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Hold You Tight: Part 27

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 26 | Series Masterlist | Part 28

Chapter Word Count: Almost 4k

Chapter Summary: An idea comes to you regarding part of your future and Bucky has a few choice words for your parents.

Chapter Warnings: Confrontation, bonding of sorts, inner turmoil, world building, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: I don't know what happened to the original post. Let's try this again! More Hold You Tight, and thank you for sticking with me! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411 , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-in-darkness. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You thought it would feel strange with Curtis hanging out in the kitchen while you baked the brownies, but it wasn’t as bad as you thought, and it was something you’d have to get used to since he would be around you going forward. He didn’t try to fill the silence with small talk unless you asked him a question, likely trying to remain in the “shadows”. You did wonder what was on his mind since he mentioned being trapped, but it wasn’t any of your business. He was your bodyguard and that didn’t mean he’d be your friend. 

“Smells delicious,” he said, standing when you took them out of the oven. 

“Don’t worry. I won't burn myself,” you said, nodding for him to sit back down. “And thanks. I hope you like them.”

“I'm sure I will.”

Ray walked into the kitchen the moment you set the brownies out to cool off and looked between you and Curtis who settled back in his chair. “A treat for breakfast?” he guessed.

“A treat for Curtis,” you said, making your bodyguard smile a little.

Ray blinked hard and slow. “I see,” he said, pushing his glasses up. Did that upset him? 

“Well, that batch is for Curtis. You have first dibs on the other batch,” you clarified. 

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you.” The blonde raised an eyebrow. “And what about the boss?” 

“He’s third. He knows what he did,” you said unapologetically. They were your brownies. You could do what you wanted with them.

Curtis hid a smile before Ray asked, “And how are you feeling?”

You put your hands on the counter and shrugged. “Hard to say since I’m seeing my parents today and still dealing with…”

“Everything,” Ray finished for you. 

You nodded. “I appreciate you asking.” It felt like you hadn’t talked to him in days and you admittedly missed it. Like Curtis, keeping you safe wasn’t a bore or chore in his eyes. He believed you were brave and part of you was starting to believe it, too. 

“We’re all glad you're safe now,” he softly said.

“Careful there. You might be showing emotion,” Curtis said, earning him a glare from his colleague. 

“Where’s Bucky?” you asked. 

“He sulked for a minute when you kicked him out of the kitchen,” he said, making Curtis snort. Again, Bucky knew what he did. “But he’s in his office. Called Steve and Natalia. He also got an update on Lois.”

“How is she?” you asked, hoping that things were still looking up.

“She’s recovering well,” he assured you. You were glad to hear that. “From what we know, she’s stubborn and strong and it’ll take time, but she’ll be fine.”

You let out a breath. “I really need to see her, and I need to talk to Natasha,” you said. A woman you could hopefully help heal and move forward and a woman who was going to help you in some capacity. Both receiving and paying it forward. As that thought settled in your mind, an idea washed over you, making you stand up straighter and look at Ray again. 

“What is it?” he asked. 

“I have a thought,” you answered, trying not to get too excited. “I need to talk to Bucky.”

Curtis jumped from his chair when you walked out without another word, his footsteps behind you nearly silent. He really was going to be a good bodyguard for you. Ray followed, too, likely curious about why you rushed out so quickly.

Bucky looked up from his desk when you walked into the office, a smile on his face when he stood up. “Brownies ready?” he asked, holding his hand up to keep Curtis and Ray from walking in. 

“Yeah, but that’s not what I came in here for,” you said, taking a seat on the sofa. Bucky immediately went to join you. “I have a bit of a crazy idea and I wanted to get your opinion on it.” 

“You want my opinion?” The subtle shift in his posture showed he was touched. “And I’m the crazy one, Kotyonok, so nothing you could say would ever sound crazy to me.”

You didn’t dispute that he was crazy. “So, you know how one of the things that attracted you to me was helping your mom and my generally kind nature?”

He nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“And you helped Natasha however long ago so she could give the women who work at her hotel a better life, right?” you continued. You remembered Natasha telling you if it wasn't for Bucky she wouldn't be where she was. 

“Yes, I did,” he confirmed, not elaborating on how or why.

“What if I do something kind of like that? What if I try to help other women who have…” You swallowed and tried to find the right words, suddenly nervous to ask for his opinion. “Been through stuff, like Lois or me.”

He tilted his head. “You want to help women who have been hurt in some capacity?”

“Yeah. Assault. Abuse. Trauma,” you said. You thought of your own situation, not just Clark's attack, but Bucky systemically making his way into your life. He wasn't out to harm you, but some stalkers did try to harm their victims. “And it's not like I’d have to quit being a florist. I just… I don't know. I want to do something.”

It could've been a means to take back some more control of your life. Being by Bucky’s side, you didn’t want to lose who you were in your core and wanted to continue putting good back into the world. Perhaps you wanted to pay it forward even more since others didn't have the kind of money and protection you now had. 

“It’s stupid, isn't it?” you asked when he stayed quiet. 

You were a florist. Yes, you volunteered when you could and wanted to help people, but it wasn’t your area of expertise. An endeavor like that was out of your depth, wasn't it? 

Bucky framed your face, his eyes flashing with a mixture of pride and fury. “Don't you ever say an idea of yours is stupid. I won't stand for that,” he said, his gaze softening considerably. “Especially since that’s a great idea.”

You studied him, looking for any sign that he was joking. He wasn’t. “Really?” you asked in a small voice.

He kissed the tip of your nose with a smile. “Really. Money won’t be an issue. We can sketch out a plan and figure out what exactly you want to focus on, start local and small. Or you can sketch out the plan and I’ll give input if you seek it out,” he said, a hint of his businessman tone coming out. “If this is really something you want, we’ll make it happen.”

“So, just like that?” you asked. He was really supporting this?

“Of course. It’s admirable that you continue to look out for others and I’m going to support whatever you want to do,” he said. 

“Thank you,” you whispered. You didn’t want to admit how nice it felt that he was backing this up, especially when you had no set plan yet. 

“It also means a lot that you asked for my opinion.”

“Well, we have to talk through these things. It’s what couples do,” you said. 

His smile was brighter than the light in the room. “So, you really see us as a couple now.”

“I guess so,” you said. What choice did you have?

He sighed before he kissed your lips, featherlight and full of promise. “You won’t regret it,” he whispered, suddenly standing and helping you to your feet, too. “You’re still in your robe.”

“I’ve been in the kitchen this whole time,” you reminded him, your mind going back to Curtis and wondering more about his past. 

Bucky checked his watch. “Why don’t you get ready for lunch? I think Curtis and Ray have seen you in your robe enough for one day,” he tried to tease and checked his watch. 

“And what about the day I’m walking around in nothing but my underwear?” you blurted out without meaning to.

Darkness crossed Bucky’s eyes, but it was more lust than rage when he put his hands on your hips. “I’d hate to have to hurt my own men, but I do love the thought of you walking around our home so… freely.”

“I’ll bet you do,” you whispered, knowing he’d probably chase you around or drag you to bed if he had the chance. “But for now, yes, I should get dressed.”

“Don’t want to keep your parents waiting,” he said, letting you pull away to get ready. “I hope I make a lasting impression.”

You shivered, wondering just what kind of impression he wanted to make. “I’m sure you will.”

Curtis leaned against the wall outside of the office while Ray stood on the other side. “You want to help others, huh?” your bodyguard asked.

You stopped to face him. “Yeah, I do.”

Curtis didn’t say anything else, but he looked impressed. So did Ray. You didn’t have time to dwell on that. You had to get ready for a lunch that you didn’t want to go to. 

But your whole life as of late had been a series of events you had to participate in without much of a choice, so what was one more?

Bucky held your hand the entire drive to the restaurant and didn’t force you to talk, which you appreciated since your stomach was in knots. You found yourself playing with the diamond necklace, which he had put around your neck before you left. Your mom would no doubt stare at it or make a comment since you had never had such a nice piece of jewelry. Was this going to be a disaster or were you overthinking it?

“We’ll get through this quickly,” Bucky told you once the car stopped, his lips brushing the top of your hand. “Long enough for me to meet them and send them on their way.”

The knot in your stomach tightened more. How exactly was he going to send them on their way? “And after that?”

“Whatever you want,” he promised, helping you out of the car.

You didn’t pay much attention as you were escorted to the private table, but you knew Ray and Curtis weren’t far behind. The place was bright and airy, but sophisticated. It would've been a nice place to go on a date. Would this lunch sour that idea?

“I’m here,” Bucky whispered, pulling out your chair for you.

Considering the way he burst into your life you never expected to lean on him for anything. You had since your attack and now this, looking to him for support without meaning to. You even asked for his opinion on your idea to help other women, which you did seek out. Who were you becoming?

“Why do I care so much about what they think?” you asked when he sat down beside you.

“Because they’re your parents and it’s natural,” he replied, taking your hand under the table. “But you don’t need them.”

You were about to argue that you did need them before you caught them in your line of sight, your back rigid as they moved closer. They didn’t look overjoyed to see you, which broke your heart a bit. Bucky squeezed your hand before you realized you had squeezed his hand first. This was going to be a long lunch.

“It’s good to see you,” your dad said when Bucky released your hand only to pull your chair back to help you stand. “And you must be-”

“Bucky, her boyfriend. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he said, shaking his hand and smirking when your dad winced and turning a critical eye on your mom. Neither of them hugged you before they took their seats and you quickly sat back down to hide your embarrassment. “You two raised quite the woman,” he added, daring them to say something.

“Thank you,” your mom said, looking over the menu. 

“Since the menu seems to be more important than greeting your daughter, please, pick whatever you want,” Bucky smiled like a wolf getting ready to strike while you gaped at him. “I spare no expense when it comes to her and her… loved ones. Just look at her necklace. I purchased it for our first date.”

Your mom’s mouth fell open and you felt a bit of satisfaction when your dad squirmed in his seat. Did that make you a bad person? “I’m sorry. I meant nothing by it.” Your mom cleared her throat. “We’re thrilled to see you. It’s just with our accounts being frozen…”

“You’ve had a lot on your mind,” you filled in the blanks. You were used to it.

“Yes, I’m sorry about your accounts,” Bucky said without sounding sorry at all and pretended to look over his menu. “Interesting how you always think of others first even when you have a lot on your mind, Kotyonok,” he said loud enough for the whole table to hear. “Makes me wonder what that came from.”

Your mom’s mouth didn’t drop again, but you heard her sharp inhale on her next breath and your dad squirmed again. They weren’t used to subtle insults like that, especially for someone who had just met them. But as Bucky took your hand, you very much felt like his queen and he was defending you as such.

“Aren’t you going to compliment her necklace?” Bucky asked, turning his head to smile at you. “It’s as beautiful as she is.”

Your face felt hot when your parents stared and admired the diamonds. “They don’t have to say anything,” you mumbled.

“But I don’t understand. What kind of parents don’t compliment their child, especially when they haven’t seen them in some time?” he asked. Once again, it was loud enough for them to hear. He was digging the knife in and twisting it in the most passive aggressive way.

“It’s beautiful,” your mom said enviously, avoiding looking at Bucky. 

“Thanks,” he said, flagging the server down and putting a hand to his chest. “Like I said, whatever you want. It’s on me.”

You picked a light meal, knowing there was a high chance you couldn’t stomach something heavy. Your mom chose the highest priced meal, which Bucky merely smiled expectantly. Your dad had the good sense to not do the same. It would’ve been nice if they asked how you were or gave some sort of indication that they cared.

“How did you two meet?” your dad asked to break the tension, which only made you nervous all over again.

“My club, and I very much fell for her first,” Bucky answered easily and leaned over to kiss your temple. “I knew she was the one the moment I laid eyes on her.”

“Club?” your mom questioned. “Since when do you go to clubs?”

“It was for Addison’s bachelorette party,” your boyfriend answered for you, smiling again. “You know Addison, don’t you? I would hope so. She’s practically family to her.”

You took a sip of your water and said nothing as your parents looked more uncomfortable with each passing second. The air was awkward to say the least.  Bucky, on the other hand, looked over the moon one second and was ready to kill the next. It had to be giving your parents whiplash.

“She’s a good friend,” your mom said, her smile shaky. “How’s the shop?” she asked, changing the subject.

“The shop’s great,” you said and found yourself smiling since you did love the place and your job. “Mrs. Crandle is still a great boss and-”

“And you’re still just a florist,” she cut you off dismissively with a shake of her head, wiping your smile away. “You could’ve been so much more.”

Your eyes glossed over, but you held your head high. “There’s nothing wrong with me being a florist, and I am more.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you?”

“Ease up,” your dad whispered to your mom, shocking you both. Since when was he not on her side? Or was it because Bucky glared at them?

“Just a florist.” The man beside you chuckled, a dark and empty sound. “Tell them about the idea you told me about earlier today.”

The knot filled your stomach so much that you feared you’d get sick. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you said, not wanting to hear what they had to say since they never backed you up on anything.

“But it’s a great idea,” he assured you, giving your parents a smile. “Wait until you hear it.”

Your dad leaned forward and appeared interested. Was it for show? “What is it?” 

Bucky nodded, encouraging you to speak up. “I went through something recently,” you said carefully, not wanting to blurt it out. “And it made me realize I want to help others and build a support system for women who have been through things.”

Your parents looked at each other as you held your breath. “That sounds ambitious,” your dad said just as carefully as you. “I realize you have good intentions, but…”

“You can’t just up and decide you want to run a charity,” your mom said, laughing and tapping her finger on the table when Bucky gripped his water glass. “You need more than just good intentions. You need experience and funding, which you have none of.”

You sighed. It was exactly what you expected. They wanted you to be more, but offered no encouragement when you tried. 

“Aren’t you even going to ask what I went through?” you asked, your voice thick with emotion. For the first time, your mom looked worried. “Someone-”

“They don’t deserve to know.” Bucky took a sip before he gently set the glass down, making you eye him warily. He looked like he was ready to explode. “She isn’t just deciding, by the way. She has volunteer experience and she’s going to formulate a plan. And what she may lack in other ‘experiences’, she has passion, heart, and drive. It’s a shame you're too blind to see that.”

Your mom shrank back in her seat, looking as small as you felt. “I didn’t mean-”

“And as far as funding, I’ll be helping her with that since I don't expect either of you to lend her a thing. She has her own money, too. You just didn't know it,” he explained, bitterly laughing again at their shocked expressions. “Jesus Christ. You’re her parents. You should be proud of her. She’s loved by everyone she meets and she has thrived without your support.” He let that hang in the air before he continued. “She has more character in her finger than you two have in your entire body and I will back her up on anything and everything she needs because I believe in her.”

You placed a hand on Bucky’s thigh to ground him, your eyes welling with tears again. You were torn between not wanting him to cause a scene and for him to keep speaking because it just felt nice to hear. It felt pathetic and empowering, a strange combination. 

“I just wanted you to support and love me,” you whispered, your chest aching at finally saying the words. “Why didn't you?”

Why did it hurt so much that you didn't have the love you needed?

Your dad leaned back like you slapped him while your mom didn't move. “We did and do love you,” he swore, looking to his wife for help when Bucky scoffed in disbelief. “Tell her.”

He shouldn't have to tell her that.

“We just wanted you to have direction,” your mom said, flinching when Bucky leaned forward with one elbow on the table. She couldn't even say she loved you. 

“She has always had direction. You just never bothered to look where she was going,” he said, his voice soft and dangerous. “Though I guess your lack of support helped build her into the woman I love, so I almost wonder if I should thank you for not being who she needed.”

“I’m not going to sit here and let you continue to insult us,” your dad said since your mom was rendered speechless for once. 

You almost warned your dad that Bucky wasn't the kind of man to mouth off to, but didn't. 

“You know, I think I know now why you wanted to become a florist,” Bucky said as if he didn’t hear him. “You’re surrounded by warmth and brightness and you get to watch things bloom and grow and thrive because you never had that.”

You blinked away your tears. Bucky saw what they didn’t. You didn’t have to point it out.

“We do love our daughter, even if we didn't show it in the best way,” your dad argued, trying to take your hand across the table, but Bucky pulled you back. It was another brick added to the wall to keep people he didn’t want near you out.

“You didn’t love her enough and you never will.” He took his wallet out and threw some money on the table, more than enough to cover the meals that hadn’t yet arrived at the table. “Thank God I love her enough for all of us and I always will.”

Your mom sniffled. You hardly ever saw her cry. “I…” She trailed off when your boyfriend tossed more money on the table. 

“That should cover the rest of your time here in the city. Take it. Or don’t. But I’m not going to sit here and play nice with people who make my future wife feel low about herself.” He pushed himself up and let your parents see just how large and imposing he was. “Just leave her alone the way you always have.”

They were good at leaving you alone. 

“Please,” your dad begged, making you pause. “We’re sorry.”

“Empty apologies mean nothing,” Bucky said, his eyes narrowed. “Oh, and as it stands, I don’t want you at our wedding, but maybe your loving daughter will change my mind.”

“Wedding?!” your mom exclaimed. 

“Yes, she’s going to be my wife and have a wonderful lifetime with me.” He smiled when you didn't disagree. “Enjoy the rest of your trip.”

Bucky helped you up from the table and led you away, not even letting you look back when you heard your mom choke on a sob. They didn’t chase after you. They never would.

Your steps felt heavy. Your head spun. It was a relief that they knew how you felt in some capacity, but you didn't feel much better. Why not?

“They’re the past and I’m your present and future,” your boyfriend whispered, slipping an arm around you when you bit your lip. “I’m the family you need.”

“Thank you for sticking up for me,” you said, making him preen. 

“I’ll always defend and stick up for you,” he promised, his grip possessive. “And I'm proud of you.”

What was there to be proud of? No, you wouldn't think like that. You were a good person, and a survivor. Your parents and their lack of support and care wouldn't take that from you.

“But I didn’t even get to tell them what happened.” What if they had wanted to help? They weren’t loving, but you were still their daughter and your mom had looked worried for a second.

“You don’t need them. Not when you have me,” he said, leaving no room to argue when he nodded to Ray and Curtis who hovered nearby. “And I won't let them hurt you ever again.”

You should’ve known lunch with your parents meant Bucky would close the door. You would have no choice but to move forward. And you didn't know what that meant except that you were now one step closer to being entirely his. 

This chapter took a lot out of me! As a mom who wants to show nothing but love and support to my babies (and protect them), I want to wrap Kotyonok in a huge hug. Where do we think they'll go from here? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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Sugar Shack

Sugar High| Sugar is Sweet Masterlist | Sugar, Cubed Masterlist

Summary: Thanks to Tony’s continued manipulations, it’s you and Steve and Bucky in the Maldives. And it is hot. Scientist AU

Word Count: 4.1 K

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes x Reader; Allusion to Tony x Pepper x Rhodey

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Not Beta’d. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Roommate/Co-worker au, ANGST! These three are scientists, y'all! 🤓 Employer manipulation/coercion, (Tony is an ASSHOLE) surveillance. Forced proximity/intimacy, hard talks, apologies, truths, safe word, there's only one bed, Norweigan wood and how you solve it, fingering, manual sex, polyamory, beginnings of a polycule.

A/N: I revisited Sugar and the boys from the Sugar is Sweet séries, and let me tell you. Bucky and Steve sure have grown up from their college days. This is related to the Sugar is Sweet and Sugar, Cubed au, but can be read alone. This comes after Sugar High. Likes are welcome, but I’ve worked really hard on this, so if you enjoyed it, even if you didn’t, please let me know by reblogging and commenting. 🥰

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

------

You returned to New York changed.

Not healed, not whole, but hopeful.

And You and Steve walked straight into Stark’s office the Monday you got back from Tokyo, side by side.

Tony didn’t even look up from his tablet.

“We’re done,” Steve said without preamble.

“With you playing god. With the experiments. With us being your favorite fucking variables.”

Tony took a long sip of something violently green and didn’t blink.

“That’s adorable,” he said. “But also irrelevant.”

He tapped something on his tablet and slid a thick folder across the table. The label read

FELLOWS ASSIGNMENT: PHASE TWO

“Three operatives. Two weeks. One island. No oversight.”

You blinked.

“Three?”

Tony glanced up. 

“He’s already there. Got in this morning.”

You didn’t have to ask who. Steve’s jaw clenched. 

“You’re insane.”

“No,” Tony said, “I’m invested. You three were Stark’s most promising recruits. Until you decided to start fucking each other like you were on a goddamn sex carousel.”

You stiffened. Tony leaned back in his chair, all smug calculation.

“I figured, why waste good chemistry?”

“Because we’re not lab rats,” you snapped. “We’re not your experiment.”

“Sugar, everything is an experiment,” Tony said evenly.

“Especially love.”

You stared at him across the glass table. Steve’s body was a wall beside you, arms crossed, jaw clenched.

“This isn’t funny,” you said.

“Didn’t say it was,” Tony replied, not bothering to look contrite.

“But it is real.”

He tapped the tablet again, pulling up a silent video feed: aerial shots of the island, heat signatures already populating the overlay. One of them, alone, glowed steady near the main villa.

Bucky.

Your throat tightened. Steve didn’t look at the screen.

“So what happens if we say no?” Steve asked flatly.

Tony shrugged. 

“You forfeit your contracts, your stipends, and the Stark Fellows program goes down in flames with a PR nightmare I’m not particularly interested in cleaning up.”

“You wouldn’t…” you started.

“Oh, I would,” Tony said, suddenly sharp. 

“You think I don’t know what this is? You three think you’re subtle? I’ve been watching this clusterfuck brew since orientation. You’re brilliant, but you’re human. And humans make messy, complicated choices. This assignment is your last clean one.”

You flinched.

Steve stared at him coldly.

“So this is a test.”

“This is a choice,” Tony said. 

“Why are you doing this?” you asked.

Tony studied you.

“Because I’ve seen what happens when people like me just operate on feelings instead of facts. You can help me prove a point to the world. Me, Rhodey, Pepper… we tried the denial thing. It nearly destroyed us.”

He stood and circled to your side of the table. 

“So, this is the offer.”

He tapped the file.

“You get fourteen days on an island in the Indian Ocean. Doing your job: research for me. You, Blondie, and Mr. Sad Eyes. You wanna make up? Break up? Blow up? That’s your call.”

The room was quiet. Tony leaned forward.

“But let me be very clear. This is your last chance to prove you can handle what you started. Together.”

You looked at Steve. Really looked at him. His brow was furrowed. He didn’t blink. But when your eyes met, something shifted.

He nodded. Barely. Once.

You turned back to Tony. 

“We’ll go.”

Tony blinked like he’d expected it.

“Good,” he said.

“Flight leaves in six hours. Pack light. Hydrate.”

He stood, already moving toward the door.

“And don’t forget the sunscreen,” he called over his shoulder.

“Things are gonna heat up fast.”

The door hissed shut behind him and Steve exhaled slowly beside you. You stared at the silent tablet feed, the glow of Bucky’s heat signature pulsing like a heartbeat.

—--

Twenty-four hours later you and Steve touched down on the island.

The seaplane skimmed turquoise water, the sky above a blistering dome of cloudless blue that made your eyes ache even behind sunglasses.

Steve stared out the window, his clenched jaw at odds with the postcard below. 

Neither of you had spoken much since Stark’s briefing, spending six hours packing, boarding, and flying into a trap labelled research.

The dock stretched impossibly long, ending in sand as fine as sifted sugar. One modern villa rose from the shoreline, all blond wood and glass. Palm fronds rustled in a wind that smelled of salt and mango, but you felt only the stone weight of not ready.

The plane bounced once and slid to a halt. The pilot flashed a thumbs-up that you couldn’t return.

Steve moved first, grabbing both duffels. His motions were automatic, but when he glanced back, a note of apology softened his eyes. You nodded and followed him onto the dock.

Heat swallowed you whole. And there he was.

Bucky Barnes leaned against the rail, one hand around a water bottle, the other braced on wood.

His damp hair was shoved back, and he sported a shadow of stubble, an open white camp-shirt fluttering around lean muscle, and what looked like Stark swim trunks riding low. 

Blue-steel eyes, wary and hopeful, fixed on you the instant you stepped into view. He didn’t wave, and he idn’t move.

He just watched.

A drone dipped overhead, buzzing like a curious gull. Stark’s lens, taking notes. 

Steve clocked Bucky a second later. The shift in the air was small but razor-sharp. 

You kept walking.

Inside, the air was cool. There was sleek tile underfoot one long room, framed in floor-to-ceiling windows, with the ocean simmering just beyond.

A kitchen. Three bedrooms. One shared bathroom with an outdoor shower, mirrored walls, and no privacy to speak of.

A binder sat waiting on the counter, stamped in that insufferable Stark font:

PHASE TWO – INITIAL OBSERVATIONS

You ignored it. Steve didn’t.

He cracked the cover, voice flat:

“Purpose: Environmental stress calibration … Deliverables: daily logs, task-compliance footage … Hydration protocols non-negotiable.”

Page flip. His brows knotted.

"Observe specimens under stress. Test heat endurance in exposed uniform variants. Document hydration patterns. ”

“This isn’t an assignment.”

Steve's tone was sharp. 

“It’s a trap,” Bucky said from the threshold. 

He’d followed but kept to the edge of the room, shirt lifting in the breeze. The late afternoon light lit new ink over the lower sweep of his left ribs: one black glucose ring, six sharp peaks, stamped along the line of his heart.

“Hi,” his voice was quieter this time.

“Hi,” you said back, just as quiet, staring at his tattoo. 

You were frozen. That expanse of skin had been blank the last time you saw it, months and months and a thousand regrets ago.

Bucky saw the moment you noticed. He inhaled, shoulders squaring.

Steve’s gaze moved between you and Bucky. Then, slowly, he stepped forward, closing the space between the three of you. 

“Hey,” he said, voice low and even.

Bucky nodded once, jaw tense. His eyes flicked from you to Steve and back again.

“Picked it up after the lab accident,” he said, voice kept low so it wouldn’t crack.

“Needed a reminder of someone who would always be a part of me, even if a part of me was missing.”

Steve set the binder down, stepping in behind you. His palm rested lightly at your spine. Beneath his T-shirt you knew his own simple-sugar chain lay inked over his heart.

Two molecular diagrams; one research question: you.

You reached out, brushing the linen aside. Bucky’s pulse was quick, but certain.

“Blood sugar…” you whispered, eyes flicking up to his baby blues.

“That’s a statement…” your mouth turned up in a side smile.

His eyes, cautious but hopeful, softened and he smiled back down at you.

“Something I can’t live without.”

Behind you, Steve’s thumb made a silent circle against your spine as if to say: I’m here; this is right. 

The drone outside banked seaward, its buzz fading. Stark would record three elevated heart rates, but not the variable that mattered.

You drew a steady breath.

“Phase Two runs on our protocol.”

Steve nodded.

“Logs and uniforms, fine. But the methodology is peer-led.”

Bucky’s hope sharpened to resolve. 

“And peer-protected.”

The real experiment, trust rebuilt on equations of three, had already begun.

-----

The villa felt too staged to settle in. It was like a set waiting for a scene.

So you wandered. From the kitchen to the deck, the bathroom to the hallway. You brushed your fingertips along the cool teak banister.

You went past the bedrooms (only one made up with linen, the others bare mattresses) and the common room, finding a quiet hallway leading to a spa suite. It had sunken slate floors walls paneled in pale cedar and smelled like yuzu and steam.

A Japanese-style hinoki tub sat beneath an open skylight, long and deep, the wood golden and warm. Beside it was a rinse stool, a polished copper basin, and folded towels stacked neatly. Sliding doors opened to a lush private garden, lanterns flickering at the edge of the foliage.

It was beautiful, still and waiting for use.

You sighed, ignoring the silent camera-drone hovering near like a curious mosquito and avoided your reflection in the massive glass panels as you moved back to the kitchen.

Dinner was a quiet, functional exercise. You and Steve worked the kitchen; Bucky grilled. The fish was perfect, the rice fluffed perfectly.

"So," Steve said, digging into his meal, "how long have you been here?"

Bucky didn’t look up from his plate.

"Couple days."

A beat.

"Alone?" you asked.

"Obviously."

The scrape of metal on ceramic filled the silence. You sipped your wine just to keep your hands busy.

"Must’ve been nice," Steve muttered, not quite biting, but close.

Bucky’s laugh had no humor.

"Yeah. Loved the alone time. Nothing like sweating through drills while a drone drops sunscreen samples and watches you rehydrate."

You winced.

Steve pressed.

"You could’ve left."

"Could’ve," Bucky said. "Didn’t."

That shut down the conversation. You finished eating silently in the open-plan dining room, the floor-to-ceiling windows framing a perfect, burning sky.

Afterward, Bucky disappeared without a word. Steve stayed behind, rinsing dishes with too much intensity, and you grabbed a bottle of water and wandered. You walked the perimeter of the deck, watching the sun sink like an ember into the sea.

Eventually, you came back inside.

You passed Bucky in the hallway, his hair wet, a regulation tight t-shirt clinging to his shoulders, and Stark-issued grey sweatpants.

He paused like he wanted to say something. You opened your mouth to ask where he was sleeping, but he beat you to it.

"Which room did you take?"

"Didn’t," you said. "Two don’t have linens. The third’s half-made."

His brow creased, then smoothed. "Yeah."

"Is that where you slept?" you asked, remembering Bucky was terrible at hospital corners.

"No. I’ve been on the couch."

You blinked, and he shrugged, eyes unreadable.

"Didn’t feel right claiming a bed built for three."

Steve appeared in the hallway, towel slung around his neck, hair damp. He caught the end of Bucky’s sentence and tilted his head.

"Well," Steve said, voice even, "maybe it’s time we stop pretending we’re not all supposed to be here."

He was offering something, but not forcing it. You sighed and rubbed your temple. You were overstimulated and jet lagged.

"I’m exhausted. I’m taking the bed. You two can figure out the couch. Or the mattresses. Or whatever."

You disappeared into the bedroom before either of them could argue.

Inside, the cool air was a welcome shock. You peeled off your clothes and took a five minute shower. When you emerged, you changed into a soft Stark tank and shorts, brushed your teeth, and crawled under the sheets with the lights still on. 

Sleep pulled you under immediately.

—--

Jet lag didn’t forgive.

You woke sometime after midnight, overheated and disoriented, the ceiling fan ticking softly above. Padding barefoot into the common room, the tile cooled your feet. A single lamp cast a cone of gold over the couch.

Steve sat there, elbows on knees, scrolling silently through something on his phone. His profile flickered in and out of the screen’s light, showing the tension in the line of his jaw.

He looked up the moment you neared

“Hey,” he said softly.

You offered a tired smile.

“Jet lag.”

“Same.”

Through the glass doors, the deck shimmered silver under the moonlight. Out there, outlined in pale light, was Bucky. He stood barefoot, hunched over the railing, eyes lost to the ocean.

You opened the door and stepped outside. Bucky didn’t look up. You leaned beside him, watching the white curls of surf kiss the sand.

“My head’s loud,” he said, voice low.

You turned slightly.

“Talk to me.”

He hesitated.

Then, “Sometimes I think I ruin things just by wanting them too much.”

You shook your head. 

“You didn’t ruin anything. We all got scared. We made shitty choices. But we’re still here.”

The door clicked behind you. Steve stepped out with a tray, three mugs of tea steaming gently in the night air. He handed them out wordlessly, then leaned against the rail on your other side.

Bucky looked between the two of you.

“Can we try something different?”

You nodded. He lifted his cup slightly.

“One apology each. One truth. No interruptions.”

Steve blew out a breath.

“You first.”

Bucky’s voice cracked slightly. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t think I was worth loving. That I pushed you away. Pulled Steve in, then turned on both of you. I used distance like a fix. It wasn’t.”

He looked up.

“Truth? I never stopped needing either of you. As friends. As more. You’re home.”

Steve took his time. 

“I’m sorry for managing instead of trusting. For trying to contain what we were instead of facing it.”

He looked at you.

“Truth is, I’m not scared of losing you anymore. I’m scared of not trying again.”

You wrapped both hands around your cup. 

“I’m sorry I tried to love one of you, then the other, like I could separate it. Like I had to choose.”

You looked at them both.

“And the truth is…from the first day in Stark House, I wanted both of you. Still do. Not because I’m confused. Because I finally know what I need.”

Steve cleared his throat. 

“Ground rules recap: Total honesty. One safeword if things spike: ‘Fox,’ from Mount Inari.”

Bucky huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh.

“Fitting.”

You nodded. 

“And no re-litigating old guilt. We apologize once. We live differently after that.”

Bucky lifted his cup.

“Then here’s to living differently.”

Three cups clinked. Small vow, big shift.

You three finished your tea in silence and then went back into the common room. On a bookshelf was a shōgi board.

Steve noticed it first.

“You remember this? We had one in Stark House.”

Bucky went over and ran a finger over the gold general. 

“You called it a bishop and stacked them like Jenga.”

“I was concussed from a game.”

“You were drunk.”

You poured more tea before they could revive the debate, bringing one cup to Bucky, one to Steve, and kept the last for yourself.

“Truth,” Bucky said after a sip. 

“I miss how close we were in Stark House. The affection, the comfort…” 

You looked at him, then Steve.

“Okay. Ground rule Number Four,” you said. 

“No pressure. No expectations. But if we want comfort, or affection, we ask. And we trust the answer.”

Steve nodded. “Agreed.”

Bucky’s voice was quiet. “Of course.”

You reached for their hands. 

“Then come to bed.”

The master bedroom was cool again. You watched as Steve claimed one side, lying back with hands behind his head. 

You paused to let yourself feel the gravity of what you’d just said, of what you were choosing.

Bucky hovered in the doorway.

Waiting.

You reached a hand out.

“Middle’s mine. Always was.”

He smiled softly and stepped forward.

Under the covers, Bucky's thigh brushed yours and you felt the slow drag of Steve’s thumb at your wrist before he pulled away, reminding you of what you once had. But when you found their hands under the covers, you reminded them of what was there now.

Safety.

Honesty.

Hope.

And for the first time in a long time, sleep came easy.

—----

You woke slowly, warm and surrounded.

One leg was tangled with Steve’s, the other bracketed by the heavy weight of Bucky’s thick thighs. Your head rested against Steve’s chest, his steady heartbeat loud in your ear. Bucky’s arm curved loosely around your waist, palm splayed low over your stomach.

You stayed still. Drenched in warmth, in memory and in want.

Steve shifted first, breathing a half-groan into your hair. Bucky followed, hips rolling once, barely, against your ass. You felt both of them, thick with sleep-hard arousal.

There was the slow press of Steve against your belly, mirrored by Bucky’s heat at your spine. Neither of them moved with intent, just the lazy, helpless friction of sleepy bodies molded to yours.

Neither of them moved with intent, just the lazy, helpless friction of sleepy bodies molded to yours.

But then Steve’s hand found your hip. Bucky exhaled into your hair. And you knew.

They were awake.

You lifted your head.

“Hey,” you whispered.

Steve blinked his eyes open, pupils slow to adjust, mouth already parted like he’d been dreaming something filthy.

“Hi,” he murmured, voice hoarse.

Bucky’s voice came next, rough against the nape of your neck.

“Mornin’, Sugar.”

You shifted between them just enough to see both faces.

“I’m awake,” you said softly. “And I’m asking. We all need release.”

Steve’s thumb brushed your hipbone. 

“Are you sure?”

Bucky’s hand flexed at your waist. 

“We don’t have to…”

“I want to take care of us,” you said.

“Like this. Just… like this.”

That quiet paused everything. Then Steve kissed your forehead.

“Okay,” he whispered.

“Tell us what you want. Remember the safe word.”

“I do. Don’t think I’ll be using it.”

You reached for Steve first, sliding your hand beneath the covers and wrapping around him, thick and hot and already pulsing against your palm. He pulled a shuddering breath.

Bucky kissed the back of your shoulder before slipping his hand down your shorts, easing between your thighs.

You gasped.

He murmured into your skin, “Still okay?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Touch me. Please.”

And he did.

Two fingers, soft at first, stroked through slick warmth. His body curved tighter behind you, breath coming fast. You rocked against him instinctively, while your hand on Steve stroked tight and slow.

Steve cupped your jaw and kissed you, open-mouthed and aching. His other hand covered yours where it moved over his cock, guiding you harder.

Bucky groaned into your neck, one hand deep in your pussy, vibranium relentlessly rolling your nipple.

You whimpered as Bucky whispered into your skin.

“Fuck, you feel good.”

You tipped your hips for him, greedy for more. The rhythm he found was unhurried, circling, dipping, curling, until your thighs trembled. Your release crested like a tide, quiet but consuming, your cry swallowed in Steve’s kiss.

“Good girl,” Bucky whispered, still stroking you through it.

Steve’s hips jerked in your hand. 

“You’re incredible,” he gasped, “...I’m not gonna last…”

“Let go,” you told him. “Let me take care of you.”

He did, pulsing hot in your fist, forehead pressed to yours, lips parted around a groan. Then Bucky’s hand moved faster at your core, his hips rutting against the small of your back. You reached for him and found him straining against the waistband of those grey Stark sweats.

“I’ve got you too,” you whispered, and wrapped your hand around him.

He choked on your name as he came, quickly, forehead buried in your shoulder, the word hot against your skin. 

The silence after was thick with breath and the scent of sweat and skin and sex. No one rushed to speak. You were still sandwiched between them, wrecked and warm and not even remotely sorry.

Bucky kissed the crown of your head. 

“You okay?”

You nodded, utterly sincere.

“Oh, Yes.”

Steve curled a hand around your waist as Bucky went and got towels.

“I know that wasn’t slow, but we’ll take this slowly,” you whispered.

Steve chuckled, eyes closed as Bucky slipped back into bed.

“I’d ask to let me lick you clean, but if I put my mouth on you, you wouldn’t leave this bed all day,” said Steve, licking his lips.

You shivered.

“I know,” you smiled. “But we’re going slow, remember?”

“No. My smaller brain is in charge right now,” replied Steve.

You sucked your teeth.

“Okay, Mr. All-But-Dissertation.”

“My dissertation is the only thing not hard right now.”

You giggled. Something soft came from behind you.

“Defended right before the accident.”

You turned to Bucky and looked into his eyes.

“Congratulations, Dr. Barnes.”

Steve grabbed your hips as you arched into him while kissing Bucky.

“Shit, need to get to writing…” panted Steve, eyes watering with want.

You rolled your eyes at the old competitiveness.

“You two are going to ruin me."

"If you let us," came Bucky's soft reply.

You buried your face between them and let yourself be held.

Happy.

No shame. No guilt.

Just three hearts, still beating.

—--

Your workday started with a ping.

Actually, six.

Your Stark tablet lit up in quick succession:

07:12 – TONY STARK @ STARK HQ

➤ Hope you stretched. ➤ Daily sync in Lab 3 at 08:00. Bring your brain. Bonus points if it’s caffeinated. ➤ Don’t blow anything up before I log on. No promises? Thought so. ➤ Also: I need baseline biometrics. Check the drone. Surprise! ➤ Also also: how’s my favorite emotionally repressed trio? Sleep okay?

You blinked at the last message.

The audacity. The accuracy.

Honestly, it was starting to feel like surveillance kink.

There was no use pretending he didn’t know. You could smash your tablet against the wall and it would still beep with his next message before you swept the shards.

You crawled out of bed quietly. Steve was starfished and blissed out on one side. Bucky was curled around a pillow on the other. Both were snoring. 

It was obscene how peaceful they looked after the way they'd wrecked you this morning, Steve’s mouth at your throat, Bucky’s hand between your thighs, both voices in your ear.

“Does Stark sleep?” you muttered, sliding off the mattress and padding barefoot toward the en suite.

“No,” Steve grumbled after you, blinking blearily. Bucky muttered something foul and buried his face in the pillow. 

“He recharges through chaos.”

The villa’s open-plan kitchen was quiet as you sipped water and tapped through Tony’s messages, scrolling past three new data requests, a flagged "URGENT" note about hydration tracking, and an image attachment of what looked like… a flying beetle?

You narrowed your eyes.

“Wait a damn minute…”

Right on cue, the sleek black insectoid drone hovering in the corner of the room emitted a cheerful little chirp. Its LED eye winked red, then green, like it was proud of itself. This was a different, smaller drone from last night.

“Tony,” you said aloud, already dreading the answer.

The tablet pinged again.

➤ Meet B.E.T.S.Y. 3.0! Bio-Energy Telemetry Surveillance Yielder. Isn’t she cute? ➤ She’s been recording vitals and environmental data since Bucky landed. She’s also motion-synced to detect stress patterns. You’re welcome. ➤ Oh, and I blurred the nudity. Mostly. Scout’s honor.

You squinted at the drone, wondering if it had hovered outside the bedroom earlier. Steve came and leaned on the counter beside you.

“Is that what blinked at me in the outdoor shower yesterday?”

Two more pings lit up.

➤ FYI: I need data on hormone shifts across shared poly-cortisol dynamics, so you, Barnes, and Rogers need to wear biometric rings all week. Try not to break them during any… recreational entanglements. ➤ Also, the midnight balcony reconciliation? Very touching. Genuinely. Might enter it in the next Stark Industries leadership retreat video. Keep it up,team.

You poured yourself a glass of water, resisting the urge to chuck the tablet into the surf.

Footsteps approached. Bucky padded in shirtless, his hair damp, sweatpants slung low on his hips, already scowling. 

“Why was that thing watching me stretch?”

Steve didn’t look up from peeling a banana. 

“Tony says she’s tracking muscle fatigue.”

Bucky pointed at the blinking orb. 

“She just tried to follow me into the bathroom.”

You took a long sip of water and smirked. The three of you stood in silence, staring at the drone.

It chirped. Then Steve spoke.

“So… group mission to neutralize B.E.T.S.Y.?”

You picked up the tablet again, swiped over to the diagnostics interface, and smiled. 

“Already halfway there.”

And in New York, Tony Stark sat on his balcony, sipping espresso and smirking as he watched the biometric vitals of his three most chaotic proteges spike in sync.

“God, I love science.”

——

Feedback is life! 😁

[zapnshock]

Little Surprises 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, cheating/established relationships, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Andy Barber, side of Mike Weiss

Summary: You have a baby on the way but it’s not the only surprise.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

"You're nervous," Andy says as he sits beside you. You look down and stop your leg from bouncing.

"Sorry. Er... I am." You answer.

"About?" He prompts.

"The baby, just in general. I guess. It's a lot. I've been reading so much and... feels like a whole mountain," you sit back and cradle your hands in front of your stomach.

"I don't relish that feeling but I remember it well," he says.

"Mm. Mr. Barber, you don't have to stay."

"I don't mind," he leans back and stretches his neck. "It's kind of... exciting. My boy's about to graduate. He's done with mom and dad. It's almost... nostalgic," he shrugs. "Unless... you don't want me here."

"Well, erm... it is nice to have someone. It's a lot to go to these all alone."

"Yeah, your husband didn't come to the others?"

"Not yet. He's very busy. And he's my boyfriend," you sigh. "Things happened quick."

"Ah, right," he nods.

You shrink down. You must see very naive to someone like him. You have a baby on the way and a boyfriend too important for either of you.

"Well, what about mom? Your mom? Laurie's was elbow deep in everything about the pregnancy." He twirls his thumbs around each other. "The appointments, the shower, the nursery... felt like she didn't trust me."

"Oh, no. My mom... passed. In high school."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"Not your fault. She wouldn't be very much help either." You squirm and clasp your hands tightly. "I can do it. I think. I... I think I'll be a good mom because I always wanted one... maybe that's stupid."

"I don't think so. Parents are... tough," he replies. He plays with the knot of his tie. "My dad wasn't there. Hasn't been. He's in prison. Better for everyone that way."

"Oh my." You murmur. "I hope... I just don't want to ever do that. Leave my baby behind, you know? I... maybe... maybe I didn't think this out."

"Sweetie, please, you're going to be great because you are thinking about it at all. Lots of people don't. You will do this. It'll be fine." He puts his hand on your shoulder and rubs your arm. "It's okay to be scared. It's good. It means you care."

"Thanks--"

Your name undercuts your words. You look over at the nurse and gulp. You stand. Your purse falls onto the floor.

Andy scoops up the bag and hands it to you. You take it with a shaky smile.

"Hey, you want me to come with you?" He offers. "Up to you."

"Um," you glance at the nurse. "Okay. If it's okay."

"Sure," he stands up.

He follows you across the waiting room and down the hall. The nurse tells you to take off your shirt and put a hospital gown on. Andy shifts.

"I'll stay in the hall," he assures.

The nurse leaves and shuts the door. You take of your shirt and put the gown on. You go to the door and open it and inch.

"It's okay now, Mr. Barber."

He pushes away from the wall and comes in. He closes the door and sits in the chair across from the bed. You climb up and lay down. You wiggle your feet restlessly as you stare at the ceiling.

"Forgot what it was like," he mutters. "Doctor's and stuff. Laurie's been bothering me to get my cholesterol checked for years."

"She cares a lot about you," you say.

He hums but doesn't say anything.

The tech enters before the silence can grow tense. She greets you and covers your bottom half with a sheet. She pulls your waistband lower and tucks the top into it to bare your pelvis.

She blocks Andy's view of you as she squeezes the gel onto the wand.

"I'll be cold," she warns.

She presses it against your pelvis and you flinch. She feels around as she looks at the screen, dragging around your stomach and pelvis. She pushes down and chimes.

"There they are," she gestures to the screen. "And they are very healthy." She continues to shift. "Just gonna get as many images as I can."

"Okay," you lay still as she continues. Beyond the physical, you feel like little more than a cadaver.

"You two must be very excited. Oh and they're just the perfect size."

"Um, er," you stammer. How do you explain that Andy is your boss, not the father.

"We are. Very," Andy says. "Can I get a closer look?"

You nod and the tech angles around. He gets up and stands behind her as he looks at the screen. You shyly peek up. His lips part as his blue eyes almost gleam.

"Wow," he utters. His throat bobs.

"Just a little bean," the tech says.

You push yourself up on your elbows to see. You stare at the pulsing image. There's a baby in you. A real life inside.

Your heart clutches as your eyes crest. You're going to bring a baby into all this? Into Mike not showing up? Into being alone and afraid?

You lay back and breathe out until the tears recede. Andy stays close, startling you as he touches your hand. He smiles down at you.

"It's so amazing, isn't it, sweetie."

You blink and nod. "Yeah, uh, yes."

"We can send you a few with you to put on the fridge," the tech says. "Show family."

"Oh, sure," you agree. You can show Mike. Maybe then, he'll show up.

[zapnshock]

Down Home 2

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

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as non/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: The world’s most famous heroes walk into a small town diner and change your life.

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

Note: Because of this.

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

Love you all to Jupiter and back. Take care. 💖

Bucky yawns as you take his plate. He rubs his eyes as Steve blinks long and hard. You look out at the dusty old road. Tumble Down’s a long way out from anywhere. 

“Y’all gonna drive all night?” You wonder aloud. 

Steve sniffs and Bucky grumbles. “Gonna have to,” the latter says. 

“There’s a motel ‘bout two hours down. Truckers stop that way to rest but the last one came through, he was scratching from the bed bugs.” You cluck. “Those men work hard, ya know, but they just don’t make nothing easy."

“Two hours?” Steve echoes with a nod. You put his plate on the other as you pull your focus back. 

“Won’t be far,” Bucky sounds unconvinced. “I’ll just close my eyes a little. Tell me if I swerve--” 

“Buck.” 

The man chortles. “You know I’m kidding.” 

You look at the plates and then them. You don’t know if your ma and pa will believe you when you tell them. Wouldn’t it be better to show them? 

“Well, ya know, there’s spare rooms at my place. If it’s not forward of me,” you smile. “Oh, gosh, it must be, huh?” You cradle the plates against your stomach. “But it’s a lot closer. Twenty minutes or so.” 

Steve scratches his jaw and Bucky combs his metal fingers through his hair. They share a look you can’t decipher. The Captain looks at you. 

“That wouldn’t be too much?” He asks. 

“I don’t think so. I can call ma and pa, let them know. They love company.” 

“Hm,” Steve tilts his head. “Don’t feel like you have to be so nice.” 

“Why wouldn’t I be? Y’all are so nice and you’re heroes. Least I can do is put the bill on the house and get you a good night’s rest,” you beam. 

“Now that you won’t do,” Bucky takes out his wallet. “Girl like you’s earned a big tip.” He slaps bills down on the table. “Buy yourself something pretty.” 

“Maybe just a bag of feed for Cindy Lou,” you chuckle, “thank you, sir.” 

“Bucky,” he looks at your full hands. He scoops up the bills and reaches to tuck them in your apron instead. “We’ll take the rooms. I need to lay down.” He leans back and rolls his shoulders. “Someone has to work on their aim.” 

“Or you need to work on your reflexes,” Steve scoffs. 

You chuckle and leave them to bicker. It’s cute. Like Mrs. and Mr. Owens. You swear they could argue about the colour of the sky. 

You put the dishes in the window and stand on your toes to see Darnell. He’s got a paper back bent as he reads the curling pages. He glances over. 

“I’ll get ‘em in a sec,” he assures. “Wanna finish this part.” 

“Sure thing,” you chirp. 

You turn and stop short. You spin again and head down to the tiered shelf. You slide the pie from the middle and put it to the side. You turn and take two of the scalloped plates from the stack. You cut two slices and carry them to the only occupied table. 

“The apple pie’s going to go stale if it doesn’t get ate,” you put the plates down. “Can ya help me out?” 

Steve’s check ticks as his lips curve. “Apple pie? Well, don’t get much more American than that.” 

“But nothing’s cheesier than the Cap,” Bucky snorts. He gets a sharp look from his lifelong friend. 

“Enjoy,” you chime and retreat. 

You rock on your soles patiently. You don’t have much left on your shift. Amy will be here soon for the night shift; the truckers tend to come by after midnight. 

“Mm, the cook make this?” Bucky asks. 

You drag yourself from your thoughts and pop your head up. “Um, no. I did. I bake ‘em at home. Owner lets me sell them here.” 

“As he should. It’s very good,” Steve praises. 

“Gee, really? It’s my granny’s recipe.” 

Steve hums in pleasure. “You know, think we’ll finish this and wait for you outside before anyone else shows up.” 

“Good idea,” Bucky gulps. “I don’t got that energy right now.” 

“Fair enough. I’ll let y’all be in peace,” you say. 

You go into the kitchen and swipe up the plates. Darnell looks over as the door swings shut. “Said I’d get to ‘em.” 

“It’s no worries. I don’t mind. Nothing else to do around here.” You bring them to the sink and place them inside. You crank on the faucet and scour the porcelain. 

All in all, it’s not been a bad day. But now that you think about the night, you’re nervous. Ma and Pa sure will be surprised, but what about after? They might not be so impressed that you offered them to stay. 

🥧

“Y’all just gotta follow me,” you stand by the open door of your pa’s truck. “I’ll drive slow.” 

“Think we can keep up,” Bucky says. 

You smile and turn back. You grab the door and the seat. “You need help?” Steve offers. 

“Nuh uh,” you lift your foot onto the metal step, “got it.” 

You haul yourself up and pull shut the door. You give a thumbs up through the window. The men watch you as the stand by their motorcycles. You must look a little silly to them. The few city folk you’ve met, seem to think the people around her are simple. Maybe you are. 

You back out and spin the wheel. You head down the gravel road, two hands on the large ridged wheel as you steer into the rising night The closer you get to home, the more restless you are. 

As you pull in, you see your pa on the front porch where he always in. In his rocking chair. You shift into park and kill the engine. You get out as the bikes rumble up behind you. You hope down, the keys jingle, purse bouncing on your hip. 

“Hey, pa, is ma inside?” 

“What’s that racket?” He growls, squinting past you as he leans to one side.  A headlight gleams back at him. 

“It’s uh... company?” You stop at the bottom of the steps, just within the yellow sheen of the porch light. The mosquitoes buzz past your ears and your swat them away. A moth’s shadow circles over you. “Some diners...” 

“We ain’t running no hotel,” he harrumphs as the roar behind you quiets. 

“I know, pa. It’ll be my responsibility. Just wanted to talk to ma--” Footsteps crunch closer behind you. 

“Sir. I wanted to thank you myself for your hospitality. Your daughter’s been very kind to me and my friend.” 

Steve steps up beside you. You glance over at him nervously then back to your father. He stops his chair from rocking and leans forward. He blinks. 

“Heavens, your ma’s right about my glasses. Best start wearin’ them,” your pa shakes his head. “I can’t be seein’ straight.” 

“Pa,” you breathe, “It’s him.” 

“Steve Rogers, sir,” the blonde climbs the stairs and offers his hand. “Nice to meet you.” 

“Captain,” your father stands and shakes his hand emphatically. “An honour, if I ever known one. My wife’s grandfather, he was a service man. My own granddaddy too. Over on the islands.” 

“It was a big effort, for everyone,” Steve says. 

“Sergeant,” your pa slips his hand free. Bucky steps up, much less bold than the other man. 

“Sir,” Bucky responds quietly. “Hope it’s not too much. Just for the night.” 

“Make yourselves at home,” your pa insists. “I’ll go get Yvette. She’ll be over the moon. She ain’t gonna believe me.” 

“I’ll get her,” you offer. 

“Okay, okay,” your pa stands marveling at the Cap. “That shield is shiny as it looks on the TV.” 

Steve reaches back to unstrap the shield and presents it. You flit inside just as your eye meets Bucky’s. He nods before he turns to the other men. 

The floorboards creak as you go inside. You put your purse on the narrow table against the wall. You can hear the TV in the kitchen scratching through the old speakers. 

Your ma’s in there, at the table with the small box TV and it’s crooked antenna. You recognise the voices of the old soap characters she adores. She likes the ones from the nineties, only complains about the new ones. 

“Hey, ma,” you greet her. 

“Where’s your pa? Still outside?” She doesn’t look away from the small screen. 

“Uh huh. He’s uh... chatting with our guests.” 

“Guests?” She sits up tall and peels her eyes away from the TV. “Who’s that then?” 

“Ah, er, it’s uh--” 

“Yvette, you best not have nothing on your dress. We got some fine gentleman here,” your pa stomps down the hallway. “Some heroes.” 

“Heroes?” Your ma stands and rubs her hips. “What’re you on about, Ger—Oh, my lord! Is it—It’s-- he’s so blond!” 

She fans herself and bounds toward Steve as he stops behind your father. “And he brought that other one, didn’t he?” She peeks behind him. “And you look mighty beat. You need some food and some showerin’ and some beds.” 

“Maybe the last two,” Steve says. “Your daughter fed us down at the diner.” 

“Good girl,” your ma praises. “Well, then, we’ll go get them beds made up and Ger can show you where to wash up. Ah gee, henny,” she calls you by her little nickname. “You didn’t say, did ya?” 

“I was trying,” you murmur. 

“Come on, I gotta air out the rooms.” She grabs you and takes you past the super soldiers. They seem bigger as you pass. 

Your ma drags you upstairs. She stops you at the linen closet and takes out a stack of bedding. She dumps it in your arms and snaps the door shut. You follow her to the guest room at the end of the hall. 

She opens it up and flicks on the light. It’s been a while since you used the space. Not since Great Aunt Dorothea came and got in that spat with your ma. 

“You’ll have to get the old ones of,” she dabs her forehead with the back of her hand. “I’ve been sweatin’ my wig off all day.” 

You chuckle and go to work. You unhook the corners and gather the old bed in a ball. You pull on the fresh sheets and a quilt. You fluff the pillows too. You open the windows, shaking out the curtains. 

“Have to do the other too,” she girds. 

“Yes, ma.” 

You go into the next room. She lingers at the doorway. You watch her trying to listen to what’s going on below. 

“They came down to the diner?” She wonders as she leans on the frame. 

“Yep. I was just as surprised. They just rode right up lookin’ for a side of bacon,” you cheep. “They’re very polite, ya know?” 

“Well, they’re the old-fashioned type, ain’t they? Respectable too. Handsome,” she feels along the collar of her old farm dress. 

“Ma,” you chide as you heave the old bedding toward her. 

“You can’t deny it, can ya, sweet girl? Two of ‘em, too. What’re they doin’ in Tumble Down?” 

“Doin’ what every else does. Pass through,” you shrug. 

She nods and her face falls. “Yeah, it’s always the same old ‘around here, isn’t it?” 

“Same old,” you agree as you gesture past her. She lets you into the hallway and you grab the other disposed bedding. 

“Doesn’t have to be, ya know? Them boys are single.” 

“Ma,” you guffaw. “Don’t be silly.” 

“Well, I think I’m a bit past all that. But you--” 

“Ma,” you repeat. 

“Oh, you’re always so picky. First, you won’t go out to the fair with Jacob, then you won’t let Leslie take you on a picnic--” 

“Jacob spat on me in grade school and Leslie only wanted to make Corrine jealous,” you huff as you carry the sheets down the hall. “I’m happy as I am, ma. It’s nice to get a bit of excitement, but I’m not dreamy-eyed. I know where I belong.” 

She tuts. “You’re a good girl, henny. Too good for yourself.”  

You go downstairs and turn down the hall. The pipes thrum as the shower runs. As you enter the kitchen, you see Bucky at the table by the small television. Your dad’s hovering by him, yapping about what he saw on the documentary channel. 

“And they went to Belgium. You could see the broken trees, some of em...” 

Bucky glances over as you near the laundry room door. He brightens up as he watches you. You dip your chin down. You want to apologise to him. Your dad’s not much of a talker most of the time but when he latches onto something, he sure can get carried away. 

Oh well, it’s one night. One night and they can go back to being heroes. And you can gossip to Corrine about how you met most famous men in the world. 

[zapnshock]

Touch The Darkness

dark mafia!Steve Rogers x female reader

summary for this chapter: Accompanying Steve to a club goes terribly wrong. However, what follows may shake you even more. Certain self-discoveries are best left ignored and denied, right?

warnings for this chapter: dark!Steve Rogers; forced marriage; violence; being turned on by violence (not against the Reader); hurt her and you die trope; hurt/comfort of sorts; smut; gun kink; oral (m receiving); fingering; anal play; double penetration; dirty talk; praise; D/s undertones;

word count: 6.2k

Author’s Note: We're on the penultimate chapter! It means certain discoveries and revelations about Princess and Steve's dynamic. Personally, I'm happy that I've written it all exactly like I imagined when I created the outline for all ten chapters of this fic 😎 Also, just to calm you all down, the main story will end on chapter 10, but it doesn't mean I won't write some fics and drabbles for Steve and Princess in the future.

Also, in this chapter, there's a tiny blink-and-you'll-miss-it reference to @krirebr's vampire Steve 🤭 No, he doesn't appear. There's just a particular innuendo.

Touch the Darkness Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Chapter 9. Eruption 

~ * ~

A myriad of colorful splashes chased each other along the dark, cathedral ceiling. Following their drugged dance felt both tiring to your eyes and childishly relaxing. 

When Steve informed you of the opening of a new club - one that was officially owned by someone else, but in reality fell under Steve’s command in that twisted dark web of connections you learned intertwines the city and the whole fucking coast up to the Capitol - you snorted at him that you’re not a college girl interested in spending her Friday evening skanky, drunk and groped. 

The last word you should’ve skipped, because of course your husband grinned that lethal way that wordlessly reminded you that you’d most certainly be groped and ruined by him anyway. 

Thankfully, Steve didn’t utter a word about the importance of that club opening to his business, or reputation, or whatever. You didn’t give a damn about any of that. Honestly, you doubted Steve did either. 

It was probably an opportunity for him to remind someone that he was still the biggest predator, or to put deep fear in them. For you, it was a chance to get a migraine. 

However, Steve had one argument - the only one he used - that won you over. 

Pepper was going to be there.

Apparently, her husband loved all kinds of extravagant parties and had a solid chunk of the club’s profits. Considering the interior design of that monstrosity, you suspected Tony also had some influence on that matter. It was gothic meets the 80’s disco, though you couldn’t exactly imagine a gothic staple in the form of a vampire preying through the glittery crowd to sink its fangs into someone’s neck under the disco ball sparkle. 

But Pepper’s company was always welcome. Not only she became a true, honest ally in this murky underworld, she also helped you remember there were pieces of your life worth enjoying, instead of just drowning yourself in bitterness and hate. 

She was exceptionally smart in assessing you, too. She never pointed out money or status as something of value, but rather opportunities to use to help others and small bits of care you refused to see on your own. 

She also had a hilarious evil pixie side and roped you into making sassy, judgmental comments on the people dancing the night away on the dancefloor below. 

You both leaned on the wooden balustrade of the choir balcony of the former church that now served as the VIP lounge, watching and laughing as the colorful crowd swayed on the shiny-tiled dancefloor. Behind you, Steve, Tony and some two other men whose name you chose to ignore, had a business conversation. Bucky and Nat were off to the side; partially on duty and partially off of it, having some almost-silent conversation with Tony’s man, Happy. 

Despite your vehement reluctance at first, you found yourself relaxed and having fun (which you assigned mostly to Pepper’s influence). 

Steve didn’t attempt to show you off in any way; he didn’t suggest you go dancing, nor did he send you away when he started talking business. And when you walked back to the sofa, his body shifted your way without him losing his focus on the conversation. 

His hand landed on your knee, giving it a gentle squeeze, but thankfully not moving upward in a bold, inappropriate way you knew he was capable of. 

Pepper smirked at you when she noticed the gesture, then grinned unrepentantly when you shrugged but made no move to knock off Steve’s hand. In a way, it was comforting to have him acknowledge your presence; even if a part of you was irked at the possessive side of it. 

Not to mention the third, unsophisticated inner goblin, who wanted you to spread your legs a bit and have Steve’s fingers glide up your thigh. 

With a sigh, you relaxed against the soft cushions and let your gaze roam the ceiling for a moment, chasing the spots cascading off of the disco balls and chandeliers. You shifted your attention back to the table when a hostess brought fresh drinks. 

She set the glasses on the table, perfectly balancing the smoked-glass trey on one hand. The hostess behind her held the trey more wobbly, though still gracefully. You suspected she had experience in the job, but not necessarily in serving a group that had to at least be rumored to be criminals. 

You glanced at her face, noting the perfectly maintained calm, polite smile. Not a drop of sweat, nor a tick of nervousness. She actually reminded you of Natasha, once her mask was torn off and her true identity was revealed.

That realization made you pause. 

You weren’t a behavioral psychologist, but that level of composure and control of the smallest muscles in the body rang alarms in your head. Your own body shifted, your back straightened and your muscles tensed. 

You felt a twitch of Steve’s fingers against your knee.

It seemed to be less than a blink of an eye when the hostess tilted the glass trey and a glint of metal was seen before sparks ignited.

At the same moment brutal force knocked you off the sofa and down onto the floor. Heavy, suffocating weight landed on you, crushing you and stealing your breath. 

Though it was possible that the sudden burst of panic locking your lungs in place was responsible for the trouble with breathing. 

You squeezed your eyes tightly as your ears filled with noise that mixed with the still beating music. A crash, yells, another echo of a bang. Two, three heartbeats and the heavy mass was lifted off of your body. It didn’t quite help with your breathing. Quite the contrary, its lack seemed to steal away the sense of warm safety. 

Forcing your eyes open, you dared to look around and up. 

You were curled between the sofa and the knocked over table. It was kicked onto the side, the wide table top forming a wall in front of you. The floor on its other side was now covered in a spill of drinks, shattered glass, and redness that surely didn’t come from any juice. 

The tight spot you were pushed down into provided a semblance of shield. 

As did the looming shadow over you - the tall, broad form of your husband, standing in a way that hid your body from the only open angle through which someone could reach you.

Steve was the one who pushed you down to the floor, you realized. The heaviness that pressed into you was the weight of his body. 

The music was still loud and you couldn’t hear the exact words, but Steve was spitting out commands. His fists were clenched, the muscles in his forearms tense so much that his veins protruded visibly even through the dark swirls of ink on his skin. 

Slowly, you dared to lift your upper body, bracing on your hands to peer over the table. You saw Tony rush Pepper down the stairs, his hand laid protectively on her head. Their security formed a tight cocoon around them. The other two men were nowhere to be seen, probably rushed away into safety by their own guards. 

Natasha and Bucky were gone at the moment, as well, though you suspected it was to deal with the would-be assassin. Through the carved balustrade you saw the sway of bodies still dancing to the music, oblivious to what had just happened on the VIP balcony. Your civilian logic told you all these people should be evacuated, but apparently your mobster husband saw it differently. 

With your heart hammering wildly in your chest, breath still shallow and burning your lungs, you ungracefully scrambled to your feet. You moved closer to Steve, keeping yourself at his back when he remained unmoved. 

You noticed one of his arms tensing and slightly rotating in a micro-move to keep you shielded behind him. You barely stopped your own fingers from clutching onto the fabric of his shirt. 

You didn’t want to lean onto him for support as panic threatened to take over you. 

“No,” you heard Steve’s steely voice as he spoke to one of his high ranking men, “if we sound the alarm and start evacuating people, any accomplices might slip out with the crowd. This way we have more control.”

“Right.” The man (Sam, if you remembered correctly) nodded. “I’ll check the security feeds and see if anyone left in the last fifteen minutes. Nat and Lena will swipe the crowd.” 

When Sam walked away, you finally moved to stand beside Steve. He didn’t even look at you, yet you were sure he was aware of your every little move. His jaw was set in a hard grit. He had to be angry as hell, which was understandable considering he was just shot at. 

You were closer to breaking into heaps of crying and screaming, so you did what usually helped you keep yourself together - you refocused. 

Unfortunately for Steve, he was the only close object your attention could stick to for longer. 

You watched him survey the crowds dancing below then sharply assess the VIP lounge. Not even out of breath, he remained composed, hard as a granite statue. His clothes weren’t even that much rumpled. Though the sleeve of his shirt sported a splash of dark liquid. It wasn’t growing rapidly and the fabric wasn’t torn, so it didn’t appear to be a wound to his shoulder. 

As your gaze traveled up, however, you registered the source of the spill. It made you gasp aloud, a wheezing sound that felt near painful as your chest constricted in rising panic.

Steve’s temple was smeared with blood. Redness matted his dark gold hair around it. A thin trickle of blood dropped down from his earlobe and splashed on the sleeve of his shirt. 

“Jesus fuck, you’re shot!” 

Your palm cradled the side of his face, fingers pressing against the wound. To which Steve reacted with a hiss and childish tilting of his head away from your touch.

“It’s just a scratch.” He grunted, acting like his brain wasn’t just inches from being blown out. 

Steve was more interested in Bucky’s return and a short report on first findings, which you didn’t even listen to, still focused on the bleeding wound. So much, you didn’t even pay attention to your own increasing worry for the man you were supposed to hate. 

“Just a scratch my ass.” You spat in annoyance, frantically looking around for something that could help you form a makeshift dressing. 

Finding nothing of the sort, you reached to the underside of your own dress and, cursing, ripped a piece of the lining. 

Folding it in a big square, you lifted on your tiptoes and pressed it against Steve’s temple. This time you held yourself steady on his arm with one hand, so when he tried to lean away you easily followed the movement. 

“It needs to be checked.” Not caring that Bucky and Steve were in the middle of organizing next moves, you interrupted. “You could have a fractured bone, or internal bleeding. If the pressure on your brain grows, it could lead to-”

“Princess.” Steve growled in a warning tone, gripping your wrist.

“I’m not doing you a trephination at home when your brain matter drowns in your own blood!” You spluttered angrily, hitting at his hand. 

That made Steve pause and look at you. Or maybe it was the pitch in your voice, the quiver of your lips and tears brimming your eyes. He studied you for a longer moment, unbothered by your fingers trying to pry his fingers off your wrist. 

“Fine.” He conceded and turned back to Bucky. “Call Banner. Tell him to be at the clinic in thirty.”

Bucky didn’t comment on the interaction between you two, though if you weren’t so focused on your self-appointed task you might’ve noticed a spark of amusement in his eyes. Still, his face betrayed nothing, as usual. 

“Come on.” Steve’s arm slipped around your waist. “We have to get going if you want the good doctor to tell you the same thing I said, that it’s just a scratch.” 

“You have to put pressure on the wound.” You directed him to hold the improvised wound dressing, but Steve made no move to follow your instruction.

“That’s your job.” He shrugged.

“I can’t exactly walk and keep my hand at your temple at the same time.” Not with the height difference between you two. 

Suddenly, his arm around you slid lower. In a swift move, Steve gripped your ass and hoisted you up. Your legs wrapped around his middle instinctively as he placed both palms under your buttocks. 

“Easier now?” He grinned at you as he started walking toward the hidden exit at the back of the lounge. 

“Have you lost your mind?” You gasped, more shocked than outraged. “You’re wounded, you shouldn’t be straining yourself. It might increase the bleeding.”

“Having you on me is no strain, Princess. Besides… my blood is about to abandon my head for the more exciting ride down south. With the way your warm pussy is right against my dick.” 

You wanted to yell at him to stop diminishing the seriousness of the situation, but you figured it was serious only for you. To think of it, your husband probably had a lot of experience in being shot at. Perhaps, his assessment was more accurate than yours and this was, in fact, a minor scratch.

Still, your worry didn’t decrease. Your fingers were slightly trembling as you held the lining of your dress to his temple. It was soaking up blood, though thankfully not a deadly amount of it. Given that Steve was still able to walk and not get dizzy should be reassuring, as well, yet your brain didn’t accept it and demanded a hospital check-up anyway. 

In the car, Steve kept watching you curiously, as if your behavior was an intriguing novelty to him. 

It was to you, too. 

Was it that fear of falling prey to bloodthirsty rivals of his if Steve died? Just an empathetic reaction because you were a caring person in general? Or were you truly worried for a husband you hated? 

The hate part was crumbling to pieces, it appeared. There wasn’t a single flicker of joy, or malicious satisfaction that he got hurt, that someone might have killed him and released you from the forced marriage. 

Like there was no repulsion whenever Steve put his hands on you; be it when dancing at Tony’s ball, rousing each inch of your body as he fucked you into unconsciousness, or simply passing by you when moving around the house. 

For a few weeks you told yourself it’s simply desensitisation grown out of habit, since you were exposed to that touch constantly. However, there wasn’t only indifference to it. There was a certain, fucked-up warmth. And pleasure. 

It grounded you even at that moment when you pressed to his side at the backseat of the car and Steve smoothed his fingers along your thigh, as if he was the one soothing you in distress. 

Scared of what else you might feel, you abandoned the makeshift dressing when you reached the private clinic ran by doctors Banner and Cho, choosing instead to walk side by side with Steve. The clinic catered to Steve and a plethora of his criminal minions, but was also veiled with pretty bows of free service for the homeless and at-risk citizens. Bruce was already waiting in the hall when you entered, ready to get right into saving mode.

Instead of rushing towards you, like the doctors in the ER might, he scanned Steve’s body head to toe as you approached, then released a single (relieved, or disappointed) “Oh.”

“It’s just a scratch, but my loving wife got really worried.” Steve informed briskly, gently pressing his hand to your lower back. “Check her first.”

“What?” You almost stumbled in your steps. 

You were about to protest that you didn’t need any checking, because you had zero injuries. It would’ve fallen onto deaf ears, because Bruce nodded and guided you forward to a room stocked with top quality equipment. 

“Are you worried your massive body broke my ribs when you laid on top of me?” You snorted at Steve after doctor Banner checked your pupils. 

“Nah,” Steve sat on the gurney opposite of yours, “you have my body on top of yours quite often and sustain no injuries. Can’t be sure about shards of glass, or ricochets, though.”

He said it nonchalantly enough that you suspected he wasn’t really worried, but more likely a little petty. Since you forced him to come here, he would subject you to medical treatment as well. Steve couldn’t be worried about you. Not when he was the one making sure to cover you from any bullets and the table he kicked over to provide a shield knocked all the glass on the other side of it. There was no chance anything hit you.  

“All good.” Bruce announced then swiftly turned around to finally check Steve’s wound. 

With wide eyes, you observed his every movement. How he checked Steve’s vitals and went through the basic neurological examination. Then how he cleaned the wound and dried blood on Steve’s earlobe. 

When he said no stitches were needed, only strips, you felt both a relief and suspicion. You pressed your lips tightly to prevent yourself from questioning Banner’s decision. Or from demanding a CT scan. 

You refused to look at Steve for longer than brief glances on your way back home. And when you were at home, too. Since he and the doctor claimed he was fine, you wouldn’t give a damn anymore. No matter that it still gnawed at you. There was that growing itch to check if the wound wasn’t bleeding, if he didn’t have a headache, if he wasn’t dizzy, if… 

No! Don’t! You inwardly scolded yourself as you rubbed your freshly showered body with a towel. 

In the bedroom, Steve was already in bed. He showered before you, since you decided to distract yourself from thoughts about him by calling Pepper and checking if she’s all right. Leaning against the headboard, he simply read something on his tablet. Probably one of the variety of articles on economy, science, or politics. It still shocked you that someone so primitively brutal was so fucking smart. 

Just check once, the voice in your head goaded as you slid under the covers. One quick check and you can go to sleep. You won’t fall asleep if you don’t check.

Cursing under your breath, you rolled to the side and then sat up. Steve tilted the tablet down as you leaned over him. Without a word of explanation, you scanned his injury. Your fingertips traced gently along his hairline, close to the wounded area but not touching it directly.

Steve’s warm, steady breath tickled your skin. He made no comment as you silently fussed over him. Not even a sassy remark. 

It looked good, the injury. With the strips in place and all blood cleaned off, it really appeared to be just a scratch. Yet the tension in your body rippled with the potency of an eruption. You swallowed hard. 

Steve’s fingers circled your wrists gently. He tugged your hands down. With another nervous gulp, you tilted your head to look him in the eye. For a moment he didn’t say a word, just studied you with a frown. 

When he spoke, it was with words you didn’t expect to hear. Not from him. 

“You’re okay.” It wasn’t the softest shush, but a firm declaration. 

You shook your head, feeling the sting of tears gathering beneath your eyelids. 

“You are.” Steve repeated calmly. His frown deepened when you closed your eyes and shook your head again. 

It was another life-threatening situation you found yourself in since Steve barged into your life. A part of you was shaken to the core by it. But it wasn’t that part that tightened the iron grip around your chest at the moment. 

“I’m okay.” Steve’s assurance opened our eyes. 

You looked at him, teardrops swaying on your lower eyelashes. A heartbeat, a stuttered breath, and then the tears fell freely. 

Strong arms wrapped around you, crushing you down into Steve’s chest. He didn’t coo at you, didn’t whisper any soothing reassurances. He simply held you. 

And it scared you so fucking much how good it felt, even though it shouldn’t provide any form of security when he was the monster who forced you into all of this. 

You fell asleep in the monster’s embrace. Woke up with relief that his warmth was still there. Neither of you made any comment about your breakdown last night. Aside from briefly watching Steve move and dress, you didn’t feel the desperate need to check his wound again. 

It was easier, getting back to the routine of daily life and ignoring the uncomfortable revelations about the messy tangle of emotions you felt. The fact Steve was his usual self, one that felt nothing beside rage for vengeance and desire, helped to pretend that nothing has shifted.

Natasha’s presence also reminded you of why hate and disdain should be your main operative modes with your husband. With occasional need for a good fuck. Nothing more. 

When less than five days after the shooting Steve came to pick you from work himself, you greeted him with a suspicious glare. Then, when you realized he was taking you back to the club, you cursed the fact you were already trapped in the backseat of the car, which meant you had nothing but your own fingernails to attack him with. 

Which also didn’t happen, because you weren’t in the mood to be fucked hard while Bucky sat in the front seat. 

The club was empty and thus eerie. 

The VIP lounge was cleaned so thoroughly nothing suggested it was chaos and mess a few days ago. Even the table Steve kicked over was fully polished, or maybe it was replaced with a new one. 

Steve left you there and walked back downstairs, onto the main floor. Soon after, you heard the door open and the sound of some scuffle. Hesitantly, you walked over to the balustrade and peeked over it. 

Heart lurched to your throat, your fingers tightened on the wooden beam so hard you almost broke your nails. 

In the spotlight on the floor knelt a man - bruised and weak, meaning he already had a meeting with some of Steve’s people. Bucky was a few steps aside, having dragged the man in. Steve was standing right in front of the man. In all that dark, scary glory. 

Back straight, sleeves of his shirt rolled up, a display of tattoos and glinting rings. It reminded you of that first moment you saw him stride into the health center. 

This time, Steve held a gun in his right hand. Fingers firmly wrapped around it, with confidence of a man who used it hundreds of times. Not flamboyant showing off. No tremble of uncertainty or fear. He held it like an extension of himself. Like an experienced surgeon might hold a scalpel. 

In the empty cathedral belly of the club, Steve’s voice carried easily. 

“You know,” Steve started almost conversationally, “I often admire the gumption of some gangs who go for what they want. Sometimes, if I’m really impressed, I even offer them to work for me.”

“I’m not even bothered you went bold with your attempt to kill me. Not the smartest move, but I can see what you hoped to gain. However-”

You didn’t hear the click of the safety being switched off, but you assumed it had to be that moment, because a visible shiver went through the man’s body.

“ -you made a huge mistake-” Steve lifted his hand and aimed the gun at the man.

“ -scaring my wife.” 

The gunshot echoed. 

Steve didn’t toy with the man. Didn’t prolong it like a game, but simply executed the kill order he’d have placed on the man’s head anyway. 

You felt the reverberation of that shot through your bones, yet no nausea followed. No urge to turn away and hide your face in your hands. Your fingers clenched tighter on the banister, but you kept staring ahead. At the spot where blood was pooling around the dead man’s head in a creepy halo. 

Slowly, you moved your gaze from the wide splatter of blood to your husband. The way Steve was standing as confidently and unshaken as before. Your eyes dragged up his form, taking in the gun still in his hand, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. His insanely handsome face and eyes looking up at you. 

He said something to Bucky, but you didn’t listen to the words. You were too focused on watching Steve and the way your body ignited with terrifyingly hot excitement. 

When scenes like that played in your dreams, you could easily blame them on brain chemistry going awry in sleep. Getting wet because your dream subconsciousness liked being made to ride the handle of the knife while blood covered the floor was something you could assign to haze beyond your control, since it happened in sleep.

But now it was happening in reality. 

It wasn’t the killing that pooled warmth low in your core, but the way Steve held that gun, the way he didn’t hesitate. The way he fucking moved toward the stairs and up to the balcony you were on. 

Your walls clenched as Steve stepped into the lounge. Your breath quickened with each powerful stride towards you. 

He still held that gun in his hand and your body nearly toppled with need, remembering how it felt still warm and lethal when he rubbed it against your pussy that one time. 

Though at the moment you didn’t want it inside of you. No, there was a different desire blooming and spreading its demanding branches. 

You wet your lips with your tongue as Steve stopped right in front of you. Icy blue eyes so intense as he studied you. He was the magnificent iceberg in a sea of sunset red ripples and you were the sun warmth about to melt yourself all over his jagged edges.

When Steve touched your cheek with the muzzle of his gun, you didn’t even flinch. You were bravely holding his gaze. He traced a line from your temple, over the roundness of your cheek and down, pressing under your chin.

“Take what you wish, Princess.” His tone was underlaid with hunger that resonated with yours. 

Because, for the very first time, you weren’t playing down the sudden eruption of dark desire you felt for Steve. 

He put his arm down, holding the gun at his side, as you reached for his belt. Steve’s chest seemed to expand when you didn’t hesitate to unbuckle it. Your fingers worked swiftly, any previous tremble gone, as you lowered the zipper. Then you were dragging his jeans down along with your descent to your knees. 

For all the times Steve had his mouth on you, wrecking you completely, it was the first time you were going to fill your mouth with him. You had your hands around his cock many times, but strayed away from tasting him. Especially out on your own volition. 

You didn’t only want to do it now. You needed it. 

Every inch of your body was thrumming with that irresistible craving to worship the scary power that was Steve Rogers. 

A man who fucked up your steady life. A man who showed no remorse. Who was never soft, or empathetic. A man who protected you with his own body. Who held you as you broke down. Who killed someone for scaring you. Who would do many more unholy things. 

You ran your hands up Steve’s thighs then gripped the back of them to steady yourself. Your breath puffed along the hardening length of it as you admired his cock for a moment. You’d never say about any dick that it’s pretty, and you wouldn’t say it about Steve’s either, but there was something about it that was so fucking attractive. 

Maybe it was the man it was attached to. 

With a little hungry growl you opened your mouth wide and swallowed as much of it as you could. You felt too impatient to play with it this time. Though, with the pleasure that zinged down your spine at the velvety heaviness pressing on your tongue, you could see yourself doing it in the future. 

What you couldn’t take in your mouth you wrapped your fingers around. Smearing your own saliva along it, you set a mild rhythm. Suck and stroke. A little twist of your hand as your tongue swirled over the crown. 

The feeling of a gun gliding along your scalp like a caress pinched your nipples and clit into throbbing attention. Your shameless moan vibrated around Steve’s cock, making it swell in your mouth. 

Steve didn’t hide his groans of pleasure, either. They spurred you on even more. 

“Is it the gun, or is it my cock that turns you into a needy, slutty princess?” Steve’s voice was the most shaken you’ve ever heard him to sound. 

A garbled whine was your response as his dirty words added to the mess between your thighs. 

You were wet the moment he walked up the stairs and towards you. Every second of what followed only worsened your state. 

“You can have my gun in your mouth too, if you want.” Steve teased, weaving his free hand into your hair. “But you’d have to let go of my cock. And with your eager sucking I’m not sure you’d like to part with it anytime soon.”

Glaring up at him, you pressed your fingernails into the skin of his thighs. It only made him chuckle. 

When he lightly tapped the gun over one of your cheeks, you jerked forward with a muffled moan, taking more of his cock into your mouth. Too much. It hit the back of your throat and made you gag. Tears sprang to your eyes as your body tensed. Steve’s fingers in your hair tightened. He let out the sexiest moan.

And it was the hottest thing you ever experienced when sucking a man off. 

You didn’t try to repeat that, but it doubled your eagerness and efforts. Your own hips started swaying in desperate need. You were so hot and wet, and aching to have your pussy filled. 

“Princess,” Steve grunted; you felt his muscles tensing. 

“I’m about to come. Do you want me to paint your beautiful face, or do you want to swallow every drop like a good girl?” 

You paused for a second, holding just the tip of his thick cock in your mouth. You considered the options for a moment then, holding Steve’s gaze, you slowly took him deeper. As deep as you could without tipping that gag reflex again. 

“As you wish, Princess.” He huffed, half amusement half all pleasure. 

When you hollowed your cheeks and sucked harder, at the same time moving your spit-slick fingers to cup Steve’s balls, he growled a curse. It stretched into a long moan as his cum filled your mouth. 

Each time you swallowed small gulps of it, your tongue moved under his throbbing cock, drawing out more. 

Your chin and mouth were glistening with saliva and white streaks of cum that dribbled out. Steve’s grip on your hair didn’t ease as he slipped out from between your lips. He held your head in place as he brought his gun and rubbed the muzzle in the shiny mess on your chin. 

Then he was tossing the gun aside and lifting you up onto your feet. Steve’s mouth was devouring yours even before you steadied on your legs. His tongue dipped in, unbothered by the remnants of his own cum. 

You gripped at his shirt, eagerly responding to the dirty kiss and mad passion that erupted. Steve’s chuckle melted against your mouth when you rubbed yourself against him.

“Did sucking my cock make you wet, Princess?” 

All of him made you wet. But you weren’t going to admit that. 

You didn’t have to answer his question, either. Steve found out himself, driving his hand beneath your skirt. His fingers pressed against the soaked fabric of your underwear. Not just a wet patch. A sticky mess. 

“Fuck!” He groaned, his hips bucking against you. 

Suddenly, he was turning you around and pushing you forward. 

He bent you over the wooden balustrade, pulling up your skirt and kicking your legs wider apart. 

Your glazed over gaze landed on the floor below. The dead body was gone. So was Bucky. Only the dark pool of red blood remained, flashing at you with memory of ruthless brutality. Still, your ass rubbed against Steve’s hand eagerly, your desire not the slightest diminished by the memory of horror. 

Steve ripped your soaked underwear. He tossed it over the balcony, making you watch the ruined garment fall down. 

You didn’t have time, nor brain capacity, to see the metaphor of your own innocent life falling down into his evil clutches. 

You moaned, back arching, as Steve’s fingers swept between your swollen, wet folds. 

“I’d give you the gun, but I want your tight pussy all to myself. Not going to share it even with your favorite, lethal toys.”

His fingers were more deadly, you wanted to say. But no words fell out, only a strangled cry, when Steve pushed two of his thick fingers in. Eased them in and out a few times, before suddenly rotating and curling. He pressed against that spot that made you keen and arch onto your tiptoes. 

“That’s it, Princess.” He praised, wrapping his free hand around the front of your neck. “Getting all messy on your husband’s fingers.”

A guttural cry ripped from your lungs when he forced a third finger in. 

It felt almost too much. Almost as stretched and full as when he had his cock buried to the hilt. 

Then it was really too much when one of his fingers, now all slick with your juices, withdrew from your pussy and pressed against your rim. 

“Ohgodohgodohgod-” you babbled, clenching your eyes shut. 

But you didn’t jerk away. Didn’t plead with Steve to stop. Instead, you shuddered and moaned when he slowly, but mercilessly pushed that finger into your ass. 

“So fucking tight, Princess,” Steve panted against your ear. “You’re making me hard all over again.”

He fucked both of your holes, increasing the rhythm until your cries were growing louder. Until you broke like a string stretched too far and your wetness coated his hand up to his wrist. 

You were a boneless mess, held up only by his hand on your throat and the sturdy balustrade. You felt his pulsing cock against your thigh, getting hard again just like he said. Slowly, he withdrew his fingers from your fluttering pussy. Squelching sound of it made you scorch with embarrassment. 

But then there was another pressure. Right next to the finger already knuckle deep in your ass. 

Steve was pushing another finger there. 

“Nghhh!” You whined, tensing against the bigger intrusion. It was somewhat uncomfortable, yet seemed to rouse your spent body anew. 

“You can take it, Princess.” Steve breathed against your neck as he shifted his position behind you. “Today you’re daring. Taking what you want and not shying away from it.”

His second finger sank deeper and the head of his dick nudged at your pussy. Your hips rocked back against him. You weren’t sure you did it consciously. Your mind felt too scrambled at the moment. It was more an instinctive chase after another shattering completion. 

With two fingers in your ass, the fullness of Steve’s cock stretching you felt nearly overwhelming. And so fucking good. 

You bucked against him with a whine when Steve remained still for a longer moment. His fingers around your throat clenched slightly before he finally gave you the friction you wanted, pulling slightly out then slamming back in. 

At first he fucked you only with his cock, holding his fingers in your tight hole. When your cunt spasmed around him, betraying your heightening peak, Steve amped the ruin by thrusting in and out of your ass. 

Your gaze was no longer on the pool of blood. It became foggy, unfocused. Your eyes rolled back, your vision filled with a kaleidoscope of colorful shards. Your hands let go of the wooden banister; one clutching onto Steve’s arm, the other reaching behind you to grip and twist the fabric of his shirt. 

“Going to come for me again?” Steve rasped, scraping his teeth along the skin of your neck. “That’s it. Go on. Come from having all of your holes owned by me.”

“Come from loving it.” 

And you did. 

Your cry echoed under the cathedral ceiling. A spilling of high pitched keening forming a lewd choir as Steve kept fucking you through your orgasm, tipping it into another peak as he followed soon after and his cum filled your clenching cunt. 

His own ragged breath sank into your skin. He eased the hold on your throat and instead wrapped that arm around your chest. After easing ers out of your ass, he wrapped it around you as well. 

Excess of his cum dribbled out of you when his softening cock slipped out. It was forming a glistening white splatter on the floor between your legs.

A contrast to the dark red blood on the other side. 

[zapnshock]

Sum of All 18

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Steve Rogers

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you are given an unexpected assignment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Steve doesn’t stop. Your head lolls and your hands explore his chest. You moan like a wild animal as he pumps into you. Beneath the pleasure, there’s a dull pain. You’re going to feel this for a while. 

You arch your back, pushing your heels into the floor as you latch onto his head. His hair falls forward and tickles your face as he bows to nibble your neck. He grunts and groans, biting until you squeal. 

He slips his hand beneath your back and drags it down. He scoops your ass off the floor and sinks deeper into you. You gasp. How much further can he go? 

You dig your nails into his scalp. He pinches your skin between his teeth. You puff shallowly as you push your chest up and yank at his thick hair. He sucks on your flesh until it throbs, his fingers curling under the curve of your ass. 

You slap your other hand down on the floor and drone. His thrusts are long but deliberate. He breath dampens the fabric of your dress. You writhe and push your fingertips into the floor. 

He reaches over blindly, not breaking his pace, and grabs your hand. He guides it behind him and down to his ass. Your fingers brush against his pants as his rhythm picks up. His skin is warm against your palm. The heat between you swirls through your veins and prickles up your back. 

His pelvis rubs against yours. The friction burns. You mewl and squirm as you feel bubbling just beneath the surface. 

“St-Steve--” 

He fucks you harder as you babble his name. You squeal and thrash your legs. Your toes curl and your calves strain. Oh... it’s happening again. 

You cum with a fluttery moan. You spasm and shake around him but he doesn’t relent. His incessant invasion has you weak and willow. 

He growls against the crook of your shoulder and brings his arm higher, hooking it under you. He lifts you as he raises himself to his knees. He moves you in his lap, pushing his hand in front of you to toy with your clit. You whine again. 

You hand your head back as his lips once more dance over your neck. He bounces you on him, his fingertip flicking until you’re a quivering mess. Your delight smears across his pelvis and stains the open front of his pants. 

Your eyes feel loose and your brain is speckly. You blink and heave, your chest is heavy. Oh, oh, no. As another orgasm swells in you, so does a wave of dizziness. Your body slackens at once and you hang limply in Steve’s embrace as your eyelids droop. 

You wake as if you’ve only blinked. The only things that changes is your position. You’re back on the floor. Steve’s hands are on your thighs as your legs extend up his torso. The loose tails of his shirt flap with his frantic tempo. He kneads your flesh and snarls. 

You brace the floor as his pelvis claps against your ass. He bites his lip and his eyes meet yours. He smirks and rams into you harder. 

“You’re back, sweetheart,” he rasps. 

You murmur dumbly as you tongue sticks. You lift your head, pushing yourself up on your elbows, and look down at yourself. You feel him stretching you. It’s even more intense as you watch his veiny length dip in and out. You squeak. 

“Oh, Ste--” 

The world flickers again. As you wade up from another fog, he looms over you, bending your legs to their limit as he cradles your head in his hands. He rocks into you, brushing his nose against yours as he laughs. 

“Alright, baby, I’ll let you rest...” he purrs through scratchy breaths. “Almost... almost...” he puffs and rests his forehead against yours. 

He ruts into you, slamming down so hard your ass bounces against the floor. He stretches his thumb to the corner of your mouth and shoves it inside. You bite down as his strength reverberates through your bones. 

“God--damn!” He rams into you several times before slowing. The gush squelches around him as his hips roll. He lets your legs splay around him and falls limp onto you. “You still awake?” 

“Barely,” you answer. 

He chuckles and pets your cheek. He pushes into you until you wince. You clasp onto his thick arm and he rumbles. 

“Think we understand each other now, huh?” 

You nod. You can’t speak. You understand exactly what he wants now but you’re not too sure about giving it to him. 

🌼

“Ow, ow, ow,” you waddle with your thighs apart across the bedroom. 

You woke up disoriented. Again. You’re not sure if it’s whatever’s been going on with you or that glimmer of disbelief that lingers, but you just can’t remember how you got back there. All you know, is that you have to pee. Now. 

You get to the bathroom door, cupping your cunt, skirt pushed up, and wiggle the handle. It’s locked. You don’t think, you just hammer on the wood. 

“Please, open up! I gotta--” 

The door opens from the other side. Oh shoot! This has to be a nightmare! And you really have to pee. You can’t go in bed. You have to wake up. Wake up and you can go. Wake up and there won’t be a stranger staring back at you. 

“Ahh! Who are you?” You exclaim and back up, wobbly on your feet. Wake up, wake up, wake up. 

The man tilts his head and snorts. You stare at him and slowly your mouth falls open. Staunch jaw, clean shave, freshly trimmed hair... how can it be him? 

“Steve?” You gasp. 

He laughs. “Really?” 

“I...” his voice is jarring coming out of that face. He doesn’t look that different but different enough. No beard, short hair. It’s just not right. 

“Oh, I feel weird,” you say. 

“Don’t pass out,” he warns. 

You pout. “Steve, I... I need to go.” 

“It’s a bit late--”  

“No, I mean I need to use the—the bathroom.” 

“Oh,” he steps out, his arms and chest flexing beneath his white tank top, “all yours, sweetheart.” 

“Uh, sure,” you hobble forward, hissing as your thighs brush together. 

“Figure this’ll take care of the rug burn,” he drawls. You stop short in the doorway and look back. He rubs his bare cheeks and winks. “You keep walking around like that, and people might think I’m knocking you around.” 

You frown and quickly turn away. Your cheeks are on fire but more importantly, your bladder is going to burst. You swing the door shut and race forward. You can figure out what the heck you’re going to do once you can think straight. 

[zapnshock]

Running To You 5

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

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, control, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Sister series to Just What I Needed

Summary: You’re rescued by a man who you don’t even know is a real hero.

Characters: nomad Steve Rogers

Note: a stressed out steve rogers plus a cutie. it bloomed from the theory of Steve’s beard being a symbol of his darker side, or a darker state of mind. In the wat that he would usually pride himself on a neat appearance but lets himself go a bit when he’s not at his best.

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

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The door hits the frame, waking you from a fraught slumber painted with dreams of sludgy shadows. You sit up and the cot rocks slightly, knocking on the wall as you steady it. Your heart races before you recognise Steve and the night before comes flooding in. The smell of jasmine is still overwhelming.

Steve sighs and jiggles the handle. He keeps trying to make the door stick. You rub your eyes as you turn your legs over the edge of the cot.

"Is it broken?" You ask.

"Looks like. Didn't even notice last night," he lets it go and faces you. "With everything else... good thing I stayed."

"Um, yeah. Thanks," you scratch your shoulder. "Sorry you had to sleep on the floor."

"No problem. Like I said, could be worse. You could be seriously hurt."

"Uh, I guess," you stand up. Your shorts stick and you tug the legs free from between your thighs. You should put on real clothes. "I'll call the landlord."

"You said it took him a while before to fix it." He tuts.

"Sure but, this is worse, I'm sure he'll come right away," you shrug. "You've done enough. Really. I feel bad."

His eyes wander around and his forehead creases. "I can fix the door. I'd rather make sure it's done."

"Steve--"

"It's easy. Won't take much."

"Well, er, Steve, I appreciate that but I have some stuff to do."

"Oh yeah? I can help," he offers.

You sigh. "No, you shouldn't. I-- I already feel awful waking you up--"

"You'd feel worse if you didn't," he insists. He grips his hips as he stares you down. "I still mean what I said last night. This place isn't safe for you."

"There's people worse off."

"I'm not talking about them. I'm talking about you."

You shrug. He's impossible to argue with but you know he means well. You appreciate that he worries yet you feel bad for the same thing.

"I gotta take these packages down to the post office." You change the subject.

"Great, I'll go with you," he says.

You look at him. "If you want. I'll get dressed."

"Mind if I try to freshen up in the bathroom?" He asks.

"Erm, sure."

You open the small set of drawers next to your cot. You take out a pair of denim capris and a square neck tee. The bathroom door clicks and you check to make sure he's gone. You quickly change then look around.

Your phone. Last night, you never went to find it. It fell out in the hall during your struggle with Mike. You chew your thumb as you look at the door. You're nervous at the thought of seeing him again.

You grab your purse instead and check your wallet. There's that at least. You take out your rolling cart and focus on filling it with the small packages.

Steve emerges. "Your turn."

"Oh, yeah," you smile and cross the apartment. "Thanks."

You flit past him into the bathroom. You wash your face, brush your teeth, moisturize. You tidy your hair and skip the mascara, only smearing on a layer of gloss.

As you come out, Steve stands at the small kitchenette. He shuts the mostly empty cupboard. You cringe.

"You looking for something?" You ask.

"I was going to try to make you breakfast," he turns and leans on the short counter.

"Oh don't worry about that."

"Clearly you're not. There's a can of beans and half a bag of rice in there." He rebukes.

You wince, "Steve, I'm fine. I don't eat breakfast."

"And is that a choice or a necessity?"

You huff and hug yourself. "You're making me feel bad."

"I'm not meaning to. I'm concerned." He once more frames his hips in disapproval.

"It's nice that you care, really. It's just food."

"How much does it cost to do all this? You breaking even on that pine soap?" He wonders.

"I do okay. I keep the lights on," you march to the cart and shoulder your purse. "I have to get this in the mail or I won't get paid."

He sucks his teeth but doesn't argue further. He nears and puts his hand on the cart handle next to yours. "At least let me get this."

"Uh, okay," you crinkle your nose. The smell of jasmine is starting to really bother you. It almost smells like burning plastic.

You go out into the hall. You glance around but don't see our phone. If it wasn't smashed, it was probably snatched. Steve rolls the cart out and turns to the door. He uses one of the mixing sticks you use to jam it shut.

"It will have to do. There a hardware store near here? I'll grab the lock while we're out."

"Sure. On the way back," you say.

He follows you outside. The cart rattles loudly. Your nerves too.

You're embarrassed. He's seen more of your life than anyone has. He just doesn't get it. You'd rather scrape by on your own then go back to before. The idea of another boss breathing down your neck, feeling up your skirt-- No, that's not going to happen.

"You okay?" He asks, startling you out of your gloom.

"Oh, yeah. Thinking."

"About last night? Mike?" He suggests.

"A little. More about the candles I wanna make with the beeswax I ordered." You drone. "Oh, and reusable food wrap."

"Huh," he clucks. "You got a lot of ideas."

"I like making things. It's peaceful."

"Fair. I always enjoyed drawing." He says. "Before... well, it's been a while."

"Really? You draw?"

"Novice at best," he snorts.

"Hey, Rogers, how's it goin', guy?" A man passes by and salutes. Steve offers him a tense smile and his throat bobs.

You look back as the man struts on. That was strange.

"You know him?" You ask.

He shakes his head, "can't remember from where."

"Oh, yeah, that's always awkward."

You continue down the block and make your way to the post office. You hold the door as Steve pulls in the cart. He brings it to the counter and helps you unload the labeled parcels. The employee behind the counter scans them.

"New customs policy, there's an amount owing, miss," the clerk stands at the till. "Two-hundred and seventy three."

"What? I paid online? How can they change?" You squeak.

"I don't make the prices," he shrugs.

"Oh..." you blink. You don't have that much money. You don't even have two dollars and seventy three cents."

"No problem," Steve reaches into his back pocket. "American Express?"

"Yes, sir," the clerk stares at Steve before he points to the swipe machine.

"No, Steve--"

Too late. The machine chirps as his payment goes through. He slides the card away and tucks his wallet into his pocket.

"Receipt?" The clerk asks.

"Sure," Steve waits then takes the slip. "Have a good day."

"You too, Cap."

The reply tugs at your brain. Cap? That's an odd epithet.

You leave the post office, stewing in a new boil of humiliation. He just had to do that. You wring your hands behind your back anxiously.

"Thanks for that. I'll pay you back."

"Oh, you will. And I know exactly how," he declares. "You are going to eat a proper breakfast."

He points across the street to the small diner on the corner.

"No, that's not--"

"That's what I want. Fair trade."

"You must think I'm a real loser," you murmur.

"I don't. I think you're in hard times but a little help isn't a bad thing," he counters. "Besides, I'm trying to show you I'm listening. You want this business to work so I'm making an investment. Because I trust you." He reaches up with his free hand and touches his beard. "And I know you make quality stuff."

🩷

You walk out of the diner with leftovers. Breakfast was much more than you expected and you hate to waste food. Steve drags the cart with no uneaten bounty of his own. A man his size could easily clear at least another plate.

"Thanks, Steve. That was really good," you preen.

"I like the local places. You can tell they use real ingredients."

"Oh, yeah," you agree. If only he knew the amount of ramen you eat...

"Coffee's decent too. That's what really gives it away," he continues on. "Oh, the hardware store, where was that?"

"Not far," you assure him.

You guide him to the small shop with a bunch of plants outside and a spinning rack of seeds. You go inside, single file as the narrow aisles crowd Steve's large figure. He finds the right section and browses intently. He grabs a handle and a deadbolt. You mull the price tags. That's another line in the ledger.

He pays. Again. You don't even try to pretend you can. He's probably already figured you out.

Back on the street, you're hit with the stench of smoke. You scrunch up your face and look at Steve. He lifts his nose.

"Fire," he says.

"Oh... no." Sirens blast by you as a fire truck honks. Traffic honks back, inconvenienced by the emergency. You watch the big red engine turn the corner, toward you building. "Must be close by."

"Must be," he says as you cross the street.

The cart bounces, empty so it jars over each crack. As you come in sight of your building, your heart plummets. The fire engine is right in front of the apartment. The thick grey smoke billows up from the windows, curling around the brick walls.

"No," you gasp and hurry forward. "It can't be."

"Hey, sweetheart, don't get too close," Steve grabs your arm. "Smoke inhalation is dangerous."

"My apartment! My stuff!" You squeal and drop the container, fighting him to no end. He's strong. Inhumanly so. You look at his hand. "Steve, let me go."

"I can't. You'll get hurt."

"I'm not going to go inside. I'm not stupid."

"Let them work. They're the only ones who can do anything," he argues. "You'll just be in the way."

You pout. He's right. That doesn't make this any easier.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he clings to you.

You shake your head and gape up as flames lick outside and furl around the brick. You stagger and press your palms to your cheeks. Even if they do put out the fire, it's too late. After last night, you just can't believe this. Why does everything have to go so wrong?

🩷

"They'll have to keep investigating. That much damage, they can't permit entrance," Steve explains from your vantage.

You stay clear of the other residents, crowded around the firemen and other emergency personnel. They're a hoard, raging at the innocent. You're upset but not angry.

"It's a structural hazard. Same as you need a permit and inspections according to the building code," he continues on. "These things..." he sighs.

You drop your head. You stare at your shoes. You almost laugh. What a waste of time. The profit you make from those packages won't make a dent in surviving this. If you hadn't been so adamant about getting them shipped, you might have been able to save your apartment, or at least a few things.

"I got room. You can crash with me."

"Steve..." you utter.

"Well? Unless you got somewhere else?"

"No," you confess weakly. "I don't."

He's quiet for a moment. "Sorry. I know how that feels and that's not what I meant. But you got me now, doll. Not everything is lost, right?"

"Cap?" A fireman approaches. "Hey, you here about the fire? You hear something?"

Steve's jaw ticks and he looks over tersely at the man in his heavy helmet. "No, I--"

"This isn't some terrorist stuff, is it?" The fireman asks. "I mean, why else they sending you?"

"I was passing by," Steve twitches. "I'm not working right now."

"Ah, gee, I'm sorry. I just figured..." the man looks between you. "Sorry for bothering."

Steve purses his lips and rolls his eyes. He's irritated. You fidget next to him.

"Sorry, about that--" he begins.

"Are you a fireman?"

He shakes his head as his mouth slants. "Not exactly. I... I deal with emergencies though."

"Right..." You think. There's something you're missing and it feels so obvious.

"Mama," a child's voice trickles through. "It's Captain America."

You peek over to a young child points in your direction. You look back at Steve as he rubs the back of his neck. He smiles sheepishly.

"Really, I'm just Steve," he says.

[zapnshock]

Doomed to Repeat 1

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

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

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

Summary: After a painful divorce, your wary of men, that is until Bucky Barnes needles his way in. (older!reader)

Same universe as this.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

I know it's Steve week but this doesn't count. Shhhhhhh.

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

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Your flat slips off your heel. You drag your foot to get it back on, the arch of your foot twinging as you flex the muscle. Don't stop. It's a jungle out here. New York slows down for no one, even the shoeless.

You dodge around the oncoming stampede, clinging to your modest assortment of groceries in the crinkling paper bag. It's a tight wire walk back to your apartment as you're crowded on all sides.

You're invisible among the city's rush, as you are in most rooms. You've aged past relevance. You don't mind so much, at times, the obscurity is your best ally.

You follow the flow of pedestrians across the fading white lines of the crosswalk. A taxi honks, a whistle goes up, and sirens echo somewhere down the block.

"Hey, lady!" The voice startles you. Are they talking to you. "You dropped this?"

You look down in a panic. You feel your purse on your hip. It can't be you.

You spin and a man's shoulder bounces off of yours. You stagger, struggling to keep your balance as the bag tears down the front. The man barrels past you. Just like he didn't see you, he didn't notice the speed bump of your existence.

You look down as several items fall onto the pavement around you. You get down to gather them up, watching helplessly as your loaf of sourdough is crushed under the feet of passerbys. Pigeons flock to devour the ruin.

"Ow!" The same man blusters.

You glance over your shoulder as you put the block of butter atop the load still in the bag. You see him hit his ass on the sidewalk as another man marches past him. You cower as you realises he's coming toward you.

He stoops to scoop up the small wheel of gouda wrapped in wax. He's agile and undeterred by the tides around him. He squats down in front of you and places the cheese in the bag. He surveys the damage to the paper.

"Some people got no manners," he mutters.

"You don't have to..." you protest as you stack the groceries carefully. "I can manage, sir."

You look up at his face and blink in recognition. You feel oddly intrusive, stalkerish. Most people would recognise him in the city. You know him from a couple books stacked on your second shelf.

You shake it off. "Ahem," you clear your throat. "Thanks, sir. I'll get it."

"Here," he slides the bag away from you and puts the open side against his chest. He lifts it easily. You rub your lower back as you straighten up. "Got it."

"Oh, no, you can't... it's nice but..."

"Don't mind. I got nowhere to be right now."

You stare at him, trying to contain your doubt. War hero, state representative, and avenger has nothing going on? You're more than certain Bucky Barnes is full of it.

"Really," he insists. "Point me in the right direction." He glances around. "Stay close. Don't wanna lose ya."

"Um, alright," you surrender. Don't trust strangers, you're well past that lesson, but he's not exactly that, is he?

You give him one last look. He wears a pair of dark aviators and he's dressed down in a denim jacket and dark slacks. Still, you see right through it, even with the cap over his hair.

You turn and continue forward. He's close as he walks with his shoulder just behind yours, the bag rubbing on your arm.

"I can tell you know who I am," he drawls. "Can I get a name?"

You nod and look ahead into the sea of people. You recite your name on habit alone.

"I gotta commend you on your choice in cheese. I like the brand, but I'm more partial to their havarti." He says.

"Oh, um... yeah... I'm supposed to cut back on dairy..." you murmur cluelessly. "Not that you would... you know, I don't think groceries are within your purview. You probably have more important things to deal with."

"Not right now," he repeats.

"Here," you point up the alley.

You turn and he follows. You reach into your purse, instinctively looking back as you search for your keys. You pass under the fire escape and stop at the door. You step up the creaky old stairs and shove the brass one in the slot. He lingers behind you.

"Think I can take it from here, Representative Barnes."

"Bucky, please. I'm off the clock."

You face him and reach for the bag. He makes no move to hand it over. You step down the stair between you. "I got it."

He stares at you, a dimple in his cheek.

"You've done your good deed and helped an old lady carry her bag," you assure him dryly. "You're free to go."

You wrap your arms around the bag. He lets go and you cradle it carefully to balance the contents. His gaze makes you sweat. Or maybe that's the hormones.

"Old? You're spry as a spring chicken," he chuckles.

"Uh huh," you lift a brow. "Well, you carry your age much better than me." You back up and awkwardly extend your hand from beneath the bag. You twist the key and push inside. You pause just past the door. You angle back. "Thanks again, Bucky."

"See ya around," he says your name. "You know, I think the big thing these days is those reusable bags. Sturdier."

"Thanks, I'll see what I can find," you nearly snort. "You should probably get back to the rest of your constituency."

"Gah, guess I gotta," he spins on his heel. "I did swear some oath or another."

He strides off down the alley, a casual slant in his shoulders. You watch him, almost amused, leaning back to keep an eye on him. You're envious. He's gotta be twice your age, technically, and he looks more than a decade younger. You're not so concerned with your looks but you wonder if maybe that serum of his might help with the menopause.

He stops at the end of the alley. He looks back and waves. You flinch, caught, and hide inside. You let the door shut behind you and harrumph at the staircase ahead of you. Your knees will remind you that his words were just flattery.

🌆

"This week, let's focus on the upcoming assignment. Reflect on the last few lectures when discussing the pre-war foundations for conflict. Remember, this isn't just about military force, this is social, economic, and cultural. Try to weave together the world when contextualizing your thesis."

You speak to the Zoom classroom split into a grid of faces. Your students look well past their limit and you have to admit, you're there. "And don't forget office hours and that my email is always open for questions." You smile. "Until next time. Have a great week everyone."

A litter of byes come as slowly the students trickle out. You miss the in-person format but everything is shifting, everyone is moving past you. You weren't always this stagnant. Once, you were a blooming flower. Now, you're wilted and content to sway with the breeze.

You exit the meeting room and log off. You make a few notes for next week's lecture then put your laptop to sleep. It's after five and you're tired but you can't keep finding excuses. That walking pad is going to get dusty and the doctor said exercise will help with the hormones. Most of his recommendations only add to your discomfort.

You go into your bedroom and change into some running shorts and a loose tee. The effort of lifting your arch tugs tightly. Your shoulder's still sore from the other day. That guy really knocked you around. You rub the tender muscle and sigh. 

You're not a sprinter but you do work up a sweat at a brisker pace of walking. You stretch as you look for a podcast to listen to. You enjoy the one about the tragic monarchs... always a nice companion to your own suffering.

Before you can hit play, a dull thumping gives you pause. You move closer to the door. Mr. Kryzcky opens his door with a grunt.

"Oh, hi, I was looking for..." the voice drawls your name. "Think I got the wrong one."

Another grunt from the old man next door and the slam of his door. A soft laugh sounds. You go to the door and keep the chain on. You think you remember that voice, from more than just your unlucky meeting.

You open up and peek out. Bucky glances over and turns to face you with a grin. "Ah, there you are."

"I'm here," you say skeptically.

"I didn't have your number so couldn't call ahead," he comes closer. He's in one of those nice suits you see him wear at his press conferences. His long hair is parted and combed back away from his face.

"Okay?" Your confusion inflects upwards.

"Right, uh, I guess maybe my clearance won't work everywhere," he chuckles. "I wanted to check in."

"Check in? Well, I'm just fine, Representative."

"Bucky," he corrects. "How's the shoulder?"

"Not as strong as yours," you nod to his left arm.

"Yeah, you're standing a bit..." he raises his hand and angles it. "You're favouring that side."

"I take advil," you shrug and wince. "Sorry, I wasn't expecting you."

"I didn't interrupt dinner, did I?"

"Uhhhh, nope. Just... not quite sure you can call it a workout but I was going to get my steps in," you say.

"Have you eaten?" He wonders.

You frown. You exhale as you shake your head. "I just got done class."

"Class? What are you taking?"

You snort. "I see why people like you."

"Some," he snickers. "Can I buy you dinner? I'm here and... starving."

Your eyes list over. You consider the offer. You're wary of it. Not quite sure why he'd come back. Did you give off that vibe? That you're desperate for company? You get lonely since your husband left but you've adapted.

"I don't like eating alone and if I don't eat in a car, I'm eating in an empty condo," he snorts. "So... have a little pity for an old war vet?"

"Playing on those heartstrings. You about to ask for a campaign donation?"

He snickers. "Maybe next time."

"Right..." you slowly shut the door and slide back the chain. Before you can open it again, your chest stirs. Your place is small, a bit cluttered, but not dingy or dirty. Still, it's been a while since you had company. Well, you never did here.

You open up and step back. Bucky enters as he smooths his hair. You shut the door softly. He bends to unlace his leather shoes.

"You don't have other friends? Like Cap?"

"Sam? Nah, he's got a girl." Bucky slips his foot out. "And he's always cranky when he gets back in town. You know, he really puts up a front for the cameras."

He takes his other shoe off as you look down. You hide one leg behind the other. The shorts are meant for the privacy of your home.

"I'll get changed." You sidle away.

"Don't gotta dress up for me. You know, if you wanna do your workout, I'll just muddle around," he stands up and slips off his jacket.

"Um, no it's fine. Later." You retreat quickly to the bedroom.

You pull on a pair of loose pants over the shorts. Good enough. As you emerge, you find Bucky at the large antique bookshelf against the far wall. His back is to you as his head is tilted. You cautiously cross to him.

"Where'd you get this stuff?"

You near him and look over the disarmed pistols; a luger, an enfield, and a colt. Below, there are a few grenades and some empty shells. Your collection is small but a point of pride.

"Around." You say.

"A collector?"

"Suppose some would say a historian but I just teach it."

"Ah, class," he points his finger. "Right."

"I guess seeing this stuff like this must be a little... weird for you."

"Mm, not really. Need more room on that shelf, I won't fit." He taps it and laughs. "So, dinner? In the mood for anything?"

"Didn't think about it." You slowly inch away.

"Pizza?" He suggests.

"Can't go wrong." You agree. "Let me find my wallet."

"My treat," he insists and peers around. "Just you then?"

"Um, yep." You cover your barren left hand. "More room for books."

"Makes sense," he clucks and pulls out his phone. "Pepperoni?"

"Whatever you like." You reply. You won't mention that it gives you heartburn. He offered to pay after all.

"I'm more interested in what you like, so... you a veggie girl?"

"Girl? I don't think anyone's called me that in a while," you scoff. "Cheese is fine with me. I'm easy like that."

"Music to my ears," he taps the phone. "Spend all day trying to please everyone..." He turns as the line picks up. "Hey, could I get a large double cheese..."

You watch him for a moment. It's not just who he is. You just never thought about having a man here. The thought of just speaking to one gives you anxiety since the divorce. It feels like an intrusion but not just on his part. You feel like you've gotten in his way.

[zapnshock]

Leave You Breathless

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Thunderbolts!Female Reader

Summary: Bucky wants to ask you out and you give him the courage to do so in an unexpected way.

Word Count: Over 2.4k

Warnings: Longing, pining, mild humor, fake dating mention (of sorts), kissing, referenced masturbation, confessions, getting together, slight possessive and jealous behaviour, Bucky's POV, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?) and he's smitten.

A/N: Waiting at the airport and whipped this up. What is it with me and game nights? 😂 Not part of Tower Shenanigans, but it has that feel of sorts. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky nursed a beer as he sat on the roof and looked at the stars. He was taking a small breather from the impromptu game night after Alexei spilled his drink all over the table. He should've asked you to join him, but you had stepped away to take a call with an annoyed look on your face. Whoever it was that was bothering you he hoped everything was okay.

And if it wasn't okay, he’d take care of it or do his best to cheer you up.

His lips curled in a gentle smile when he heard your footsteps behind him. “One of these days you might be able to sneak up on me,” he said, twisting his head so he could look at you.

The smile on your face nearly knocked the breath from his lungs. He had it bad and he swore he fell for you more with each day that passed. He tried not to follow you around the tower like a lovesick puppy, but he often found himself in the same area as you so he could talk to you or ask you to spar as a desperate excuse to touch you. Whenever he pinned you beneath him, he had to rush back to his room and jerk off as images of your face and echoes of your sighs and gasps raced through his mind.

While he tried not to stare at you either, he always had his eyes on you whenever you were around. That morning he had been so busy staring at you that he poured too much coffee into his mug and burned his hand, which you thankfully hadn't seen. And there was that time he walked right into a wall when you wore a form fitting dress for an event Valentina demanded you attend.

“Bucky! Are you okay?” you had asked, rushing over to check on him. When you cupped his face to look over his face with worried eyes, he nearly melted on the spot.

“I’m fine. Just… distracted,” he answered, almost wishing he was a little injured so you'd dote on him some more.

“Well, let me kiss it better anyway,” you said, surprising him by kissing his nose and spreading warmth up to his cheeks.

“Thanks.” He swallowed hard. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

“Thanks,” you whispered back and walked away, leaving him to stare after you as you glided away with confidence and grace.

“Smooth,” Ava said once you were out of sight. “You know, I’m the one who can phase through walls, not you.”

“Don’t blame Barnes. She looked good in her dress,” Yelena said with a knowing smirk when Bucky snarled. “Perhaps she will wear it again if you ask nicely.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, but he had a goofy smile on his face since the feel of your lips lingered on his skin.

The girls would never let him live it down, and he wondered if his crush on you was obvious to you or if he hid it well enough.

Whatever level was beyond whipped was where he was.

Back in the present, you playfully groaned when you took a seat beside him. “You have enhanced senses. I’ll never be able to sneak up on you.”

Bucky turned toward you, watching as you tilted your head and gazed up at the sky. The night seemed more beautiful because of your presence. “You never know,” he said. You had stealth and agility, and you gave him a run for his money in training.

Your eyes sparkled when you turned your gaze on him, the mixture of your subtle perfume and natural scent making him breathe a bit deeper. “Your faith in me is astounding,” you teased, nudging his arm. He’d always believe in you. “But why did you ditch me down there?”

He chuckled when you pouted. It was fucking adorable. “Wasn't ditching you,” he promised. He’d never do that. “Just needed some fresh air.”

“So, it’s okay if I'm here, too?”

“Of course.” He wanted to be where you were.

You smiled, your knee touching his. “I asked where you went and John put his hand on my thigh when he said you were up here.”

It was as if someone shined a red light in front of Bucky’s eyes from the sudden rage he felt. “He what?” he asked, gripping the bottle tighter and feeling it crack under the pressure.

“He put his hand on my thigh,” you repeated, making him clench his teeth. He set the bottle down, too, so he wouldn't shatter it. “Like… Wait, can I demonstrate?”

Bucky nodded and hoped he wasn't dreaming. Asking to touch him showed how thoughtful you were. “Yeah, sure,” he said evenly.

You placed a hand on his upper thigh and gently squeezed. Heat curled at the base of his spine from your touch and he tried not to get excited. He couldn't get hard, not here, not now. He focused on the white hot anger that flowed through him instead since John touched you just as intimately.

Would breaking his fingers be too much?

You moved your hand away and he was two seconds away from taking your hand to put it back there. “I bent one of his fingers back before I came up here,” you told him, making him proud. “I think Bob may have filmed it.”

“That’s my girl,” he said before he could stop himself. His eyes widened when you turned your head and held his stare. “I mean…”

There was no excuse that came to mind for why he said that. All he had to do was confess how he felt. It should've been simple. He was reformed, a super soldier, a hero, and surely he could open his heart to you. So why wouldn't the words come out?

Why couldn't he say that he wanted you to be his girl?

“About that…” You took a breath and scooted away a few inches which had him internally panicking. Did his comment bother you? “What if I sort of told someone that I am your girl?”

His cheek twitched. “I’m sorry, what?” he asked. Did you really tell someone that?

And why did he respond that way instead of playing it cool?

“You know that call I took a bit ago? Well, it was Valentina,” you said, taking another deep breath. He didn't like where this was going. “She wants me to go to a benefit this weekend, and she was hoping I would schmooze a recently divorced potential investor,” you explained, wrinkling your nose and shuddering.

Bucky stomach dropped. You were beautiful and charming, so it wasn’t a shock that Valentina wanted to use you for her advantage. It made his blood boil. First John touching you, and now this. “What does that have to do with being my girl?” he questioned, not connecting the dots.

“I told her I already had a date,” you replied and pointed at his chest. “You.”

Bucky had enhanced hearing, but he couldn't have heard that statement correctly. “You what?”

You bit your lip and risked moving closer again. “I told her you were going as my date.”

The words slowly registered. “So, Valentina not only expects me to be there, but she thinks we're going to be there together?” he asked, gesturing between the two of you. “The two of us.”

You shifted in your seat. He hardly ever saw you uncomfortable. “Yes, the two of us, and I'm sorry,” you said.

Bucky wasn't sorry. Not at all. “Wow,” he breathed. He had pictured himself asking you out so many times and should've done it long ago, but he hadn't imagined a fake dating scenario with you asking him. Is that what it was?

“Bucky, I really am so sorry. I should've asked before I said anything to her,” you said, putting a hand over his before pulling it away just as quickly. “I understand if you don't want to.”

He shrugged like it wasn't a big deal..“It’s okay. I want to go.” He didn’t stay at benefits for long since kissing up to people wasn't his thing and he couldn't stand Valentina, but he’d put up with all of it to be by your side.

“It is? You do?” you asked, your teeth digging into your lip again and drawing his attention to your perfect mouth. “You’ll go?”

“It is, I do, and I will.” He hesitated, but mustered up the courage to put his hand over yours this time. He’d do anything for you. “Really. It’s okay.”

If Valentina had put him in a spot like that, he may have done something similar.

You looked where your hands were joined together and smiled softly. “And you aren't mad at me?”

“No, I’m not mad at you. Not at all,” he promised, exhaling before he moved his hand to your cheek. He felt the temperature rise in your body, heard your heart beat faster. “But why me? Why not Bob or…” He almost choked when he asked, “John?”

“Because I want you, Bucky,” you said without hesitation. “No one else.”

Bucky’s next breath came out harsher than he intended. You didn't say you wanted to date him- you said you wanted him, and he wanted you to want him in every way. “You really want me to be your fake date out of everyone else?” he asked, the word “fake” like acid on his tongue.

You lifted a hand to brush his hair back. “Would I be pushing it if I said I don't want it to be fake?”

He briefly closed his eyes, as if it could hide his longing. The simple question rocked him. “Don't ask me that if you don't mean it,” he whispered.

You leaned in and rested your hand against his. “I mean it. I want you,” you whispered, your lips a breath away from his. You wouldn't play with his feelings or heart. “I want the man who talks with me, spars with me.” You kissed the tip of his nose. “Walks into walls because of me.”

“Sweetheart,” he exhaled, the term of affection easily slipping out.

“I don't want it to be fake, Bucky,” you said, wrapping yourself tighter around his heart than he thought possible. “And I don't think you do either.”

He curled a hand around your hip to draw you closer on the bench. “No, I don't. I don't want to pretend,” he confirmed, kissing the tip of your nose the way you had kissed his. “So, why don't I take you out tomorrow?” he asked, finally asking the question that had been burning in the back of his throat for ages.

He felt your next breath when you tilted your head. “Tomorrow? The benefit isn't until this weekend.”

“I know, but I want a real date with my girl before the benefit,” he smiled, his lips skimming yours. “Been wanting to ask you out for ages.”

“Yeah?” you smiled back. “And it took me arranging a fake date to give you that push?”

“Give me a break. I’m an old man,” he joked.

You smirked, a seductive and dangerous glint in your eyes. “Should I wear that dress tomorrow, or will it give you a heart attack since you're an old man?”

He let out a groan. “I think that dress should come with a warning.” He had already jerked off to the thought of you wearing nothing beneath that gorgeous dress and he would think about that again when he finally went to sleep tonight.

“You're the one who should come with a warning,” you teased, still not kissing him quite yet. “Those tactical pants make your thighs and ass look incredible. And your t-shirts? I swear you wear them on purpose to see if I fall over.”

“I walked into a wall because of you,” he pointed out.

“I touch myself because of you,” you blurted out.

He wasn't sure if he closed the gap or if you did, but his lips were suddenly on yours and everything finally felt right. He wanted to devour you, but he slowly let the heat build before deepening the kiss. When your lips parted, he took the opportunity to sweep his tongue into your mouth and worship it the way he wanted to worship every inch of you. He wasn't going to rush or ruin this perfect moment. Not when he finally had you in his embrace, where he wanted you to belong.

He savored the moan that vibrated on his tongue and swallowed it down to keep it buried deep inside him. When you pulled away to breathe, he didn't let you get far before he went back in for another kiss. The world around you didn't slow down or rush by. It was simply a perfect moment that reverberated through his entire being.

Bucky framed your face when you pulled away again, your gentle panting making him smirk. “I touch myself because of you, too,” he said, chuckling and covering your mouth again when you let out a wanton moan. If he wasn't careful he’d have in his lap and he didn't want to rush that either, unless you wanted to. “And I might break Walker’s fingers for touching you,” he growled.

He worried for a second that it was a bit too much, too possessive. But he heard the whimper in your throat and knew you liked it. “Maybe break one to start with since we weren't officially together.”

“Fine,” he huffed. You were right. You weren't technically together earlier tonight, so he couldn't hold it completely against him. “But he isn't touching your thigh again, sweetheart. You're my girl now.”

“About time,” you sighed, bringing your lips back to his.

“Um,” Bob said from behind you two. Bucky hadn't paid attention to his footsteps since he was so consumed with you. Instead of pulling away from each other, you continued kissing as if you hadn't heard him. “Okay. Guess you two aren't coming back to game night. I’ll tell Yelena and Ava not to bother you,” he added before leaving you two alone.

Bucky would have to plan the perfect date for tomorrow and deal with the team teasing and asking questions. Tonight, he’d leave you breathless with kisses and then kiss you again. And he’ll kiss you every day after that because you were finally his girl. 

I guess we can consider this the end of my vacation and my welcome back of sorts agree the week? I missed you lovelies. 🥰 Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[zapnshock]

Doing Time 10

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

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: you try to keep your brother safe in jail but put yourself in danger along the way.

Characters: con/ex-con!Steve Rogers

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

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You stare at Steve's large hand as you fight the urge to fidget. He rests is on your thigh, fingers curled just along the inside. He rubs the seam of your pants as his warmth radiates through the fabric.

He steers with his other hand. His posture is slack with nonchalance. Everything is going exactly as he planned and you're just trying to keep up. 

He hums as he tickles your leg. His hand sidles closer to your pelvis and he squeezes. He idles at the red light and smirks at you.

"You got me worked up again. I just wanna pull you across the car..." his eyes flick up and down. "You got thighs that make a man a glutton."

You twitch. While he scares you, his words send a tingle through you. He's skilled at twisting your flaws into beauty. You almost believe every word he says.

"Steve," you touch his hand gently. "The light's green."

"Oh, yeah?" He flicks his fingers coyly towards your cunt. 

You blink and point through the windshield. He glances at the traffic light and chuckles. He leans on the gas, keeping his hand in your lap.

"You should wear skirts," his nails graze the thick seam again. "You got the legs for it."

"I... I like pants." You say softly. 

"You got a good shape. Not just from the front," he ignores your protest. "That dress you wore... mmmph. I got buy you some more."

"You don't have to do all that," you clutch his hand to keep it in place.

"I want to, sweetheart. Lots of things I wanna do." He squeezes and you squeak at the spark it lights in your guts. "Firstly..."

He peels his hand away and turns into a lot. He draws up to the storefront and you glance up to read the big gold letters mounted over the shining windows. You rub the warm patch he left on your leg as you stare at the jeweler's shop.

"I thought about a crown but I'm thinking that's a bit much," he snickers. "I think a ring will do."

You look at him, stunned. It shouldn't be a surprise. He's been clear. As straight to the point as you wish you could be. Yet it's all so sudden.

He gets out first and comes around to open your door. He pauses and skims your figure with his eyes. He tuts.

"Definitely needa get you a sweet dress."

You stand and he shuts the door. His hand finds your lower back and he ushers you toward the shop. The world around you is hazy with futility. You know you can't stop him but there's that little human urge that won't go away.

He opens the shop door and lets you through first. He struts in behind you.

"Hello, sir," he greets the man behind the counter. "Lovely day."

The chubby man with the long mustache drooping around his lips winces. He looks up from the board of earrings in front of him and gulps. His brown eyes widen.

"Rogers?" He coughs.

"One and the same, Ahmad," Steve affirms as he nudges you forward. "Long time."

"Yes, sir. Very long. I thought you were in bars." The man nervously taps his fingers on the counter top.

"Behind bars." Steve corrects him. "Did my time. Now I'm out. And my lady needs a ring."

"Your... yes." Ahmad peeks at you and bows his head. "Very beautiful. Lovely lady." He clutches his hands together. "And you are such a handsome man, how could you not have a beauty."

"Yeah, yeah, Ahmad, you don't gotta do all that. Not to say she isn't a stunner." Steve nears and crosses his arms. He leans his elbows on the glass display and peers through. His shoulder round and he looks even bigger.

"Well, sweetheart. You want one diamond. You want a diamond covered in diamonds..." he bends his neck and squints at the selection.

"Oh, er, I'm not picky. Something small is fine."

"Be picky," he insists. "I don't want fine, I want perfect." He beckons you forward with a glance. "Come on."

You sniff and come forward. Ahmad smiles at you, "let me know whatever you like, miss."

"Thanks," you look down. The sparkle is too much to focus.

You're drawn to one in particular. A purple oval surrounded with little diamonds. You stare and chew your lip. You should look for something smaller.

"Which one's got you?" Steve shifts, angling toward you as he leans on one elbow.

"Well, that one's not bad," you point to the plain silver band with a small circle diamond.

He tuts. "You know, I see right through you. Be honest."

You rub your neck. "I don't wanna spend too much--"

"Don't fret about my money," he warns. "Which one?"

You drop your hand and point again. "That er, purple one. Sorry I don't know the stone."

"Amethyst, yes," Ahmad reaches underneath and takes out the entire board. "The stone of clarity and control. You must have a good head on you."

"Oh," you murmur and shrug. Not really. If you knew better, you wouldn't be standing here with this man.

Ahmad pulls free the ring and offers it up. You can only stare. The nicest jewelry you have is a hand-me-down silver chain and locket from tour mom.

Steve takes it then grabs your hand. You flinch as he stands at his full height and slips the band around your finger. You watch him push it down to your knuckle. He runs his thumb over it then cradles your hand in his. He lifts it higher to admire the stones.

"That the one?" He asks.

You stare at the ring. It's gorgeous but too much. You don't say so. You can't. 

You nod. "It's very pretty Steve. We could... wait until we get everything else sorted."

"It's sorted," he insists.

He lifts your hand and kisses your knuckle. You lower your eyes as he lets you go. You clasp your other hand over the ring as he turns to Ahmad.

"How much?" He reaches for his wallet.

The number makes your chest drop. That's more than your rent. A lot more. 

He counts out bills. You've never carried anything more than a couple hundred and that was for a deposit or something. He has a whole bank on him. 

It's another clue. He's not just a man with money, the way he wields it, the way others react to him. He has power.

"Th-thank you," you croak and pinch the ring. Steve stops you.

"Don't take it off. Never." He wraps his hand around yours and pushes it down. "That means you're mine." He puts his wallet away and looks back at the jeweller. "I'll be back for more. She'll need a full set."

"Yes, sir," Ahmad puts away the board of rings.

Steve takes you out. The sunlight is warm and bright, a strange sheen on the grey day. You can only watch as he whittles away the pieces of your life and rebuilds to his liking.

His hand slips off of yours and trails up your forearm as you near the car. A low growl rises in his chest as he lets you ahead of him. He spreads his fingers across your ass and kneads. You yelp on surprise.

He reaches around you and opens the back door of the car. You reach back to clamp down on his wrist. You trip on your toes as he slaps your rear.

"Just a quickie," he snarls. "Seeing you in that ring..."

"Steve. Please. We can go--"

"Get in," he commands and pinches your ass again. "On your stomach."

"Huh?" His sudden shift has you off balance. "Steve--"

"Now," he rasps as he grips the door. "Pants off."

You turn to look at him in horror and catch his hand as he tries to grope your chest. "I don't want to... here."

His eyes narrow and his jaw squares. He scoffs and shakes your hand off of his. He frames your face with his thick fingers and leans in.

"I'm not fucking asking. Let's celebrate." He pushes his nose and forehead against yours. "I waited before. No more."

You wince and pet his knuckles. You whimper and he lets you go. You bat your eyes and slowly sit on the back seat.

He's big enough to block your view of the parking lot. You tremble as you unbutton your fly. Disbelief numbs your touch. You lift yourself and peel off your pants, your underwear twisting down inside them. 

He looms over you and taps his fingers on the roof. You untangle your feet and drop the clothes onto the car floor. Steve sighs and it blows through in an icy wind. 

You shimmy back into the car. You turn over and he growls again. As you spread out on your stomach, he crushes in behind you, a knee between your legs.

He shuts the door as he crams into the back seat. He pushes your left leg over the edge of the seat. You quiver as you're exposed to him.

He bends over you and hooks his arm under your neck. He kisses the back of your head and pets your cheek. He inhales your scent.

"Can't help myself, sweetheart. This is what you do to me."

He slips his hand between your bodies, wriggling over you as he plucks open his fly. He grunts as he shifts his weight, the lack of space as suffocating as he is.

He guides his tip down along your cheeks. The fabric of his slacks tickles your skin. He prods along your entrance. He drags his hand free and hooks it beneath you.

He shoves between your folds and rubs your clit. He puffs into your hair as he teases you. His legs are bent up, cramped against the door as he smothers you. He bows down to nibble at your neck.

You slicken against his touch. He swirls and flicks as you close your eyes and clutch the edge of the seat. Humiliation scalds over you. What if someone sees.

He rubs you from clit to entrance and back again. He teases you until you moan, the soft mewl the final surrender. 

He frames your cunt with his long fingers and spreads your lips. He tilts his hips down and guides his tip between his knuckles. You hold your breath as he delves into you.

He rumbles as he dips into you in a single slow thrust. When he's at his limit, he shudders. He rocks his pelvis and you clench around him. His arm tightens around your neck and he kisses your jawline as he groans.

The wet noise of you clinging to him fills the humid space. He pumps into you, the tempo cloying in your ears. You babble as he grunts, each thrust more eager than the last.

His patience shatters as he hammers into you. You arch your back to ease the blunt force of his intrusion and he plays with your clit as your walls quiver around him. You heave down into the seat as his feet bounce of the window. The cacophony makes you dizzy. 

"Oh, sweetheart, you're so good." He snarls as he pounds you into the seat. "Hm, the way you're made for me."

He rolls his fingers furiously and you bite your lip. A fire-laced tide washes over you and floods your brain. You whine through your orgasm as it drips out around him.

"That's it, doll. You know I'm the best man for you," he pushes himself up, staying inside you as he unloops his arm from your neck. 

He pulls your hips up as he readjusts. You hunch down onto the seat, slack as you hang from his grip. He moves you up and down his length, slamming you back against his pelvis. He moves you to his will, growling and grunting, nails digging into your hip. Your insides twine around him.

He buries himself inside you as he holds you in place. He exhales shakily then starts again. He bucks into you as he gropes one side of your ass. The car shakes with his fury.

"Doll, I feel you clinging to me," he puffs. "Mm, you're so sweet... mmm, I'm gonna marry you and do this every day..." he grunts and bends over your again. "I'm gonna fuck you... til death do us... part."

He ruts until he collapses. He flattens you under him as he spasms and gushes inside you. You shiver as he spills out, his hips rocking slow and uneven as he rides out the aftershock. 

Your breaths are shallow, mingling damply in the closed space with your sweat. He groans and kisses your shoulder. He takes your hand brings it to his lips, kissing the wring on your finger.

"That's why you wear a skirt, baby." He pushes in as deep as he can. "I want access at all times."

[zapnshock]

Siri, I've been thinking about mob Curtis (yours, the awful but we still want him to ruin us Curtis). All these threats of showing you off to others, including actually taking you in front of his men. He does it to humiliate you and break you and because for him it's hot. But what if some of his men take it as a sort of invitation. A sign that they can humiliate you as if you were a free for all slut. Of course none dares to do it in front of Curtis. But when you're alone?

Maybe you've been walking from your bedroom to the dining room for dinner with Curtis, or to his office where he summoned you. On your way, one of his goons checks you out, makes some nasty comment and slaps your ass.

You're too scared to react, so you just quicken your pace to get to Curtis fast before the man does more. You don't tell Curtis of it either, thinking he would blame you for it, or that he wouldn't even react at all.

But Curtis reads your body language like an open book. He notices something is off. It's not just your usual tension and shyness. You will tell him what the fuck happened.

And what will he do after learning the truth?

Ramifications

Pairing: Curtis Everett x Fem!Reader Word Count: 5,895 Summary: It was only a matter of time before Curtis’ treatment of you inspired others to treat you the same way, but he’s sure to nip that in the bud immediately, and in a brutal and unforgettable way. Warnings: Mob AU. Explicit language. Explicit sexual content. Mob elements. Implied captivity. Non con groping (not by Curtis). Degradation and being called a whore and slut (not by Curtis). Knife violence (not on Reader). Death of a minor character. Brief mentions of blood and gore. Vaginal fingering. Oral sex (f receiving). Face riding. Unprotected sex. Dirty talk. Overstimulation. General angsty vibes and possessiveness.

A/N: I just…have descended into the deepest depths of sin, and I’m taking you all with me lolll. Also: @biteofcherry your ask was amazing and I instantly had this idea when I read it but knew that I needed to establish some things before we got here, so thank you for being patient with me and for fostering my obsession with this Curtis 🥴

PRIZED POSSESSION MASTERLIST

It wasn’t unusual for you to be summoned to Curtis’ home office, or for one of his men to escort you there.

What was unusual was how closely Franco Jr.–Curtis’ head of security–was following you. How you could feel the way he was leering at you the entire journey across the manor.

Another thing that wasn’t unusual for you was feeling a constant sense of fear. You were in enemy territory after all–Curtis’ prized possession to do with as he pleased–and there was nothing you could do about it.

But right now, as you turned down another long hallway and realized it was only you and Franco in the vicinity, and that he was so close now that you could feel his hot breath along the back of your neck, all of your internal alarm bells started ringing.

You hugged yourself tightly, tucking your chin against the top of your chest and keeping your gaze fixed on the floor in front of you as you picked up your pace until you were practically speed walking the familiar path to Curtis’ office.

You didn’t get very far before you were being grabbed from behind and shoved into the wall hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs as you sank back against it in a frightened daze.

“It’s cute that you think you can play hard to get,” Franco laughed as he sneered down at you. He was pressed so close that you could feel the bulk of his body through his expensive suit, and it felt wrong.

It still seemed like a betrayal each and every time your body gave in–and eagerly responded–to Curtis and his frequent ruin of you. Perhaps it was a symptom of his complete ownership over you, the way that it felt so abundantly, terrifyingly clear right now that Franco in your personal space was wrong, wrong, wrong.

Suddenly one of his big hands shot out, painfully gripping your face and tilting your fearful gaze up to meet his. His nostrils flared when you choked on a scared whine, trying to recoil from his hold.

“You really think any of us are buying this innocent act anymore? We can all hear the way you like being fucked like a whore all day, every day. You act so sweet and innocent, but you sure do keen so pretty when you’re filled with cock. I bet you beg for it too, you fucking slut.”

Your insides curdled at the truth to Franco’s words. 

Because he was right. Your days were spent being fucked and flaunted by Curtis. He reveled in it. Putting you on display, using you, and sometimes in front of his men. You really were his prized possession–his human trophy–and there was nothing you could do about it.

What made it even worse was that there were so many times that he made you like it, made you beg for him and then thank him afterward for using you in such filthy, degrading ways.

So there really was truth to Franco’s words. You knew this was your reality now, you lived it day after day, but to have someone so callously speak it aloud, to rub your face in it, it made you want to shrink into nothing and disappear forever.

It made you feel so dirty and ashamed. It made you hate yourself, that this is what you had become.

Franco scoffed when your tears brimmed over, streaking down your hot cheeks and wetting his fingers that were still digging into your skin.

He leaned in close enough that his lips hovered over yours and made you cower against the wall even further. “Maybe once the boss is done with you,” he husked, “He’ll let the rest of us have a turn before we get rid of you, permanently.” 

Your heart lurched at the very idea, but then Franco’s free hand was shoving its way between your legs, beneath your dress, and groping your cunt through your panties hard enough to make you squeal in pain. 

It was over just as quickly as it started. Franco’s grip on your face retreated, and he tugged you away from the wall, pushing you toward Curtis’ office and slapping your ass hard enough to make you stumble. 

He sniggered behind you as you regained your footing, hugging yourself tighter than before as you sniffed back your tears and tried to stop shaking so hard. 

From the glimpse you had gotten of him and his mood this morning, you knew that Curtis wouldn’t want to deal with any tears today, so you made sure to wipe your face dry as you arrived outside of his office. You kept your gaze down as Franco opened the door and stood back, waiting for you to step inside. 

Keeping as much distance from him as you could, you timidly stepped into Curtis’ office, flinching as the door closed behind you, leaving you alone with the man himself. 

You should have immediately gone to stand before Curtis’ desk to wait to see what he wanted from you today, but you were still a little shell shocked from your encounter with Franco, and you weren’t able to shake it off before Curtis could notice.

He was nothing if not a shark able to smell vulnerability like blood in the water, and he rose from his seat and stalked toward you before you could even comprehend his approach.

Curtis loomed over you, his stoic face giving away nothing as he watched you, took inventory of your evident distress and the tears that still lingered in your eyes that you tried to keep anywhere but on him.

Having none of it, Curtis gripped your chin–his touch much gentler than Franco’s had been–and tipped your face up so he could meet your gaze. You weren’t sure what he saw reflected back at him, but it was enough to have him frowning as his brows drew together.

“What happened?”

“N-nothing–” you started to lie, terrified of what his reaction might be to the truth. 

Would he blame you for Franco’s behavior? Would he follow through on his minion’s wish to have a go with you before disposing of you altogether? 

Would this be the thing that finally set Curtis off in a way that you’d never recover from? 

“Don’t. Lie. To. Me,” Curtis enunciated slowly, dangerously, as he ducked closer, his blue eyes flashing in a way that made terror skitter up your spine.

The truth spilled out of you without reserve then, your voice quaking and tearful as you told him what had happened out in the hallway with his head of security.

Just as before, Curtis’ face was mostly impassive, but there was the most minute clench of his jaw as you finished speaking that had panic prickling all along your skin and a wobbly apology spilling from your lips like your assault had been your fault, “I’m so sorry–”

Curtis cut off your apology with a quiet murmur of, “I’ll take care of it.” 

Without another word, he turned on his heel, strode back to his desk, and pointed at the pedestal as he went before taking his seat.

Knowing better than to question the wordless demand, you scurried across the room and up onto the pedestal. Resisting the urge to hug yourself more–hide yourself away as much as you could–you forced your arms down to your sides and tilted your chin up ever so slightly, angling yourself toward Curtis to give him the best view of your still trembling body and the outfit he had picked out for you today. 

The entire time you stood there as Curtis resumed his work, stealing lingering glances at you every so often, you stewed in anxiety, your stomach churning as you fretted over all the ways that what happened with Franco could be blamed on you. 

And how, as a result, Curtis would undoubtedly punish you for everything.

You didn’t have too long to stew in your dread, because just the next day, you found yourself seated in a chair in the middle of the large meeting room Curtis often used for mob business. 

You couldn’t stop trembling as all of his men filed into the room, one after another. The security team, his own personal bodyguard, and a bunch of others that you knew helped keep his outfit running on a daily basis. 

Despite the way you kept your tearful gaze downward, you could feel all of the men leering at you. A few of them actually jeered, too. It took you right back to that first night–when Curtis had murdered your family before brutally assaulting you as his men watched.

Your insides roiled and quaked at the memory, and your dread was slowly morphing into terror the longer you awaited whatever was already set into motion. You curled in on yourself as you spiraled about what was going to happen next.

Would Curtis punish you in front of all of his men? 

It certainly seemed likely, because why else would he have brought you in here and sat you smack dab in the center of them all? 

Would he fuck you again as they all watched?

Your chest tightened on an aborted sob at the very thought. You didn’t think you could endure that kind of brutal, demeaning desecration again. Truly, you didn’t think you had the mental capacity to survive it.

And maybe that was the whole point–the final dose of punishment–to break you for good.

You closed your eyes and shuddered, quickly swiping away a stray tear that escaped, and then gasped as a warm hand suddenly touched your shoulder.

Your head snapped up to find Curtis standing over you, his handsome face somehow indifferent and stormy at the same time. The urge to cry increased tenfold as he watched you for a long moment, panic clawing at you from the inside out as you tried to predict and brace for what would happen next, what directive would come out of his mouth.

The longer he stared at you–and everyone else watched–the more frantic you grew, until you were reaching for Curtis’ hand that was on your shoulder and clinging to him as you whispered, “Please, I’m sorry–”

“Hush,” he murmured, his hand slipping from your shoulder. He held it out to you, an unspoken cue for you to rise to your feet. 

Scared and confused, you accepted his proffered hand and stood. Swallowing hard as your eyes flickered between his, you desperately tried to read the secrets within those stormy, blue depths, the wicked intentions that you knew were always brewing just beneath the surface.

Curtis’ intent became no clearer as he led you across the room toward the long meeting table, then the head seat where he usually sat during business sessions. Once you were sitting in the unfamiliar chair and anxiously gripping the sides of your dress like a lifeline, you stared up at him, still clearly confused.

He didn’t give you an explanation or any further directive, just gently pet your head before turning away–and toward his men–his body tensing as he stalked back to the center of the room to stand before the now empty chair you had just vacated.

You could feel a wave of tension wash over the room, Curtis’ men instantly going silent and many of them looking as outwardly confused and concerned as you yourself felt. 

“To my extreme disappointment,” Curtis began, his voice so strong and steely it had everyone around him standing at attention, “It seems as if you all need a reminder that you’re not to touch, or even look at, what’s mine.” 

He turned to Franco suddenly, pointing to the empty chair before him. “Sit,” he commanded his head of security, his tone edged with something that had all of your hair standing on end as you tensed in your own seat.

The ever present smirk instantly dropped from Franco’s face. He swallowed nervously as he glanced around the room, but no one else–not one of his other peers or direct reports–would meet his gaze. 

Straightening, Franco smoothed his now trembling hands down the front of his suit jacket before he slowly made his way to the empty chair and sat down. He anxiously gripped the chair arms on either side of him as his cautious gaze lifted to meet Curtis’. 

Curtis sauntered closer, until he was looming over the other man. “I heard you touched my prized possession, Franco. That you’re real eager to get a go with her.”

“No,” Franco immediately scoffed, shaking his head. “That’s not—“

Just a raise of Curtis’ hand had Franco going silent. “Did you touch what’s mine?” Curtis asked softly.

“Y-yes, but I was just scaring her a little—“

Moving faster than you had ever seen anyone move in your life, Curtis pulled a long serrated knife from behind his back–the handle of which you hadn’t even noticed tucked into his belt–and stabbed it through the back of Franco’s hand. 

The hand he had used yesterday to forcefully grope you. 

Franco screamed and writhed in pain as you whimpered and covered your face with your hands to block out the terrifying sight.

“Please, boss! I’m sorry—“ Franco’s plea turned into a scream so agonized and inhuman, that you felt your stomach lurch. 

Even with your hands covering your eyes, you squeezed them tightly shut, desperate to block out everything that was unfolding before you. Even though you couldn’t see what was happening, you could hear it, and it was horrifying.

You heard the sounds of a struggle, a grunt of effort, and then a strange, sickly wet sound that had your insides turning over. A beat later, there was a quiet sound of impact followed by a wet gurgle, and then…

Complete and utter silence. 

It was so silent, it was unnatural, and only emphasized the way your heart thundered in your ears. It took you a moment to comprehend that you could hear something else too–Curtis panting–and then his rough voice loudly snarled, “I hope I’ve made myself perfectly fucking clear.”

After another beat of excruciating silence, Curtis shouted, “Everyone get the fuck out!”

You were trembling so hard, you weren’t sure that you could actually stand, but Curtis’ directive was loud and clear, and if ever there was a moment to obey him, it was now. 

Slowly, you dropped your hands from your face, your breath shallow and difficult to catch, coming in quick, frantic gulps as your body was overcome by fear. 

First, you saw all of Curtis’ men filing out of the conference room in a quick, hurried line. 

Then, you saw Curtis himself, looming a few feet away, staring right at you. His big body seemed even tenser than before–his broad chest still heaving with exertion–and when he shifted slightly, you saw Franco just behind him.

Slumped back in the chair, dead.

Franco’s face was covered in blood. What used to be his eyes were now two sockets of gore that had bile instantly rising to the back of your throat. The long, jagged knife that had been pierced through his hand the last you saw, was now shoved through the underside of his chin to the hilt. 

You started shaking harder, your face twisting in horror at the grisly sight. And then suddenly it was blocked from your view as Curtis stalked toward you, making you feel like helpless prey now more than ever. 

But once you got a good look at him, you noticed that Curtis’ eyes weren’t wild or unhinged like you had expected. As he crouched before you, his gaze was calm. Placid. 

Pleased. 

When he cupped your chin, you felt Franco’s warm, sticky blood that coated Curtis’ hands smear along your skin now and the sharp smell of copper fill your nose. 

“See, I told you that I’d take care of it,” Curtis hummed. “No one touches what’s mine.”

You just nodded dumbly, because what else could you do? Curtis had just violently murdered a man twice his size, in the most gruesome and unhinged way, simply for touching you. 

And for some reason, in that moment, with the way Curtis was watching you expectedly, you knew that he had done this for you, in his own fucked up way.

“T-thank you,” you trembled, your breath hitching as you tried not to cry, tried so hard to stave off your terror and desire to flee so as not to have Curtis’ ire aimed your way next.

He smiled at your gratitude, and the beautiful sight seemed absurd paired with the scene that surrounded you both. The bloody aftermath of deranged violence and unapologetic retribution. 

But you really were grateful in a sense–so, so thankful that all of this hadn’t been directed at you.

“You’re welcome,” Curtis replied. He watched you for a long moment, something familiar sparking to life in his gaze. “Now, why don’t you help me get cleaned up?” He drew his thumb along your bottom lip, his eyes flickering there and lingering as his nostrils flared. “And then you can give me a more thorough thank you for taking such good care of you.”

You didn’t resist as he stood tall and tugged you from your seat along with him. As Curtis turned and led you from the room, you were sure to keep your gaze fixed on the floor and far, far away from Franco’s dead body.

You were pretty sure that you were in shock.

The journey from the meeting room to the master bedroom was a complete blank in your frazzled mind. You were having trouble focusing on anything other than your paralyzing fear, and each time you closed your eyes, all you could see was the gory aftermath that had once been Franco slumped in that chair.

As you stood in the shower with Curtis now, naked and trembling, the one functioning brain cell you had left was screaming at you to get it together, to be good, to not make him angry.

Because you didn’t want to end up like Franco.

You tried so hard to focus on that one goal–to be good for Curtis–but it seemed impossible to get your body to align with your mind. 

You just couldn’t stop shaking or suppress your tears of terror.

And to add to your complete shock and disorientation–Curtis was being surprisingly gentle with you as he finished rinsing Franco’s blood from both your bodies before tugging you flush against him.

As he hummed in content and nuzzled along your neck, it had a memory from your childhood surfacing out of nowhere, of the aloof guard dog your father had lethally trained as a method of defense that would viciously tear apart other small animals, then seek you out for love and affection after. 

That’s what Curtis reminded you of now, as he dragged his lips along your hairline, his big hands gently cupping your bare ass as his hips rocked and pressed the hard steel of his cock against your belly.

You couldn’t help but think that in some weird way, he was using intimacy with you to recalibrate after murdering Franco. 

It didn’t really matter one way or another, all you knew for sure was that you were trying your best to keep your terror at bay and be as compliant as possible as not to incur Curtis’ wrath.

Despite your efforts, Curtis was smart and observant, and he obviously picked up on your fear and overwhelm.

“You’re trembling so hard, pretty prize,” he husked as he cradled the side of your face and made you meet his gaze. As a few tears finally escaped and streaked down your cheeks, Curtis groaned, licking his lips as he leaned in to murmur, “I can tell by the way you so sweetly hid your face back there, that you’re probably not used to witnessing that kind of violence, huh?”

You shook your head quickly, an involuntary whimper spilling past your lips as the grisly remains of Franco flashed through your mind.

“Your father never read you into any of his business dealings?”

“No, never,” you whispered. 

“Mmm, he probably wanted to preserve that soft heart of yours.” Curtis’ grip on your face shifted, his head moving closer as his thumb tugged down your bottom lip. “My prized possession isn’t just pretty, she’s so fucking innocent too, isn’t she?”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer before he kissed you. It was as possessive as ever, but there was also a…not hesitance, but curiosity to it, like Curtis was holding back to see how you would respond to him, especially in this moment.

It’s a test, your frantic mind screamed, and you knew you needed to pass it–to please Curtis–to keep yourself unharmed, to keep yourself alive.

You never really resisted Curtis’ kisses–or general advances–you weren’t stupid. But you never initiated anything with him either, and you just couldn’t shake the feeling that that’s what he wanted right now. Maybe it was his way of seeing how grateful you really were, that he had so brutally murdered your assaulter. 

That he had “taken care of you.”

He had mentioned before wanting a thorough thank you after all, and now you knew he meant it.

So the next time Curtis’ lips left yours for a brief second, you chased his retreat, kissing him now as you pressed closer and clung to his shoulders, offering yourself up to him in this new way.

He groaned at the small show of supplication–of desire for him–kissing you more fiercely as he framed your face between his hands and licked his way into your mouth.

You knew that Curtis Everett was a bad man. You, better than anyone, knew what he was capable of. 

But as he all but devoured you now, you had never felt such an intensely feral need directed your way. Something about his shameless, ardent desire for you made it easy to pretend that you wanted this.

When Curtis' hand found its way between your legs and his fingers started to trace soft circles against your clit, you didn’t need to pretend anymore, because it felt so good, and that–feeling good–felt so much better than being terrified and constantly on edge.

So you chased that feeling now, your body finally syncing up with your mind and spreading your legs enough to give Curtis’ hand more room to work. You gasped as he did just that, rocking your hips against his touch and meeting his dark, lustful gaze for a beat.

And then he was rearing close and once again kissing you with the kind of passion that genuinely stole your breath away. That had your knees buckling and your hands clinging to his shoulders to remain upright. That had you mewling into his mouth and tasting his primal groan as his tongue danced with yours. 

Maybe it made you a terrible person, but this–this desperate kind of intimacy with Curtis–was such a welcomed reprieve from the horrors of a little while ago, that you gave into it completely. 

You gave into Curtis completely. 

And your sweet compliancy only seemed to rile him up even more.

He had you out of the shower and into the bedroom so quickly your head spun. But you just melted under his touch–surrendering to him even more–as he guided you onto the bed, then rolled you over onto your belly. 

With each new press of Curtis’ lips against your back, you gasped, fingers curling into the blankets as you squirmed beneath the heavy weight of his body on top of yours.

You had a wild thought as his lips planted against your bare shoulder, that this felt close to worship, but you knew that Curtis wasn’t capable of that, especially with you.

That didn’t seem to stem his onslaught though, it was like he was determined to kiss and taste every inch of your skin—like it was a territory for him solely to claim—and all you could do was endure his passion. 

Until you were as worked up as he was—the two of you feeding off of each other’s desperate, needy energy and responsiveness to one another—and you were whining into the mattress when his fingers teased along your slit before quickly moving away. 

Curtis huffed a quiet laugh before rumbling, “On your knees, pretty prize.”

When you just blinked at him over your shoulder, so obviously dazed and uncomprehending, he grinned. It was a wolfish flash of white teeth before he himself urged your knees beneath you, allowing you to keep your shoulders and head down as he nudged your legs wide open.

You shivered as the cool air of the room touched the warm, weepy place between your thighs, and then you keened in surprise when Curtis suddenly leaned in and licked a broad stripe up your slit.

He groaned his own delight into your folds, his fingers digging into your ass cheeks and holding you spread open for his devouring of you. And devour you he did. He went at you relentlessly, his tongue lapping and laving, his lips teasing and sucking, until you were eagerly shoving back against his face and panting his name, begging for more in a way so sweet and desperate that he let you cum on his tongue with hardly any pleading at all. 

“Yesss,” you breathed, writhing in ecstasy as you rode out the wave of your pleasure, before moaning in appreciation as Curtis shoved his tongue into your fluttering hole as his fingers rubbed your clit to another quick orgasm.

“You always taste so good,” he groaned once he pulled away, his voice low and smoky in a way that made your insides swoop. “I want more of you, get over here.”

Your boneless body was easy for Curtis to maneuver how he wanted, and soon he had you perched over his bearded face and gripping the headboard as you watched him return to enthusiastically eating out your cunt. 

Something about this position had you burning up from the inside out, a kind of mindless want and need you had never felt before taking over as you gripped the headboard with one hand and tentatively reached for Curtis’ buzzed head with the other.

Your soft touch had his blazing eyes lifting to meet yours from between your thighs, and he held your gaze–shameless and challenging you to do the same–as he filled your cunt with three of his fingers and fucked you with them as he sucked at your clit without relent. 

The sound that spilled from your lips was pornographic, but you couldn’t even be embarrassed, because it felt so good. You gripped Curtis’ head harder, your own falling back in ecstasy as you rocked against him. Gasping his name, you encouraged the exploration of his tongue as that twine of need inside of you pulled tauter and tauter with every masterful flick and thrust, every lap and stroke.

Curtis didn’t stop feasting on your pussy until you came for him again, nearly purring at the creamy mess you left all over his face as a result of your pleasure before you collapsed beside him, still gasping and panting for breath.

“I need to be inside you,” he breathed, rolling you onto your side and pressing his font along your back. 

By the time his cock caught along your wet, messy hole, you were nearly on your belly again, but you didn’t care, you wanted to be filled as much as Curtis wanted to fill you. 

“Please,” you whispered shamelessly, fingers curling against the headboard as you pressed back against him, your body desperately seeking more. 

“Such a good girl, begging for my cock,” Curtis groaned. He sounded truly pleased, and it had your belly fluttering before the feel of his cock slowly sliding into you stole all of your attention and had your brain short circuiting more and more with each hard, thick inch that filled you.

You gave a broken cry of ecstasy when Curtis bottomed out with a hard rut, panting into the pillows as your cunt strained and fluttered, gripping his length hard enough to make him grunt.

“Fuck, you want it so bad, don’t you?”

You whined in response, your head spinning as your body went haywire at all of the sensations overwhelming you. Your cunt felt so full but you still needed more. Your nipples were hard and aching, your clit puffy and throbbing, and you swore your body was a livewire, waiting to catch and burn up entirely at any moment. 

All of that only intensified tenfold when Curtis started to move. The slow drag of his cock retreating from the deep depths of your cunt had you moaning without reserve. When he thrusted back into you hard and fast, rocking your body up the bed, you keened. He paused then, and you mewled, grinding back against him, desperate for more of him, making Curtis laugh quietly before he gave you what you so obviously wanted. 

You relished in another hard, deep stroke, before squealing as Curtis grabbed you and set you on your hands and knees properly. 

And then he went to town.

All you could do was take it as he fucked you hard and fast, the sound of skin slapping echoing loudly around the room. Soon the wet, squelching sounds of your pussy eagerly swallowing Curtis hard cock over and over again joined the sinful symphony rising up around you, and you couldn’t even be embarrassed, because you were so lost to your pleasure, and so close to cumming again. 

When your orgasm finally crested, your arms gave out, and you collapsed onto the bed, distantly aware of Curtis’ big, strong hands gripping your hips to keep your ass up so he could continue to pound into you, chasing his own release now.

He came with a shout not long after, and you gasped as you felt the warm bloom of his cum inside of you, felt his cock twitching and jumping as he pumped your pussy full of his cream until your greedy body milked him of every last drop. 

Still dazed and boneless, you moaned as Curtis slowly pulled out of you, feeling the gush of his seed trickle out of your pussy, and squirming as you felt his gaze watching the sinful sight.

He gave a quiet, boyish laugh before panting, “I’m still fucking hard for you,” and before you knew it, you were being flipped onto your back, and Curtis was sinking between your sprawled legs, slowly filling you with his cock once more as his big body pinned you beneath him. 

You whimpered, so beyond overstimulated at this point. A few tears escaped and streaked down your temples as you pressed a hand to Curtis’ firm stomach as if to hold him and his endless passion for you at bay. 

Gasping as he grinded against you, you quavered out a pitiful, “Please, too much.”

Curtis just tutted at you, but it was more playful than anything as he bracketed your head between his muscled forearms and gave another shallow thrust. “Don’t be that way, pretty prize. I gave you what you wanted, took care of you and this greedy pussy so good, didn’t I?”

You blinked owlishly, nodding in agreement at his sinful, teasing words.

Smile growing wicked, Curtis sank against you fully, his lips hovering over yours as he murmured, “Then be good and let me take care of myself now.” He nipped at your jaw, laughing when you squeaked. “Cause I’m not done with you yet.”

He started to fuck you again, keeping his thrusts shallow, his cock barely leaving your body but moving just enough to give him the kind of friction that had him groaning his pleasure. 

“God, this cunt is always so fucking tight,” he moaned, dropping his sweaty forehead to yours and groaning as you clenched around him hard. “Yeah, that’s it, squeeze my cock, fuck.” 

Your eyes fluttered, your body writhing beneath him without your permission, somehow needy and wanting once more. All you could do was cling to Curtis, your body his now to use as he wanted, while you were just along for the ride.

But part of you didn’t even care, and another part of you reveled in it.

Especially once Curtis snuck one of his hands between your bodies and began to strum at your clit with his thumb.

You squealed and jerked at the added stimulation, whining as more tears fell because now it really was too much. Your body was so oversensitive, every thrust of his cock and strum of his thumb making you tremble and writhe as your eyes rolled back into your head.

“Look at me,” Curtis demanded suddenly, his free hand framing your jaw so you couldn’t escape his piercing gaze once your glassy eyes aligned with his.

And that was just another dose of too much. Curtis’ constant, avid gaze. The way it felt like he could see right through you, right down to the deepest depths of your soul. The way it felt like he wanted to. 

He wanted to see you at your most vulnerable, stripped down to the basest part of you, undone in a way you never had been before, and all because of him. 

His next words just confirmed that. 

“Let go for me,” he husked your name–your actual name. “Give me all of you. I want all of you.”

Something about the exchange–perhaps the intensity of it all–unraveled you completely. Your body arched up against his as you came hard, making Curtis grunt as your cunt clenched around his cock, desperately gripping him like it never wanted to let him go.

Curtis scraped his teeth along the curve of your jaw before his thrusts grew harder and more intentional. Soon, he followed you over the edge with a groan so primal as he filled you with his cum that it had your body fluttering with another wave of aftershocks. 

Still gasping for breath, you clung to him, floaty and dazed, as if your mind had gone offline entirely. And maybe it had. 

You were exhausted too. As your boneless body sank back against the bed, it finally registered just how utterly tired you were–completely wrung out–and you struggled to keep your eyes open as Curtis laid beside you and arranged your pliant body over his. 

For a few long moments, it was quiet. You had lost the battle of staying awake, your eyes closed as you drifted closer and closer to sleep while Curtis’ fingers gently stroked along your back. But before you could descend entirely, his quiet voice drew you back to the surface of consciousness. 

“No one but me will ever touch you again.”

In your exhausted haze, as you slowly processed Curtis’ words, you couldn’t help but think that it almost seemed like an apology after what had happened with Franco, but you knew it wasn’t that.

It could never be that. 

Not from Curtis, and not to you.

It’s a steely promise, you reasoned silently before your mind finally surrendered to sleep.

And you were completely unaware of the way that Curtis stayed up for a good long while after you, his fingers gently, possessively tracing along your bare skin the entire time.

UMMM. I AM NOT OKAY. IN FACT, I AM VERY MUCH UNWELL. 🥴

—

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[zapnshock]

All In 18

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

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

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

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Bucky's reluctance to let you go contrasts your eagerness for the same thing. A twinge of guilt plucks in you as you walk away from the car. You should be grateful after everything he's done. The hair, makeup, dresses, books, everything. It was a good night and he's so attentive, but at the same time, his intensity makes you nervous. More than usual.

Your mom's at work. You depend on that to help hide your deceit. As you close the front door behind you, reality sinks in. You're lying to her. After everything, you're going behind her back. You can comfort yourself that the money will help out but it still feels wrong.

You should have a real job, not whatever this hole is you've dug. You can still try; still send out resumes, fill out redundant apps, but what would make it any different than before? Bucky is both your saviour and your defeat. That's all you can get. He's a good guy; rich and handsome but the situation is less than ideal.

You're thinking too much. You drag your feet to your room and shut yourself in. It's an instant relief to be alone. To be back in the place you always went to hide. You miss the quiet nights. It's not even been more than one night away yet it feels longer.

You stretch out and yawn. You're exhausted. What little sleep you got wasn't restful. You stay sprawled on your bed for a while before you peel away.

You get up and change into a pair of pajama pants and a cotton shirt. You grab a book and take it back to the bed. You lean your pillows against the corner of the wall and nestle in. As much of a whirlwind your life has become, you still prefer fiction.

Your anxiety spikes as you hear the front door. Your mom calls out. You wonder if she checked for you that morning. You mull the lies Bucky suggested...

"Honey bun?" She calls out.

You snap your book shut without marking the page. You hope up and hurry to the door. You crack it open and peek out.

"Mom?" You eke out.

"Oh, there you are! I feel like it's been ages. You're a busy bunny."

"Mhmm. Sorry. I should've... mentioned. It's a pretty full schedule."

"I know. So long as you're taking care of yourself. Aren't you?" She cheeps.

"Oh, yeah, of course." You answer as you clasp your hands behind you. "How's work for you?"

"It's work," she shrugs. "Happy to be home. You going in tonight?"

She heads for the kitchen and you follow. "Um, yes. I... I have another shift--"

"Shhhhhhhh," the long hush greets your entrance as you come into the kitchen. Roxy sips from a fresh cup of coffee.

"And hello to you too, hon," your mom rebuffs. "Late night?"

"Mmm, very," Roxy answers hoarsely, "probably later tonight."

"Ah, my girls," your mom puts her purse on the counter. "Such hard workers. So grown up."

Her preening makes you shrink down and your sister rolls her eyes. She taps on her phone with her thumb. "Yeah, well, you know, I might get a better gig soon. Somewhere bigger. Better pay."

"Amazing," your mom beams as she searches the fridge.

"Since." Roxy punctuates the single word as she jabs her finger in the air. "My loving sister won't put in a good word for me at the casino. But whatever. Wyla says she knows some people."

"That's wonderful. Just be safe. Both of you," she takes the chicken breast out of the fridge. "Hungry?"

"Um, I'll cook, mom. You just got in."

"I don't mind," she waves you off. "Really. Seems like I won't get to take care of you two much longer. Oh, dread the day."

You scrunch your lips up. You watch her for a moment then look down. You never lie to her. You tell her everything, not that you've ever had much to tell. You hate this.

"I'll help at least," you insist.

"Alright," she relents. "Rox, you feel like pitching in?"

"Pfft, no thanks. I gotta get ready. I'll eat later." Your sister takes her cup and struts away, eyes glued to her phone. Your mother ho hums.

"I wonder where she gets that from. Never taught her to be a brat," she tuts. You peek up and she smiles in your direction. "Ah, but I got you, don't I?"

You try to smile. Your cheeks pinch painfully. You clear your throat. "Yeah. Um... what're we doing with the chicken?"

You just want to focus on the simple task. Not on the lies. You want to pretend everything's normal. If you're good at anything, it's avoidance.

🃏

It's turning into a routine. Your mom drops you off at the casino. You walk up to the hotel and check-in, just like Bucky directed. He's been texting. A lot. You're anxious.

You get to the suite. There's an outfit waiting. A two-piece top and skirt. Shiny rose gold and figure hugging. To go with it, there are heels in a similar shade and a necklace with a single diamond.

The knock at the door isn't a surprise but still makes you jump. Bucky enters as you struggle to find your voice. He stops and his eyes skim up and down your body. He whistles and crosses the room. He reaches for you as he approaches.

"Well, doll, you are goddamn stunning," he frames your hips. "Mm mm mm. Beautiful and..." he brushes his hands up your sides and draws you closer. "All mine."

He leans down and you tilt your head. Your lips meet but you're unprepared for his ferocity. He pushes past your sealed lips and gags you with his tongue. One hand slips down to your ass as his other cradles your head. He rocks you as he presses his pelvis against you and growls.

When at last he lets you breathe, you're dizzy. You blink up at him and he smirks. "Sorry, can't help myself."

"It's... fine. I... I'll put on more gloss."

You turn and grab the tube of lip gloss. You bend to look in the fantasy as you unscrew the top. You slide out the wand and he steps up behind you. He bends over you, planting his hands on the table. You smear the sparkly shine across your lips. He watches over your shoulder and snarls. He once more rocks his pelvis into you.

"What about this? Huh? Our first time? You could watch the whole thing?" He bows and kisses your shoulder, rubbing his crotch against your ass. "I could still see your face..."

"Bucky," you squeak as you twist the gloss tube. "Um... you said you wanted to go play games, right?"

"We can but I really wanna play with you, kitten." He nuzzles your hair. "You just look so damn good right now."

"Thank you, uh..." you look at him in the mirror as he rests his chin on your head. With his arms penning you in, you feel trapped. "You look good too."

"I do?" He wonders with a coy tweak of his brow.

You nod. His dark hair is tucked behind his ears, his beard is thick but tidy, and he wears a sapphire jacket that makes his eyes even bolder. You can't help but smile. He really is a good looking man.

"Yes," you answer and gently touch his thick fingers. "Can't put in all this effort just to stay in."

"Ah, baby, damn, I know you're right but I wish you weren't," he growls and stands up. "Gotta show you off, huh?"

You grab his hand. "Uh huh." You never look forward to facing the public but the alternative scares you more. "Maybe this time, we'll win."

"Oh, I already have, baby," he raises your hand and kisses your knuckle. "I already got the best girl in the room."

🃏

Bucky's hand rests on your lower back. It's no different than the night before. He stops to speak with those who recognise him. He keeps you close as he does.

He stops at the bar and puts a drink in your hand. Cranberry with a twist of lemon. He gets his usual dark liquor.

You go to a table with a wheel. He sets your drink on the trim and helps you onto the tall stool. He squeezes your hip as if to make sure you're steady.

"Roulette," Bucky explains. "Mostly luck. Can't really be good or bad."

He beckons over your shoulder. An employee in all black appears with a tray of chips. Bucky accepts them and sets them on the table. "Benny," he says to the dealer. "This is my lady. She's going to make some bets. Give her a good spin."

"Yes, boss," the dealer responds and watches you patiently.

"Pick a number, doll," Bucky gestures to the table.

You look at the odd chart of numbers and all the different colours. You tap your fingers as others place their chips down on the squares. "Twenty-seven?"

He nods and puts a stack on. You wiggle your foot nervously. You don't want him to lose too much money.

"Alright, last bets." Benny calls out.

He spins the wheel as a ball bounces around it. Bucky runs his fingers up and down your back, sending chills all across you. His touch is so smothering, he just never stops. You squirm and glance around. You feel like everyone else is staring but you're too afraid to look at their faces.

"Twenty-seven." Benny declares. You flinch and sit up. Others groan, some sigh, and the chips are pushed toward you.

"Really?" You utter.

"Congratulations."

"Oh?" You stare at the pile.

Bucky tidies the stacks with one hand. You cup your chin and look at him. "Why don't you choose this one?"

"I spent all my luck on you, baby," he purrs.

You giggle. Sometimes the things he says make your insides all wiggly. And the way his voice sounds...

"Try your drink." He says.

"Oh, thanks." You grab your glass and take a bigger gulp than you mean to. The tart cranberry is laced with stringent vodka.

"Number?" He asks you.

"Mmmmm three?"

He puts a bet down again. The wheel spins. No luck this time; five. You shrug and take another drink.

You empty your glass quickly. Too quickly. Bucky picks up the tray of chips and signals again. He hands it to the same employee. He offers his hand.

"You need another drink."

"I can wait," you say.

"I do too," he intones.

He walks you back to the bar. As you turn and reach back to brace the seat of the high stool, he grabs your hips and lifts you onto it. You make a face and he chuckles.

"You're adorable," he praises and squeezes your hips. "Absolutely irresistible."

He turns, an elbow on the bar trim, his other hand fluttering to your thigh. He rests it there as the bartender approaches. "My regular and...doll?" He looks at you. "You want the same thing or..."

"Sure. Uhh, cranberry."

"Cranberry martini," Bucky corrects you. "Thank you, sir."

Bucky rubs up and down your leg as he steps closer. Each time he trails up, he gets a little closer to your panties. You shift and push your thighs together.

"You icing me out?" He wonders as he leans his cheek in his hand and stares at you.

"I just... I don't like... people seeing," you peek around.

"Ah, I know. You wanna keep it private. You want it special." He tickles above your knee. "I get it. I'm sorry, doll. I can't help myself. Not with you." He keeps his elbow on the bar and lifts his head. "You know, I've been thinking about this morning. About the shower..."

"Oh, uh, yeah," you touch your neck as it burns. "Well, that was just... that was new."

"You liked it though."

"Mmhmm," you hum and smile. "Yeah, it's fun..."

The bartender returns. Bucky pulls his arm off the bar and slides your drink toward you. You thank him and take it. You peer into the dark red cocktail and make yourself drink. You don't want it to go to waste.

"We'll have some more tonight," he grips his glass and hovers it in front of him. "Can I kiss it again?"

You nearly choke as you go to take a sip. Your eyes round at him. His cheek dimples.

"You can pull my hair while I do."

You swallow tightly as the drink in your hand trembles. Your lips twitch. You can't speak.

"You can sit on me. Right on my face." He slithers as he pets your knee. 

"Please, um, later. Erm," you trace along your neck nervously.

"What do you want me to do, doll?" He gets closer and brings his hand up to the nape of your neck. He looms over you. "You wanna touch me like you did this morning? Maybe you could use your mouth too?"

The glass nearly tips out of your grasp. You catch it and place it on the bar. You giggle nervously. Your ears are on fire.

"Well, er, sure," you murmur. "I--"

Your name booms out from behind you. Your brows rise even higher. You frown and Bucky's eyes raise pointedly. His jaw sets.

"Yo, it's me. You know? Your sister!" Roxy stomps up beside you. "Woah. Some job you got." She reaches to tug on your shirt. Bucky flicks her away. "They got a nice uniform for you and everything." She snorts and glares between you and Bucky. "This your boss?" She snickers. "Oh, sweetie, if this is the work you're doing, I coulda hooked you up."

You bat your lashes as your eyes wet, "no, Roxy, please... don't tell mom."

"Don't tell? Oh, I mean, I wouldn't if you'd told me but now... hm. You always were the good one." She taunts. "I can't believe you'd like to mommy."

"Roxy--" You slide off the stool and nearly fall. Bucky catches your arm.

"Too late." She sneers. "Go on and fuck your sugar daddy. I'll find my own." She glances at Bucky, razing him up and down with her eyes, then spins away. "Ha! Should've fucking known."

"Rox," you reach for her and Bucky pulls you back. You whine and put your fist to your lips.

"It's okay, doll."

"No, I..." you squeeze your hand tighter as you lower it to your chest. "No, I shouldn't have ever done this. I... lied--"

"You are an adult," he says. "You do whatever you want. Your sister gets no say." He grabs our shoulders and bends to look you in the face. "Don't let her ruin our night."

But-- but---"

"That's a problem for tomorrow, right, baby?" He brings his hands up to cradle your face. "Right now, you're with me. Come on, let's finish our drinks. It'll help."

"I don't... I don't know."

"Sit," his thumb brushes across your cheekbone. "I told you, didn't I? I'll take care of you. You don't worry about nothing."

[zapnshock]

A Hold On You 1

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

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, bullying, depression, controlling and abusive behaviour, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: you try to look on the bright side of life but a man comes along to blot out the sun.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: Thank you all for feeding into this.

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

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

It’s a nice day to get out. One of the last sunny days of autumn. You can smell the soil and leaves and hear the call of pumpkin spice. Maybe on your way back. 

You can’t spend another day inside. Not after the week you’ve had. Besides, once the winter hits, you’ll have more than enough reason not to go past your front door. You’re going to make the most of your day off. More so, you’re going to keep your mind busy so it doesn’t fall back into the pit. 

It feels good to move around. Between hunching at your cubicle desk and squinting over your dining room table, that crick in your neck needs to be ironed out. You have to remind yourself to stand up straight as the muscles tug between your shoulder blades. 

You stop and turn to face the record shop. As you do, you’re nearly bowled over by another pedestrian. You hadn’t realised they were so close behind you. You back up and apologise but the man doesn’t even look at you as he veers toward the front door. The bell jingle as he enters with a huff, the back of his dark jacket a vague splotch in your vision. 

Oop. You’re in the way. Again. You do your best not to do that. You never want to stir the waters or be a bump in the road but somehow you always find a way to do that. No good comes from wallowing in it. As stressful as it can be to brave the public and its unpredictability, a smile keeps you from falling apart. 

You approach the shop and swing open the door. Oof, it’s much heavier than that man made it look. You greet the associate behind the counter with a beaming morning and ‘hello?’ He asks how you are and you give the easy answer; ‘good, how are you?’ He responds with the same empty courtesy. 

You look around the covers and the little signs that delineate every genre. Before you can get into all that, you need the most important piece of all. A record player. For as long as you’ve been waiting to set foot in the shop, you’ve been saving up for the player. 

You near the table stacked with varying shades of suitcase players. You read up on each brand and style. It will be best to tuck away when you’re not using it. Your small apartment is already too cluttered. 

You pick a lilac player with little white roses stamped over the cover. It’s on sale. A sign above proclaims that you can get twenty percent off three or more records when you by a player. Well, how about that? It isn’t all doom and gloom. 

You hug the player under your arm and near the shelves mounted to the walls. You peruse the titles intently. Something new? Something you know? You definitely don’t want to get just one genre.  

As you sidle along, the corner of the box knocks against something. You look back and another ‘sorry’ bubbles from your lips. It’s that man again. He’s browsing the end cap behind you and growls at your apology. You stare at him for a moment, he seems at home in a place like this. 

“Um, excuse me, sir,” you say, “do you have any recommendations?” 

He grumbles and puts the album back in its slot. He looks over his shoulder with detest curled into his lip. The stone chiseled into his jaw makes you gulp. 

“What?” He scowls. 

“Sorry, I didn’t... I was only... curious. Have a good day, sir.” 

“Good? What’s good about it?” He hisses. You wince and move to the next section. Not far enough as he sighs, “you know, you wouldn’t like my taste anyway. Stick to your girly pop.” 

You resist a frown. You’re not going to let someone like that bring you down. You can tell that he looks for the worst in everything and everyone. You wouldn’t judge someone by their appearance but his demeanour says as much as his words. You won’t add to his cynicism but bothering him further. 

You pick out an Etta James album that you recognise. Your grandmother had the same one. You think your mother snatched it up after she passed. You didn’t get much from the inheritance. As it is, you’d rather have your grandma back. Someone to talk to. 

You move on to the rock section. There’s hair metal and classic rock and grunge and all sorts. You’re not unfamiliar with the genre but you don’t want to be too obvious.  

A scuff startles you and you glance over at the man in the dark jacket. He seems familiar. His short brown hair, his stubbly jaw, and his intensity trigger something in your head. You definitely don’t know him. Everyone you know is too busy for you. 

“Probably don’t even know how to use the damn thing,” he snips under his breath as he gets closer. 

You realise he’s talking about you. It’s no good arguing. You’ve met his kind before. Back when your friends had the time of day for you, you met that type at their parties. You avoided them. 

You leave the aisle. You don’t want to be in his way, though it seems no matter what you do, you are. You find yourself exactly where he predicted. Well, who cares? It’s all a matter of brain chemistry, right? You don’t get to choose what you like, you just like it. It makes your brain happy and heaven knows you need more of that. 

You pick out another favourite then head over to new release. You’ve never heard Sabrina Carpenter. You’ll give it a try. 

You approach the counter and as you do, another sigh storms through the shop. The man’s behind you. Oh no, had you cut him off? 

“You want to go ahead of me?” You ask as you keep your haul in your arms. 

He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, a single record in his hand; The Boswell Sisters. You’ve never heard of them but it really doesn’t look like heavy metal. You turn back to the cashier and smile, “hello, um, this is it.” 

You put your things up as the man returns your smile. He asks if you want a bag and you say, ‘yes, please’. Things might not be perfect but it doesn’t mean you can’t try to make them better. And if a smile and manners can brighten someone else’s day, that alone makes yours a little sunnier. 

🪢

The box for the player has a little plastic handle. You’re happy for that as it makes your journey to cafe a little easier. You stand in line with your paper bag and bulky box and move along until it’s your turn. You order the pumpkin spice but think better of double up with the pumpkin cream muffin; you instead opt for the apple cinnamon with the chunks you can see through the top. 

Patiently, you stand by the wall until your order comes up. You crinkle around the other customers and claim it, balancing it all delicately toward an empty table. You tuck the box underneath and lean the bag against it. 

You tear apart the muffin, dividing the bottom from the top. You peel back the liner and eat the former first, pinching morsels between your fingers. You don’t know why you do it that way, you just always have.  

You taste the pumpkin spice. It’s good. Not too spicy at all. It tastes like real pumpkin. Considering the place is local, it might very well be. You pop the lid off to reveal the mostly melted cream and have another sip. 

You wipe the dairy mustache from your upper lip with a napkin and your eyes flick up to meet another pair. Not far from you, that man stands with his hands in his pockets. He’s waiting by the order window for his own delight. Well, that’s great. Maybe it will cheer him up. 

He glowers until you look through the window. Or not. The baristas call out a black coffee as you chew on the brim of the paper cup. You stare out into New York traffic and feel yourself getting smaller. It’s easy to feel lost in the city. 

As you watch through the window, a dark figure passes before it. You lift your gaze and again find yourself at the mercy of that man’s grim snarl. You quickly turn back to your latte. He must’ve had that black coffee. He might do with a bit of sugar. 

You try not to think about it. You don’t know him. You don’t know his problems. Just like anyone else. People don’t know that you feel heavy when you wake up or that you spend your hours keeping your hands busy so you don’t have to think. They only know the woman with the smile and the chipper voice and just as swiftly forget about her. 

You pick away at the muffin, savouring in each bite. You’re thankful for that. For that moment. You have coffee and a nice dessert and you got your record player. It's best not to think about all the existential stuff you can’t change. It will come back later when you’re alone. It can wait until then. 

🪢

Your walk home sees the sun hiding behind the clouds. The downpour begins a block away from your building and soaks you through. You keep your head down against the sheets of rain and hurry up the walk as the front door comes in sight. 

The elevator is out of order. Again. You climb the stairs in your squeaky soles and finally reach your apartment. You push inside and kick off your sodden shoes and peel away your jacket. The turtleneck beneath is just as drenched. 

You don’t strip down right away. You’re more concerned with your prizes. The records are fine, the covers just a bit damp, and the player doesn’t seem to have taken too much water. You leave it all on the counter and go to change into your favourite fuzzy pajamas. 

You come back out to the front room and stop to admire the slake of rain pelleting against the large windows. It might be dreary but it’s beautiful in its own way. You let the tempo lull you as you unpack the player and set it up on the book shelf.  

You slide the Etta James record from its sleeve and lay it on the player, moving the needle into place. You let it play as you back up, the boisterous tones of the legend melding perfectly with the raindrops. You smile; not the put-upon smile you wear for strangers but a smile of nostalgia and calm. You miss your grandma terribly but the music doesn’t make you sad. 

You go to the table, still messy from last night’s work. It never is clear. You always have scraps and bits littered over it, your sewing machine a permanent fixture on the worn wood. You sit and pick up the felt clump and go back to needling it to a discernible shape. 

Your brows nearly meet in the middle for your focus and it isn’t until the record begins to skip that you sit up. That damn kink is back. Your own fault. Can’t be mad at anyone but yourself. 

You flip the record and let it play out. When it’s over, you shut off the player. You eat the leftovers you’ve been parsing out for the week and settle in for your favourite romcom. It’s cheesy and a little lame but you only have to keep yourself happy. Or try to. 

You leave your plate on the coffee table and hunker down to finish the movie. You’re tired when it’s over but know you won’t sleep. So you go back to the table and work as the rain slows to a lazy rhythm. Your eyelids droop, your shoulders too, but you persist. 

The windows grow dark and there is only the distant shine of streetlights and few windows in the neighbouring buildings. You stare out at the blurring haze and it fades to a deep grey. You wake leaning back in the chair, your head hanging off your neck. You groan as you sit up and curse your carelessness. 

It won’t make work any less intolerable. You check the time ticking away on the clock that came with the apartment. You can get another hour or two. You get up and trod off to bed, not bothering to shut off the lights. You don’t sleep well in the pitch black. 

You fall into bed and just as quickly find yourself unbearable awake. All those little doubts and fears rise up to the surface and have you drowning just below. This is why you end up sleeping upright or folded over. Trying never works for you. Not at anything. 

[zapnshock]

A Man Called Danger 5

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

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: You avoid drama, you avoid confrontation, and overall, you avoid men. But some men can’t be denied. ~ short!late 30s reader

Characters: biker!Bucky Barnes

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

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Your phone flashes. That's odd. You don't get calls. You make them when there's a work order stuck or supply issue. It's the managers that field the incoming ones.

More out of the ordinary is the caller display. It's only four numbers. You pick up. You answer with the department name and your own.

"Hey, sweetheart. Bring me another coffee? I'm caught up in something." Walker's voice drones through without pretense. 

You tense and glance over at his office door in disbelief.

"Don't knock. Just come in." He continues. "Thanks."

You frown as the line clicks. Great. Give an inch, trampled for a mile. 

Just do it. The quicker you are, the quicker you can get back to work. You get up and drag yourself to the break room. You tap around on the screen until you think you have the right one.

You take the cup and steel yourself. You leave the break room and cross the office. You glance around at the other desks. No one notices, there too engrossed in their own work.

You approach Walker's door. You hesitate. 'Don't know.' It feels wrong. You push the handle down and enter cautiously.

He's at his desk, lazily swiveling, elbow on the arm rest, pinky to his lip. You near as he peeks at you and points to his desk. You put the cup down and he winks.

You have no space for a response, not that you can think of one but a scowl. You keep that to yourself as the virtual meeting on his screen continues; conversations about budget and projections. You happily retreat, shutting the door softly in your stead.

You go back to your desk. You adjust it and refocus. There's enough work to do without worrying about coffees and managers and men on motorcycles.

Exactly. Don't think about him. You do your job well and you go home and mind your business.

The hours tick by with the click of the mouse and the clack of your keyboard. Your phone vibrates. It's Eva.

You answer.

"Hey, um... where are you?" She asks.

"Oh shoot. I forgot to message. I'm working a little late." You look over at Maxine as she packs up. "Things are a bit thin here."

"Well, that's no worries. The managers were chatting about happy hour..."

"Happy hour?" You repeat cynically.

"Promise, one drink only but it's a good chance to network. My boss said everyone goes." She babbles.

"Your boss," you nod with a tut.

"They're professionals."

"You're an adult. I told you. Make your own decisions. Let me know later if you need a ride. I should be done by then..." your voice trails off at the shadow behind your monitor. "Er, have fun. Talk later."

"Alright. Bye--"

You hang up and put your phone screen down. You hit the button to lower the desk, though Walker easily sees above your display. You raise your brows curiously.

"Did you still need me to stay, sir?" You ask.

His mouth slants and the line of hair above it too.

"If you don't mind getting the new work orders done, you're free after," he assures. "On my way out to a business dinner. New client."

"Okay," you wonder why he's telling you all that. 

"You can send me an email just to confirm," he intones.

"Will do."

"Well, see you tomorrow. Bright and bushy?" He drawls.

"Alright. See ya, sir."

"See ya," he echoes and taps two fingers on your desk before he departs.

He struts out but you're just as quickly rapt in your work. You don't feel like spending more than two hours on it. Doing other people's work is never easy. Most of your coworkers aren't very organized.

As the office empties out, a stolid desolation trickles in. Your typing and clicking is the only noise aside from the occasional scuff of your shoe. You just have to confirm the supplier and you're good to go. Not too late to toss a microwave dinner in. 

Your phone buzzes. It's seismic in the silence. You answer without checking the display. 

"Eva--"

"You still at the office?" Walker's baritone stifles your assumption.

"Just about to head out, sir." You sniff. Where did he get your personal number? He'd have to dig around the employee rolls, with a but of help from HR.

"Great. Can you do me a favour, sweetheart?"

Sweetheart. You bite back a dry echo of the pet name.

"Sir?"

"You know I was in such a hurry, I forgot to grab my wallet. Bit of a problem since I offered to treat the new client." He sucks his teeth. "Figured if you're there, it wouldn't be too much."

You're quiet, mulling your options. You could say no but you don't think even the overtime would have that going over well. You should. It's beyond your hourly obligations.

"Down at Martine's. Thanks."

He hangs up without your acquiescence. You look at the ceiling and grimace. Damn. Just do it.

You put in the last numbers and shut down. You grab your bag and check that you have everything. Your lunch is mostly untouched.

You stop again in front of Walker's door. Wouldn't he lock it up? Nope. The handle gives and you slowly enter. It's eerie.

You flip on the lights and quickly cross to the desk. The wallet sits right on the corner. As if put there intentionally. You scoop it up and flee.

You hate this. You won't say so. You asked for a favour and got one. It's the least you can do.

As you come outside, the rumble of an engine puts you on edge. You're reminded of life beyond the spreadsheet. Walker is the least of your problems but you don't see that other one riding around on his bike.

You put the GPS on to find your way. You don't frequent the overpriced eat-ins. The drive is shorter than you anticipate but that hardly assuages your agitation. You can't tell if that constant drone is your paranoia or some lurking shadow.

You park along the curb and peer up at the marquee. In and out. Then home.

You get out and grip Walker's wallet tight. That rolling roar fades. You step up on the sidewalk and march to the door. You're kept from the door by a sudden barrier. It's him. That man; Bucky.

He is short his usual leather jacket. Instead, he wears a sleeveless black shirt, that same gold medallion over his chest. He smirks at you.

"Date night?" He asks, a hand on his hip.

You frown. You bristle and press the leather wallet against your leg. "None of your business. Excuse--"

You try to sidestep him and he moves with you. You back up.

"Please. I just need to get inside."

"Uh huh. Sure. Not eating alone, are we?" He asks.

You huff. "Respectfully, it doesn't matter. Now please--"

"Nice place. You think they got steak? I could buy you a nice filet--"

You blink. His blue eyes taunt you as his cheek dimples beneath his thick stubble. You can't help but notice the strength in his exposed shoulders and set in his squared jaw.

"Not tonight."

"You worked late. I got it." He slithers. "How about another night?"

You tap the wallet against your thigh impatiently. The tick draws his attention yet the way his eyes scale back up, makes your insides crawl. You lift your chin.

"Excuse me. Please."

He chuckles. "Hard lady. Respect that." He reaches for you and you flinch. He caresses your cheek and bends to look you in the face. "Not tonight. Got it."

He licks his lips and pulls away. You furrow your brow and wince away from him. He doesn't try to stop you as you pass. 

You hold back the shudder until you're inside. You blow out the tension and tell the hostess you're looking for Walker. She checks the tablet then points you into the dining room.

You follow her. The diners are in suits and dresses and your in your office casual. You don't care to be one of them but it doesn't lessen your dejection.

Walker waves as he spots you. You approach as the hostess steps aside. "I'll have your server check in for drinks."

"No, that's--" you begin but she's already prancing away. You purse your lips and turn to Walker. "I got it."

You put the wallet down beside his empty glass. Your eyes flit over the rest of the table. You thought he was here with clients.

"Thanks," he puts his hand over yours before you can recoil. "Didn't wanna make the others wait around for me to pay."

"Right, er..." you wiggle your hand free and cross your arms. "Well, then, I'll--"

"Sir, you ready for another drink?" The server interrupts your weak attempt at escape.

You back up out of her way. "Sorry, I was just--"

"Sure, same for me, and she'll have..." he looks at you. You stand awkwardly to the side. "Oh, no, I think I should..."

"What was that special? Lavender mojito?" Walker speaks over you. "She'll have one of those."

The waitress smiles and spins away. You dodge her again. You watch her go then look at your boss.

"Sir, I appreciate it but I don't drink."

"One won't hurt," he slaps the booth seat next to him. "You came all the way down here. Least I can do is thank you."

You rock slightly. While no seems the easiest answer, you know better. Mr. Walker has proven himself especially vengeful to defiant employees.

You inhale and shuffle over. You sit on the very edge of the booth. He slides his wallet off the table and leans back as he tucks it into his jacket. He sighs and extends his arm behind you.

"Gonna fall off, sitting like that."

"I'm fine," you assure him, hands clasped in your lap.

The server returns. She replaces his short tumbler with a fresh on, neat and dark. She puts a pale purple elixir before you. You stare at it.

"Well, you'll have to tell me how it is. Never thought of drinking lavender." He prompts.

You hesitate. He drinks from his and you lean forward on the edge. One taste then you'll stop.

You sip the floral drink and your cheeks pinch with the citrus undertones. You feel a tickle on your shoulder and look over at Walker's thick fingers on your shoulder. You squirm. 

He drops the full weight of his arms across your shoulders and you choke. You wipe your lips with the back of your lips. He pulls you closer.

"Sir," you gasp.

"How's your sister doing at her new job?" He grips your shoulder as he traps you against him.

"Um." You stare at the table. You understand. You wish you didn't. You don't get favours for nothing. "She's finished her second day. Seems... to be going smoothly."

His hand creeps down your arm. You go rigid. Your ears vibrate. How long did you avoid me? Avoid this? How long have you spent wary and cautious? Now, look at you.

"Oh, good. Hansen's not an easy guy to deal with," he curls his fingers around your hip. "How's the drink?"

"Flowery," you eke out, digging your nails into the creases of your knuckles.

"You smell good," he nuzzles your hair.

"Sir," your face washes over with heat.

"Plush," he spreads his hand along the top of your ass. "So... it all worked out, didn't it? That little favour."

He angles toward you and his other hand lands on your thigh. "Do I get a thank you?"

"Erm, thanks," you look at his large hand as his fingers rub your pant leg.

"Think you'll like it too--"

A sudden crash makes you twitch and you nearly cry out. The glasses bobble on the table as a black helmet lands in the middle. Bucky stops beside the table 

"Doll, you told me you we're just running in," he frames his hips with his hands. "Got me waiting out there like a chump."

Walker keeps his arm around you. "And who are you?"

"I'd ask you the same, sitting here with your arm on my woman." Bucky steps closer.

"Oh? She didn't mention you," Walker continues to pet your leg.

You writhe in the seat, sweltering in the crossfire of these men.

"I'm introducing myself," Bucky sneers. "Doll, get up."

You can't move. You're horrified. The confrontation has drawn attention from the fellow diners. Worse, there is no good option. Not between either of them.

Bucky grabs your wrist and tugs. You shift and Walker keeps a hold on your hip.

"She's comfortable."

"She's mine," Bucky snarls. "I'm more than happy to make that clear."

He yanks you again. Walker lets you go and slides away. You nearly fall off the seat. Bucky catches you and puts you straight. Your boss brings himself to his full height as he comes out the other side of the round booth. 

Bucky turns to face him, keeping between you and the larger man. He scoffs.

"No suit ever got in my way," Bucky growls. "But I don't mind a challenge."

Walker considers him. The contrast between them is more than size alone, though the both dwarf you. Walker in his grey suit and patterned tie. Bucky in denim and scuffed boots.

"Next time, just tell me you're fucking scum," Walker sneers as his eyes pierce you. "Get the fuck away from my table."

Walker grabs the helmet and shoves it into Bucky's chest. He catches it without wincing and chuckles. He steps forward, moving the other man back on his heel.

"You don't talk to my woman with anything less than respect or I'll cut off that twig you were trying to get in her," Bucky spins the helmet and swings it so swiftly, you exclaim.

The shell cracks across his face and has him keeling over the table. The purple cocktail tips as he growls and cradles his face. Bucky snickers and grabs your wrist.

"Let's get outta here, doll."

[zapnshock]

Not a proposal

part of Unbreakable Ties

mob boss!Curtis Everett x female reader

summary: A direct follow-up to this bit that started the whole universe of dark mafia boss Curtis. You're taken to Curtis' home - your future home and argue with him about his choice of a wife.

warnings: dark and soft-dark elements; arranged marriage; forced marriage; threats; dominant and possessive behavior; Curtis is too damn smart; also who doesn't love to live a spoiled wealthy life; brief mention of breeding kink

Author's Note: I had this scene in my head forever, but somehow couldn't get around to write it. Until today. Just sat down to it at morning and ten hours later here we are 😅

Curtis Everett Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Curtis Everett was a scary motherfucker.

For many, his position as the head of the mafia was enough to deem him dangerous and terrifying. His orders were behind many lost lives, disappearances, blown up places, companies going forever out of business.

Yes, that was enough to consider him scary.

But as you sat in the back of his car, eyeing him from the corner of your eye, you knew there's more to be afraid of.

Until today, you thought yourself to be disinterested in him and the aura surrounding him. Of course, being connected to the mob web, you were aware of who he was, how he looked, and how he operated. But you were rarely at the events he frequented. Your family was in the mafia, but not on the upper levels, not in the inner circle that would grant you such nobility.

Well, until he dropped the bomb with his decision to fucking marry you.

Out of all the available, better matched mafia princesses.

That term might suit you in the general way - a girl who was brought up in the mafia; but it wasn't a category you'd put yourself in as an adult woman.

The fact you were mostly on the outskirts of mafia social life was one of the reasons. All the more making the whole situation unbelievable, that Curtis would for some reason choose you.

This unpredictability, as well the fact he appeared to be two steps ahead with every move, made him that scary motherfucker in your eyes.

Lack of physical violence against you (aside from being tossed over his shoulder and carried to the car) was surprising, too.

Your father and uncle might have been good men when it came to treating women, but there were enough disgusting scumbags in the mafia who raised their hands on their wives or daughters. Who held them hostage in abusive households, while wetting their dicks in diamond-encrusted bitches that dared to look down on those scorned women as if they were better.

Yet, something told you Everett, despite being the law when it came to the conservative traditions gluing this dark world, wouldn't raise his hand on you.

Even as he hoisted you over his shoulder, he was careful with his force.

Oh, you hated him at that moment. So much. But a slightly breathless thought passed your mind when he put you in the backseat of the car.

That Curtis Everett was a man.

As primitive as it sounded. Shallow, too. Still, you couldn't stop that fleeting thought that no man before him was able to just lift you up.

Well, not the men you dated, anyway. Aside from a short fling with one of the young mafia soldiers back when you were barely eighteen. After that, your choices have been guys outside of the famiglia.

Nice guys. Charming, non-threatening, with safe passions and gentle hands.

For so long, you told yourself that's what you wanted. That's what was healthy and normal. You were still convinced of that, it's just that some part of you liked the brief moment of being manhandled by an imposing, lethal man.

A man sitting next to you in the confines of a heavy black suv, with his legs spread wide, tattoos crawling up his fingers from beneath the cufflinked sleeves of a pristine steel gray shirt paired with an equally dark suit.

In the small space of the backseat of a car you could smell his perfume. Pine and herbs and salty sea.

Funny, you would expect that the ruthless devil at the head of the most powerful mafia to smell of grime, gunpowder, and death.

Taking a deep breath, you smoothed out the fabric of your dress over your knees.

"I really think this is the wrong choice." You spoke up, keeping your voice confident, but not daring.

You had the will to fight for yourself, but you were aware of the workings of the world, especially this criminal one. There were repercussions for everything and it'd be stupid to think you could get away with disrespecting the fucking Don.

You also liked living, so you had no intention of chewing through your own arm just to get free, like a caged animal.

Curtis' pointed a single finger at you.

"That is exactly why you're the perfect choice." He said, with the same calm, polite finality he was talking with at the dinner at your family's place.

"What?" You frowned, confused. "The fact I don't want it?"

"No. Because you are furious, but able to control yourself. Because, despite trying for many years to stay outside of mafia workings, you know how to play that game."

"If you want a smart wife, I assure you there are quite a few to choose from. Not every mafia princess is a spoiled, stupid bimbo." Which wasn't their fault, either. It was how they were raised.

Who knows, maybe if your dad was up in the ranks and more influential, you too would be groomed to be a completely docile, sweet mouse.

"Each woman brings different advantages." Curtis said, not the least remorseful.

"I don't come with many," you countered.

Your family was a part of the mob. Your father, his brother, your brother and your cousins. They all were on mafia payroll, though they dealt with a small part of the whole crime machine.

Their influence and wealth were slightly above compared to middle class civilians, but not much compared to mobsters of higher status.

Besides, it's not like Curtis needed more money. He had the most of all.

Power, too.

"I disagree." He surprised you with his simple but genuine statement.

"But let's continue this at home." It was that moment you realized the car had stopped and you reached the destination.

Home. Curtis used that word purposely. Not his place, not inside the house. He called it home, reminding you of the inevitable fate.

As you stepped out, the materialistic part of that future spread before you in its glory.

The mansion was impressive. The grounds surrounding it, as well. Not a monstrosity, but a surprisingly warm classic, like an Italian villa. You bet there was a swimming pool.

Damn, you loved swimming. And sunbathing. And sweet cocktails.

You shook your head, getting yourself back on track as Curtis' hand touched your lower back and nudged your forward.

Inside, the interior was welcoming and stunning. You half expected an overabundance of gold and kitsch, but was greeted by classic comfort. This was a place that could really feel like a home, not just a statement on status.

Curtis guided you to a spacious room in which a wall of windows was interrupted by a massive, stucco fireplace.

"You may claim to be insignificant or not belonging, but I see it quite differently." Curtis opened a small wine fridge in the custom made bar and poured two glasses.

He handed you one.

"I'm confident in my worth as a human being," you took the glass from him. "But I don't see reason behind choosing me for a mob wife. For you out of all!"

If some soldier working under a Capo wanted to ask for your hand, it would be more believable. More likely a situation to fight and decline, too.

But the boss of bosses staking claim? Unbelievable.

Inevitable, too.

"Hmm, the Don is usually expected to marry for alliance." Curtis agreed. He stood opposite of you, neither of you sitting down. "However, at the moment, I'm in no need to form an alliance. Don't need to support the power using outsiders."

"What I'm in need for is to strengthen inner structure."

You took a sip of wine, mostly to wet your lips and throat.

"Okay, I get wanting to marry a daughter of your own men." You nodded in return. "It provides them with honor and respect, while further securing their loyalty to you. Still, it doesn't-"

"Lower ranked can be the weakest links when it comes to loyalty, but your family has been spotless for many years." Curtis explained.

"I don't believe you made that choice just to reward my family." Curtis may have been an honorable man, as far as criminals went, but even he wouldn't make such a big gesture for an insignificant last name.

"I didn't." He took a sip of wine, and you couldn't help but watch the way his throat moved as he swallowed.

"Your family's so called reward will echo through all the ranks."

Curtis' eyes glinted something cold and calculating. Instead of being only scared, you found yourself intrigued by the plan he was weaving.

"For the others on lower level it will mean hope for their potential promotion in the future. That their daughters will marry to higher ranks, or sons given positions under Capos."

"Sons... you mean my brother will-"

"He'll be working under McGregor." Curtis confirmed, the corner of his mouth curved into a smirk. "And with that new prestigious position and connections, he will get the hand of Giana."

It was shocking that the Don himself knew of such minor, gossip-level things like a foot soldier being in love with Capo's niece.

"Moreover, it will shake the upper ranks." Curtis continued in the same calm tone, only his eyes betraying heightening triumph.

"And sometimes, when you shake a branch, bad fruit falls."

Shit! He truly was two steps ahead. Of everyone.

Your breasts rose up in a quickened breath. You had a certain weakness for intelligence. A dose of fear spiked anew, too, for it meant Curtis definitely had a counter argument to every point you might roll out.

"If it comes to it, you'll find out which of your ups are greedy and power hungry enough to betray you." You concluded with a nervous swallow.

Curtis only nodded, taking another sip of his wine. Taking you as his wife wasn't just a whim for him, even if some might see it as it. Actually, it served him well, if most of people remained clueless.

"As for you," the cold in his eyes transformed into something ravenous that almost made you take a step back, "before you list me names of other unmarried girls from lower ranking families..."

You really were ready to come up with some propositions.

"You're fit to play the game and be a rightful queen by my side. Smart, confident, brave. And-" he sighed with relief- "a woman, not a child barely out of age."

Pressing your lips together, you almost laughed at his clear discomfort at the prospect of marrying and fucking an eighteen year old. You'd give him a point for that.

"What about the part of me not wanting to be a mob wife?" It had to be the wine that made you ask so boldly.

Or, perhaps, you were slowly accepting the unchangeable fate and merely poking at the bear.

"I would call it bullshit." Curtis shrugged.

"Excuse me?" You bristled.

You took a few quick steps over to the coffee table to put your glass down, then braced your hands on your hips. Curtis didn't move from his spot, only turned around to face you.

"You paint this picture of someone who's been trying to cut ties with the mafia, but you're still here. Sure, we can discuss how you'd probably be chased and brought to heel, but-" slowly, he took another sip of wine, completely unbothered- "would you, really?"

Before you opened your mouth to retort, he continued:

"You're very smart and resourceful, know how to talk people up and make connections. If you were truly determined to get away from it all, you would. And we probably wouldn't find you."

"Honestly, it's possible we wouldn't even put much power behind that chase. A daughter of a lower ranking mobster, we'd do it for the sake of your family's name, but named the case cold after a few weeks."

Your pulse quickened with annoyance. At his words, but more at the truth he was revealing and which you knew at the back of your head. Because, if you put all your effort into disappearing, you'd fucking succeed. For-fucking-ever!

"Still, you stayed." Curtis' voice was a smooth blade, cutting off your armour piece by piece.

"You ventured outside the lines of mob's web with your dates, but never formed close friendships with those not from the famiglia. Perhaps you'll claim it was to keep people safe, but I wonder if it wasn't because you feel more at ease with those who understand this life. Who understand certain comforts, dangers, and... cravings."

Your blood rushed south, pooling heat in your core at the mentioned thrill.

"You went all bold with the degree unusual for most mafia princesses to choose, and I admire that. Yet, here you are, not looking for a job in that field. You upgraded your family's small business, but it's nowhere near what you're qualified to do."

Because you wanted to be different. You wanted to be more than just a mold everyone else was cast from. You wanted to sate your ambitions and stimulate your brain.

At the same time, you couldn't imagine not being at your family's cafe.

"Actually-" Curtis paused to put his own glass on the table and took a step towards you- "you don't seem to have been doing much different things than other mafia princesses."

"You work more, yes. You spend less, yes. You don't frequent many brunches and cocktails, only Carmella's monthly spa spree. But you eat only at mafia owned places. You participate in Fiore's and Layton's community cookouts."

You wanted to scream at him that you supported the community, nothing else. But was it the sole truth?

It was also a habit. And, somehow, a distaste for anything that wasn't from the world you knew.

You could also admit that you acted spoiled on rare occasions. You couldn't afford to buy only brands, or to splurge on three bags full at Sephora. And you were fine with it. Still, you bribed Sabrina at Claude's boutique, to put away for you that short, pale pink faux fur they had in the upcoming order list.

Curtis' gaze slowly slid down your body then up again. It wasn't lecherous, yet felt like a dark promise of devouring you whole.

"Maybe you don't like to be called that, but you are a mafia princess. And you can be swooped away by the mafia king."

"You have it all figured out, don't you?" You huffed, frustrated with losing all reasonable arguments, beside just pure spite.

"Yes." He didn't gloat, he simply stated.

"Well, you haven't even really proposed! No getting on one knee and offering a ring!" You blurted out, throwing your hands in the air.

Mirth formed soft wrinkles around Curtis' eyes. His mouth widened in a grin that balanced between amusement and a shark's bite.

"Because it's not a proposal."

No, it wasn't. Proposals had the option of refusing. He wouldn't accept yours. Already didn't. It was quite magnanimous of him that he even entertained the whole discussion on the matter.

"But if it matters to you so much-"

His hands gripped your hips in a flash. He lifted you, so easily once again, then tossed you onto the sofa.

The world spun, before your gaze settled on the light wooden beams crossing the pristine white ceiling. Then your eyes shifted to look at the man hovering over you.

He pushed your legs apart, kneeling on the floor between them. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small velvet box.

Your pupils widened, and breath hitched in your chest. Though you weren't sure if it was because the motherfucker was clearly prepared for an actual traditional proposal, or if it was because of the way he had you splayed under him.

Curtis opened the box and a setting of blinding stones sparkled at you. The ring was stunning. Possibly worth half of this mansion.

You gaped as he took the ring in one hand. With his other, he lifted your hand, which somehow felt beyond your control. Slowly, he slid the ring onto your finger, all the while holding your gaze.

"I won't ask if you marry me, because you will." Curtis rubbed your knuckles with his thumb.

His other hand moved to your chest. Fingers brushed over the swell of your breasts then circled your throat.

"In six months." He leaned down, his voice lowering into a purr as he laid each new tile of your fate for you.

"Official announcement comes next week. We'll host the annual Christmas party for the famiglia as an engaged couple. A few other events before our spring wedding."

He pushed closer. You felt the heat of him between your thighs. Your clit throbbed with interest. His fingers on your neck tightened slightly and your pulse quickened beneath his thumb.

"I won't fuck you until our wedding night. I'm traditional like that. Plus, I don't want anyone to have any doubt about me choosing you. There won't be any claims that I did an honorable thing after knocking you up."

There was a mention of condoms at the tip of your tongue, nearly rolling out in a begging tone.

"Because when I fuck you-" his breath tickled your lips as Curtis leaned closer- "you will take me bare. Always. In every hole. You will leak with my cum and swell with my child."

Your pussy clenched around nothing.

The gasp that fell out of your lips wasn't of an outrage, nor mortification. Curtis read it for the need that it was, his eyes igniting with victory.

He slid his hand up your neck, until his long fingers bracketed your jaw. He held you in place, with a dab of force to remind you that he would always be holding the reins, even as his mouth took your lips in a soft, sensually maddening kiss.

[zapnshock]

The Reading Rooms

Happy Wednesday everyone! The week has gone better than last week, things are a little calmer and can you believe it's June?!

Previous weeks Masterlist

Always remember to heed the warnings posted by the individual authors. What I'm happy to read may not be what you're happy to read, so I take no responsibility if you find something you're not into.

And finally, Tumblr is a community. Reblog, gush like you've never gushed before - I promise you, the authors below will love it, and love you for it! We write because we love to, but we share our work because we love the community of it. If you read something you like, let the world know! 💕

The List

Well, after the shitshow that was last week, believe me when I tell you that your comments and reblogs brought me so much joy and really made me so, so happy. I know you don't always get to know how much of an impact you've made to someone's day, but for me personally, I couldn't have gotten through the last week without this site and the amazing friends I've made on here. So thank you and I love you 💕

I managed to get a decent amount of writing done! The Chris Beck fic, By Another Hand, was posted and did SO MUCH better than I expected - thank you!! 😘 And I started my newest fic... Congressman Bucky has consumed me so get ready for Strategic Interests. I might share a sneak peak later!

BUT, more importantly.... what did I read this week?

Bucky Barnes

Dangerously Close is my newest obsession. It's a Tower Tale! It's idiots in love! There's pining and meddling and Thunderbolts family chaos and It. Is. Glorious! Thank YOU @midnightquips!

Jenga by @skaye44... guys, I full body cringed - the second hand embarrassment was amazing and had me giggling so much, this was a total JOY to read!

It took me far too long to get to read @artficlly's masterpiece show me again but my god was it worth it. Cinematic, intimate, beautiful... 17k words and every single one of them doing the heavy lifting. 🦾

@buckysleftbicep knocked it out the park this week with THREEEE! earned it which holy shit was so hot - SO HOT, and right this time which was THEEE sweetest and we should all have a boyfriend Bucky tbh 🥲 and I also read high for this which was sex pollen with feelings PERFECTION.

Love a bit of Never Have I Ever! This by @fanficgirl429 was hilariously sweet and fun!

blush by @magicaloneandmystery was totally adorable, I loved it!

Bucky putting your shitty boyfriend in his place by @ceriseheaven is always magical to behold, and this drabble was excellent!

Never Been Kissed... god imagine if Bucky was your first kiss. Game over, everyone else go home, right?! This by @anonymityisfunwriter was super swoooooony! 🥰

Hate spiders? Well don't worry - Bucky's gonna protect you! @aquaticmercy is amazing once again and brings us Hanging By a Thread which was super sweet and lovely!!

@sunday-bug made me want to lick Bucky... again. Doesn't she always?!

DECLASSIFIED chapter 7!! I basically treated (😂😂) @dreamwritesimagines to my entire liveblogging of me reading this chapter which I'm sure she loved!

@navybrat817 blessed us with Sanctuary which was moving, and sweet and also so hot... I loved it so, so much!

I want what good girls get after movie night. Please and thank you. And THANK YOU @witchywithwhiskey

It's Hot Bucky Summer timeeeee! @mrs-elsie-barnes is Lifting Spirits and she does it perfectly with this cute drabble!

so high school by @mandoalorian was PERFECT!! Loved fratboy Bucky!

I Think I Love You by @danysdaughter was EXCELLENT - so much longing! So much yearning!!

touch-starved by @lowrisemiller - I'm sorry, FIRST Bucky? FIRST?!? It's so great you guys, you have to read this!!

round two by @barnesonly 🥵🥵🥵 drink water - it's HOT!!!

John Walker

John crept into my reading list a bit this week too 🤭

Need That by @blank-potato - sooo much yearning! So good!

better kisser by @alisonsfics - the boyfriend is an asshole, John is not!

another So High School! This time by @starrbishops - the cutest, actually 🥹🥹🥹 This was so sweet!

That's it! Go forth and share the LOVE!

[zapnshock]

Blurred Lines 8

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

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

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

Summary: Your relationship with your boss takes an unpredictable turn.

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

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The hotel room is nice. Two beds, a couch and chairs, a bar, a large TV mounted on the wall, balcony, full bath... every amenity you could never afford. You're sure Nick will expect a big thank you. Or at least many. 

Joey goes to the bar as you feel along the lapels of Nick's jacket. You forgot you were wearing it. You lower yourself into a clam shell armchair. You sigh as the adrenaline drips from you. She clucks as she nears and puts down two glasses. 

"Looks like you need a drink," she sits in the other chair and pops the cork of the mini wine bottle. "Hell, so do I." 

You lean your head on your hand as you watch her, "I don't think--" 

"Long night," she insists as she pours, nudging a glass closer to you. You lean forward to take it. You pinch the stem and stare into the golden nectar. 

"Honey," you begin. 

"I'm okay," she assures you. "Mom, it could've been worse. So much worse but..." she pauses to drain half the glass, "you sent in the goon squad." She scoffs as she hunches, leaning her elbows on her thighs, knees wide. "Mom, who the hell do you work for?" 

You chew your cheek and sip. You look around the suite which probably costs as much as your rent for one night. You lean back as the tension racks your back. 

"CIA, I think. I saw his badge once," you say. 

"CIA?" She echoes in awe. 

"Plus, they had it stamped all over that work event," you scoff. You look down at the deep vee of the dress and try to pull it closed. 

"He took you on a date?" She asks. 

You flinch, "no, no," you shake your head and drink again. "He's my boss. And I'm a bit old for that." 

"Never too old, mom," she cooes. 

"He's too young for me," you counter. 

"You know," she sniffs, "dad only ever wanted you to be happy." 

"Joey..." you exhale. 

"I'm just saying. Seems a bit much for a boss to do. Take you somewhere in that dress, then come to my rescue with his CIA henchmen..." she sucks her teeth. "I stick to women because most men, don't put in that much effort." 

You chuckle, "Joey." 

"Or they're creeps. Old creeps," she gives an exaggerated shudder. "Oof. Nasty." 

You frown, "honey." 

"It's over with. I'm moving on," she looks at the glass of wine in her hand. "I gotta find a new placement." 

You nod, "Nick said something about that. Maybe he can help." 

"I wouldn't want that. It's my problem." 

"Sweetheart--" 

"Look, I'm so thankful about everything you did. Him too but... I'm an adult." 

"I know that, honey," you say. 

"So let me figure it out." 

You sit back and nod. You know what she means. Ever since your husband died, you can be a bit much. 

"Mom," she says gently. "You don't need anyone else to take care of. You need to take care of yourself. For once." 

"I do--" 

"No, you work yourself to the bone to look after everyone else. When's the last time you took a vacation?" 

You feel like a scolded child. The reversal of roles has you off-kilter, more so than the rest of the night. You shrug. 

"Right, well, it's been a long day, night, whatever," she yawns behind her hand. "I'm going to crash out. Please try to do the same." 

"Yes, Josephine," you answer meekly. 

"Oh, don't," she points a finger in your direction. 

"Sometimes..." you stand slowly. "You remind me too much of your father." 

"Good. He always did keep you sane," she chuckles. 

🩵

"Hmm, well, I didn't expect all this." You mutter to yourself as you look at your reflection. You turn amd cringe at the wrinkled dress. 

"Still look hot," Joey whistles. 

"Hey." You stick your tongue put at her as she passes, "not exactly dressed for the train. Or bus... I haven't heard from Nick." 

"Huh? Really? I'm sure you will." She slithers.  

"We're not having this conversation again." 

"Fine, but denial isn't that deep of a river. You can't hide forever." She laughs and you shake your head. 

You go into the bathroom, dejected by the full body view. You tame your hair as best you can and pause to examine the wrinkles around your eyes. Age isn't so bad. Lonelier than you expected. 

"Speak of the devil..." Joey appears in the open door and you stand straight. "Looks who's calling." 

You turn to her and grab the phone. You arch a brow at her and answer. She always loves to tease you. Nick? He's your boss. And he's as close to her age as yours. Probably. 

"Hello?" You say. Joey tilts her head as she leans on the door frame. 

"Hey, Nick," you daughter calls out. 

You hush her with a wagging finger. 

"Hi, ladies." He returns smoothly. 

"So," you try to ignore Joey. "I can find my way home--" 

"No need, I'm downstairs." He interrupts. 

"Downstairs?" You echo. 

"Sure. You know. I had some loose ends to tie up so I hung around and got that done. No point driving home in the dark." He drawls. "Figured I'd give you a lift back to town." 

"Right, eh..." you rub the back of your neck. "Sure. Makes sense." 

"I can take care of myself, mom," Joey trills. "You got... 'work'." She gestures with her fingers. You roll your eyes. 

"I'll get myself together," you say. "Won't be lomg at all." 

"Take your time, honey." He says. 

"Alright. Bye." 

You hang up and turn to sneer at Joey. "He's my job-- my boss. It's funny but not that funny." 

"Chill, mom. It's a joke. Come on. I just think it's cute. Thinking of you dating... anyone." 

"Because it will never happen," you approach her. "Now," you put your hands on her arms. "I have to go home. As much as I'd rather stay but... law school ain't cheap." You pull her into a hug. "I'm so so happy you're safe. So happy." You pull back and look her in the face. "And thank you for calling me. You know you can do that always." 

"Yes, mom. Better count on it," she grins. 

"Oh, if you don't. You'll hear from me." You pinch her cheek playfully. "Love you, kiddo." 

She snorts. "Kiddo? Only dad called me that." 

"Well... You've always me my kid. Always will be." 

"Alright, mom." She makes a face. "Love you too." 

"Oh, don't let me keep you from that lovely girlfriend of yours. Hope you two have fun," you chirp.  

"Oh, you too," she counters sharply. 

You sigh and shake your head. You squeeze her hand then make yourself let go. You head for the front room of the sweet and grab Nick's jacket off the back of the chair. You'll use it for cover until you're out of the hotel. 

You groan as you slip into the heels. Your arches are still aching from the night before. You snatch up your purse and look back one last time. Joey winks and waves.  

“You message when you’re back home safe.” You warn. 

“Oh, you too. Can’t have you out riding in cars with boys too late.” 

You scoff and leave her. You definitely raised her right. You head down the hallway on what feels like a walk of shame. The deja vu to the years you were Joey’s age is almost paralysing. 

You stand in the elevator with a family of four. The parents are yawning as the kids can barely keeping from hooting and jumping. You always wondered what it would be like to have more than one but then again, you only wanted what you could handle. Josephine was always enough. 

You smile at the mother as she sends you an apologetic look on ground level. You wait for them to go first before you step off. You can’t imagine that you give off the best impression. Slightly disheveled and worn out. 

You check your phone as you cross the lobby. As you get to the doors, you slow. Nick’s outside; waiting.  He surely got a lot done as you tossed and turned in the hotel room.

Unlike you, he has a fresh set of clothes; dark blue slacks, a lilac button-up. His hair is styled and he hides behind a pair of dark sunglasses. His head tilts as if he's taking in your measure.

“Sir,” you greet him as the automatic doors set your free. He smirks. He must be amused to see you this out of sorts. As his maid, you're typically the one keeping things in order.

“Morning. You look well-rested.” He puts a hand on his hip. 

“Oh, very,” you agree dryly and touch the front of the jacket. “Um, sorry about the jacket. You can take it back.” 

“Suits you better,” he waves you off. 

“I’ll have it drycleaned,” you assure him. 

“Not worried about it, honey. Let’s get home first.” He steps back. “Got us a rental.” 

You nod and step forward. He turns to walk beside you. He points you toward the silver blue car. A two-seater with an oblong hood. The expensive kind. Ostentatious. 

“Here,” he jumps ahead of you. He opens the passenger door. “Got it.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Fowler.” You duck down and sit. 

“What happened to Nick?” He looms above you, his hand on the top of the door. 

“Nick,” you correct yourself. “Habit.” 

“Mr. Fowler makes me sound old,” he tilts his head. 

“Nope, just me,” you chuckle lackadaisically. 

He hums and clucks. He gently shuts the door then round the car to the driver’s side. You sit patiently, content enough to laze away the drive home. If he doesn’t mind, you might even close your eyes. 

He settles in as the faint scent of his cologne wafts off the jacket. You shift around as he gets the motor humming. You pull down the seat belt and peek over at him. You’re surprised to find him watching you. 

“You okay?” You ask. 

“I was about to ask you the same thing.” He says. 

“Oh?” 

“Why don’t you get some sleep? I’m sure you and Joey were up all night catching up.” He sets his sights straight and puts the car in gear. “Be a couple hours.” 

“I won’t say I didn’t think of it,” you stifle another yawn. 

You shimmy in the seat as he steers round the lot. You stare through the windshield, your eyes rolling with motion of the car. You let your shoulders relax as your eyelids grow heavier. 

After all the fear, the adrenaline, the panic, and the uncertainty, you’re completely drained. The night kept you awake in disbelief and anxiety. Now, you’re on your way back to normalcy. When did you become so adverse to change? You thought you learned to deal with that a long time ago.