor, but you knew Steve wouldn’t allow that. He’d sooner take the damn door down than give you reprieve.

He wanted to wreck your body too much. 

And you feared how you may react to it. 

As you pulled up layers and layers of tulle, to use the toilet and clean yourself from the already obvious reaction to Steve’s touch; you accepted that your anxiety wasn’t for debauchery, but for the inappropriate eagerness of your body.

For fuck’s sake, you were dripping and coming on command when he defiled you with a gun!

How much stronger was your reaction going to be when he caressed you with his hands and mouth? 

After wiping yourself dry, you cleaned your hands and with your head held high stepped out into the bedroom. You still planned on fighting tooth and nail to not arouse from whatever he had planned. 

Having taken off his suit jacket and rolling up his sleeves, Steve waited for you in the middle of the room. His eyes glinted with satisfaction when you stepped out. He crooked a finger at you, beckoning you to him. 

“I knew you’d come out like a good girl, Princess,” he crooned, not at all bothered by your stomping and glaring daggers his way. 

“Didn’t feel like watching a door being splintered into pieces,” you snapped, clenching your hands on the skirt of your dress as you stood right in front of Steve.

“Of course. That’s the only splintering you were concerned about,” he teased, running a single digit down the column of your neck. “But I know, Princess. I know there’s this curiosity that draws you to me. You may hate it, but your body is eager to learn what I’ll do to you.”

“It’s not. I’m not!” You protested, yet you didn’t flinch when his finger drew a scorching line from one collar bone to the other, then dipped lower to trace your cleavage. 

“I want to believe your words, Princess,” Steve said in pretend seriousness, “but let’s check in with your body, too.��

As embarrassing the thought of him flipping your skirts up was, you inwardly prayed he’d do it quickly. If he touched your pussy now, he’d find you dry. But if he prolonged the whole thing, you had no certainty it would stay this way. 

“I’m aware how fond of my gun you are,” his words startled you, stopping your heart for a split of a second then sending it into a fluttery beat. The memory of the warm muzzle dragging along your thigh and slipping under your panties spurred heat to pool low in your core. 

Shit! No! 

No, no, no. You couldn’t get wet! 

“But I didn’t think it’s an accessory appropriate for the wedding,” Steve’s mouth curved into a lopsided smile that only added to his criminally hot look. 

“So I had something special to be custom made for this occasion-” he touched your cheek in a sweet caress- “and for any future occasions… with my wife.”

Your breath hitched in your lungs when he called you his wife. He made it sound reverent, but at the same time his tone dripped with that dark triumph that reminded you there was no way out from his clutches. 

You watched Steve dip his hand into his pocket and then a glint of steel flashed before your eyes. 

A switchblade so sharp and polished so smooth that it seemed to be honed out of pure light. The handle was a shimmery white, with undertones of rainbow. Mother of pearl, you realized. 

Steve had his fingers wrapped around it, but purposely flipped it out, pinching the hilt between two of his fingers so you could see the silver initials engraved on it. Your initials, but with your last name being Rogers. 

Eyes widening, you went still as Steve brought the blade to your skin. Just the tip of it, you barely felt its touch, but your mind was already running with images of cuts and drawn blood. It should scare you, cause tears to fall out. Instead, you felt your pulse thundering in places that shouldn’t react to fear with excitement. 

Steve drew a soft line over the curve of your breasts and dipped the steel into the valley between them. 

He wrapped the fingers of his other hand around the front of your neck. His eyes heated up as your pupils widened in reaction, once again proving how weak you were for this single gesture. Keeping his hold firm enough you felt the silver of his rings pressing into your skin, Steve traced the blade along the trim of your wedding dress and then down your ribcage.     

“Are you afraid I’m going to hurt you?” Steve’s voice was deceivingly soft, as if he really cared if you were scared. 

You doubted he’d stop, even if you claimed that you are. You’d sooner expect him to mock you and then proceed to torment your body, proving to you how much you craved his depravity. 

But it wasn’t the physical torture you wanted to avoid. For how bad Steve was, how he fucked up your life, somehow you knew he wouldn’t harm you physically. Well, perhaps if you betrayed him. He’d kill you then. But as long as you followed his plans, you were certain he wouldn’t raise his hand on you.

Steve’s thumb brushed along your jaw in a seemingly soothing caress. You turned your face to the side, but he forced you to look back at him when you admitted in a defeated whisper: 

“I’m afraid you will make me like it.”

Fingers still curled around the front of your neck, Steve inched closer. Blue of his irises seemed to glitter an impossible hue up this close, mesmerizing you. 

You were a prey fully ensnared. 

“I will, Princess.” Steve’s lips teased yours. “I will give you pleasure that hurts so good.”

A tiny whimper escaped your mouth. You wished it was a sound of trepidation, but it held an unmistakable undertone of need. It was too late now, you felt a wet spot forming on your white undergarments. 

Steve kissed you softly, reverently; like a husband in love might kiss his beloved wife on their wedding night. Combined with the pressure of a sharp blade at your side, it made your head spin. 

“Stay still, please,” Steve squeezed your throat lightly, before releasing you and taking a step back. 

He walked around you, slowly making a full circle as he admired you. Teasing you by making you wait for what he does next. When he stopped behind you and you felt the puff of his breath on your nape, your fingers trembled. 

Then the cool blade pressed where Steve’s warm breath tickled you a second ago. He drew a sharper line down the middle of your back. You didn’t feel the sting of a cut, but he put enough pressure for you to feel a tingling scratch that dispersed into pleasant burning. 

You gulped when you felt him hook the knife under the lacing of your dress.

“I can just take it off.” You grumbled, frowning. It was a stunning dress and even though you wouldn’t be wearing it ever again, you weren’t happy with the idea of it being cut to pieces.

“You could,” Steve chuckled, “but then I wouldn’t get to hear you-”

You gasped as he swiftly cut through the first string.

“-make that lovely sound.” 

Steve relished in each cut, though you weren’t sure if he was more entranced with your little noises (which you tried to suppress, but failed at times), the act of cutting itself, or with your naked skin being revealed as the bodice of your dress parted. 

When the corset opened fully, dropping and exposing your upper body, Steve smoothed his hand along your back. Which elicited another gasp from you. 

You expected the blade to return, to draw dangerous patterns on your fragile skin. Steve’s warm, gentle caress sent a different kind of jolt down your spine, causing your tense muscles to relax in foolish trust. He pressed himself to your back, moving his hand around your front and boldly cupping your breast. A wave of heat seemed to scorch your face from the inside, but it also pooled between your thighs. 

He peppered kisses along your neck as he played with your breast; sucked on your skin as he switched his attention to the other tit. 

There was no logical thought in your head when he pinched your nipple hard and you arched; one of your arms flying up to grip the back of Steve’s head. It was an instinctive reaction of your body’s deepest need. 

Suddenly, Steve’s touch left you. Only to pull impatiently at your dress, forcing the abundant skirt to fall down. Big hands - one still holding a knife - clenched around your hips. He picked you up so easily, as if you weighed close to nothing. 

Then he was dropping you onto the grand bed. Before you even managed to push yourself up, he flipped you over onto your back. A split of a panicked thought almost had you inching away, reheating the idea to fight him. But one of Steve’s hands clenched on your ankle, while the other splayed on your belly - the one holding the knife. 

“Lie back, Princess.” Steve’s tone wasn’t harsh, but it chimed with certain urgency. 

You stilled. Though you preferred to think it was because of the blade he left on your belly in a warning, not because he asked you to. 

Definitely not because you couldn’t look away from him as Steve undressed in a few quick, practiced moves. 

The sight was so enticing you didn’t think of grabbing the knife and possibly changing the flow of the night to your advantage. 

Without his shirt on, you saw the wide plains of Steve’s chest and chiseled abdomen; saw the tattoos entwining his arms and upper body. Dark patterns, with a few splashes of rich color, that only added to the dark, thrilling aura of Steve Rogers. 

You swore that while Steve was a scary motherfucker in his usual wear, he’d appear an even more lethal demon if he approached his victims half-naked. 

Your gaze shifted downward when he pushed his pants down, but you forced it back up to his face. Mostly because you feared the sound you may make, if you saw his cock. Partly because you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of you staring. 

When Steve knelt on the mattress and then crawled forward, you dropped your head to the pillows and focused on the ceiling. A part of you craved to watch him, to await in trepidation, but you still held onto that sane part of your brain that told you it’s wrong to want it. Wrong to give in to him so easily. 

“You’re beautiful, Princess.” He repeated the words, just like he promised.

Calloused fingers traced up your legs. The sensation this touch evoked made you want to clench your thighs, but Steve’s knee was wedged between your legs, preventing it. 

Eyes focused on your face, Steve seemed to study and memorize every spark of reaction to his touch. He picked up the knife again. The grin that he flashed you as he brought the blade to your skin was all satisfaction and condescending praise. He didn’t say it, but you almost heard the Good girl. For doing as he told you. For waiting. For being so obviously responsive. 

He knelt above you as he trailed the knife along your exposed body. His gaze shifted between the glint of the blade and your face. As his aim traveled south, Steve moved along with it. 

Corner of his mouth tugged upward in a dangerous smirk when he slipped the tip of the blade under the white lace of your panties. 

Your whole body went rigid. Your mouth opened, your breath becoming ragged. 

And yet, when he slashed the fabric apart, you felt a new gush of slick. 

Steve cut the other side of your panties as well, then pushed your thighs further apart. Exposing your shameful reaction. 

“Princess,” he licked his lips, “it appears that you’re wet.” 

He tapped the wide side of the blade against your clit, the jolt of it making you clench around nothing. Steve’s eyes darkened and a low, growling kind of sound rumbled in his chest as he used the knife to flick away the lace that was sticking to your drenched folds. 

“You’re not wet. You’re dripping.” He seemed to be in awe of the discovery. 

It was in a sense a comforting feeling, to see more than just a cocky triumph. To see Steve affected by the situation. Perhaps not as strongly as you were, but with enough force to make you think perhaps it was a novelty for him as well. 

“Say it, Princess.” Steve’s gaze flicked back to your face; his own eyes full of dark hunger. “Say how wet you are, for me.”

Your lips clenched shut, a stubborn frown drawing your eyebrows together. It was humiliating enough that you were so lewdly on display for this bastard, that your body betrayed you and was ready to take him. Admitting it aloud would only strip you of all defenses. 

When Steve slapped your inner thigh, the sting of it seemed to zing directly to your clit. 

“Ohh!” You couldn’t suppress the gasp, but then managed to spat angrily - “Fuck, fine! I’m wet for you, you bastard.”

As much as you hated it, your anger was less about him demanding your admission and more about him not touching you where you most needed it. 

“Your husband.” Steve reminded you, with sinister glee. 

With his knee, he pressed your other leg down. Then dragged the knife along the skin of your inner thigh. This time you felt the prick of pain as he cut the tissue. You hissed, head lifting up to stare at the tiny, thin wound. A single drop of blood pearled at the end of it. 

Then Steve’s mouth was on it. Warm and sucking, and drawing a surprised moan out of you. 

He sucked and licked it clean, making you forget about everything else. His mouth moved up, closer and closer to your core. When he finally licked into your folds as if he was biting into a ripe fruit, you dropped down with a cry. 

Fingers gripping the sheets tightly, you rode sensations unknown to you until then. Muscles strained in pain as you held yourself stiff, still sensing that blade pressed against your skin. Steve had his arms wrapped under and around your thighs, keeping you spread as he feasted on your pussy. One of his hands was holding the knife against your abdomen, the sharp tip right on your mound. 

“Oh God, please!” Your eyes clenched shut. “Please, please, Steve. I-”

As he lapped at your clit, lashing it with rapid flicks then sucking on it so sweetly, you felt your orgasm building painfully high. You were heartbeats away from climaxing.

“Stop, please!” You begged. “The knife- I can’t- I need-” 

Even if you were pleading for him to stop what he was doing all together, Steve wouldn’t listen. Not when he was so close to owning you completely. You needed something slightly different and you hoped Steve would recognize the urgency.

Mercifully, he paused. Though he held his lips close to your clit as he looked up at you from between your thighs - his eyes reminiscing of the stars frozen in dark waters of the northern lakes. 

“What do you need from your knife, Princess?” He asked, tilting the blade an inch lower. 

It almost touched your clit. 

“Place it away, please,” you started explaining, sensing that he wouldn’t comply without a satisfying reason. “I- I’m about to come. And I will, um, move. I can’t stay still. I just, I never could. I can’t.” 

“You’re afraid I’d cut you, if you get all squirmy and arching?” Twinkle of amusement lit up Steve’s eyes.

“Please, Steve.” You feared tearing up, if he refused you. You also feared he would make you cum and cut you, and that you weren’t ready for that combination of pain and pleasure. 

He hummed, holding your gaze as he licked your clit again. Your muscles tensed anew, he had to feel them straining in your thighs where he held you. Then, very slowly, he untangled himself from you. Steve let your thighs drop to the mattress freely. He lifted the hand holding the knife and you sagged in relief. 

Steve leaned over you, bracing his weight on one arm. His broad frame cast a shadow over you. He brought the blade up to your face, you could see a fragment of your reflection in it. 

“Kiss it.” Steve ordered. 

You stared at him, bewildered. He waited, surprisingly patiently, holding the blade inches from your mouth. He called this knife yours. Had it custom made for you. Used it on you in ways you never imagined in a sexual encounter. Teased what more he could do. What he probably would do to you in the future. And he wanted you to kiss it as if in gratitude for all the lewd things it would unleash on you. 

Swallowing nervously, you lifted your head enough to press your lips against the steel. 

“Good girl,” he praised. 

Your gaze followed Steve’s arm as he reached toward the nightstand to place the knife on it. Then his hand swiped along your arm, caressing muscles that strained from still gripping the sheets. 

He coaxed you back into the moment with a sensual kiss. The way his tongue dipped between your lips was soft and seductive. You’d never expect someone like Steve to be able to kiss like that. 

Heat quickly returned in pulsing beats to your clit as Steve kissed down your body. He settled back between your thighs, with a moan tasting your pussy once more. Relentlessly, he licked and sucked you back to that edge. Then pushed you over it as he pushed a finger into you. 

Steve kept that finger pumping steadily into your fluttering walls as he trailed wet bites up your body. He was hovering above you. Mouth, glistening with your arousal, was a lick away from you when he thrust a second digit inside. The stretch made you keen and Steve drank up every grimace you made. 

“Touch me, Princess,” he tempted you, curling his fingers just right. “Come on. Touch. I know you want to.” 

If your brain wasn’t a post-orgasmic mush, maybe you could muster some stubborn will to do the opposite. But he was right, you itched to touch him, to feel the ripple of his muscles beneath your fingertips, to see how hot he ran. 

Hesitantly at first, you placed both of your hands on his shoulders. Your gaze found one of the intricate vines that weaved along his shoulder and up his neck, a branch sprouting from it curved down and over his pectoral. You traced it with one hand, your other instinctively moving to Steve’s back. 

When you traced the contoured muscles of his abdomen, fingernails scratching lightly at the narrow path of coarse hair leading southwards, Steve increased the pace of his fingers. It stirred the fire in your core into a burst, evoking another moan. 

“Lower.” Steve gritted out, putting more of his weight and heat onto you. “Wrap that small hand of yours around my cock, Princess.” 

It was dirty - his words and the squelching sound of your pussy as he fingerfucked you. 

But it also made you drop your gaze between your bodies, searching for a glimpse of that dick. It swayed heavy, half-hard, right above your hip. Your walls clenched unexpectedly as you watched it. 

This wasn’t the first cock you saw in your life. You were far from a blushing virgin. There was something about Steve, however, that made you feel nervous and out of your depth. It appeared that sex with him was a whole new, scary discovery. 

Steve urged you with another command and your hand slipped down instantly. Hot, pulsing flesh in your palm, twitching and hardening as you curled your fingers around the quite impressive girth. 

It would stretch you so deliciously. Steve didn’t need to voice it for your imagination to ignite with the phantom sensation. 

You tightened your hold, swiping your thumb over the widened, red head. At Steve’s deep moan, your eyes flew up to his face, watching his pleasure in wonder. He didn’t hide it from you, didn’t try to pretend he wasn’t affected. Still, you felt yourself more at his mercy than he was at yours. Especially when you sensed that small kick of elation at giving him pleasure with your touch. 

You smeared the beads of precum down his shaft and started stroking. It was a mismatched rhythm, your focus faltering every time Steve drove his crooked fingers against that sensitive, spongy spot inside you. 

When Steve sat back on his haunches, you stopped your movement. A rush of heat filled you with sudden shyness as his gaze roamed over your splayed body. 

Skin dewy, breasts heaving with quickened breath, legs spread wide. Your hand was still around his cock, your ring and wedding band catching sparks of light. Steve’s own fingers were buried deep in your cunt, your slick glistened on his palm and wrist. 

Steve moved his other hand up your body, marveling at your curves and softness. He gave your breast a playful squeeze before trading his fingers further up. Fingers encircled the front of your neck in a familiar way. 

“You’re a fucking perfection, Princess.” 

Then he was withdrawing his fingers from your heat; milky slick sticking in a web between his digits. He knocked your hand away and spread your wetness all over his cock. 

He held your gaze as he dragged his dick between your puffed folds and into your hole. A pause for you to catch your breath, then he was thrusting in one fluid, firm stroke. 

A curse bubbled on your lips, stretching into a moan as he split you. Unable to reach him at the moment, your hands fisted the shits, gripping and twisting the fabric. Nipples stiffened into hard peaks, your chest arched upward at the same time as your head bowed back. 

There was no second to adjust, no mercy. Steve pounded into you roughly, setting a steady tempo. He watched your body move along the mattress, at least as much as his hold on your throat and your hip allowed. Your breasts swayed with each thrust, your thighs shook with each slap of his hips into you. 

He watched your eyes glaze over as an orgasmic haze crept over you anew. Your pretty mouth stayed open, letting out all the sweet noises. It took barely a few of his thrusts and you were cumming again. 

Everything was still spinning in your head when Steve yanked your hips more upwards. Your buttocks rested on his thighs, legs thrown over his hips as he fucked into you. Grip on your throat tightened more and more. Your eyes flew open, one of your hands grabbing onto Steve’s wrist. Unbothered, he kept choking you lightly. At the same time, his other hand sneaked across your abdomen. 

With your airflow limited, every sensation seemed to heighten impossibly. The stretch of his cock, the pressure of his hand on your lower belly. The coil tightened and tightened, and when Steve swiped his thumb over your engorged clit, you shattered with a soundless scream. 

Steve released your throat and the gulps of air you instinctively tok between raw cries seemed to prolong your orgasm. It twisted into a craze that felt agonizingly good. 

So good it caused you to cry, salty streaks dripping out of the corners of your eyes and down your temples. 

Through the thunderous buzz of blood pounding in your head, the muffled sound of Steve’s voice reached you. Your brain was unable to function enough to recognize it, but it sounded like your name. And something akin to ‘Atta girl. 

When Steve shifted, you welcomed his warm heaviness like a comforting blanket, mapping his sweaty back with your hands. He was still moving, speeding up, as he braced both of his forearms on the mattress. His breath was hot against your skin, his lips starved as he kissed and nipped. 

He rested his forehead against yours as he came with a loud moan. Warmth of his spend filled you and though you didn’t think of it now, later you would be thankful for the little contraceptive implant you had. As the fog of pleasure held you in its grip, you didn’t care for the consequences. Not when Steve was still rocking slightly into you, his cock twitching. 

You sighed, scrunching up your nose, when Steve pulled out a while later. Your pussy throbbed in protest, or maybe it was from the ache that was starting to make itself known. You leaked, too, which would make you really embarrassed if you weren’t too boneless to care. 

You managed to wipe at your temples and cheeks, where remnants of tears still wetted your skin, before Steve was touching you again. He flipped you onto your belly then licked a line up your spine with a broad stroke of his tongue. 

“Aren’t you done?” You huffed, fearing you may not be able to survive more. 

“Far from it,” Steve laughed and playfully slapped your ass. 

You were thankful that he spent quite some time just kissing and touching your back, your ass and your thighs. Whether he was giving himself enough time to get hard again, or if he was this dedicated to learning your body. 

When he sat on your thighs, his knees braced on the outside of your closed legs, and squeezed your asscheeks, you expected him to play there more. Instead, you felt him spread you enough to expose your pussy. He slid inside slowly, but it still took you by surprise.    

Steve laid on top of you, balancing his weight on his arms as he pulled back and thrust back in. The angle unraveled a completely new type of sensation.

“Oh my- fuuuck!” You couldn’t help the unladylike, high pitched squeal. 

Nails scratching at the sheets helplessly, you spluttered mewls as Steve purposely rocked his hips back and forth. 

“Awww,” he cooed, “is that the spot, Princess?” 

Then he pulled back and slammed back in. Each thrust grazed that ultrasensitive area; each time he sunk deeper and deeper, too. 

If you were moaning and crying when he fucked you the first time, these sounds were a symphony of pitiful and needy that surpassed others. At one point your mouth just hung open, saliva seeping out of the corner and staining the mattress. 

Your toes curled and you helplessly kicked your feet up and down, unable to shift in your position to ease the increasing, maddening pleasure. With your cheek pressed to the mattress, your gaze mindlessly focused on the ring on your finger where your hand rested beside your head. 

Steve’s fingers entered your vision, brushing along your hand and intertwining with your fingers. A mockery of softness in the ruthless way he was fucking you. 

Your cunt tightened around him, producing more slick the longer he railed that tormenting spot. The sound of him fucking you turned more and more squelching. 

“I want you to soak the sheets,” Steve grunted. When you made a noise of protest, he paused to force your legs wide apart with his feet. “Come on, Princess. Make a mess.”

And you did. 

Hiding your face in the bedding didn’t suppress the string of cries as you climaxed, squirting a small pool of release. 

Steve fucked you through it. Each of his hard thrusts ripping your whimpers into a choked single vowel as you went lax beneath him. 

“Fuck, Princess.”  He groaned, feeling your wetness drip down his balls. “I would wife you up for that alone. You really-” his hips snapped harder and faster- “are. Fucking. Perfect.” 

Your fingers remained intertwined, Steve’s face buried in the crook of your neck, as he came. Perhaps it was the angle at which he was buried inside of you, or maybe this time his orgasm was much stronger, but you felt every throb and every spurt more clearly than before. Felt yourself full with his cum and dripping excess of your combined spend. 

Long, long minutes later, when Steve pulled out and dropped next to you onto the mattress, you didn’t even blame him for not having enough power (or decency) to get you a wet cloth. 

Honestly, you didn’t have any strength to get up either. 

It was later, as you resigned yourself to falling asleep in the mess that you made, that you heard the sound of a drawer being open. Then a soft, wet wipe was pressed to your inner thigh. It was a surprise. Felt a little weird, too. But you rested quietly as Steve wiped you and himself clean, tossing used tissues into the bin hidden behind the nightstand.

When he laid back down on the unsoiled side of the bed and reached for you, you glared at him. 

Yes, he fucked your brains out. You seriously doubted there were any functioning brain cells left. Yes, you were officially married. Still, it didn’t mean you were going to play a docile wife in every aspect of this torment. 

“You want to sleep on the stained sheets?” Steve arched a single eyebrow. “Swallow your stubbornness and scoot here, Princess.” 

It was voiced as if he was giving you an option, but he didn’t wait for your decision. Astonishingly easily, he sneaked a hand under one of your thighs and simply lifted you enough to relocate you. 

Nestled to Steve’s side, with one leg hiked over his thigh, you willed yourself to stay awake long enough to sneak out when Steve dozed off. Unfortunately for you, your will was too fucked out. 

You fell asleep snuggled to the ruthless mafia monster.

[holylulusworld]

Indecent Proposal (1)

Summary: Your boyfriend wants to be part of their empire. You are the pawn he’s willing to sacrifice.

Rating: Mature

Square filled for @stuckybingo Round 5: free space - mafia au

Square filled for @anyfandomgoesbingo: Free Space

Pairing: Mobster!Stucky x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, mentions of illegal activities/mafia business/murder, strong reader, mentions of breeding/surrogate, wish for children, shady deals, shitty boyfriend, reader doesn't take shit from no one, tension, sexy mobsters

Words: 1,5k

Indecent Proposal masterlist

“Babe, how do I look?” Your boyfriend asks, almost stumbling over his words as the men he was hoping to meet at the fancy party walk inside the room. 

Well, they don’t walk like normal people. They are stepping inside the room, stopping in their tracks to look at the people in the room. It looks like the crowd parts like the Red Sea to form a path only for them.

Steven Grant Rogers. James Buchanan Barnes. – Two names you must know if you ever heard of New York City and its mob.

They are as good-looking as they are dangerous. A deadly combination of beauty and the beast hidden behind blue eyes.

If you don’t want to end up six feet under, you don’t mess with them. Or even look their way too long.

“Did you put on the underwear I told you to?” 

“What has this to do with the party?” You sigh, as you still don’t know why Scott brought you here.

You’ve been dating for a few months, and you had hoped that tonight, he’d do more than the bare minimum. He’s not a bad guy, but an awful partner.

A criminal too. Not a criminal mastermind, but you already figured out that the small business he runs is far from legal.

“It’s important, babe,” you roll your eyes at the awful pet name. You hate it and told him so before. “Okay, don’t say anything stupid. Or, just look pretty and don’t say anything at all.”

“What?” Now you square your jaw. You don’t understand what has gotten into Scott until you lift your eyes off him to meet two pairs of blue ones. “Oh…”

“Mr. Rogers, Mr. Barnes,” Scott looks pathetic when he bows for the heads of the mob in town. “I’m honored to meet you again. Thank you for having me.”

The men ignore Scott and his offered hand. Instead, they look at you. Steve almost shoves your boyfriend aside as he holds out his hand to take yours.

“I see you followed our invitation,” he lowers himself to press a kiss to the back of your hand. You shiver. He seems so polite, and kind. But behind his blue eyes, you can see the beast wanting to break free.

“Stevie don’t scare her off right away,” you are a little overwhelmed when James Barnes turns his attention toward you. He takes your other hand and kisses your knuckles, glancing at your ring finger. “No ring, doll? He didn’t ask you to be his forever?”

“No-“ You’re usually not shy, or meek. But these men crowd you like prey and have their hands on you. You know they are in a relationship, but right now, they look at you as if you are their latest meal. “We’re only dating for a few months.”

“A shame,” Steve cups your chin, making you whimper. You never felt like this before. Confused and aroused at the same time. These men are strangers, but oddly you feel safe in their presence. “What do you say? Shall we lead this to a more private area?”

You don’t know why they are interested in leading you and your boyfriend to a private area, but this can’t be good. People like them never have good intentions, and you assume Steve and Bucky are no exception.

“I’m good here…I mean. You should enjoy your party. Don’t you have to greet all the people you invited?” You nervously babble. 

“Doll, they don’t care if we greet them or not. They are only here to show respect to us,” Bucky runs his index finger up your arm. He smirks as you involuntarily shudder at his touch. “Let’s lead this to our office.”

“Scott,” you dip your head to glance at your boyfriend. He looks up at Steve as if the man is carrying a halo on top of his head. “Scott!”

“Babe don’t be rude. We should follow them to the office,” your boyfriend is no help. He’s wringing his hands while staring at Steve Rogers. God, he’s such a pathetic little boy. You just see it now when you watch him interact with two real men.

“Fine,” you snap at Scott if only to end his pathetic act. “Mr. Rogers, Mr. Barnes, please lead the way.��� 

“Do you want a drink or a canap�� doll? We can ask the maid to get you something you’ll like,” Bucky sits next to you on the couch, one hand running up and down his thigh, the other creeping toward your thigh. He brushes his metal finger over your exposed skin, barely listening to what his partner has to say.

“Buck, did you listen?”

“Seal the deal,” the brunette clicks his tongue, “I’ll take care of the main act in the meantime. You know I don’t care about the conditions. We already negotiated them. You can take care of the details.”

“I want to take over more important tasks,” Scott suddenly says. He glances at you, and then he looks at Steve. “Sir, I agree on the terms. I’ll do anything to prove that you can trust me.”

“Does she agree on our terms too?” Steve dips his head to watch you stop Bucky’s hand from stroking your thigh. “Buck, we are talking here.”

“I know,” Bucky huffs. “All you do is talk to that slimy little bastard. Give him what he wants so we can get what we want.”

“Mr. Lang, you know that if we seal the deal, that you cannot break it. We have rules for a reason.”

“She will agree,” Scott hastily says. You snap your head toward your boyfriend, wondering what he’s talking about. “Right, Y/N? You’ll help me with the deal.”

“I told you that I’m not going to do anything illegal,” you hiss at Scott. “I looked the other way when you sold stolen phones to my colleagues, but I won’t actively help you. I’m not a criminal.”

“You didn’t talk about the deal with her?” Bucky suddenly jumps up to fist Scott’s jacket. “You dare to come to our house and lie to us?”

“I didn’t lie, Sir…Mr. Barnes. Y/N said she finds you hot, and all. She even talked about ending up between the two of you to her friend.”

“You sick fuck spied on me and Maria?” You growl at Scott. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Mr. Rogers, Mr. Barnes…I’m sure she’ll help you have a baby and all…”

“Baby what?” You furrow your brows. “Okay. This is getting ridiculous. What is going on here?”

“Well, we want you to become our surrogate. Bucky and I love each other dearly, but I cannot give him what he needs, nor can he give me what I want. A baby…an heir. We were looking for the perfect woman, with the perfect bloodline.”

“I-what?” The room suddenly caves in. You feel dizzy and grab the edge of the couch. “You want me to be your breeder?”

“No, doll,” Steve walks toward the couch to crouch down in front of you. “We want you to spend time with us…or rather between us.” He grins. “I want you to have my baby. And then you’ll have Bucky’s. We haven’t figured out whose allowed to breed you first.”

“Breed me?” Oh. God. Your pussy just clenched around nothing. If not for the anger taking over, you’d gladly jump Steve’s bones to have all the babies he wants. “Are you fucking insane? I’m not a piece of meat you can just buy!”

“We believed he talked about the deal with you, doll. Please, don’t be mad at us,” Steve purrs, and runs his hand over your cheek. “We only wanted what we deserve. The perfect woman having our babies.”

“She will agree…” Scott nervously says. He looks at you, hoping you’ll agree to whatever the two men holding his fate in their hands want. “Right babe?”

“I hate it when you call me that,” you jump up, and push Steve aside. “What did you believe will happen when you bring me here to offer my uterus and pussy to these two? Huh? That I’ll just bend over the desk and let them have their way with me!”

“I-uh…kinda…yes…”

“Pathetic,” you click your tongue as you glance at Bucky. He cracks his knuckles, ready to rough Scott up a little for messing with them. “I knew you were no good. I should’ve listened to my gut instinct.”

You dip your head to watch Steve walk toward his partner. They are looking at you, like lions ready to pounce. Those two men set their eyes on you, and you are not foolish enough to believe that they’ll leave you alone.

If you end up in their clutches, you’ll make sure they only get their hands on you to your conditions. “You want me and my womb?”

“More than anything,” Bucky purrs. He steps behind you to place both of his hands on your belly. “And I can tell, Stevie, and will love filling you up.”

Scott hopefully looks at you. This is the moment he was waiting for. He’ll be a made man soon, and his ex will see, he's more than the loser she sees in him. 

You look at Steve, holding his gaze, “I’ll be yours if you get rid of him…”

Part 2

[generalmoonpolice]

i love you (stuckyxreader)

A/N: Actually my first post so feedback is super welcome. :)

Warnings: angst to fluff, mentions of gunshot, mentions of blood, hospital (i think thats it)

w/c: 554

Fingers gripped my cheeks roughly as I felt my head being lifted onto something warm. Another set of hands pressed into the wound on my stomach which sent copious amounts of pain through my body. I left out a groan in protest and heard my name being called out, though it sounded distant. 

“Y/N?! Baby can you hear me?” 

Even though my eyelids felt like they were glued shut, I forced myself to crack them open slightly, to be met with deep blue eyes that belonged to Steve. Fear, anger and relief were only some of the emotions that swirled in the depths of blue as he stroked my hair softly. It took me a few moments, but from the corner of my eye, my vision picked up on Bucky pressing his hands into my side, trying to stop the blood from leaving my body. It was only then, when I remembered the bullet that had hit me. 

Tears began to fall from my green eyes and my body began to shake as the weight of the scenario hit me. 

I was going to die.

Steve gently brushed the tears away, speaking to me but I couldn’t hear him. It felt like I was underwater. I whispered a soft “I love you” to Steve, watching as his eyes darken and his face filled with rage. My eyes met Bucky’s and I repeated the statement as he began to shake his head. 

Everything slowly started to dim, and I felt hands frantically shake me before the world went dark, the pain vanishing. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The first thing that hit me was the smell. It smelt overly medicinal and sterile. Confusion filled me as I pried my eyes open, wincing at the bright white lights that shined above me. I let out a moan as my body was overwhelmed with pain. The sharp throbbing from my side accompanied with the dull headache made me nauseous. 

Suddenly, Bucky’s face appeared above me, his eyes swimming with concern as squeezed my hand to make sure I was really awake before leaning over and pecking my cheek. 

“How are you feeling, doll?” He asked with a raspy voice. I went to answer him but my throat wouldn’t cooperate, instead sending me into a fit of coughs. Immediately, Bucky lunged forward to grab the water that rested on the small table beside me. He helped me drink some water and I cherished the way the cool liquid ran down my throat, easing the ache. 

“I’m sore.” I merely replied, before looking around the room.

“Where’s Stevie?” I asked the man in front of me. Bucky opened his mouth to answer before the door flung open, making me flinch at the sound. I was met with the sight of Steve looking at me with wide eyes as he quickly made his way over to me. His eyes roamed along my body as if he was expecting to see any new injuries before he pressed a firm kiss to my forehead. 

“I’m—We’re sorry sweetheart.” They said as their heads hung in shame. 

Shaking my head I grabbed each of their hands before pressing a kiss to the back of each. 

“I love you.” I repeated to them giving them a small smile, before I closed my eyes and got some more well-needed rest.

[themorningsunshine]

Brownies

Pie eyed over you : Chapter 2 

Mafia - Baker AU

Masterlist                        Series Masterlist

Previous Part

Pairing - Mafia!Bucky x Baker!Reader

Summary - When a new baker in town refuses to abide by his rules, Bucky has no option but to go and take care of it himself. But nothing could prepare him for what stood on the other side. Nothing could prepare him for you.

Warnings - Nothing in this one

Word count - 3.9k

a/n - And here is the second part to the Pie-eyed over you series. I am SO grateful for the love all of you have shown to the first part and I am really excited for you guys to read this. This will (hopefully) not be a very long series but I haven’t decided on how I want it to go so updates might be slow. Please bare with me.Also, let me know what you guys want to see in this story :)

He looks around once before stepping out of the car.

The area is as lively as the last time he had seen it.

Not a lot of changes in 5 days, Bucky 

He can see the bakery from where his car is parked.

He didn't have a reason to be here. For some reason, he hadn't demanded the money last time he was here and he was pretty sure it won't change this time either.

But there was something about this bakery.

It's the cakes. He tells himself, but his suddenly quickening heart tells a different story.

He walks towards the bakery and sees you standing behind the counter, with a small smile on your face, which seems like your default setting, looking at the registers. And just like last time, Bucky's steps falter for a moment before he takes a deep breath as if his lungs had suddenly been deprived of air before walking again.

As he opens the door, the bells above his head jingle and notify you of a new customer.

.

When you look up from the register, your smile grows and turns into a slightly teasing one as you look at the man standing in front of you. You were relieved. Was it okay that you kinda hoped he would come back?

As he walked towards the counter, you spoke up, "Can I say, 'I told you so'?"

Bucky rolled his eyes but couldn't help the way his lips were turning slightly upwards. "Come on, sweets. We both know you wanted me to come back."

Your breath hitches in your throat at both the nickname and the comment. You clear your throat, willing yourself to speak, "Of course I did. It's good for business, you know." You tried to sound composed but the smile on your face gave it away.

Bucky chuckled as he took the seat beside the counter and looked at the case full of sweets in front of him. It was still the early hours of the day and there weren't a lot of people in the bakery, except for a couple sitting in the corner and a teenage girl sipping coffee while working on her laptop.

"So, what do you want today?"

You. Bucky's eyes widened as a voice from inside him replied almost instantly and he had to look up to make sure he hadn't said it out loud. What the hell was happening to him? He clears his throat and replies, "Surprise me"

You smile at him before bending to pick up a couple of brownies from the case putting them on a plate and passing them to him. "Just made them. Try and tell me how they are." There was a glint in your eyes and Bucky knew that he could never not like anything you made.

He picked up a brownie and took a bite. As it melted into his mouth, a perfectly sweet taste filling his senses, he closed his eyes and moaned.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and clenched your thighs together at his reaction. "Sweets, this is the best damn thing I've ever had."

You chuckled as red color crept up to your neck at the praise. "Glad you liked it, James."

"Liked it? I love it, sweets." He spoke before taking another bite from the brownie.

You stood there for a moment, just looking at him. There was something about him. A rough exterior, covered in dark clothes from top to bottom, but there were moments like these where you saw just how soft he was beneath all that and for some reason, you just couldn't take your eyes off the man who was eating your brownie as if a second without them would kill him.

The sound of the bells jingling at the door brought you out of your daze. You looked at him once more before walking towards the other end of the counter to the middle-aged woman who had just walked in.

When Bucky finished one of his brownies and forced himself to not instantly reach for the other one, he looked around. The bakery wasn't that large. A small, cozy place with a few decorations. Filled with the smell of freshly baked cookies and cakes, it was warm and inviting. It was so you.

Bucky's eyes landed on a shelf beside the counter and his feet brought him to it before his mind could catch up. It was a small shelf but lined with books.

The books looked old as if they had been read over and over again but well kept. Cherished. He brought his flesh hand to one of the books and slowly picked it up.         To kill a mockingbird

He stared at the cover for a moment, before walking back to his seat, with the book in hand.

As he opened the book to the first chapter, the words brought him to a time long gone. An easier time.

He used to read a lot, as much as he could anyways. He liked books. They were an escape. The stories made him forget about the struggles of his own life.

But that was a habit long gone. Another thing he loved that was lost to time.

He starts reading it before he knows what he is doing and instinctively reaches for the brownie on the plate, taking a bite.

You look up from the cash drawer, eyes drifting to the man who has been occupying your thoughts more than you would like to admit.

He is engrossed in a book and his furrowed brows as he focuses on the book and the soft look in his eyes as he skims through the pages has your heart fluttering. You notice the brownies on his plate are almost gone now and trying your best as to not disturb him, you place another two on the plate and watch as he reaches into the plate without looking away from his book and takes a bite. You smile to yourself before getting back to the kitchen to prepare an order of cupcakes.

＊*•̩̩

Bucky looks up as he feels eyes staring at him, only to be met by your y/e/c ones.

"Finally, and I thought you will finish the whole book in one go." You said, letting out a chuckle.

Bucky narrows his eyes. Sure, the page he was on and the feel of the chair proved that he had been there for long, but it couldn't have been that long, right? "How long has it been?"

You smile at him before tilting your head towards the little clock adorning the walls and Bucky's eyes widen. It had been 2 hours. What the hell had happened to his sense of time?

He hadn't felt this at peace in ... a very long time. He looked down at his plate which still had a small piece of a brownie left and he could swear he could still taste it in his mouth. How many had he really eaten?

Your voice brought him out of his thoughts. "So.." You kept your head on your fist and leaned on the table with a teasing smile on your face and it was becoming difficult for him to focus on the outside world. "And this is a wild guess. Like, completely random. You like reading?"

He let out a chuckle before thinking about your question. "I used to." 

"What happened?" You ask with genuine curiosity. He looks at you and realizes that you're not asking just for the sake of it. You want to know. You want to know him.

"Life. Life happened." He replies, only because he can't get himself to lie to you.

"Come on, James. If we are not able to find time for the things we love, are we really living?"

He looks at you as if pondering over your words. It wasn't that easy.

"I know what you should do." You stood before taking the book away from him, dog-earing the page before sliding it back towards him. "Here, take this book with you."

When he narrowed his eyes, you continue, "Take it with you and read it. When you're done, come back and return it to me." You explain as if it was the simplest thing in the world. As if giving him one of your favorite books that you had cherished for so long wasn't a big deal at all.

Bucky shook his head. "Nope, no, sweets. I am not taking it."

"Come on. You don't leave a book in the middle if you like it. It's a crime."

"Then I'll just buy it from the bookshop. This is yours." He said before sliding the book back towards you.

"We both know you won't do that. Come on, James. Just take it."

He picked up the book and slid it into his metal hand, knowing that there was no use in arguing with you but said with a smirk. "Careful there, sweets. Or I'll think you're giving me this book because you want me to come back."

As if on cue, the bell of the entrance dings notifying you of a customer. So, you turn back to look at him for the last time before saying, "Maybe I do."

And Bucky really hopes it's true.

*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*

He comes back a week later.

And the week after that.

He comes to the bakery every week until it becomes a routine. A part of him. A part engraved in his life as if it had always been there. It's simple.

He would come to the bakery, the book you gave to him last week tugged under his arms. Sometimes he would be finished with it, other times, he would just promise to return it the next week. You didn't mind. Not till he kept showing up.

He would sit beside the counter, ordering whatever it was you recommended. When you asked him how it was, he would always reply with 'The best damn thing I've ever had.' and he could swear to god he meant it every single time.

The both of you would talk, as much as you could anyways and Bucky found that being around you was the simplest part of his whole week, and the most precious too. It was his little escape. A time when he didn't care what was happening. About the people working for him or the people behind his life, he couldn't care less. All that mattered was that he was there, in the middle of a little bakery, eating sweets and talking to the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

You didn't mind either. Somehow, every single time the bell of the entrance jingled, you silently hoped it was the same beautiful blue eyes that you just couldn't take your mind off.

The only trouble was, it is really easy to get distracted from running a bakery all alone when you have a guy like him sitting there, carefree and yet intimidating as if he owned the place. It was very distracting.

And one day, you let him know exactly that. It had been a month since he had shown up at the bakery for the first time. A book on the table and a plate of cookies, talking to you as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist.

You walked back from the cash register after handling a customer before speaking up, "You know, I have a bakery to run, James, and you are pretty much the most distracting person here." Even though your words were borderline harsh, you let him know through your teasing tone that you were just kidding. Him stopping to come to the bakery was the last thing you wanted.

"Aww, come on, sweets. We both know I am your favorite customer." He replied with a smug look on his face and you didn't know if you wanted to slap it from his face or kiss it. Definitely the latter.

"You wish, James."

.

As if on cue, the bell of the door jingles, and Bucky looks that way to see a young pregnant lady with a blond man standing at the door.

He looks back at you to find you grinning from ear to ear and watches as you practically run from behind the counter towards them and engulf the woman in a big hug, angling yourself so as to not hurt the evident bump.

When you do the same with the blonde man, the air surrounding Bucky suddenly thickens and he realizes he isn't going to like this man much. But it was just because he is blonde. Bucky has never liked blonde guys.

You say something to the both of them before bringing them inside towards a table near to where Bucky is sitting and helping the pregnant lady on a chair. You still have the widest grin on your face when you turn toward him.

"James, this is my best friend, Wanda, and her elder brother, Pietro." You said before pointing towards them.

"He is literally elder than me by 13 minutes." The brunette points at you accusingly as you snicker.

"Still older." The blonde replies with an accent just like his sister.

"Guys, this is James." You point toward him and Bucky watches as something flashes through Wanda's eyes and her lips turn into a teasing smirk.

"So, he is THE James Barnes." She brought her hand towards him to shake before continuing, "She has told me so much about you."

At this, Bucky turns towards you with a smirk on his face and raised brows and watches as your cheeks turn red. Just then, the oven dings and you thank heavens for the distraction, "That's my cue."

You turn back and walk towards the kitchen with hurried steps as Bucky's eyes follow your form, just like they always do. When you disappear into the kitchen and he finally takes his eyes off and turns back, he finds Wanda looking at him with narrowed eyes and a smirk as if she could read his mind.

Bucky cleared his throat, "So, how do you know y/n?"

"We met years ago when she came to visit here as a kid. Have been friends since."

Bucky shook his head but clenched his jaw when she still didn't remove her accusing stare from him.

Pietro, sensing the slight tension between them, tried breaking the silence, but Wanda cut him off, "Where have I seen you before?"

Bucky's breath hitched in his throat. You still didn't know who he was and if it was up to him, he would keep it like that for as long as he could. You looked at him as if he was human as if his hands weren't covered in blood as if you weren't scared of him and he would do everything he could to keep it that way.

"I don't know. You must be mistaken." He took a breath to calm himself down. He couldn't intimidate this woman the way he did with his people. He wouldn't give her a reason to doubt him. She clearly meant a lot to you.

As Wanda opened her mouth to speak, you came back from the kitchen, interrupting the conversation.

You looked towards Pietro before speaking, "The boxes are in the back, and please be careful this time."

Pietro brought his hand to his chest as if your words had somehow hurt him. "You hurt my feelings, y/n. When am I not careful?"

You brought your finger to your chin in mock thinking before replying, "Let me think. Off the top of my head, maybe whenever you drive your bike way past the speed limit. I swear to god, Pietro, one day, your speed will ruin all my sweets."

"Ouch, you care about your sweets more than me?" He said as if your words had physically hurt him this time.

This time, Wanda replied, "Pietro, my dear brother, even I care about her sweets more than you."

The both of you chuckled as Pietro huffed and stomped off towards the back.

You looked at James before explaining, "He does the deliveries for me, as a favor. Believe it or not, it's difficult to deliver stuff in a town you know nothing about."

Bucky lightly chuckled before replying, "Tell me about it."

He then looked at Wanda once again and saw that she was staring at him with the same glare from before, but thankfully, you didn't notice.

He knew he had to leave soon. He wouldn't give her enough time to put the pieces together. "Sweets, I should go."

"You, sure? You could stay. I am sure Wanda wouldn't mind."

"No, I know. But I will leave you to it. Bye, sweets. Bye, Wanda." He turned towards the door quickly as if he couldn't get out of there sooner.

"James, wait." You called out to him and he stopped midstep. He will never get tired of how his name sounded on your lips. "Here. You forgot this." You handed him the book he had been reading for the past week and look up at him with a smile on your face.

Yeah, he definitely didn't want you to find out.

As he walked out of the bakery, you turned back towards Wanda, the smile etched on your lips and a soft look in your eyes. "So....." Wanda started in a teasing tone.

"Don't say it. Don't say it."

"He is hot."

You rolled your eyes at her. "What would Vision think, Wan?"

"You know what I mean."

You bit your lips before looking at her. "It's nothing like that. We are friends. Or at least I hope we are."

"Yeah, because going around calling people sweets is the new thing men do."

You plopped yourself on the chair opposite to her before burying your face into your hands. "It's just a nickname that stuck."

Who were you lying to? You couldn't hide from your oldest friend the fact that every part of you knew that him calling you sweets was the best sound in the whole world. She brought her hands to yours and removed them from your face and you looked up to be met by her serious gaze. "Just be careful, y/n. Something about him just doesn't seem right."

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙

The corridors of this building always seemed darker when he came back from the bakery. He already missed how warm and inviting it was. The book tugged under his arm the only reminder that he had been there.

He heard some voices coming from his office and as he walked closer, he recognized the voices instantly.

He opened the door to his office, only to find Steve and Sam standing in the middle of the room.

"You're finally here." Sam almost exclaimed with relief as his eyes landed on Bucky. "What, couldn't handle this place for a few hours without me, Wilson?" He looked at him teasingly.

"Shut it. Stark called, asking about you. I had to make some half-ass excuse to him. But I am pretty sure he knew I was lying. That man is too smart, I am telling you." "Don't worry about it. I'll give him a call. Will schedule a meeting with him."

Sam crossed his arms across his chest. "What, you're not even gonna tell us where you were?"

Choosing to ignore his question, Bucky walked and sat on the couch. "How's Carl? Alive?" He asked as if he couldn't care less about the answer.

"He is still in there. Breathing." Steve replied before contemplating his next words. "Buck, do you think you were maybe a little too harsh on him? A week in the dungeon filled with our enemies is not really a vacation."

"He got what he deserved, Steve. We can't go easy on them."

Sam looked at Bucky with an accusing gaze before speaking up again. "So I lie to Tony Stark and handle all the chaos in here for the whole day and you just conveniently ignore my question of where you were."

Steve gave Bucky a once-over before smirking. "Let it go, Sam. Bucky has got a lot on his hands."

Bucky narrowed his eyes at Steve before looking down, only to find crumbs of cookies still sticking to his hands.

He not-so-subtly rubbed his palms on his trousers before looking up and ushering the both of them outside the room with a lame excuse.

.

He placed the book he had brought with him on his table and opened it, only to find something in the middle of two pages. He opened it to find a small flower kept gently between two pages. A little pressed, but fresh, telling him that you had sneaked it in between today.

He picked up the flower, oblivious to the smile on his face when his eyes landed on a small note sticking to it. In swift handwriting, it read                                                To my favorite customer

Bucky couldn't help the way his heartbeat quickened or how he just couldn't remove the smile from his face. But he couldn't care less.

He had no idea how much time had passed when he heard knocks on the door to his office. Tucking the flower and the note inside the book, he turned towards the door and called out for the person to enter.

When the door opened, his eyes landed on one of his men. "Walker, what do you want?"

"Sir," He said bowing his head a little to him. Bucky never really liked John Walker. He always tried to show himself to be more than what he actually was. But he got the work done and he hadn't given him a reason to not trust him.

"Sir, I checked the collections for this month and I noticed something."

Bucky nodded his head, not really paying attention to whatever he had to say.

"The new Bakery." Bucky's eyes shot up and he tried his best as to not look too interested. "That baker hasn't paid this month too, sir and we can't ignore this. She is trying to rebel. Has no idea what she is trying to go against."

Bucky didn't like where this conversation was going. "It's okay. It doesn't matter. It's just a bakery."

Walker narrowed his eyes at him. When had the most ruthless mafia boss gone so... soft? But maybe he just didn't care for some stupid baker.

"Sir, this sets a wrong example. People will try to imitate her and that is never a good sign."

Bucky was growing impatient now, This isn't how it was supposed to go. "Just let it go, Walker."

"It's okay, sir. I understand that you don't want to get your hands dirty. Please let me handle this. I promise I wouldn't disappoint."

Bucky should have ordered him to not do anything. Should have just given him some other thing to do. But he didn't want to gain suspicions. He couldn't show that he cared about anything. It would always go against him.

He knew this wasn't going to end well, but he nodded his head at Walker. There was no way in hell he would hurt you or anyone without his permission but it didn't mean he was letting Walker anywhere near you without him around.

But among all this, one question lingered in his mind.

Why did he care so much?

Next part 

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[sarahowritesostucky]

📖Make it Stick: Pt. 3 The Knight

Rating: Explicit

Chapter Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Bucky x ofc x Steve

Word Count: 3195

Tags: dark!fic, mob/mafia au, mob!Bucky, mob!Steve, dubcon/noncon, sexual coercion, half-sibling incest, m/f/m, non-con drug use, mentions of torture (non graphic), double penetration, forced tattooing, forced orgasms, enemies to lovers

Summary: When his babygirl—his sweet pea, little one, puppy ... half-sister—is recaptured after her latest attempt at running away, Bucky makes a power play in front of the entire Bratva to remind her exactly who she belongs to.

Dark and smutty content below the break. Consume responsibly.

Wait! I haven't read part 1, part 2!

“Nnn, pl-please…”

Her gasp is hardly audible this time, she’s so out of breath.

Panting from the way the second orgasm’s just ripped through her. And she’s crying still, but only just. Not like before. Because now the pleasure’s overtaken most of the anger, all of the fear, and even some of the humiliation. Bucky pulls his hands from her and delicately eases her panties back into place, smooths her little slip of a dress out for her. He looks up from his spot on the floor.

Her chest heaves with her breathing, the underside of her breasts—beautiful and natural under the silk—on full display for Bucky from this angle. And, Christ, her nipples are pebbled up, just begging for attention. Bucky sees Steve refixing his hold on her waist to support her because she’s gone so slack. She’s shaking against him, his body practically the only thing keeping her vertical at this point.

Inside his pants, Bucky is … uncomfortable. He slowly pushes up from where he’s been kneeling in front of her, coming back to stand at his full height and crowd in close again. He cages her between his body and Steve’s, hands landing on her waist right alongside Steve’s own. “Shh sh sh,” he hushes, mockingly tender. “Don’t you want to say thank you for your orgasm?” He leans in so that the words are whispered against the side of her head. He’s staring at Steve as he says it, and when Lena’s mortified, overwhelmed little whimper comes in response, he doesn’t miss how Steve’s mouth twitches at the corner. Steve likes to play the white knight—and maybe he sort of is, compared to Bucky, but even still, he’s no sweetheart. And he’s enjoying the heck out of this. “Are you hard?” Bucky whispers, and he feels his sweet puppy’s body stiffen between them as she figures out who he’s talking to.

“You have to ask?” Steve answers, the rumble of his voice no doubt felt against Polina’s back. She makes another little outraged cry when Steve presses forward, driving his erection against her backside and pushing her more tightly up against Bucky.

Bucky, who helpfully slots his thigh back between her legs. She shivers as her sex is pressed up against him, going stock still to avoid any stimulation. Bucky coos down at her. He lets go of her waist and cups her face with one hand, tucking her hair behind her ear with the other. “Aw, princess,” he murmurs. “You sensitive now? Hm?”

She sniffles and nods her head. She’s been much more forthcoming ever since the suppository and the pill worked their way into her system. Behind the glossy sheen of her tears, her pupils are even wider and darker than Steve’s. It’s hardly taken any work at all to get her to come twice for him, she’s so keyed up.

Bucky tuts lovingly and brings the still buzzing vibrator up in front of her face. He twists the base, turning it off. Lena’s whole body slumps between them with relief, and Bucky chuckles. “Don’t get too excited. This might not be over for you.”

“W-what …” she swallows dryly. “What do you mean?”

“You still have a choice to make.” Bucky taps the little bullet vibrator against her lips. “Open.” She clamps her mouth shut stubbornly, so Bucky shrugs and rubs it over her instead, smearing her own release onto her lips. He leans in and slots his mouth over hers, licking the taste of her right back. “Mmm,” he hums. “Somebody’s been drinking their pineapple juice.”

She’s glowering at him when he pulls back. Bucky licks his lips like he’s savoring the last taste of a fatty meal. He can tell from the look on her face that he’s actually right: she has been drinking it. He feels a rush of fondness mixed with anger come at that—Fond, because it’s proof that she takes even his smallest teachings to heart.

“No, seriously. That’s why I have a glass each morning. It makes cum taste sweeter. … Pussy, too.”

Anger, because it’s not him she’s been drinking it for.

He forces the latter emotion away with a deep breath and a long exhale. He doesn’t have to be angry, because nobody but him is ever going to taste that pussy again. … Well, almost nobody but him. “Okay, little one,” he sighs. “Time to make a choice.” He reaches around her and tucks the vibe back into Steve’s pocket. Then he looks down and meets her gaze.

Her pretty blue eyes are wide but dazed, high from the drugs coursing through her system. Bucky smiles and cups her face with both hands. She’s so fucking beautiful, with her round little face and plush lips, her pretty blue eyes. They’re near arctic in color—closer to Steve’s cornflower blue than Bucky’s own muddled blue-grey. Sharp and clear, like ice underwater, and positively gorgeous when they’re crying.

Lena sniffles and Bucky’s heart twinges with affection. He leans in and kisses her cheeks, cleaning up her tears. “You need to listen to me now, Polina,” he murmurs, feeling her shudder underneath his touch. “Are you listening?”

She whines a little, not able to give up completely on her stubbornness, even now. Bucky loves her so goddamn much. She tries to squirm in their hold again, but as soon as her over sensitized clit bumps Bucky’s thigh, she’s calming back down. “What?” she asks quietly, sniffling and trying to put on a stiff upper lip. It’s cute.

“It’s up to you, how this goes,” Bucky tells her. He looks over to his right and catches the eye of one of the widows. It’s Belova. He jerks his head for her to go and get the supplies that are waiting in the wings. She disappears and reappears with a rolling tray table of tattoo supplies. “This,” he says to Lena, “is what’s happening.”

She squints in confusion at it for a second or two—the tray of gauze and ointment, inks and gloves and gun—before her eyes register the stencil and read it … and go wide in realization. She jerks in their hold, thrashing, tossing her head back against Steve’s chest in another vain attempt to hurt him. “No!” she huffs, the sound breaking into a pitiful whimper at the end, despite her bravery. “No, you can’t!”

Bucky waits her out, and sure enough, her little tantrum dies down. She cries, and he wipes those tears away, too. “Shh,” he soothes. “It’s not so bad.”

“It is!” she cries. “I hate you. I hate you!”

“You’re a smart girl, Lena. You can’t tell me you didn’t always know you’d wind up here.” He tilts her chin up when she refuses to look at him. Her tearful, angry eyes meet his, and he offers her a tender smile. He gives her another kiss, just a peck on the lips, this time. “I always get what I want, sora mica,” he murmurs, right against her lips.

Little sister.

She shudders underneath his touch but doesn’t shirk away, and Bucky preens because he knows the war that’s going on in her head right now, even if she’ll never admit to it. Revulsion, mixed with lust, and darkness, and something too close for comfort to love. It’s what he used to feel, back before he decided to give up on conventional morality altogether. Poor little Lena, though, he thinks sadly. She hasn’t gotten there yet. Oh well, she’s young, she’ll learn.

“Now,” he tells her, thumbing over the familial cleft in her chin. “You have two choices, sweet pea. You ready to listen to ‘em?”

She grits her teeth and purses her lips in an angry little moue, stubborn thing, though she capitulates when Bucky tightens his grip on her chin. “Yes,” she whispers tightly.

Bucky smiles. “Okay. Now, two things are happening, no matter what,” he says, raising a warning eyebrow at her. “You’re getting this tattooed on your body … and Gleb back there is going for a long swim in the Hudson.” He waits her out while she throws another hissy fit over that, tears leaking and eyes burning up at him. Bucky sighs and looks off to the side until it’s over. Then, when she’s slumped back against Steve again, all tuckered out, he continues, “If you hold still like a good girl, I won’t take your dress off in front of all these people, won’t force any more orgasms outta you down here where everyone can see. And Gleb’ll get wheeled off to his morphine and an easy death. No torture, just the widow’s bite—lickety-split, no fuss-no muss.”

He watches as her eyes flare and her face crumples with suppressed emotion. She composes herself faster this time, though, and he continues softly, drawing her lip down with his thumb. “But, if you make things difficult? I’ll have you squirting all over this floor before I knock you out and ink you while you’re unconscious. And Gleb will have …” he looks off to the side, as if trying to parse out his words, “... mmm, he’ll have a very stressful weekend.” He tilts his head and narrows his eyes, squeezing her chin sternly enough that it smooshes her cheeks the barest bit. “Are you gonna be good?”

She looks torn for a second or two, but then her eyes slip closed in defeat. In Bucky’s hand, she gives the tiniest of nods.

Bucky’s pleased, but he wants more from her. “Tell me,” he commands. “You’re gonna hold nice and still?”

She sniffles and nods again. “Yes,” she breathes. “I’ll hold s-still. I’ll … I’ll be good.”

Her meek response satisfies him. Feeling a sudden wash of tenderness towards her, he leans down and presses their foreheads together and whispers, “Thank you, little one. You know how I hate to see you struggle.”

She shivers against him but doesn’t throw out any bratty quip. She keeps her eyes down, avoidant. Sighing, Bucky pulls back and steps aside to have a word with Belova. He tells her his plans for Gleb, and she gives a sharp nod and heads off to handle it. Bucky knows then that he can put the idiot man from his mind for good. The widows will more than take care of him.

Bucky returns to Steve and Lena, ready to get to work. Really, he’d prefer Natasha to be the one doing this. Bucky’s no amateur with the gun, but he’s not as good as she is. Oh well. He has a steady hand, and the design is extremely simple. Just that one phrase, in cyrillic:

собственность дракона.

Translated roughly, it means: Property of the Dragon.

“Steve,” Bucky says. “Sit with her on the bench. It’ll help keep her calm.”

Along with the cart of tattoo supplies, a rolling stool, a bench, and a padded armrest have been brought over from the Red Room. Steve all but lifts Lena and brings her over there, straddling the bench first before pulling her to straddle it in front of him. Bucky goes about setting up, snapping on a pair of black vinyl gloves while Steve wraps his arms around Lena’s waist and murmurs quietly into her ear. Bucky smiles at the pair of them. Steve cares about Polina, too, has known her for almost a decade, and he’s always had a knack for calming her down. A good thing, since Bucky’s so naturally gifted at riling her up.

He sits on the stool and scoots over to them. Lena watches him warily. Steve’s used both his and Bucky’s discarded ties to bind her arm down at the wrist and at the bend of her elbow, in case she gets second thoughts about her promise of good behavior. Bucky’s mouth quirks at the ingenuity, and his dick twitches at the optics. He’ll have to take a picture, one he’s got the ink in. A shot of her arm; reddened and bleeding with his mark, and his and Steve’s neckties framing it. Fuck, he might jerk off to it sometime.

He spends a minute getting the ink prepared, and then he carefully cleans her inner forearm and applies the stencil. It’s small but long, stretching almost the full length between the ties. It’ll take a good hour or more in its entirety, but Bucky isn’t a sadist: His little one has been through a lot, and they’ve got a long night ahead of them once they take her upstairs. Bucky wants that time to be spent mostly in pleasure, not pain. They’ll just do the outline, for now.

Lena whimpers when the paper peels back from her skin, revealing the design left behind. “Bucky,” she pleads, though one look up at him and her begging stalls. Bucky gives her a grim, apologetic look, and she knows. She knows she’s not getting out of this. She whines lowly and turns her face into Steve’s shoulder.

“Shhh,” he soothes her, his big arms wrapped tightly around her waist, comforting and restraining all at once. “You’ll be fine, hon. This is how it has to be.”

Bucky settles himself and the gun, then turns it on. Soon, the buzzing fills the small space between the three of them. In the background there’s still the noise of the club: music, chatter, bodies moving around. But in their little corner in the back, it almost feels private now that they’re centered around what Bucky’s about to do to her. “Okay, malyshka,” he murmurs, waiting until he’s got her full attention. “Watch the gun. Don’t want you jerking around in surprise.”

He’s a little taken aback by the emotions that hit, as he brings the needle down and starts inking her for the first time. He’s marking her permanently, branding her as his in a way that will never wash off, and from which she can never escape. And despite her tears and the ties binding her arm down, she is sitting there for him, allowing it. That goes straight to Bucky’s cock as sure as anything else he’s ever done to her, and he spends the rest of the session focusing on each line and curve, putting the red ink underneath her skin and trying to work out what it is that’s twisting up in his gut so bad. There’s lust and possessiveness, that much he expected, but there’s also a certain amount of … melancholy? Maybe. Whatever it is, it’s there too. A feeling of resolution, of an era coming to an end. Arousing and yet oddly bittersweet.

Lena’s fist is already clenched when he starts, but he can see her body stiffening further as the burn of the needle really sets in. Her arm flexes and her fingers curl harder into her palm, the veins popping against the strained lock of her inner elbow. Steve keeps up a gentle litany of praise and reassurance in her ear, half of which Bucky hears and half of which he misses due to his own focus on the gun. He’d love to take Steve’s place, be the one to hold her and comfort her through this, but that’s just not possible because he simply doesn’t trust anyone else to do the work.

He’s even glad that Natasha refused to do it, at this point. Because this isn’t just any tattoo. It’s personal and intimate. A promise as good as any wedding ring. Probably better-than, in the fidelity it’ll enforce. Not on Lena’s part, poor thing, but on the part of any man who might dare to entertain the idea of an affair with her. One look at her arm, and that idea would go straight up in smoke. These red words are branding her for life, in more ways than one. It’s only right that Bucky be the one to do it.

“Almost done,” he murmurs when he’s finishing up at her wrist. It’s the most painful area, and he regrets saving it for last. But his girl does beautifully and keeps relatively still, sometimes hissing or whining in pain but never asking for a break, and never twitching enough to throw Bucky off course. He finishes the outline and sits back, setting the gun aide on the cart and reaching for the salve. He smiles at his little one, who by now has stopped crying. “Good job, sweet pea,” he praises softly.

Her defenses are down from having all of her focus on something other than him for so long. She only blushes a little when he uses the nickname, and says nothing snarky back. Bucky’s heart pulls with it. In Steve’s lap, she watches as Bucky uses a tongue depressor to apply the salve in long, smooth strokes over the raw areas. She blinks at her arm like she’s fully waking from a dream. “... That’s it?” she asks, sounding surprised, maybe even disappointed—though that’s probably just Bucky’s wishful thinking.

“For now,” he tells her, bringing out the non-stick pads and adhesive wrap. He’s giving her all the aftercare that he’s neglected on himself—already the back of his neck and shoulders feels tight and unpleasant, and he doesn’t want the same for her. Steve pulls the ties loose to release her arm, and Bucky explains, “You have delicate skin, sweetheart. We’ll let this heal, fill it in another time. Add some other design elements, if you want.” He catches her look of surprise and smiles, then looks away before her expression can shutter on him. He gently applies the pads along her skin, wrapping her up in an opera glove’s length worth of neon pink animal print bandaging, nice and tight. “There you go.”

“Cheetah print, really?”

“Just special for you, my little hellcat. Don’t worry, you can take it off tomorrow.” He rolls out on the stool and goes around to stand just in front of the bench. Briefly, he meets Steve’s eyes, and they have a short, non-verbal conversation, at the end of which Steve nods smally in agreement. “Okay,” Bucky says, reaching out to palm Lena’s face.

She automatically goes to shirk away from it, but Steve whispers something in her ear—Bucky doesn’t hear what—and it makes her settle. She bites her lip and peeks up at Bucky through her lashes and ruined makeup. “I was good,” she whispers, like she’s half-sure Bucky’s going to revoke his end of the deal.

He tries not to let it show on his face, how that hurts him. “Yeah, sweetheart. You were very good.” He bends over to kiss the top of her head, then turns and searches out Belova. She’s standing next to Maximoff now, over at the bar. Bucky goes over and holds out his hand. Pietro shakes first, Yelena second. “Thank you,” he tells them. “For bringing her back safely.”

“Again,” Yelena says with a smirk and a semi-suppressed eyeroll.

“You should get a leash,” Pietro jokes.

“Or a homing beacon.”

Bucky waves them off (though the homing beacon idea has occurred before), telling them to go back to their drinks and enjoy their evening. He doesn’t bother asking if the Gleb issue’s been dealt with—he knows from the look on Belova’s face that it has.

Part four

Masterlist

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