Summary: Your honeymoon ends in shambles. You pick them all up. Man by man… 😈
Pairing: OC!Husband x Wife!Reader (only for the prologue)
Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes
Warnings: angst, mentions of divorce, awful husband
Spa Paradise Masterlist
It was a dream wedding, followed by a week of wild sex, beautiful scenery, and dreams of life after honeymoon.
It was perfect. Almost too perfect.
Your husband was attentive, loving, and wild in the bedroom. Making promises you believed he’d keep. He painted your future in beautiful colors, already talking about children and adopting pets.
Everything was perfect until the evening of your second week in the Maldives.
You were getting ready to go out for dinner and celebrate another wonderful day far away from his nagging mother, nosy friends, stressful jobs, and jealous exes.
That was the moment your world exploded. Your husband was sitting on the bed you had made love on not an hour ago, looking like he was about to cry. He never cried. Not even when his dog died.
Your heart stuttered. “What’s wrong? Do you feel sick? What happened?” You tried to find out what happened to make your husband cry. “Was it your mom again? Did she say mean things? I can take it, you know that.”
“It’s…” He burst out into tears, and between sobs, he told you that this was a mistake.
At first, you didn’t understand the meaning of his words. Not so long ago, he was happy and horny. Just how he should be on his honeymoon.
“Baby, you are scaring me. What’s going on? Please talk to me,” you pleaded, tears in your eyes. “Just say something.”
“I made a mistake,” he choked out. “This was all a mistake, Y/N. My friends were right. I shouldn’t have gone through with all this.”
“All…this?” You felt like someone had poured cold water over your head. Your body went stiff, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe. “Do you mean the wedding?”
He nodded, and your heart shattered. You believed this man was the love of your life, only for him to call the best day of your life a mistake.
“Y/N, we have known each other since childhood. We have been dating since we were teens. I think that we should’ve dated other people before marrying.” Your husband sounded like a stranger. Every word he said sounded like a bad dialogue from a low-budget rom-com.
“You can’t be serious,” you cried, wiping your eyes, but the tears kept coming. “We were happy not an hour ago. You told me you love me. We made love. And now you are sitting there, telling me you want to fuck other people!” You were screaming at that point.
“Yeah,” he casually said, as if this didn’t mean the end of your marriage.
Days ago, you believed you could finally start thinking about starting a family. Now, that future was gone. All because your husband was having second thoughts.
“I—I need fresh air,” you coldly said, grabbing your keys and phone, fleeing out of the room.
He didn’t follow you or try to stop you. Your husband, the man you loved since you knew what love was, watched you leave without regret.
It took you three hours and lots of tears to find the strength to go back to your room. Your hand was shaking when you unlocked the door.
The moment you stepped into the room, you knew something was wrong. All of your husband’s things were gone, just like the man himself.
You found his wedding band in the trash, along with three notes he tried to write and never finished.
A suffocating silence settled over the room. And with it came clarity.
This man was never worth your love or time. He wasted all these years, making promises he never wanted to keep.
You did five things that night.
You called your family, telling them what happened.
You moved all your money from your joint account.
You called a lawyer, asking them to prepare an annulment.
You asked your friends and siblings to move all your belongings out of the apartment before your soon-to-be ex-husband had the chance to fly home.
You booked a massage…
"Buck, we have another one," Steve grinned wolfishly. From the moment you and your husband set foot into their wellness hotel he was following you around like a shadow. "She's the one."
"Are you sure?" Bucky asked, glancing at the reservation you made. "I thought she hated massages."
"He hated them," Steve said, still grinning. "Didn't you hear? The honeymoon phase is over..."
Y/N, rolling her eyes: I know how to hold a knife Daryl.
Daryl: Obviously ya don't.
Y/N, looking him up and down with a slow smirk: Well, if you're so worried about my grip, why don't you let me practice on you later and then you can tell me how I'm doing?
Daryl, ears going bright red: I—
Daryl, swiftly walking away: The hell’s wrong with that girl?
Pairing: Fem!Reader x Steve Rogers; Curtis Everett; Jake Jensen; Lloyd Hansen; Robert "Mr. Freezy" Pronge
Word Count: 4,415
Summary: Jake is the absolute sweetest, and he makes your confidence soar.
Warnings: AU. Explicit language. Explicit sexual content. Mercenary!babes. Reader is enjoying a sex rotation with the babes, so far. Fluff and silliness. Brief cum eating. Titty fucking. Unprotected sex. Being bathed by another.
A/N: I am embarrassed by how long it’s been since I updated this story 🫣 I was feeling really stuck on it for some reason, but here we go, some progress! And Jakey finally gets his day in the sun hehe.
Mercy Masterlist
You’d been lingering in the kitchen of the safe house because you knew it would be the best place to catch Steve once he returned from his morning run.
And once he finally did, his white t-shirt transparent with sweat and plastered to his torso, your brain actually glitched as you gaped at him, and you forgot why you were waiting around for him in the first place.
“Good morning,” Steve smiled at you, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he passed by to move toward the fridge and gather ingredients to make his morning protein shake.
“Mmm hmm,” you responded distractedly as you stared after Steve, your gaze dropping to the way his jogging pants clung to the firm curve of his ass.
“Better watch it, sweetheart," you could hear the smile in Steve’s voice as he shifted to work at the counter preparing his shake. “It’s Jensen’s night tonight, but you keep watching me like that, I’m gonna need to bend you over this counter and do something about it.”
“Sorry!” you squeaked, slapping your hands over your eyes to give your brain a moment to reboot. And your heart a moment to return to its normal rhythm.
“Don’t be, I’m not,” Steve teased, sending you a wink once you were done hiding and trying not to outright stare at him. “Were you waiting around for me?”
“Yes, actually,” your gaze turned shy now as you fiddled with your fingers, feeling Steve’s eyes on you as he patiently waited for you to broach whatever topic was on your mind. “You know how Jake set aside that money for me?”
“Yeah, you need to access it?”
You nodded, peeking over at Steve. “I’d really like to get some new clothes and essentials. With how quickly everything happened, and just, the craziness of that night, I didn’t do a very good job at packing, and there’s just stuff I need, and want.”
“Hey,” Steve moved across the kitchen, until he was looming over you. His hands felt so big and warm as they cupped your upper arms and gave you a gentle squeeze. “It’s your money, and you don’t need to justify using it. I’ll make sure Jensen sets you up so you have direct access to everything. "I'm sorry I didn’t think of that until now.”
“No, it’s okay! You all have been so generous.” You hesitated, biting your lower lip as your next ask teetered on the tip of your tongue.
“Go on,” Steve encouraged with a soft smile. “I like when you ask for what you want, when you put yourself first.”
Your belly fluttered before you asked, “Do you think maybe you could take me into town to go shopping for everything I need?”
“Of course. We’ll go today–”
“Well, we don’t have to! I’m sure you’re very busy and–” your words turned into a startled squeak as Steve pressed close and kissed you quiet.
“I’m never too busy for you,” he murmured, stealing another kiss before pulling away with a grin. “Plus, I think it will be fun–watching you try on a bunch of clothes.”
Your face warmed as he winked at you, but before you could respond, Lloyd appeared in the doorway, as if summoned by the talk of fashion.
“Did someone say shopping spree? Count me in,” he declared, dropping his hands to his hips and giving a thrust.
Steve rolled his eyes as you giggled, and Lloyd shot his superior a glare.
“You know I have an eye for fashion,” he sniffed. Lloyd’s annoyed gaze shifted to you, and softened. “Come on, pumpkin, you want me to tag along, right? I’m the only one in this house who actually likes to shop. And we’ll get you all dolled up real fast.”
You peeked over at Steve to see if he truly looked put out at the idea of Lloyd joining in on your outing, but he just seemed amused as he met your gaze and gave a small nod. If anything, he liked that you were getting on so well with the team.
“Okay,” you smiled at Lloyd. “It will be fun.”
“You bet your sweet ass it will be fun.”
You were still buzzing from your outing earlier with Steve and Lloyd, your smile so big as you glanced at yourself in the mirror and gave a little spin. Your cute new dress flared out around your thighs, and you laughed, feeling pretty–and much more like yourself than you had in a long time.
You’d been under your father’s thumb for so long, in every possible way, even when it came to what you wore, that you forgot how freeing–and soothing–it could be to just… be yourself, wear what made you happy and comfortable.
It seemed such a small, meaningless thing, but you felt so happy in a way you hadn’t in years.
So you had a little bounce in your step as you made your way to Jake’s bedroom. You were excited to spend some time with him, because out of all of the mercenaries, he seemed the most normal.
Down to earth, sweet, funny.
Truly, Jake was just the icing on the cake of your already great day.
You knocked on his door, and barely a second later, it swung open to reveal Jake grinning big and warm, and wearing a t-shirt that looked like a tuxedo.
“Your shirt is so cute!” you giggled.
“Thanks!” Jake’s grin widened as he glanced down at himself. “It’s kind of the only way I could get dressed up for you, so much of my stuff is just tac gear or novelty shirts, so…”
“I love it,” you assured him.
“And you! Wow, you look…wow,” Jake stuttered, his eyes taking their time inching over you as you stood before him, nervously wringing your hands.
“Thank you,” you whispered, biting back a stupid smile as your eyes flickered down to your feet.
“So, um, come in!” Jake encouraged you as he stepped back and waved you inside his room eagerly. Once you were inside and glancing around curiously, he closed the door behind you both before stepping up beside you, his gaze following to where yours was fixed.
Jake’s room as a whole was tidy, with everything in its place, but it was the small two-seater table across the room that had your eyes lighting up.
It had been set like at a fancy restaurant; there were lit candles in the center of it, lending ambiance to the room. You weren’t sure what was in the takeout food containers set between the plates and glasses, but whatever it was smelled heavenly and had your stomach growling loud enough to make you cringe in embarrassment.
“It’s okay,” Jake chuckled, shifting his weight beside you. “I’m starving too. You wanna eat now?”
You glanced over at him, your eyes soft as you nodded, because Jake looked just as nervous–and slightly awkward–as you. As he went to step away, you reached for him, your fingers touching his wrist, and then finding his hand so you could give it a squeeze.
“Thank you for doing this, Jake, it’s so sweet.”
He blushed from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, shrugging those big, round shoulders of his as he gave you a small smile. “It’s no big deal.”
“To me, it is. You’ve made me feel special.”
“You are special,” Jake returned, his brows furrowed a little, like he thought this truth was the most obvious thing in the world.
Belly swooping, you followed Jake over to the dinner setup, giggling as he acted the gentleman and pushed in your chair for you before darting over to take his own seat across from you.
“I hope you like Thai food? There’s this awesome restaurant a few towns over, so that’s what I got for tonight.”
You nodded eagerly, your tummy rumbling again and making Jake laugh. He was quick to serve the food, until both your plates were full and you both dove into your meals,
chatting in between bites and learning more about each other.
Jake told you about his sister and nieces that he missed so much, and how he always used to attend all of their soccer games. In return, you told him about your mother, and how helping her in her garden had always been your favorite way to spend time together.
“I’m sorry you had to leave it behind,” Jake frowned, pushing his now empty plate away. “I bet that was really hard.”
You swallowed against the lump in your throat, mustering a smile and shrug so you didn’t totally kill the fun vibe that had been brewing between you.
“Hey, I bet one day, you’ll have a new garden–your own garden–and it will be amazing!” Jake smiled, his eyes bright in a way that made you believe that he really did wish that for you.
“Yeah, I bet you’re right,” you smiled back at him.
You took a moment to just really take him in. His fluffy hair and bright blue eyes, his handsome features and ridiculously built body. Jake really was so handsome, but it was the kindness in his eyes that kept drawing you gaze again and again.
It was so strange, that you had spent so much of your life despised for merely existing, and now, you were becoming surrounded by people who seemed to genuinely care for you, who looked at you like you mattered, like they wanted what was best for you.
It was Jake’s resulting smile that made you realize you were smiling at him like a dope, and you gave an embarrassed, nervous giggle as you plucked your napkin from your lap and set it down beside your finished meal.
“You know uh…” Jake hesitated, rubbing his hands along his thighs as he sat back in his seat. He was blushing again–rosier than before–as he continued, “We don’t have to, yanno, if you don’t want to.”
“Oh.” You blinked, straightening in your seat as your fingers fell to twist the hem of your dress. “Do you… not want to?”
“No!!” Jake said it so loudly, you both winced. “Sorry. I uh want to. Like, wow do I want to,” he emphasized, making you giggle. “But also, I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything."
Feeling yourself melt at his thoughtfulness, you reached across the table, setting your hand on top of his as you met his gaze and gave him a warm smile.
“How about we just see where the night takes us? No pressure for either of us.”
“Okay! I’d really like that.”
The two of you moved over to the small loveseat against the far wall, chatting some more. Jake told you how he had joined the team, how he felt like he was making a difference even if most people didn’t know about it, but that he also really missed his family.
And something about how sad he looked as he muttered that confession had you leaning over and kissing his cheek.
Jake stilled, turning to look at you with wide eyes, and you found yourself smiling as your gaze flickered to his parted lips, the plumpness of which drew you in closer and closer.
You heard Jake’s breath hitch a second before your lips met his, and then your eyes closed and your pussy fluttered at the guttural groan that rose up at the back of Jake’s throat.
Something about how careful Jake was with touching you–his hands hesitant to frame your face–and then his thumbs gently gliding back and forth along your cheeks, it made you feel so special, so desirable and wanted.
It had you clambering into his lap until you were straddling him, and you both pulled away from each other’s mouths long enough to exchange wide-eyed wanting looks before you were sinking into another round of sweet, frantic kisses.
When you started to rock in his lap, seeking friction, Jake moaned, pulling back and panting as he met your floaty gaze and asked, “You wanna move over to the bed?”
He grinned as you nodded enthusiastically, the two of you nearly tripping over each other in your rush to relocate. You both fell atop the bed together, giggling and breathing heavy as Jake leaned up over you and took a moment to just look at you.
“God, you’re so pretty,” he murmured, his fingers reaching out to caress along your face. “And so soft. And smell so good.” He ducked lower, tucking his face against the side of your neck and breathing in deep before exhaling a “Hnnngh,” against your skin and making you laugh.
You continued to giggle as Jake snuffled along your neck, your fingers sinking into his hair, gently stroking the blonde locks as you told him, “You’re very sweet.”
Jake pressed a kiss against the top of your chest before pulling away, his gaze meeting yours–both eager and tentative–as he asked, “Can we take this off?” he tugged at your dress.
“Of course,” you nodded, the two of you quickly working together to rid you of your new dress.
“Oh god, boobs,” Jake breathed as his gaze fell to your chest, which was encased by one of your pretty new bras.
He reached for your chest without thinking–his gaze going glassy–and just a beat before he touched you, he remembered himself. Pulling up short, he gave you a sheepish grin as he asked if he could touch you.
Feeling all fluttery that he was seeking consent, you nodded again, shyness creeping up on you as things got steamier.
You gasped as Jake groped your tits, his hands so big against your softness, the weight of him settling over you now too as he shifted closer.
His thumbs caught in the edge of lace cupping you, and he tugged it lower, until your nipples popped free and he could pluck at them, making you gasp and arch up into his touch.
“This okay?” Jake asked, his voice deeper than before, huskier, as his lust-darkened gaze flickered up to yours.
“Y-yeah,” you trembled, licking your dry lips as you told him, “You can take it off if you want, my bra.”
“Hell yeah I want,” Jake nodded, his hands already moving to slip off the pretty, lacy piece. “Fucccck me, you’re so hot,” he groaned once you were bare save for your cute panties.
His touch was firmer now as he cupped both your breasts and squeezed until you were gasping and writhing beneath him. When he dropped his head to catch one of your nipples in his mouth, you moaned, spreading your legs and rutting up against Jake’s hips, desperately seeking friction.
Groaning, he pulled away from your tit with a wet pop before showing the other just as much attention.
“Jake, please,” you begged, your body nearly vibrating with need now as you pawed at him.
“Wait, I… there’s something I wanna do first, before we, yanno,” he confessed.
Pressing your thighs together, you tried not to pout as you asked, “What?”
He blushed so hard, he resembled a tomato, as he asked, “Can I please uh fuck your tits? I just… I’ve always wanted to do that, but always felt weird asking, but you… you make me feel brave.”
“How are you being this sweet right now?” you marveled before reaching for the back of Jake’s neck and yanking him in for a very ardent kiss. “And yes, you can do that,” you whispered, too shy to say it out loud, but your pussy was leaking a small river at the idea of fulfilling one of Jake’s naughty fantasies.
“You’re the best,” Jake grinned, nearly falling off the bed in his excitement to undress.
You giggled, reaching out to help steady him, and then your eyes were going wide as dinner plates once Jake was completely naked and you realized just how built he was. You swore every single one of his muscles was either bulging or defined, his body looking like that of a Greek god as he hovered over you.
“Wow,” you breathed, reaching out to trail your fingers down Jake’s stomach. “You’re so beautiful, Jake.”
“I am?”
“Yeah,” you laughed, meeting his gaze and giving him a soft smile. “Really, really, really beautiful. Like a work of art.”
He puffed out his chest, looking very pleased–and genuinely surprised–by your admiration. “Thanks.”
Your fingers kept trailing lower, and you bit your bottom lip as you caressed along the head of his cock, your fingers coming away sticky and covered in his pre-cum. You met Jake’s gaze as you sucked your fingers into your mouth, making a delighted sound at the briny taste of his cream.
“Ohhhh fuck,” Jake grunted, his cock twitching as he dropped a hand to grip himself. “You keep doing stuff like that, and I’m not gonna last long at all.”
“Well then you better hurry up and get to the good stuff, huh?” you grinned at him.
In the back of your mind, you were surprised at yourself–at how playful you were being, how teasing–but something about Jake made you feel confident. Maybe it was the way he had this genuine air of awe for you–to be with you–but it made you feel sexy.
And it made you want to make him feel good, too. Really good.
So you didn’t even cringe or shy away at all as you cupped your breasts and held them together in offering.
“Ohhh my god, it’s happening,” Jake whispered, his gaze glossing over and his lips parted and he moved to straddle your torso.
His gasp when he pressed his hard, warm cock between the softness of your tits was so wrecked already that it had you gushing into your panties, squirming beneath him as you stared up and watched–mesmeraized–as Jake began to gently rut against your chest.
“Oh my god,” he groaned as you pressed your curves around him more firmly, increasing the pressure around his cock, until his head was dropping back in ecstasy, and he lost himself to his pleasure.
When his tempo increased, his rhythm starting to falter, you found yourself sticking out your tongue, trying your best to catch the flushed, leaking crown of Jake’s cock on his next thrust.
At the first feel of your tongue lapping at his head, Jake’s eyes shot open, his head darting up, his gaze big and shocked and so turned on as you did it again, then again.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, you’re gonna make me cum,” he panted, curling over you and gripping the headboard as he stilled.
“You can,” you told him, “I don’t mind, I want you to.”
“Wanna cum inside you,” Jake whispered, staring down at you in awe. “And I wanna make you cum, too.”
“So do it.”
Laughing at your cheeky grin, Jake scrambled away from you, then on top of you properly, not even asking–not that you minded–as he yanked off your underwear and carelessly tossed them behind him.
“Oh, thank god,” he breathed once his fingers dragged along your slit and found you soaked and messy for him. “God, you’re so wet.”
“Well, you put on quite the show, Jakey,” you grinned shyly at him.
“Yeah?” he looked very chuffed that you found all of this–found him–as sexy as he found you.
“Mmmhmm, now please, I’m so worked up,” you whined, spreading your legs wider. “I think I’ll cum without any real effort at all.”
“Thank god two point oh, because I’m ready to blow,” Jake laughed, sinking down between your thighs and lining himself up.
You both moaned as he drove into you slowly. The sharp gasp was spilling past your lips before you even realized it, because Jake was so thick. Like, yes, you had seen he had a very impressive cock, but to feel it inside of you, stretching your inner walls to their limits...
It had your head falling back on a ragged, “Oh my god!” as Jake finally bottomed out with a primal grunt and a sharp rut for good measure.
“You feel incredible,” he panted, dropping his forehead to yours.
You fluttered wildly at his praise, making him moan and rock against you in response.
“Oh god, I’m really not gonna last, please don’t judge me,” Jake laughed nervously, but he looked a little panicked as his chest heaved and he tried to remain very very still.
Concentrating less on how desperate you were to cum, and more on Jake–on his momentary insecurity–you opened your eyes and met his gaze without wavering. Cradling his cheek with your palm, you gave him a soft smile.
“Jake, I never would. You’ve been amazing, in so many ways,” you assured him. “And I’m pretty sure I’ll be right there with you, so, let’s just… do this thing.”
Snickering, Jake dropped the rest of his weight on top of you, making you murmur in approval as he curled one of his arms over the top of your head and began to fuck you.
You moaned on his very first thrust, arching up against him as you begged him to go, “Harder, faster, please!”
“Fuck,” Jake groaned, burying his face into the crook of your neck as he started to pound into you.
You keened as he hit a spot that had your body lighting up in a brand new way, making a choked squeal of a sound as you cried, “Right there, oh my god, please don’t stop!”
Hnnnghing against your sweaty neck, Jake doubled down, fucking you like you wanted and having enough functioning brain cells left to dig his free hand between your bodies so he could rub your clit to hopefully push you to the edge before he himself fell over it.
You gasped at the added stimulation, your eyes slamming shut as you felt that delightful build up start deep in your core.
“Yes, yes, yes!” you chanted, your hips rocking and rising to meet the thrust of Jake’s cock, your words dying away into unintelligible gasps and cries as you got closer and closer to your climax.
“Oh fuck, oh god, oh fuck, Jesus Christ,” Jake’s string of curses and nonsense, along with the way he was relentlessly plowing into you now, rocking the whole bed as he desperately sought his own orgasm–found so much pleasure in your very willing body–it tipped you right over that glorious ledge.
You came with a sharp, ragged cry, each and every muscle in your body locking up tight as your pussy went wild–fluttering and clenching so hard it sent Jake rocketing over the edge right after you.
You were still riding the wave of your pleasure as you felt Jake cum inside you, his spend a thick, warm gush that made you moan and flutter all over again as you squirmed beneath him.
“Fuccccck,” Jake groaned against your shoulder, his teeth sinking into your skin, not hard enough to cause pain, but enough to have you whimpering and clenching around him until he was babbling as you milked his cock of every last drop of cum.
The two of you clung to each other tightly, both breathing hard–like you had just run a marathon together–as Jake sank against you, feeling just as boneless as you yourself felt.
There was a long, pleasant stretch of silence as the two of you took your time coming down from your highs. You were nearly dozing with your lips tilted into an almost smile as Jake nuzzled against your neck, pressing soft kisses to your skin like he was wordlessly thanking you for making him feel so good.
“I have one more surprise for you,” he eventually murmured, his head popping up as he looked as mussed and wrecked as you were sure you yourself looked right about now.
“You do?” you smiled like a dope. “I hope it’s close by so we don’t have to move because I don’t think my legs will work after that.”
Laughing, Jake shook his head, pouting a little as he broke the bad news that, “We have to walk just a little, but not far, I promise. And I’ll shoulder your weight so you barely need to walk at all.”
“My hero,” you giggled tiredly, groaning as Jake finally pulled away from you before helping you out of bed.
You didn’t even feel self-conscious to be naked and leaking his cum, still feeling nothing but giddy and satisfied as you curled close to Jake’s side and allowed him to lead you just a few feet away to the closed bathroom door.
And when he opened it, he stole your breath away yet again, because awaiting you in the small space was a gorgeous bouquet of flowers on the sink counter, and a bath tub rim decorated with candles and rose petals, setting the mood for what you knew would be a relaxing, luxurious bath.
“Oh my god, Jake! You’re so sweet! I can’t believe you did this for me!”
His smile was shy as he led you over to sit on the edge of the tub before kneeling beside it and cranking on the water. You watched as he doctored the steamy rush with a bubble bath that smelled incredible, and once the tub was perfect for soaking, Jake took your hand and helped you settle in.
“Join me?” you asked hopefully.
“Actually,” Jake looked the shyest you had seen yet. “If it’s okay, I’d really like to bathe you.”
You blinked at him, your shyness creeping up again at that, but you couldn’t help the small smile that curled your lips as you sank back against the porcelain with a quiet, “Okay.”
“Yeah?” Jake perked up, looking more hopeful and less shy as you met his gaze.
“Yeah.”
Smiling, he settled on his knees, reaching for a colorful loofah and pouring some body wash onto it. “I know I’m not as suave or experienced as the others,” he confessed. “But I just… I want you to feel appreciated. And beautiful, because you are.”
Feeling your belly flutter, you caught Jake’s free hand, twining your fingers together as you replied, “I feel both of those things, Jake, thanks to you.”
And it was the truth.
You felt beautiful, appreciated, and so very, very cared for as Jake gently began to wash you, looking so focused and intent as he drew the loofah over your skin, and lulled you into a state of utter, boneless bliss.
AHHHH! Jakey! The sinful sweetheart sunshine boi we all deserve!!!! I so hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please take a moment to let me know your thoughts! Also, maybe buckle up for what’s coming up next ::nervous laughter::
—
Please take a moment to comment or reblog. It means a lot to hear from my readers after sharing a story that I put so much love into. Serial liking without engagement is the quickest way to kill my writing motivation, so please don’t do that. It only takes a moment to show a little love. Thank you 🙏🏻
I no longer do tag lists, but if you'd like to be notified when I post new writing, follow my side blog @sirisshamelesshoelibrary and turn on notifications to get pinged when I drop some new hoe fuel 😘
Please note that I do not give permission for my work to be translated, reposted, or published anywhere other than my Tumblr. I also do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI platforms. Reblogs are most welcome and encouraged though! ❤️
Daryl would try to scavenge for supply’s in drugstore or supermarkets even when others try to stop him and say it’s useless, just because he wants to find that fancy shampoo and beauty products you once mentioned. Even after years into the apocalypse if he ever finds something like that he’s so happy. And he knows nothing about those stuff too 😂 he just wants to get you something good. Because he probably never had a girl he can treat well like that, or he was just didn’t care enough until you came along.
He absolutely would. Cause he’s a precious little bean underneath that surly personality. Love this. 🩵🩵🩵
Summary : Bucky loves his morning cuddles with his little girl
Word Count : 1.7k
A/N : This is literally so self indulgent guys. I had a dream a few days ago about this very sequence and I woke up in the middle of the night to jot down the idea so it won’t disappear in the morning
The first rays of sunlight always found Bucky awake.
Previously because of his soldier instincts. Then due to fear of not knowing where he would be when he woke up in the morning, the remnants of decades of trauma was never washed away easily.
But safe to say, there had been a time in his life when mornings meant alarms, missions, nightmares, and memories he wished would stay buried.
But now?
Mornings meant tiny socks scattered across the hallway. A stuffed bunny abandoned in the kitchen. The smell of coffee. Having you fast asleep in his bed, curled around him like he was your safe space.
And the privilege of waking up the sweetest little person he'd ever known.
His daughter.
Sweet little Rebecca—or becca as bucky liked to call her—still wonderfully round in all the places toddlers were meant to be. Chunky wrists with little bracelet-like dimples. Soft thighs that made every pair of leggings look stuffed. Permanently rosy cheeks that begged to be kissed.
And every single morning, Bucky insisted on waking her himself. It had quietly become his favorite part of the day.
You would already be downstairs most mornings, making breakfast when you hear Bucky's footsteps heading toward the nursery instead of the kitchen.
Without fail.
Every day.
"You know," you’d called one morning while whisking pancake batter, "you could let her wake up on her own."
"I could."
"But you won't?"
"Nope."
"Why?"
His answer came immediately. "Cause I like seeing the moment she remembers she's my kid."
It made no sense, but to him, it meant everything.
He padded silently down the hallway, careful to avoid the one floorboard that always creaked, and slowly pushed open the nursery door.
The room was washed in soft golden light. Nursery curtains glowing with morning sunlight. The room smelled faintly of baby lotion and lavender and detergent.
And fast asleep in the middle of her little crib, somehow having rotated herself almost completely sideways during the night, one tiny foot was sticking out from under the blanket, was her.
Ten months old Rebecca barnes whose palm was the same size of bucky's heart because ever since the day she had arrived, the little fingers had iron grip on his heart.
Her favorite stuffed bunny was upside down beside her. Her little mouth hung open ever so slightly. Tiny body sprawled dramatically across the bed. Blanket kicked halfway off. One sock missing.
And her hair...Her hair deserved its own zip code. It stuck up in every possible direction. A few curls falling into her eyes resting beside the lashes of her close eyelids.
Bucky leaned against the doorway and just...Looked.
His heart never seemed prepared for this sight. Every morning he thought ‘How did we make something this precious?’
He padded over quietly. Tiptoeing so the floorboards won’t creak beneath him.
She slept with one little fist tucked under her cheek.
Smushy.
Squishy.
Perfect.
He crouched beside the bed. Metal fingers stayed carefully tucked against his palm while his flesh hand reached out.
His fingertips slid gently through the wild nest of curls. "Look at that bed hair..." his voice was barely louder than a whisper. "My goodness."
Another tiny stroke over her head. "What happened to you?" He paused as the little girl frowned in her sleep. "I think birds moved in."
She stayed asleep through bucky’s rambling. Probably already accustomed to having a dad who loved talking to her.
He smiled, a metal finger skimming over her perfectly round, squishy cheek. "You got squirrels living up here, sweetheart?"
Her nose scrunched. Just a little, barest of the movement.
Bucky grinned immediately. "There she is." His fingers rubbed slow circles over her scalp as he continued talking.
"So pretty..."
Another stroke.
"My sleepy little bear."
Another caress.
"My chunky monkey."
He poked one of her cheeks. "Oh no! What happened to these?" He gently squished both cheeks together. "They got all smushy."
He couldn’t resist pressing soft kisses on her cheeks "Mama's gonna need to fluff these back up."
A tiny sleepy grumble sounded from her and bucky’s smile widened "There is my grumpy girl"
One eyelid slowlyy cracked open, just enough to reveal one sleepy blue eye. It stared at him blankly before closing again.
"No, no." He chuckled. "You can't trick Daddy."
HIs lips pressed onto her forehead in another kiss "I saw your eye."
She made the tiniest protesting noise. "Nuh..."
"Oh yes."
"Nuh."
"Oh yes."
He stroked the little curls away from her face as he saw a pout forming on the tiny mouth of his sleepy baby. "Can Daddy see those beautiful eyes?"
Silence.
"I think they're hiding."
"Did they disappear?"
He gasped dramatically. "I'll have to tell Mama." The kid paid no heed to his words, still pretemding to sleep. "My baby's eyes are gone!"
That earned him another sleepy protest. "Dada..."
"There they are!" He beamed as she opened her eyes to frown at him, which looked eerily similar to the disappointed glare you’d give him when he talked about adopting yet another kitten. "I knew they were in there."
She finally blinked both eyes open, slowly. Like opening them required tremendous effort and simply stared. Processing the surrounding in the sleepy haze, until she noticed her favourite person leaning over the crib, smiling at her.
The smallest smile spread across her face despite her offense at being waked from her sleep. "Dada..."
His heart melted into absolute mush. "There she is." He kissed her forehead. “Morning, sunshine."
Tiny arms reached toward him automatically. Like she'd done it every morning of her life. She didn't even think about it anymore. She simply expected Daddy to be there.
Sometimes when she woke up on her own and bucky wasn't around immediately or you—the spare human—found her in the morning before he did, the sleepy little glare your grumpy girl gave you was enough to summon a tiny thunderstorm.
But it wasn't like she didn't love you. She would run to you to show her stick drawings and babble away telling you every silly story she came up with while you brush her hair. She loved you with all her tiny heart, you were her mom after all. But mornings belonged to Daddy. No matter what, he was the person she expected to see when she opened her eyes everyday.
Bucky gathered her carefully into his arms. "Oh..." He groaned dramatically. "What is this?" He bounced her once. "Someone got heavier."
You always teased him that he said this every single day.
He did.
Because every single day she somehow felt bigger than yesterday. "My goodness." He settled onto the rocking chair. "I think somebody ate rocks."
She rested her head against his shoulder. Already melting back into sleep.
"No?" He rubbed her back slowly. "You just got extra cuddly?"
She answered in a tiny nod against his shirt, still fighting sleep. "I thought so."
The rocking chair creaked gently as bucky swayed back and forth, wrapping both arms around her. She fit perfectly against his chest.
Always had.
He rested his cheek against the top of her head sighing contentedly. "I missed my morning cuddle."
She mumbled something unintelligible.
"I know." bucky kissed the top of her head "I missed you too."
By the time you abandoned making breakfast to join them in the nursery because of overwhelming FOMO, she was drifting again.
Bucky knew all the signs. The heavy breathing. The completely limp body. The tiny fingers relaxing around his shirt.
And you had walked in to the sight you have the pleasure to see almost every morning.
Bucky rocking your little girl in the chair while she stayed tucked against his chest like it was the most comfy spot in the whole house.
You simply looked at him for a moment. His chin resting on the messy hair of your half-asleep toddler curled against his chest. He looked happier like this than you had ever seen.
"Bucky" you whispered from the doorway.
He looked over, eyes brightening at the sight of you "Hey."
You smiled knowingly. "She's falling asleep again."
"I know."
"So why are you still rocking her?"
He looked genuinely confused. "Cause she's comfy."
"You know she'll sleep another hour if you keep this up."
"I know."
You folded your arms. "So..."
"So..?"
"...you're still going to keep cuddling her?"
He looked down at the tiny girl. One chunky little arm was wrapped around his neck. The other had somehow found his hair. She was lightly snoring against his chest.
He looked back at you. "I've waited almost a hundred years to have someone who wants morning cuddles." His voice was quiet, gentle. "I'm gonna hold her as long as she'll let me."
Your eyes softened instantly. There wasn't a single teasing remark left. Because you knew. You knew exactly where that sentence came from.
THe stolen decades of his life, the denied comfort of feeling human, every emotion weaponised against him.
But now...
Now his mornings were filled with sleepy giggles, tangled curls, and warm little hugs. And he wasn't taking a second of it for granted.
You crossed the room before leaning down and kissing the top of his head then the toddler’s.
"You know she's going to stop wanting to be carried someday."
"I know."
"And one day she'll wake up before you demanding pancakes."
"I know."
"And eventually she'll probably tell you she's too old for morning cuddles."
He swallowed. "I know."
You smiled softly. "So enjoy every minute."
He looked down at the tiny girl sleeping peacefully against him. "I plan to."
He gently kissed one smushy cheek. Then another. "My sleepy little bug."
A tiny smile appeared on the toddler's face even in her sleep. As if somewhere in her dreams she knew, daddy was holding her.
And as long as he was holding her, mornings were warm, safe, and full of whispered compliments about messy bed hair, squishy cheeks, and the chunkiest little arms in the whole wide world.
I am curious what does Abby’s v-day look like? Does she get something with mama and Bucky before their date? Does she get a date out of Steve? Is Nat her date because mama and Bucky and Steve are having a double date with ms. Grace?
Happy Be-lated Valentine's, Anon! 😍 Abby, enjoyed her Galentine's Day with her daycare besties, Chloe & Mia. Her Valentine's was a little rough. 😟 She asked Bucky to be her Valentine, but he already made plans for a romantic evening with you.😬
You picked Abby up from daycare, Abby is chattering nonstop, telling you all about her Galentine's breakfast and the crafts she did. "I mades you a Balentine card, but I cants gives you until tomorrow. Ms. Grace let's me make two," holding up 2 fingers. "I mades Papa Bear one."
"Did you? He's going to be so surprised."
"Really, Mama? You tink he be 'prised?" Abby grabs your hand and starts skipping. As you turn the corner, you see Bucky walking up the stairs. "Papa! Papa!" She waves crazily to catch his attention. She looks up at you for permission. You give her a smile and let go of her hand. She runs towards Bucky & you see a smile on Bucky's lips.
He picks her up and tossed her in the air. It always makes you catch your breath because he tosses her a little higher than normal people. You know she's in no danger, but to see your baby so high...yeesh. Abigail loves it! She asks for another one as soon as he catches her. She's all squeals and giggles.
"Hey, Doll." Bucky kisses you before guiding you inside. He's such a sweet man, and so handsome. You really got lucky with him. You love him so much.
********
While you're in the shower, Abby's with Bucky playing Legos. "You knows what?"
Bucky smiles before putting down his Legos and turning to Abby. "No, Abigail. What's on your mind?"
Abby crawls closer to Bucky & nervously plays with his hand. "Will you be my Balentine?"
Surprised, "Oh...Abby." All the plans he had for you and him and your Valentine together flash through his mind. Bucky takes a little too long to answer. Abby pulls her hand back & stands up but not before Bucky sees the hurt in her eyes. "Abby..."
"Um...I's just kidding."
"Abby, baby," reaching for Abby, but she hops out of his reach.
"I's trick you. Ha-ha. It just tricks," her voice getting softer. "I think Pu'a is calling me. I gots to go."
She runs to her room, passing you in the hallway. You're towel drying you hair, "Ready for your stories?' Abby slams her door. The next second, Bucky crashes into you. "Ow!"
Seeing Abby's closed door, Bucky curses under his breath, "Shit."
"What happened?"
"I messed up. She asked me to be her Valentine, and she took me by surprise. I didn't answer her immediately, and hurt her feelings. I was thinking how to juggle the plans I made with you, to fit Abby in." You cringe. "I'm sorry, Doll."
"There's nothing for you to be sorry about. These things are going to happen."
Bucky knocks on Abby's door, "Abby Baby? Can I come in?"
You hear her muffled voice through the door, "I's sowwy, Abby not at home. You got the wrong number. Come back later." You giggle as Bucky leans his head against the door.
"It's ok. I got this."
******
Nothing helps heal a heartache like ice cream. You return with a bowl and softly tap on the door. "Abby? Can I come in?" The door opens a crack, and your baby is looking up at you with little tears stuck to her thick lashes and Pu'a her pig, clutched in her arms. "Aw, baby."
You close the door, picking your daughter up and take her to bed. You hand her, her ice cream. "It got sprinkles? I needs sprinkles." She smiles at her bowl when she sees the rainbow of colors. "Tank yous."
"Want to tell me what happened with Bucky?"
"I ask him to be my Balentine but he...he no want to," little tears track down her cheek.
"Did he say no? That he didn't want to?"
She stops and thinks, "He didn't say yes."
You give a small laugh, "Ok. That's fair. Remember when I told you Natasha was going to be here on Friday to babysit you?"
"Ooh yes! N'asha and I having a dance pawty."
"Tomorrow is Friday. She's coming over so Bucky and I can go out for our Valentine's date."
"You his Balentine already??"
"See, so it's not that Bucky didn't want to be your Valentine. He was already thinking how to change his plans with me, to fit you in. Bucky loves you very much."
"I so 'barresed!" Abby falls dramatically back on the bed, and you scooping up her ice cream bowl before it spills. "I thought him no wants to be my Balentine, but he already yours."
"He'll always be ours. He's my boyfriend and your Papa Bear."
Sitting up shocked, "But Mama, you can't has more than one Balentine!"
Laughing at her outrage, "Am I not your Valentine, too? Did you not just tell me on our walk home that you made me a Valentine card at school?"
Hugging her back, "I'm glad baby. And you know, Bucky feels very sad that he hurt your feelings. He's sorry."
"I dids! For you and Papa, two."
"See, it ok to have 2 Valentine's. And I bet if you had more time, you'd make a whole bunch more for Uncle Steve, Natasha, Sam..."
"And Diwector Fuwy!"
"Exactly! All the people you love in your life."
Giving you a hug, "Tank you Mama. I feels better in my heart."
Abby pulls away and covers her face, "I's so 'shamed."
"There nothing to be ashamed about. It was a misunderstanding. We fixed it easily, right?" Abby nods. "Maybe you can go tell Bucky you understand and you're not sad anymore."
Running to find Bucky, "I tells him, now!"
*******
Bucky left work early to decorate your apartment before you got home with Abby. You each got flowers and candies. Abby's on a smaller scale, but he also got her a Stitch stuffie. She's been talking so much about the new Lilo & Stitch movie, Bucky just had to get it.
Bucky was taking you to dinner and a Broadway show but switched it to a late dinner after the show so he could spend some time with Abby first. He still felt bad that her feelings were hurt.
Hearing the jingle of keys and Abby's chit-chat through the door, Bucky leans against the kitchen counter waiting to see the looks on his girls' faces.
You didn't disappoint. No one ever has taken so much effort to making Valentine's Day so special. Your surprised look made Bucky smile. Abby is squealing and giggling and dancing around with her new toy. "Papa, this...this is like, The Best! Tank you!"
Bucky walks over, wrapping his arms around you and giving you a kiss which held promises of so much more.
[warnings] dark!gray!congressman!bucky barnes x feral!hybrid!reader, daddy!bucky, power imbalance, possessive bucky, pet play elements, dollification, political manipulation, age regression tones (dd/lg dynamics), dom/sub dynamic, stockholm syndrome, forced domestication, DUBCON
summary: After a diplomatic mission turns into an extraction, Congressman James Buchanan Barnes brings home a prize no one knows about. She’s impulsive. Dirty. Disobedient. But under his eye, with enough ribbons, praise, and correction, he’ll turn the wild thing into something beautiful. Something his.
word count: 5.8k
bucky barnes masterlist
Sam warned him not to get involved in Project LUPUS. He was only a year into his congressional term and he’d managed to fully rid the public of the image of the Winter Soldier. For the first time in the century he’d been alive, he was just James “Bucky” Barnes. Some of his colleagues had even begun to take him seriously. Despite this, Bucky knew Sam didn’t fully understand. He’d never fully understand the destruction that Hydra had caused to his mind. Bucky was the only one who could understand the minds behind the deep-state project. Modern American scientists influenced by Hydra’s science.
Project LUPUS was Hydra’s legacy. The experimentations, the genetic manipulations, the violence. They hadn’t been erased. They were buried, waiting for someone to dig them up. It was his responsibility to make sure everything tied to it was destroyed.
The classified file came across his desk because one of his colleagues recognized he would be the best person for the job. He was granted limited access under the purpose of an oversight audit and a bioethics violation review.
According to the document, everyone involved had been terminated and all the experiment subjects had been exeterminated. His colleague believed otherwise. Bucky read the documents even closer during his private flight to Outpost-25 A, and undisclosed location in Alaskan territory. A snowstorm had grounded most flights but he’d been given “special clearance”.
The scientists, under the direction of a network embedded within the Department of Defense, were intending to create self-healing, biologically engineered hybrids with enhanced aggression, sharp senses, and fast reflexes. They’d be able to detect and eliminate threats, control public unrest, recover key asessets, and could even be deployed during warfare operations.
They’d learned nothing from the past.
The very last document in the pile of fifty pages peaked Bucky’s interest the most. It was a scanned intake form, faded, stained and partially redacted. This one had many notes written in the margins. A different tone than the documents describing the purpose of the project, the different subjects and how they’d been exterminated.
Subject 109. LUPUS-F. Status: Unconfirmed termination. Last seen on Sublevel 3.
Ah, the real reason he was here. You were nineteen at the time that the project had been terminated. Many of the notes were similar to the other subjects. Rapid healing. Strong territorial response. Pre-verbal communication. A few others, including you, had been listed as non-compliant.
He stared at the paper longer than he should have, becoming unsettled as he read further.
There were so many incident reports related to you. Reports on the use of deadly force. Gunshot wound to the abdomen. The accidental death of a Lt. Carney. Another accidental death of a Lt. Wynn. Destruction of two containment doors during transport. The standard dose of sedation being ineffective due to rapid metabolism.
Avoid eye contact.
Will only accept food from [REDACTED]
Your termination order was prior to the termination of the project. The justification included unmanageable behavorial volatility and emotional instability. It stated your body had been incinerated but there were no autopsy photos included.
Double dose required for sedation.
Rejection of mating partner 103-M.
Rejection of mating partner 98-M.
Rejection of mating partner 115-M.
Bucky searched for anything that gone right during your captivity and didn’t find anything. Bucky finally tore his eyes away when the plane dipped from turbulence. The storm was building. As the jet began its descent into a snow-covered valley, Bucky caught sight of the outpost. It was buried under permafrost in a decommissioned missile silo.
The pilot warned him not to stay long before he finally stepped off the transport. It was a thirty-foot walk through snow, reaching up to his mid-calf, to the entrance. The tall steel doors of the entrance had been sealed off. He used his clearance code, courtesy of his colleague on the oversight committe, and the steel doors groaned open.
Lights flickered weakly above. He passed through long corridors and security checkpoints until he reached the main lab. It didn’t look abandoned. Only frozen in time. Notes were still scrawled across whiteboards, papers stacked on desks, and metal trays with half-used syringes. A shattered, glass, containment chamber sat nearby, clawmarks across the glass.
But there were no bodies, or bones, or even any bullet casing.
Carefully and methodically, Bucky cleared the first two floors of the outpost. He found each cage door open and and empty. When he finally reached Sublevel 3, he noticed something in the air had shifted. The air cooled even further and lights dimmed. That’s where he found the bones. Animal bones.
He checked each cage for a sign of life. Though there was a pistol on his hip and a shotgun strapped to his back, he didn’t ever reach for them. He paused at cell 12-C and stepped inside. There was bedding, sheets created from lab coats, chair cushions and even shredded documents. Muddy foot prints. Small and barefoot.
You weren’t in a cell. You were loose. Surviving.
He stepped back into the hallway. And then he saw you. No chains. Just … standing at the end of the hall. Watching him.
Despite the the lack of sunlight and coldness of your home, your skin was rich and radiant. Your curls, though some were matted, defied gravity. Your frame was slender, most likely from being trapped here with dwindling resources, but the curves of your body remained. Gunshot to the abdomen. He saw the scar above your hip bone. He also saw another one on your right thigh and an even larger one on your collarbone.
It wasn’t just the scars or the angles of your body that made you unlike anything Bucky had ever seen. Unnaturaly wide pupils that he could see even in the dim light. Slightly pointed ears. You looked him over, scanned him, and Bucky noted the faint twitch of your nostrils – scenting him. Though you were physically much smaller than him, you did not cower. You were not prey.
Your lips parted and Bucky could see your canines, just slightly too long.
He remembered your file.
Hybrid Type: Homo sapiens/Canis lupus (Genome Series III)
Ancestral Donor: [REDACTED]
You were made this way. Selfishly, inappropriately, Bucky wondered how something made by evil minds could be so … beautiful. Something switched in his mind then. He couldn’t ensure the full termination of Project LUPUS.
You were like him. A monster of another’s creation. He had to save you. Someone decided to give him a second chance, he could do that from you.
Perhaps they had evolved. Maybe he was here to get rid of you like the others. He was armed. There was no reason to trust him.
You didn’t speak. Just stared. Assessed.
Until you did move.
Part of you expected to easily pierce his skin. To be so much faster and stronger that the shear force of pushing your body against his would easily knock him down. You hadn’t met a worthy opponent yet. Until now.
He caught you.
He moved but barely. You let out a scream of anguish as his arms wrapped around your torso, pulling your body against his. You thrashed wildly, trying to pull your knees into his groin, before you decided to go for his throat. Bearing your teeth, you lunged for him, but the wind was almost knocked out of you when you suddenly found yourself slammed against the concrete wall.
Now you were mad. Blindingly furious.
What was he? He didn’t smell like a hybrid. He smelled chemical, metallic, and synthetic. His arm, across your chest, pinned you against the wall. You looked up at his face now, long dark hair shielding half his face.
“You’re supposed to be dead,” His first words to you weren’t a threat. You knew that much although you couldn’t decipher the full meaning. He was surprised. Not scared of you. Not the least bit scared of his own safety. It made you even more furious, “You’ll hurt yourself if you don’t stop.”
Dead. Hurt. You knew those words. Those were bad words. But he almost seemed worried. He looked … conflicted.
You couldn’t breathe, your chest was tightening under the pressure, and it felt like your bones might crack at any minute. Your eyes burned from the rage and frustration. No one had ever made you feel like this. You wanted his heart in your hands. You wanted his head off his shoulders. But you forced your body to still. Not in submission but to allow yourself time to think.
A growling whine left your throat, the pain finally fully registering. His grip loosened and something changed in his face. He managed to keep you pinned but the pressure lessened, “I don’t want to hurt you,” He spoke and you hung onto every word. You needed to think. To try to understand him, “You won’t be able to hurt me. Not in the way you want to.”
Your nostrils flared. You didn’t believe him. You also didn’t move. Clearly, you would have to take a different approach.
He talked like a human. Carried weapons like the humans. You weren’t sure why. It wasn’t like he needed them. You could take another bullet, you’d done it before. You wished that the food hadn’t started running out a few weeks ago. You would be stronger. But there was still fight left in you.
He didn’t notice the switch flip in your mind. He was already pulling away, giving you space, but you quickly struck again. Dropped your weight, slammed your forehead against his jaw as hard as possible. Nails slashed against his throat when you successfully caught him off guard. You drew blood and smiled.
“Fuck,” He growled, actually growled, and your smile grew bigger.
So he bleeds. What was he?
A metal arm wrapped around your throat before he shoved you to the ground. You scrambled and kicked as he got on top of you, straddling your torso. When he reached into his pocket, you thought he was reaching for his gun.
“You don’t get it,” He said. You screamed as best as you could. Your chest heaved, “I’m not your enemy.”
You didn’t see the syringe until it was already pressed against your arm. The sting was nothing. You’d felt much worse. You didn’t flinch. Despite the way his face softened, you showed him your rage. You pushed at him until you couldn’t feel anything anymore.
Bucky didn’t realize he’d taken on too much responsibility until it was too late.
“You’re safe here,” He’d say over and over, “This isn’t a cage.”
Now you were here in his Brooklyn home, barefoot, feral, and you were close to destroying every valuable item in his home. His first mistake was trying to make sure you didn’t feel caged. He realized quickly that he couldn’t be nice with you. The only things you responded to were pain and control.
This would be a journey. A long one. It would be a slow, brutal fight to drag you out of whatever darkness they left you in.
And Bucky wasn’t sure yet who would survive it.
For the first two weeks, he kept a bit gag in your mouth to stop you from biting, and padded gloves on your hands, leather on the outside, soft inside, to keep you from scratching him. He had to sedate you everytime he deemed you needed a bath or your teeth brushed because you’d fight him until your body went limp from exhaustion. You completely refused any clothing, leaving Bucky to draw every curtain in the home.
He hadn’t found a way to make a click. To help you understand. Until he’d prepared you a breakfast one morning and you’d thanked him by flipping the table. He lifted you by your waist and dragged you kicking and screaming to the living room. He bent you over the couch, vibranium arm pressed against your upper back, and spanked you until your growling turned to whimpers.
He hadn’t seen you cry yet. Not until then. His heart panged, realizing he’d let his anger make him lose control. He hand’t wanted to hurt you. Not really. But the spanking had done more then bruise your ass. It embarassed you. Made you truly realize how much stronger he was. You were deadly but Bucky had an extra eighty years to perfect his craft.
Bucky could tell in the way your posture softened. How you leaned into the fabric of the couch for comfort. You weren’t broken but you were beginning to understand. He was the one in control. He could keep you here no matter how much you fought it.
You allowed him to lift you, to place you softly on the material of the expensive sofa. As he rounded the piece of furniture and sat close to you, he watched how you pulled your knees into your chest. And then quickly sat up and tucked your knees under yourself instead, bottom sore. Hesitantly, he rested a hand on your thigh. You looked up at him, eyes sad and confused.
“I know,” He said quietly, voice rough but steady, “But there are rules to follow. You were being a bad girl–”
You pointed to your chest and spoke to him for the first time, “B-ad girl.”
Bucky was taken aback by your tone of voice. Gritty from misuse but he heard so much softness underneath. A delicateness he had not expected. Bucky nodded after a long pause, “Yes, you were being a bad girl. But I know you can be a good girl.”
Your brows furrowed and Bucky saw the way that you momentarily grew frustrated before you pushed it away. For the first time, you pushed away your gut instinct to fight him. You pointed to him next, “Good girl?” You asked, confused. It didn’t sound right and Bucky could see your mind working.
Bucky grinned, “No, I’m Bucky.”
“Boy,” You corrected yourself, “Good boy?”
Bucky’s lips parted. He honestly hadn’t thought he’d get to this point with you so he hadn’t spent enough time considering how he would explain all of this you, “No,” He said after clearing his throat, “That one’s for you. You get to be the good girl.”
You tilted your head again, “You … Alpha?”
Bucky shook his head, “No, not exactly. I want to be your …” He thought carefully about his next words. He pointed to you, “You … good girl. Baby. Doll. Pet.”
He pointed to himself next, “Me …. I’m Daddy.”
“Hmm,” You made a noise as you looked him over. You reached out next, your fingers wandering curiously over the fabric of his white button up. You felt his chest, hard and thick before you gripped the metal wrist of his left arm, “Daddy arm … this … you?”
“Yes, it’s me. Still me,” Bucky spoke a little breathlessly, not realizing how much that word on your lips would make his heart race. You studied his face and then subsequently his heart rate. You placed a hand over his heart and felt the beating. It fascinated you. Your heart rate was so much slower, so much more controlled.
You made another noise and your hands wandered back to your own lap. It would be a strange sight to anyone looking in. You were completely naked and Bucky had, somewhat, grown used to looking at your figure. Sometimes his eyes lingered a little too long on the perks of your nipples or the plumpness of your bottom. And your legs were slightly parted, he could clearly see your slit. You didn’t mind it. It bothered you more when he wanted you to wear clothes.
“No baby,” You interrupted his thoughts and Bucky realized his hand was traveling closer to the gap between your thighs.
You were so soft.
“What?” he asked, brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“No … not baby,” You pointed to yourself then and gestured to a lower height, palm facing downward, emphasizing how small an actual baby would be, “This baby.”
You wanted to be understood, “Not a real baby, no,” Bucky said, “But I want you to be my baby,” When you went quiet, he continued, “I want to take care of you. I will take care of you.”
You shook your head, “No need.”
“I know,” Bucky agreed, “You’re right. You’re strong. But I know you don’t want to be alone again. All by yourself. No family. No friends. No love. It’s bad for you.”
“Bad for me. No love,” You said after awhile, mimicking him. Trying to understand.
Bucky nodded, “It’s good to have someone. Stay with me. I won’t hurt–”
“You hit,” You retorted, some of that fury returning. Your palm touched the skin of your bruised bottom, “See, you hit! No like. I … don’t like.”
You raised a hand and Bucky quickly caught it. His eyes grew sharper and he sent you a warning.
“Hey, you’re not supposed to like it. I hit, yes. But it’s different than this,” Bucky emphasized the scars on your skin, the bullet wounds, the scars from where knives had sliced you open, “Sometimes it hurts more here.” He pointed to you heart.
“I don’t like,” You said again, softer this time.
Slowly, Bucky’s tight grip turned gently and he took your hand into his. One hand on your thigh, his metal hand on your soft one.
“Then you won’t be a bad girl, okay? No fighting. No hurting Daddy. If you want something, you have to tell me. You can’t just throw a tantrum. There are rules to follow.”
You sighed, considering. Your lips parted again, uncertain. That was good enough for Bucky.
Bucky leaned in, his voice gentle, “Do you know your name? I’m Bucky. You are …”
“109-F,” You answered easily and flashed him a look of boredom, like your name didn’t matter.
“That was your name. We’ll think of something better, okay?”
Another week passed and Bucky found he had little use for the bit gag and leather gloves. The tantrums remained but Bucky noticed your intentions had changed. You didn’t get riled up and try to hurt him anymore. You pushed at him and knocked things over but mostly only when you wanted to communicate something and Bucky couldn’t understand you.
As the spankings increased, the good behavior increased as well. He started new routines with you.
Your room was currently only a twin bed and soft carpet despite the size of the room. It allowed for less things to be destroyed. You didn’t sleep in the bed anyways. Bucky started to notice that his couch cushions, blankets, old newspapers, and even clothes from his closet were starting to go missing. He found them later in the small closet connected to your room.
A nest.
You had created a soft, safe space for yourself inside. At first, you bared your teeth at him when he tried to step inside. Instead, Bucky sat right by the entrance of the closet door. He brought you breakfast, a simple bowl of oatmeal. He’d take a spoonful into his mouth and exaggerate an, “Mmmm,” as he ate. Then he would hold the spoon out to you and wait for you to take it, “Your turn, baby.”
You refused the first few times. Then eventually you took the spoon in your hand and catapulted it at the wall. Not out of anger, mostly out of curiosity. And then you clumsily dipped the spoon inside the oatmeal, brought it to your nose, smearing some on your nose. “See, it’s not so bad. Try it.”
You looked at him like he was from another planet.
Eventually, you took the spoon into your mouth and had a few bites, “Good girl, baby.” That’s how he knew you were warming to him.
His work in Washington continued even as he continued to help you settle into a routine. There were still meetings and late-night calls. Stacks of policy briefs piled high on the living room table and his phone buzzed constantly. Soon, he would have to return but he hoped by then you would be more house broken. Easier to manage. Easier to leave on your own.
You responded well to the corporal punishments. To make even bigger changes, Bucky tried to workout a system of rewards for you. It started with the stuffed animals. Soft and cute. He knew you’d never seen or held one before. He sat outside the closet, further than he usually did, one evening holding a stuffed, brown bear, “Look, he’s soft. Do you want to hold him?”
“ … hold him?” You made you way to the edge of door and reached for it.
Bucky pulled back, “You may hold him. You’ve been such a good girl, eating your food, and not throwing things. Come here,” He patted his lap.
For a long moment, you mentally debated whether or not you would leave the closet. When you finally decided the risk was worth it, you hesitantly crawled forward, sitting your bare bottom on the worn fabric of his jeans. Bucky let you take the bear into your hands and he saw something your face soften immediately. You brushed your hands over the fur methodically, over and over. Bucky counted fifty brushes of your hand over it’s head.
“You can hug him,” Bucky demonstrated for you, realizing then that you wouldn’t know what a hug was. He pressed the bear to your chest and then guided your arms around the plush toy, “See, sweet girl. Do you like him?”
“I like bear,” Your voice came out muffled as you pressed the bear against your face, “Soft.”
You were mesmerized for a solid fourty-five minutes. You didn’t mind when Bucky shifted you in his lap so that you were fully straddling him, the bear between the two of you. His hands caressed your back, the sides of your waist and eventually he fully grasped your bottom in his hands, “Fuck,” He cursed under his breath.
“Hurt?” You asked though it was clear your mind was elsewhere.
“No, baby,” Bucky said although he was painfully hard.
“I keep bear?”
Bucky placed a soft kiss against your shoulder blade and was surprised when your face remained soft, almost happy, “It’s yours. For you, my good girl.”
“I’m good girl,” You smiled a real smile. It was the first time he fully saw your teeth and you weren’t thirty seconds from trying to rip out his jugular, “Good bear for me.”
He nodded, brushing your curls back with his metal fingers. He’d have to tackle another deep detangling another night, “That’s right. But when someone gives you something special, there’s something else you say, too.” He touched your cheek. “Can you say thank you, baby?”
You blinked at him.
“Thannnk—” he started, slow and patient.
You studied his mouth. “Than...”
“Good,” he coaxed, smiling now. “Now say thank you, Daddy.”
You continued, “Thank you… Daddy.”
“There you go. So polite. So sweet.”
You just stayed there, safe in his lap, hugging the bear a little tighter.
You followed Mr. Bear around the house. Wherever Bucky placed him, you were there. The kitchen table at breakfast, the space beneath Bucky’s desk while he was working, beside the bathtub when Bucky decided you couldn’t go any longer without a bath, your bed that you had initially abandoned. You’d even spent a full night in Bucky’s large bed, letting Bucky hold your waist as you slept using Mr. Bear as your pillow. It wasn’t conscious at first. You fell in love with the small toy quickly. You looked in his eyes and squished his belly to help calm yourself, to even help yourself sleep. It was an attachment that was foreign to you. You liked that Mr. Bear was yours and that Bucky had given him to you.
It was comfort and regulation. It was all new.
You spent a full two weeks with that sense of peace. Until you woke from a long nap on the living room couch and Mr. Bear was missing. You’d learn to breathe, to slow down and to not let your anger rise to point of seeing red. You breathed deeply as you turned over every cushion and looked threw drawers. You couldn’t even smell him anymore.
He was gone. Forever. Stolen from you. Had you been a bad girl? You’d grown attached and now you’d been abandoned. You started looking under any item you could find, letting items fall to the ground with a thud. You emptied an entire bookshelf of all it’s books and spread the contents of one of Bucky’s manila folders all over the floor.
Cold, dense paper. Nothing soft. You didn’t register the sound of Bucky’s voice in the other room. You fell to your knees, cheeks wet with tears, and started to shred the papers with your nails.
“....Then tell them to hold off until I’m back D.C. I won’t sign off on anything blind …. Yeah, he knows this. Email him again. Then call. Whatever you have to do. That’s your job …”
A second later, the footsteps came. Fast, heavy but controlled.
“Give me a second,” Bucky said. Then louder, “Just pause the call.”
Your eyes found his when he finally walked into the living room from his office. He looked over everything quickly. You couldn’t control your breathing.
Before he could ask you what was wrong, you yelled, “You took bear! Not here! Where?!”
“He’s not gone,” Bucky crouched next to you, eyes dark and fixed sharply on you, “I was in the other room. You need to ask when you have a question. You can’t do … this.”
“Need bear, Daddy,” You crawled closer on your knees, “Need. Baby is sad.”
“Thank you for telling Daddy how you feel but this is not what you do when you’re sad. You didn’t ask Daddy for help,” Before he continued his lecture, he realized you weren’t the least bit sorry. Your focus was on your toy, “Daddy put Mr. Bear in the washing machine. He was dirty. He’s in the dryer now.”
“You took bear,” You croaked and Bucky sighed, “Not dirty. Give back.”
“I’ll give him back after you clean up your mess.”
“No, Daddy!”
“Do you want a spanking too?” You blinked, eyes wide. You shook your head slowly. It had been so long since Bucky had bent you over and done that to you, “Clean, all this needs to go in the trash. The books go back on the bookshelf. And you can put the couch back together. I will wait.”
You scowled then. You had to clean when all of this was his fault. He took Mr. Bear.
He kept his word. He waited. You put the couch cushions back where they belonged before you stacked the books back on the shelf. He stepped in to show you exactly where the books needed to go and held a trash bag open for you to place all the destroyed papers in.
“Good girl,” He said though the way his jaw clicked made you believe he might be just as mad as you.
He took your hand a moment later and led you into the small room with two white machines. One was loud, rumbling and as Bucky opened it’s door, the shaking came to a cease. And then Mr. Bear appeared. Before you could lunge for him, Bucky’s metal arm shot out, holding you at a distance, “My bear,” Your voice trailed off as you eyed the toy. He looked cleaner but he’d lost the smell you’d grown to like, “Bucky no more clean. Not dirty.”
“Mr. Bear does get dirty just like Baby does. He has to have a bath sometimes. Do you understand?”
You were reluctant but you nodded. “Yes,” As soon as the plus toy was in your arms, you curled up on the ground, and held him tightly. As Bucky turned to return to his call in the other room, you let out a small, “.... Sorry, Bucky.”
He paused in the doorway, glanced back.
“I know, baby,” he said gently.
Bucky decided the perfect gateway into you finally wearing clothes around the house was yet another toy. This one was a soft rag doll that looked just slightly like you. The same skin tone and dark curly hair pinned up by two lavender colored bows. She also wore a lavender dress and matching ballet flats. She looked sweet, safe, familiar.
His usual spiel had failed. He explained that clothes were a good thing. They were soft and kept you warm. He also teased the possibility of one day going outside with him, “The people outside always wear clothes,” He’d say, “You want to go on a trip with Daddy one day, don’t you?”
You just ignored him and let your eyes wander towards the window, “This is Mr. Bear’s good friend,” He presented the doll to you, placing her on your bed, next to the loose-fitting, pink t-shirt dress that was laid out on the bed. He chose something completely unrestrictive on purpose. You perked up then. You gave him a hungry look, as if he was presenting you with a medium-rare steak instead of a doll, “She’s a ballerina. Uh, like a dancer. To music. Her name is … Rina.”
“Rina,” You tried, your eyes locked on her, “Soft?”
“She’s very soft,” Bucky assured you, “She loves hugs too.”
“Rina mine?” You asked next, face soft, looking up expectantly, “Like Bear?”
“She could be. She wants a new friend. But she has a rule.”
Your arms crossed at that. You leaned forward to study the doll, brows furrowed, “She has rule?”
“She doesn’t want to be held unless you’re dressed, like people are supposed to be. Even cute hybrid girls have to wear clothes. She feels the most comfortable that way.”
You pouted adorably, “Bad rule.”
“Maybe,” Bucky said, “That’s what she told me. Rina’s rules. She might let you hold her if you’re a good girl.”
“Don’t like,” You started to whine, pressing your body against Bucky’s body, forehead pressing against his chest, “Please … don’t like.”
Bucky placed gentle on your shoulders, lifting your body from him. He pressed a finger under your chin, lifting it until you were looking at him, “I’m sorry, I would help you but it’s not my rule.”
He turned away from you. Not far, only a few steps. He gave you space. Pretended to check his email on his phone. He heard you stomp your feet. Once. Twice. Then a whine. Then there was silence. The tiniest ruffle of fabric. When Bucky turned around, you were wearing the dress. He smiled wide, impressed.
He doubted he could get you in pair of underwear or a bra today but there was time for that.
He came closer again, running his fingers over your hair before he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, “Did it. See, Bucky.” You declared, eyes wide and expecting, “Mine now?”
“She’s yours.”
“Thank you, Daddy,” You bounced on your toes excitedly before you happily scooped up the doll. Bucky picked you up next, and you wrapped your legs around his torso. You let out a soft laugh, a real one, and it was music to Bucky’s ears. One arm looping around his neck, the other squeezing Rina to your body, you looked Bucky in his eyes deeply. Like he’d placed gentle kisses on your forehead, your shoulder, and cheeks, you placed a soft peck on his lips.
He stilled for a second. Then smiled, full and proud, “Thank you, babygirl.”
There was one week left until Bucky had to return to Washington. He was more than happy with the progress you’d made. You’d started wearing underwear and you’d even been open to trying different kinds of clothes. Pants were still a nonstarter. You didn’t mind the skirts. You didn’t love the tight-fitting t-shirts but Bucky often left you no options. You tugged at them and pouted. Selfishly, he liked the way they looked on you.
There were still many gaps in your social etiquette. It took him a full three days to explain that you couldn’t lift up your skirt whenever you wanted. You had a habit of wanting to stare at the different patterns on your underwear and often would flip up your skirt in the middle of a conversation or activity or anything to look. He corrected gently, not because he didn’t like the view but because ideally one day you’d accompany him to dinners and go on outings with him. He didn’t need you putting your body on display.
He convinced you Rina liked it when wore different hairstyles. Ribbons and bows were her absolute favorite. He’d started getting really good at braiding it into neat rows, and tying bows to the ends. During his morning meetings, you often sat between his legs at his desk, Rina in your lap, as he fixed your hairstyle for the day.
Bucky was settling into a sense of peacefulness. A feeling he had longed for. Therapy helped. His new job fulfilled him in some aspects but also made him realize how slow change really happened at the same time. This life, the pocket of innocence he was building around you, was starting to help most of all. This life was the opposite of everything he and you were ever used to.
He didn’t want you exposed to the real world. He would shield you from reality for as long as possible. He would give you something he never had for himself. He’d also had enough of following orders for ten lifetimes. With you, in his own house, he made the rules.
He had to address his mission. Debrief the committee on all of his findings. He had to give his colleagues enough information to satisfy them but couldn’t risk them getting their hands on you. You were the survivicing data to a program that never should’ve been created. He decided to lie. The site was clear of any sources of life. The facility was sealed, records wiped away, and he submitted a report that suggested Project LUPUS be permanently blacklisted from funding due to “gross ethical violations”.
He’d have to spin another story eventually. Explain your presence in his life. Mel, his assistant, was already working on using the story for political advantage. You were a rescued civilian during a humanitarian negotiation. You’d suffered severe trauma and Congressman Barnes, recognizing the complexity of the situation and understanding the importance of mental rehabilitation, he’s personally arranged for you to receive trauma-informed rehabilitative care under his sponsorship. He’d be even more of the hero than the public saw him as.
Colleagues would raise questions but no one would push to hard. He was a war hero. His word was gospel.
Pls reblog w/ your thoughts if you enjoyed! This will be a 2 part series with the second chapter focused on Bucky + Baby’s time in Washington! Hope you enjoyed :)
Ransom takes you jewelry shopping for your birthday. You're surprised when he takes you to the men's section. He leans in close and whispers, "pick out the rings you want to feel inside you."
-Zombie
@thezombieprostitute I know I use this gif a lot, but this was genuinely my face when I read this ask:
Hahahahaha and I bet that’s why Ransom does this!!! He’s such a shit and loves to scandalize you! But I do give him grateful props for leaning in to whisper his attack vs saying it out loud so anyone could hear lol.
pairing: bucky barnes x reader
summary: after his daughter, winnie, ripped the arm off her beloved stuffed doggy, bucky takes the day off to take care him, subsequently figuring some things out while doing so -
or, bucky sews up a new arm for his daughters favourite teddy . . .
warnings: fluff, dad!bucky, mom!reader, domestic fluff, some angst, written with congressman!bucky in mind, bucky wears glasses while working, bucky's daughter is called Winnie (win, pea, sweetheart, baby, babygirl...), Nat, Tony, Sam and Steve mentioned, aunt!nat and uncle!sam lol . . .
word count: 4k
a/n: wow a fluff thats crazy. im aware im not the best at these but i got this idea a week or so ago while going to work and it hasn't let me alone since so, i tried !
bucky m.list || masterlist || navigation
The plastic laundry basket rattles and creaks against your hip. Tapping your finger on the handle without a real rhythm, humming inquisitively and melodically, floorboards groaning under your feet as you pass down the hallway, and into the sun-warmed bedroom where stickers plastered yay high on the door, just below the painted calligraphy of dusty green you had tasked yourself on, even though you'd started waddling and huffing at every sprig of movement at the time. Winnie.
It's oddly quiet, not too unusual for a school day, but even so the padding of socked feet thumping around, excited squeals and giggles and tight little arms latched around your calf fill your days up so full and bright, the few hours of emptiness never fail to have you staring at the unmade bed and sigh with a smile.
Placing the basket down to your feet, you lean down to straighten the linens. Uncurling the stripes of red, tucking them in at the corners, folding at the pillows before starting on those next. Fluffing and placing them carefully to the wall, gathering her favourite blanket she'd pulled to the centre of the room for a late night reading session by the bonfire (her bedside lamp she had also moved) to drape across the foot of the bed.
Once done, straightening up only to stretch out the achy kinks in your muscles, you turn for the finishing touch. Dusty, Winnie's companion. The kind of teddy you must pry out of a child's hand — or at least try and swap it out with a similar weight like a Mission Impossible movie — but your little Win had a sixth sense for her darling dog. Matted fur from bone crushing (or pellet crushing, in Dusty's case) hugs, colour dulled from the years, and eyes wobbled from the thread. He may have been living up to his name, but he carries her love like no other.
But in recent days, you've noticed a difference in Dusty's appearance. His front left leg was simply… missing.
It wasn't hard to put two and two together. Your husband, brooding eyes and tired sighs, Bucky Barnes, had spent the good part of Winnie's first years acclimatising both Win, and himself, to his arm.
Holding her comfortably against his chest, in the crook of his right arm, as so his left — all shiny vibranium and gold veins — could pat and caress. Holding it up, wiggling his fingers while cooing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star just to see her chubby cheeks round out and gargle a laugh through a gummy smile. Bucky had even found himself soothing her by gently wiping the bridge of her nose with the smooth tip of his index finger, shushing down her cries, murmuring praises into the air, smiling softly as her eyes droop shut and soft croons from the back of her throat quieted into yawns, dribble on ironed work shirts and sweet, even breaths.
But Dusty and his three limbs were nowhere to be seen.
Not on the bedside table, or made as a suspicious lump underneath your neat origami of bed sheets. Not using the bunting hung from the corners as a makeshift swing set, or gathered around the lamp-made bonfire.
The laundry sat forgotten as your feet darted down the hall and down the flight of stairs, all to have been halted once you found yourself in the dining room. Your hair flew back as you caught yourself, hand holding the doorway.
Bucky sat at the table, button up shirt open at the collar, sleeves shoved to his elbow, hair the same colour as his daughters mussed back from fingers, and glasses slipping to the tip of his nose. Before you could fully appreciate the sight before you, you realised the scene. A sewing needle poked out the corner of his lip, held in place by his teeth, a large enough sheet of fabric, black with soft gold accents, laid out on the surface next to the project, cut in meticulous patterns, chalk lines fading off. And the main event was Dusty himself, and the appendage of dark cloth, sewn haphazardly with the kind of skill a boy on a mission would have, into a similar shape to the dog's right leg.
"Jesus," you exhale, holding your chest. "I thought you had work today?"
"I—Uh," He glances up at you over the top of his glasses where they perch low on the tip of his nose. Muffled by the needle in his mouth, he takes it out, leaning both elbows to the table, inhaling as if finding the correct answer. "I did. Have work."
You lean against the frame now. Arms crossed over your chest, smiling in amusement.
"But?"
"But," he imitates, looking back down at the work he's doing, holding the needle between two fingers and waving it slightly. "I have more pressing matters to attend to."
"Oh yeah?" You push off and walk your way over, sliding into the chair adjacent to his, leaning your chin on the palm of your hand. "More pressing than paperwork and board meetings? Pressing matters meaning Dusty?"
He laughs once, an exhales huff paired with an easy smile, but he keeps working. His phone was still open, propped up on a vase of cosmos and baby's breath, a paused video tutorial on sewing. You pretend not to have noticed, pretend like your heart didn't swell ten times the size in that one millisecond your eyes flittered.
"I—ah… I may have hold Win, while tucking her in last night, that I'd take Dusty to the 'hospital' today while she was at school," he shrugged, momentarily pausing to run a hand through his hair to keep it back, only for the strands to fall back over his face. "Was tired of finding stuffing on the floor."
"Tired of stuffing on the floor?"
"Mhm," he drags out, tight lipped, looping the needle through the two meeting points of the inside out fabric, pulling until slight resistance, before going again. "I also wanted to surprise her. Got up early to go out lookin' for some stuff, just to close up the hole, but I… saw the fabric, and… I mean, I understand why she—she'd take the arm off," he sighed again, looking back up at you over his glasses. When he sees you already smiling, he loosens up, smiling too, cheeks pinkening under the dusting from his beard.
"I think she'd like it."
"She'll love it, Buck," you reassure, reaching out to draw a knuckle over the back of his hand. "Didn't know you could sew, though."
The chair groans under his weight, stretching out, leaning back. "It's been a long, long time, sweetheart. Used to watch my momma when I had nothing better to do, sometimes she'd make me help her out until my fingers were all sore and poked raw, and, uh, you pick up some shit out in the field. Clothes get ripped, you know the gist," you do. He waves a dismissive hand. "Did have to remind myself though, but don't tell Winnie, I wanna look smart."
You giggle, easing up from the seat to make your way over. "You are smart, and Win already thinks the world of you,"
Leaning over, you drape your arms over his shoulders and rest your chin to his head, pausing the dismissive shake to your statement.
"It looks good. You're really good at this." You murmur into his hair with a kiss.
Bucky hums, pushing his glasses back up with a knuckle. "M'not."
"Hm, you are. And Winnie loves you, and I love you, and she's gonna love you more after this," you peck his head again.
"You know, everyday I think that theres no way I could love you more? You do all of these amazing things, you've done amazing things — things I can't even fathom — and yet you keep going above and beyond," before you could finish your words, Bucky tucks a piece of hair behind his ear, and you move. Legs walking, mind filing through memories, to the comfortable, organised mess of the living room.
When you come back, standing behind your husband, you clip the strands of hair that have been bothering him back with two tiny butterfly clips, one pink, the other green. He makes no protest, only smiling down at his work, already understanding and thankful when he heard the little snap.
You kiss his head again, in the space between the clips and stay there a little longer. Arms wrapping around his shoulders, massaging your thumbs into the muscle and to the base of his neck.
"You're amazing. I dunno how I could keep up."
He makes a noise, humorous, slightly dismissive. "You don't need to keep up. Don't need to do anything," leaning his head back to your chest, he sighs again. "I fell for you the way you are. Beautiful, talented, funny, witty in a way I have always been kinda jealous of, and so terrifying sometimes, even I get nervous at parent teacher conferences."
You scoff, running your hands down to drape across his chest.
"I'm not that scary—"
"Oh, you are," he leans to the side and kisses your forearm, lingering his lips for a few seconds, rubbing the soft skin and the coarse hairs of his beard across the inside of your arm, before pressing another kiss and mumbling into you. "I remember years ago when you ripped Tony a new one. Dunno what, somethin' about a mission being sent out too early bein' dangerous. God, I remember walkin' in and I don't think I blinked,"
A laugh rumbled through your chest, pushing at the back of Bucky's head. He pauses for a moment, holding up the black and gold cushioned paw in his left hand. The plates whir as if smiling at his work.
"That was when I knew I wanted to marry you."
"Sap," You press another kiss to his scalp, and another, then another. "If I'm remembering correctly, cause Tony just loves to piss me off, we weren't even together at that time."
Shaking his head, you can feel the apples of his cheeks fill with a smile. "Nope. Had it all planned out from there on out. Even Steve could tell I was whipped after we left the room."
You tut, straightening up. "And it took you like, what, three years to actually ask me out?"
Before he could retort, already stuttering on an answer, pushing his glasses atop his head, hands curled on the edge of the table. You walk with a bounce in your step back towards the doorway.
"Okay, you've got about an hour or so til pick up so, it might be best to get that leg on. Meanwhile, I've got laundry to do and dinner to start."
As your footsteps thump up the stairs, Bucky calls up to you.
"It was a year!"
"If you say so!" You shout back, already passing back into the colourful, warm mess of your daughter's bedroom to stifle through the little clothes on the floor.
After tossing a pink pyjama set, two pairs of dirt stained socks and a pair of cherry red jeans stained green at the knees, his voice calls out again.
"I love you!"
You giggle. Big and bright, staring down at the messy clothes of your child's, stained with inquisitive wonder and whimsy. Pens thrown on the ground next to an opened colouring book, handmade crochet blankets in a box by the bed, pre-loved books on the shelf, fairy lights and garlands draped across corners.
"I know!"
-
Amongst the crowd of parents waiting on their kids — hulking them up and on their hips, taking their little book bags out their tiny hands to help straighten their clothes — Bucky stayed leaning against the far wall.
The sun still dripped down through the clouds, leaving a cool enough breeze to ease off uncomfortable warmth. It nipped up his bare arms, still clad in his 'work' clothes, white shirt still slightly unbuttoned and sleeves still rolled up, and Dusty stayed tucked inside of the pocket in his pants, covered by his hands.
Kids laughed, squealed at times whenever their parent would pick them up or bounce them, maybe even swing them from between the two. He stayed indifferent, watching the double doors swing open to a new wave of tiny heads, watching the teachers he's come to trust (reluctantly) wave enthusiastically or high-five if the kid asked for such. He stifled a growing smile as one child missed twice.
It wasn't until the sound of quick footsteps pitter-pattered against the asphalt his attention turned and was completely swallowed by the small shooting star about to plummet straight into him.
Brown hair tied into two low braids waved behind her as her little body came running the wavering crowd. Adorned in patchwork dungarees, a stripy shirt and little red boots Nat had gotten her for her last birthday because 'kids can be badasses too'.
"Daddy!" She giggled as she ran, smile so wide it looked like it hurt.
Dropping down to one knee, he just about caught the little cannonball of energy as she leapt into his arms. Little hands around his neck, feet barely touching the ground. The force of her impact made Bucky topple back into the wall with a groan, laughing into her hair as they both squeezed.
"Hey, sweetheart," he greeted, muffled into the the crook of her shoulder, easing and patting the back of her head. "Geez, you've got a lot of energy, you had a good day?"
"Uh-huh! I found some caterpillars during recess, they were all fuzzy and climbing up a tree and I was their protector! Other kids kept tryin' to poke at them but me and some friends guarded them!"
"That's nice, Win." Bucky groaned as he pushed himself, and an energetic five year old, and her backpack up from the wall. Easing her to sit on his hip, she dangled her legs excitedly, grasping into the front of his shirt.
"And we got to play heads up seven up, but don't tell but I looked at their shoes whenever they got me so I won extra reading time, but i didn't do it all of the time! I only did it once in a while so I didn't look sus… suspi—shuss."
"It's 'suspicious', sweetpea, 'sus-pi-shush', and did Auntie Nat teach you that?"
Winnie shakes her head, still smiling, braids whipping to and fro. "Uncle Sam!"
His brows lower in defeat. "Of course he did."
Pebbles crunch beneath the soles of his dress shoes, bumping Winnie up higher on his side, she hums.
"Daddy?"
"Yeah, baby?"
"Is Dusty okay at the hospital?" She fiddles at the collar of his shirt, voice low as she asks.
"Oh, yeah. Hey, you just reminded me, I gotta… got a little surprise for you." he places her back to the ground, following her down to squat in front of her. Rummaging through his pocket, he kept one hand on her bicep to keep her close.
"A surprise?"
Once out, bucky holds out the old dog in his hands, elbows to his knees, cupping around his floppy torso carefully. At this angle, both Dusty and Bucky adorn the arms, and little Winnie watches bright-eyed as Bucky moved his fingers with a whir under Dusty's to greet with a little wave.
"You match!" She gasps before her dad could explain. "Daddy, you and Dusty match!"
He chuckles, "yeah, we do, don't we?" Holding the teddy up, he points out the new leg, nodding and playing along. "Took a little while, but he's good as new. Missed you terribly while you were out here — conning your way into more reading time," he murmurs under his breath as Winnie takes her companion from his hand to smother him in the tightest hug. "Wouldn't stop askin' for you after the procedure, he wanted to show you ASAP."
"He looks exactly just like you, daddy!"
He straightens up, taking her hand in his, making a slight face. "Well, I wouldn't say exactly just like me—"
"You both look so cool!" She exclaims, jumping in his hold excitedly, "Dusty has a cool arm like daddy now!"
His head knocks back in a soft flinch. Despite the slight tingle in his sinuses, the soft smile on his lips and the adoring look he glances down at his daughter, he doesn't cry — not yet, at least, he wont allow it. And while he wants to ask if she really means it, if his arm really is cool, if she did rip it off Dusty to be like him, if she really did love him, adore him, like you said she does; instead he keeps smiling and guiding her back to the car with his chest full of something akin to the cloudy, cotton feeling he got when he held her for the first time.
And he really did match Dusty.
"C'mon, Pea," he clears his throat, trying to hide the bundles of emotion, golden and honey thick in his chest. "Momma's probably wondering where we are."
With one last skip, she giggles, holding the dog up to her face. "Thank you for making him better, daddy."
Comically, his eyes twitch and his bottom lip just about juts out into a pout. Inhaling, exhaling, grounding himself — trying to, at least — he squeezes the little hand in his own once.
"Of course, baby."
And she squeezes back. Once around his hand, small yet mighty, and another around his heart.
-
"Momma!"
The door's barely open before the loud rapt of Winnie comes bounding over.
"In here!" You reply, voice echoing from the kitchen, stirring the pot one last time and easing the flame low on the stove.
"Ah-ah," Bucky tuts, clicking his fingers, whistling once, catching her just in the nick of time. "Shoes off and bag at the door, you know what momma's like."
With a dramatic groan — wonder where she gets that from — she copies Bucky. Toeing off her boots clumsily, before plopping her butt down on the floor to impatiently untangle the knots you had tied that morning, ultimately letting her dad pull them off her feet and place them neatly on the shoe rack.
As Bucky slipped off the last shoe, Winnie made a run for it.
"Momma!" She calls again. Bounding down the hallway, socked feet thumping off the floor. As he follows behind, Bucky wonders how such a small being can make so much noise.
"Hey, babygirl!" you beam, listening to the excited racket thud closer and closer, propping a lid on top of the pan.
A blow hits your legs, catching your breath as you laugh at her dramatics. Stroking the frizzy hairs down from her plaits.
"C'mere," you beckon, pulling her up for a hug, air constricting and tight as it might be, you reciprocate with wiggling from side to side and groaning with playful aggression. You believe you could photosynthesise on her giggles alone. "What did you get up to today, anything fun? Make friends? Change the world?"
"Look, look, look!"
Plastic beading rattles as she holds Dusty up in front of her for you to behold, pressing her little mouth to his head, copying the wave Dusty had greeted her with.
With a gasp, you wobble her happily. "Oh my goodness, Dusty's back!"
"His arm, momma, look at his arm!" She exclaims, kicking her legs happily.
"He had the best surgeon looking out for him, baby," glancing up at your husband's simper, you kiss her forehead. "Doesn't it look great?"
"It's amazing!"
Jumping her up a couple times on your hip, you hum. "Yeah? Did you thank daddy?"
Nodding her head with a beam, a smile bucky can only compare to yours with the way rooms seem to brighten when shown, she pulls her hands up for him to hold her next. "Thank you, daddy!"
"Yeah, yeah," he grunts, holding her without a complaint, "you said that fifteen times in the car already, Pea."
The room settles easily, with the quiet simmer of food bubbling and stove searing, birds whistling in the garden and traffic humming, it's familiar and easy, and it's home.
It isn't long until Winnie's restless little body squirms in Bucky's arms, and he sets her free with a quiet 'go on', sprinting back up to her room with a chorus of high pitched giggles.
Propping himself against the worksurface, arms crossed over his chest, head on the cabinets, Bucky sighs. It's a sigh of ease, contentment. The kind he would let out once the streets filled with the orange of lampposts, and he got home to find you, warm and sleepy, tucked in bed as he stripped himself of button ups and tailored suits, and swapped it out with a bare chest and sweatpants — the sigh would only come once his arms wrapped around you and his nose buried into your hair.
A smile creeps on your lips, moving to take a place next to him.
"You know, apparently she cheated at heads up seven up today. For extra reading time. But only did it enough times not to look 'suspicious'." He squints his eyes, following the word with quotation marks.
Sucking in a breath, you click your tongue against the backs of your teeth. "Ooh, don't tell me," you whisper, patting a finger on your chin in thought. "Nat?"
He shakes his head, tight lipped, "Sam."
"So we're crossing him off the babysitting list."
"Hm, I think he's doin' it on purpose," he hums, tipping his chin up, moving his hands down to find the small of your back. "Keep him on, he's doing the next gig."
Pulling you closer until you stand between his open legs. He holds your hips, rubbing small circles through your pants, holding eye contact.
"I meant what I said today." You murmur, keeping your eyes on his, holding authority. To which Bucky loses with great pleasure, sneaking glances to your lips.
"I know."
"You're amazing," you mumble again, basking in the tiny looks he holds to your mouth, how he licks his own lips and the soft, humming feeling of his thumbs making patterns, and his fingers changing position to subtly bring you closer.
"I mean it. Truly," You rest your hands on his shoulders, squeezing, careful around the soft tissue that bumps around his left. "I love you. We both do. So, so much."
Your eyes hold his, and this time he doesn't sneak away, and he doesn't try to hide with a bashful look or a glimpse at your lips, right there. Though his eyes redden at the edges, the whites of his eyes glisten off the stovetop light, and you can just about see your reflection pool inside of his pupils.
"I know." He replies, quieter than the last, and he finally leans the rest of the way and kisses you. Because it hits, not like a blow but a final blossom. He does know, and he thinks he has known this whole time. From the moment the nurse placed a whaling, sticky, tiny thing in his arms and his body tightened and loosened all at once, his lungs stuttering, and mouth instinctively formed the awkward whispers of 'you're alright, I got you, I know, it must be so cold'.
It's just only now, in the soft warmth of a kitchen, being used and not feeling like mere decoration with takeout in the fridge, the love of his life in front of him, pecking at his lips until laughter gets in the way and dinner sizzles from next to them. With a daughter, who loves to guard critters and create extravagant blanket forts, who reads to her bears and kisses them goodnight, one by one. Who ripped off her favourite teddy's left arm so he can be 'just exactly like daddy' — he's finally let himself realise just how adored he really is.
A/N: Very slightly inspired by the movie “Wedding Crashers”. Only the idea of crashing weddings.
Catch up here: They shall speak now… (1)
“I…I,” you nervously stammered. His gaze was too intense to hold, so you looked away. “I didn’t…uh…you looked bored…and…”
“So…” He repeated. “Who are you to decide that I can do better? Do I know you? Have we met before?” His smirk deepened when you shyly tugged at the hem of your dress.
“No! We should go. I’m sorry for interrupting.” You hiccupped, nervously staring at your hands. Sorry…uh...sometimes my brain is slower than my mouth!” You exclaimed, springing to your feet. Ready to go for a sprint.
Bucky grinned wolfishly. His voice was a little rougher when he said, “That so? We never met, and you still came to my rescue. How did you know I was bored to death?”
“She was joking,” Nia jumped in. You were staring at Bucky, and she feared you’d end up being his next meal if you looked at him for a little longer. “We are leaving. Sorry for the trouble.”
Your friend tried to drag you away, but two bulky guys blocked your path. “She stays,” Bucky said, leaving you trembling. “A woman saving me from a boring life deserves a reward."
Nia froze at Bucky’s commanding tone. “Excuse me?” She managed to say. “She will come with me.”
Bucky laughed at the way Nia protected you. “You’re a cocky one, I see.” He gave a curt nod, and the men stepped aside.
You still didn’t dare to breathe wrong. This man was staring you down after your mishap, and you didn’t know how to talk yourself out of the situation.
“Let’s go,” Nia said, but you remained rooted to the spot. Bucky’s gaze was still on you, and his eyes told you not to move an inch.
“You look like you're planning an escape route.” He joked, his mouth curving upward. “Maybe I should call security back. What do you say?”
“Maybe I’m planning to escape,” you admitted. “I just ruined your wedding ceremony, and you look like someone hiding a gun in their pants.”
He laughed, following your eyes. You were shamelessly staring at his crotch, and he couldn’t hide the glint in his eyes.
“There she is. I feared we lost here.”
You blinked. “What?”
“The cocky woman who told me I could do better.” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He recalled your words and hummed. “You’re the only person who told me the truth about the bride and this wedding.”
“That wasn't honesty; it was more like random thoughts escaping my mouth without permission."
“That wasn’t an accident nor random. You wanted to save me from an awful, boring marriage. You’re my savior.”
Nia crossed her arms, trying to look tough. She hid the chill running down her spine when looking at Bucky. “Sir, she apologized. Can we pretend this never happened? Y/N can be impulsive; sometimes she speaks before she thinks. We love her for it.”
Bucky ignored her completely. He set his eyes on you and wouldn’t back down now. How could he? He stopped the ceremony for another woman.
“What did you mean?”
You really didn’t know. “I was thinking you looked stunning in that suit. My brain short-circuited, and then I said what I said. No offense. You looked like you wanted to swallow glass before marrying that woman.”
“That so?” He cocked his head, searching your face.
“Fine!” You said, throwing your hands up. “You looked miserable. A handsome man like you should look happy on his wedding day, not like someone twisted your balls.
Bucky laughed. “No one twisted my balls, doll. No one would dare try.”
“You looked like you wanted to be somewhere else. I know that feeling. Sometimes you must do things that make you miserable. Your wedding shouldn’t be one of these things,” you murmured. “I’d understand if the bride looked miserable. Her dress was a mess.”
“Y/N, don’t.” Nia winced. She was wringing her hands, silently praying to get out of the church alive.
“She’s flashy but pretty. Maybe you’re more into…uh…men?”
“Wow,” Bucky said.
“What?”
“No one's ever said that to me before.”
“Really?”
“Not to my face.”
You giggled. “So…is it true?”
Bucky laughed. “No.”
“Aw, that’s a shame. I have a cute cousin. He’d be your type,” you said.
“I already found someone who’s my type,” he replied, earning a disappointed whine from you.
Nia looked between the two of you suspiciously. “Oh no.” She muttered under her breath.
authors notes: babies first smut is here!! this didn't start out as smut, it was supposed to be innocent and fluffy but i ended up in a mood and here we are. it's a little rough around the edges but we move. (will cry if anyone's mean about it x) did write this with beefy cw bucky in mind but this picture fit the moodboard better so it's up to you really.
warnings: 18+, mdni!!, oral (f receiving), fingering, smidge of degradation in the middle, pussy pronouns (blink and you'll miss it), smidge of a praise kink, hair pulling, not proofread so all my mistakes are my own, i think i've got everything?? please feel free to let me know if i missed anything!
word count: 1.4k
summary:
a lazy day ends with girl dinner and you trying to explain the concept to bucky, who decides to put his own spin on it.
it was a lazy day, the kind where time seemed to slip through your fingers like sand no matter how hard you tried to hold onto it. at some point it had started to rain, beating against the glass as the smell of fresh earth filtered in through the window and mixing with the candles you'd lit. bucky had claimed one corner of the sofa, blanket half draped over him as he read his book, you'd taken the other side, scrolling mindlessly through your phone until you'd gotten up to go and grab dinner.
which was simple enough.
until it wasn't.
"the hell is that?" his book dropped into his lap as he watched you walk back in like you weren't carrying a plate of whatever that was. you shrugged as you sat down next to him and balanced the plate on your lap. "okay, so… the last of the cake we got from the farmers market, string cheese times two, goldfish crackers, and some strawberries." you pointed out each thing, perfectly arranged so none of it would touch and contaminate anything else because god forbid. "girl dinner." you smiled as picked up a strawberry and took a bite, the juices staining the corner of your lips.
he blinked at you once before he looked down as your plate and then back up at you. "girl dinner… that's not—none of that goes together." he thought that he'd seen everything the modern world had to offer at this point, every tiktok, every trend—until this one sneaked up on him in his own living room. "is that even legal?" you snorted as you fed him a cracker, shaking your head. "you lived through the great depression, bucky, you've probably seen worse than this." he just shook his head as he watched you explain it all completely seriously.
"this is like girl math all over again." he was still minorly traumatised by the fact you confidently believed that things were free if you used cash instead of your card or the fact you were actually saving money by buying more things to get free delivery. "eh, not really. this is better than girl math because you get whatever you want for dinner. you should try it sometime, it's not that hard. dinner is just a concept made up society anyway."
he laughed at that, properly laughed as he bumped his shoulder against his. "hey!" you protested, looking utterly offended which was diminished by grin spreading across your face. "it's true! why should we stand around for hours to make something that we're going to eat in like ten minutes, when this does exactly the same thing, y'know?" he nodded solemnly like you'd just handed him state secrets instead of an opinion. "you say the same thing about matcha." you rolled your eyes as you shuffled closer, worming your way under his blanket and curling yourself against his side. "matcha is different. matcha tastes like grass and i'm convinced that it's some kind of brainwash of the masses thing. no offence." you were guilty of having opinions on a lot of things—one of the things he loved the most about you— but matcha was high up on that list because it made no sense at all.
"none taken." he huffed as he snaked his arm around you shoulders, metal hand rubbing circles against your shoulder as you carried on eating. "you do have a point, though. it's like blended up grass that people pay for the privilege of. what's wrong with a normal cup of coffee, huh? kids these days. but…" he reached over and plucked the plate from your hands despite your protests, setting it down on the coffee table.
"i can think of something else i'd rather have for dinner, for the record." he lay you down against the couch, hands warm against your sides as they slipped under your t-shirt. a whine left the back of your throat as your back arched up off the couch as you tried to chase his touch—heat already brewing between you thighs. "not fair…" you breathed softly as his fingers hooked under the waistband of your shorts and pulled them down slowly. he pressed a kiss just above your navel, using his nose to nudge your t-shirt up. "who said anything about fair? life's not fair." he murmured against your skin as his kisses trailed lower and lower until he reached the waistband of you underwear, pulling back just enough to look up at you.
you were wrecked already, an effect that only he'd ever managed to have on you. he put his hands on you and suddenly your brain turned to mush and you'd never had a cohesive thought in your life, and you were okay with that. your hands flew out on instinct, fingers curling around his hair and tugging as your underwear joined your shorts somewhere on the floor. "bucky…" you whined as he nudged your legs apart with his shoulders as he settled between them. "just trying to see my girl, look at her. so wet for me already, you're so easy sometimes."
your hips jumped up as dived in, his tongue flattening against your clit as his way of easing you in before he really started, circling and sucking and teasing as you turned into a trembling mess underneath him, hands still tugging at his hair. the way your thighs tremble around his head feels like a reward, paired with the moans and whines spilling from you freely. it's almost like a game for him, seeing how much he can pull from you. "fuck—you can't—oh god, don't stop, please…" you were vaguely aware of the words that were spewing out from you as his hands come up to your hips, vibranium cool against overheated skin as he pinned you down to try and stop the squirming.
he pulled back just enough to look at you, his chin already dripping with your slick as a grin spread across his face. "you want me to stop, baby? you gotta use your words for that, c'mon. you're a big girl, or have you gone all shy on me?" he cooed as one hand slipped down from you hip, brushing past your thigh. "poor baby, dumb already. look at you." his words snapped something inside of you, the last of your restraint crumbling as your hips bucked wildly and he stopped trying to hold them down.
"please. please, fuck—i—" you whimpered as he slipped a finger inside, crooking it just right but it wasn't enough. it was never enough. you needed the stretch, needed to be fuller. "more. you need—i need more." you pleaded, and who was he to deny you? he slipped another finger inside, moving them rhythmically as he hit that spot that had you seeing stars as you repeated his name over and over again like a prayer. you rutted against his hand shamelessly as you chased the friction—anything to get you over the edge.
when you did reach it, it felt like a live wire running straight through you.
every muscle in your body seized up as it burst like dam, your climax washing over you as you saw nothing but white for a couple of seconds as you lost yourself in the pleasure. it tore through you in waves and for a minute, you thought it was never gonna end. "that's it, baby. that's it. you did so well. look at how good you were for me. good girl." he murmured as he guided you through it, sitting back on his heels as he wiped his chin with the back of his hand. everything softened as he looked down at you underneath him, panting and writhing—your skin flushed from exertion. "hey, look at me." he reached down and tipped your chin up until your eyes found his. "you good?"
you blinked at him slowly, your body shuddering through an aftershock, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. "can't feel my legs, you bastard." you huffed as your hands finally left his hair, shoving his shoulder weakly instead. he chuckled as his thumb traced lazy circles against the inside of your thigh. "it was all that talk about dinner." he teased. "made me hungry for my girl, can you blame me? you can keep your girl dinner, i'm good right here."
summary: Daryl couldn't stand to see another man flirt with you. And worse, you didn't even realize the man was flirting. Daryl takes matters into his own hands. WC: 8.6k
warnings: 18+ MDNI Smut, bimbofication of reader, Mean(ish)!Daryl, Spencer, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, swearing, the heels stay on, perv!Daryl, perv!Reader, these two are just stupid desperate sluts
author's note: Thank you so much to the anon who requested this! I love how this turned out, and I hope you do too!! Bimbo!Reader has such a special place in my heart, especially paired with my love Daryl! I also posted this late because I don't have a brain apparently, so sorry everyone!!
You were sitting with Maggie on a bench near the gates as Daryl walked over. Maggie was pretty much your only main source of 'girl talk' in Alexandria.
The two of you had been friends since the farm. You helped her figure out what to do with Glenn, and she helped you paint your nails.
"So what are you going to do about him?" Maggie gestured to Spencer, who was helping his mother as she talked to Rick.
Daryl froze and hid behind a corner when he heard Maggie's voice talking about a him.
What the hell does that mean? Was there a him in your life that he somehow missed?
"I don't know." Your voice drew out the last syllable. "He's cute, I guess!" Maggie laughed at your apprehension.
"You guess? Look at him, he's got a great smile!" Maggie was fully and completely in love with Glenn, but nobody could deny that Spencer had decent looks.
Daryl had no idea who you were talking about. But you had just called this guy cute.
"I haven't even talked to him! What if he doesn't like all this?" You had zero intention of changing yourself, but after no romantic flings or dates since the start, a nervous pit formed in your stomach.
Daryl frowned at your words. What was not to like?
Sure, you had very specific taste, and you liked to play dumb. Daryl thought it was adorable how unique you were. He'd love to be the one you're calling cute right now.
Any man who gave you a hard time was an asshole in Daryl's mind. Because looking past your pink surface and loud voice, you had a kind heart. Always giving people the benefit of the doubt when everyone else knew damn well that they didn't deserve it.
It had been a long time since Daryl had any romance either. Probably longer than you. But that didn't change the fact that he was completely lost in the love department. Half of the time, he felt like a damn pervert the way he thought about you.
You were just so sweet, so effortlessly teasing him when you'd do little things like brush up against him, get all up in his space to fix something with his clothes.
He thought about those moments a lot.
"But what about other options?" Maggie hinted.
You put down the mascara that you were using, meeting Maggie's wide eyes and smirk.
"No, I'm not talking about him either!" You squeaked.
Leaning in, she smirked at you knowingly. "Ohhh, you mean the man you've been stalking for like 2 years?" She teased you a little louder than you would have liked.
"Stalking?! Please, staring is not stalking!" You and Maggie fell into a fit of laughter.
Daryl clenched his fists as he listened in. Two damn years?
Whoever this lucky asshole was, he hadn't even noticed or acted on it.
Hell, Daryl considers it a good day when you flash him that pretty smile of yours, lips coated in a thick layer of sparkly gloss.
"Besides, I practically throw myself at him, but he doesn't even blink." You thought about all the times you'd shown up at Daryl's door, dressed in your most revealing little dress, or with a fresh new pick-up line that only earned you a quick 'shut up'.
"I should just show up at his door wearin' nothin' but my damn heels and see his reaction." Again, the two of you fell into a loud fit of giggles like a pair of schoolgirls.
"I think you'd break him."
Daryl's face turned a bright red at the thought. Although he could never admit it to anyone, Daryl thought about you often. He thought about kissing you all the damn time. His thoughts always wandered when he was busy with something, focused on how soft your perfumed skin would be against his.
Whatever man you were crushing on had to be dumb as rocks not to give you a date.
You threw your arms around Maggie and said your goodbyes before she left to go on a run, leaving you to walk back to your place alone.
Daryl took that moment to approach. He inhaled a deep breath to expel some nervous jitters. Before he could reach you, a voice called out to you.
His jaw ticked in anger. One moment.
Could he not have one moment alone with you?
Spencer jogged over to you with a wide smile. He practically towered over you, strides matching your own as he walked with you.
Daryl huffed and walked behind the two of you. His house sat right next to yours, so he had no option but to either push past you and Spencer or listen in.
Daryl chose the latter.
"Y'know, there's just something about you that the other people don't have here." Spencer looked down at you as you walked with him. You missed the way his gaze was drifting down your body, specifically towards your chest.
You were always wearing outfits that emphasized what you were working with. A trait of yours that carried on even at the end of the world.
Daryl rolled his eyes at Spencer's obvious ulterior motives. Sure, Daryl stole a glance every now and then, but that was once he had grown to know you!
"Oh? And what is that?" You gave Spencer a friendly smile. You thought of how Daryl had called you unique and special many times; it became a routine.
Daryl knew you were special, and he helped you keep that shine.
"Well, for starters, this little number." Spencer gestured to the dress you had on. "You look good in pink, by the way. Can't say that about everyone here." You ignored the backhanded insult that came at the end of his compliment, completely focusing on the dress.
Daryl was damn near seething, glaring at Spencer's back like he had just murdered someone.
"It's so pretty, right? Daryl got it for me!" You swished the fabric in your hands with a fond smile.
Spencer's bright white smile fell slightly in frustration. "Uh- yeah. That's nice of him." Spencer knew he'd have to kick it up a notch if he wanted to get you away from Daryl. "Why do you wear pretty little things like this anyway?"
Daryl felt offended for you. That was just how you were, what you liked. Who was Spencer to question that?
"Makes me feel normal. And gives me a hobby, too! Whenever I'm out with Daryl, we always stop by little boutiques, and he lets me shop for like an hour!" You spoke excitedly, eyes drifting off to the side in thought.
Your shoulder brushed against Spencer's absentmindedly, making Spencer smile and wrap an arm around you. Daryl bit his lip so hard that he was sure that blood had formed.
That was supposed to be him. He was supposed to be wrapping an arm around you, showering you in compliments.
He was supposed to be the one that made your eyes light up. But instead, Spencer's hands were on you, right where Daryl's should be.
Spencer had walked you back to your house without you even realizing.
"Thank you for walking with me! I enjoyed our little talk!" Your smile faltered a little when you looked up at him, feeling a little exposed under his intense eyes.
It felt a little intense for a friendly conversation, you thought. Maybe he just had a really intense stare, who were you to judge?
"You just look for me whenever you need someone to talk to, sweetheart. I'll be here." Spencer held your hand in his as he spoke.
"Oh, okay!" You cringed at your own squeakiness, your awkward habits pushing through the moment a man spoke with you about a topic that wasn't fashion or Daryl.
Standing a stair below you on your porch, Spencer pressed a kiss to your hand, his eyes glancing up at you.
There was something there that made you second-guess whether Spencer walked you home with neighborly intent.
If there was ever a moment where Daryl felt anger take over, it was now. He was sure that steam was coming out of his ears the moment Spencer's lips came down to kiss your hand like he was some kind of Prince Charming.
Without thought, Daryl decided to step in. "Hey, you said you needed help with somethin' earlier?" Daryl interrupted Spencer's kiss on your hand unceremoniously. His gruff voice quickly cut through Spencer's.
It was actually true, he had offered to help you with fixing the kitchen sink earlier.
You immediately pounced on his offer, especially given the fact that Spencer was too close for your own liking.
Not a big deal; he probably didn't mean anything by it!
But it was a lot all at once. Too much.
"Yes! Yes! The sink wasn't working earlier, come in! I'm so so sorry, Spencer, I have to go!" You yanked Daryl's hand and pulled him up the stairs, leaving him awkwardly stumbling inside.
"I'll see you later?" Spencer spoke with an unabashed hope in his voice. A tone that went straight over your head.
"Yes! I'll come by your place after Daryl helps me out, 'kay?" You tossed Spencer a flashy smile, making Daryl's stomach churn in disgust. A smile could mean interest; it could be the opportunity for something to occur.
Daryl's jaw ticked at the sight. It made him feel sick to think that you'd go to his house and spend time with him.
"She's busy, man." He couldn't stop himself. When Spencer finally acknowledged Daryl's presence, he had a scowl on his chiseled face. Somewhere inside, Daryl felt damn proud of ruining Spencer's chance.
Daryl gently wrapped his hand around your wrist. While you were profusely apologizing to Spencer, even though the asshole didn't deserve it, Daryl pulled you inside and shut the door.
"Shoulda' told him ya' won't be able to see him," Daryl mumbled, strolling over to the sink to see what was wrong with it.
"He's just getting to know me! That isn't a crime!" You corrected him.
"He's just a physical guy; he shows his affection." You hid a little hint in that statement, but Daryl was like a stone wall as usual.
"That's about all he does." Daryl snorted as he crouched to look underneath the sink, glancing at the pipes.
"What's that supposed to mean?" You furrowed your brows.
"Means he's not what you're lookin' for," Daryl grunted as he tried to find the fix.
"Right, 'cause you know what I need? You know the kind of man I'm looking for?" You leaned against the counter, tits stretching the fabric of your dress.
Daryl damn near died when he looked up at you from the sink.
In his head, he was screaming, "Yes! If you'd just look my way!" but in reality all he could give you in response was a shrug.
"Besides, the guy I really like won't even look my way. I try and try, but he acts like we're just friends. He doesn't even realize when I throw myself at him." You sat on the counter, legs dangling just inches from the cabinet that Daryl was under.
Daryl couldn't contain the sick feeling in his stomach hearing you talk about another man.
"He got a name?" Daryl was already making plans to beat the guy to a pulp for being such an asshole to you. He could stare at you for hours, hell, he probably has.
And this asshole won't even look your way?
"Like I'd tell you!" You kicked his thigh teasingly with your heel, snorting at the way he flinched against your touch.
Daryl's ears and face were bright red at this point. He was praying that you weren't able to see his face as he was under the sink.
Your eyes wandered over Daryl's lower half while he worked on your sink, feeling a bit guilty about the perverse nature of the situation.
His shirt had come up while he was working, showing off the slightest bit of hair at the base of his stomach and seemingly travelling downward. You had to practically stop yourself from drooling at the sight.
It was agonizing for you, sitting here on the counter listening to his delicious grunts as he used his arm strength to tighten valves and whatever else you'd find under a sink.
Daryl, however, was also struggling to keep his emotions at bay. You were right there, he could smell your perfume as you sat above him, swinging those pretty legs without a care in the world.
You bent down to kneel in between his legs as he worked on the sink, placing your hands firmly on his knees. "Do you need anything, honey? You're helping me, the least I can do is get you a drink or something?"
Daryl glanced up at you with widened eyes. "Uh-" He cleared his throat. This had to be some kind of dream, right?
"You called me honey." His brain was stuck on the word you called him, definitely storing that memory for later when he was alone with his hand.
Daryl had one leg straightened and one knee propped up. You leaned against his propped-up knee, cheek resting against the worn denim.
It was taking everything in him not to let all the blood rush down to his cock at the sight of you. Your dress had ridden up, now almost completely settled at your hips.
"You don't like that name?" You pouted at him.
God, if only. He thought. Daryl liked it a little too much.
・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・
The sun was well in the sky by the time you had graced Daryl with your presence.
He took a long drag from his cigarette when you came over to sit with him, like you usually did. "Took ya' long enough."
"Excuse you, a girl needs her beauty sleep! This look doesn't come easy!" You did a little model pose for him, mostly as a joke, but fuck did he take a long look at the way your hips swayed in that dress that just barely reached your upper thigh.
"Shallow." He smirked at your wide-mouthed gasp.
"Dumbass." You stuck your tongue out at him as you propped yourself against the railing of his porch. Daryl could hardly believe the view in front of him. You looked like a damn angel.
He suddenly remembered why he asked you to come over.
"Fixed it for ya'." He pulled a necklace out of his pocket, untangling the strands that knotted as he hastily shoved it into his pocket this morning. He approached you, standing next to you as you leaned over the railing.
The pink pendant that sat on the necklace had fallen off a few days ago, and you were practically in tears about it. Daryl offered to fix it for you, despite having no fucking clue about jewelry.
He'd research the damn thing if it meant keeping you near him.
Your gasp was real this time as you rushed over to take it from his calloused hands. "It's perfect! How did you do it?" You held it up and felt a rush of warmth spread over your cheeks.
He even polished it for you, the metal and pendant now offering a gorgeous sheen that made you giddy.
"Just some pliers. No big deal." He was actually the first person to notice it had fallen off. Mostly because it was always there, teasing him and dipping down in between your breasts when you bent over or moved the right way.
He'd stare at it for hours if he could.
"Can you help me put it on?" You placed the necklace back in his hand and turned around, your ass so close to brushing against his front.
Daryl's ears blushed bright pink, swallowing thickly as his eyes fought against his brain. Don't look, just put the necklace on and don't look.
You were so incredibly close. He could just lean forward and you'd be right where he needed you.
"I thought I said you could come to me for anything! I can definitely handle a necklace, sweetheart." Spencer's voice broke Daryl's focus of your body nearly on his. A jealous glare bore into Spencer's face as he approached.
You didn't even process what the proximity looked like, just completely in the moment. "Daryl fixed it for me! I figured he could also put it on!"
Daryl's fingers fumbled with the clasp, clearly struggling. But your sweet perfume in his senses didn't help his nerves, or the way his hands were sweating.
"Could I talk to you alone?" Spencer's face turned soft this time, head tilted to the side like a curious puppy.
Oh he's good. Daryl thought.
But you just shrugged, a sweet, oblivious smile on your face. "We can talk here! Daryl doesn't mind, do you, Daryl?" You glanced back at him out of the corner of your eye. You noticed the pink that covered his face.
Maybe he wasn't a fan of Spencer after all, and his face was giving that fact away. You thought.
"Nah." Daryl mumbled in a way that was purely unique to him.
Of course he cared. If he had it his way, Spencer would have a bolt in his leg for even walking up to you.
"Fuck it." Spencer scoffed at the ridiculously oblivious situation. "I got all the stuff for a picnic, and it's a beautiful day out. What do ya' say we go on a little lunch date?"
Daryl's face dropped. Would you really go out with this asshole?
Before you could speak, Spencer continued. "You could wear that pretty little dress. I might even have snagged you a little something from that boutique I know you like."
Jaw firmly clenched, Daryl felt like he was going to be sick. That was his thing with you.
He took you to stores, grabbed things you liked. He got to see you gush over him and hug him tightly.
And this goddamn loser thought he could take over. But the worst part was that you hadn't said anything.
Not a fucking thing.
You were deep in the feeling of the warmth of Daryl's front nearly pressed against your back, his rough hands taking such care in being gentle with you. You had forgotten to even reply to Spencer because in your mind it was a no-brainer.
The necklace was finally clasped, and your brows furrowed as it dropped abruptly into place around your neck.
"Uh- I don't-"
You didn't even have time to turn around before Daryl's door slammed shut. He had stormed inside.
Spencer smirked at Daryl's little outburst. "Guess he couldn't take the heat." Your eyes narrowed at him, shaking your head incredulously.
"I'm not interested, Spencer. And next time, don't be an asshole about it."
While you were outside, Daryl was pacing his living room, his breathing shallow and quick. Spencer forced him to just sit and watch while he took you right up from under him.
Daryl thought about what was going to come next. He'd see you out with Spencer, manicured nails and soft hands holding Spencer's as you two walked together.
He'd get to hold you close to him while you wore that cute frilly pajama set that Daryl had only had the privilege of seeing once when you woke him up to capture a spider that wandered into your house. He'd get to wake up to see you every morning with a sleepy, hazy look on your face.
Spencer would get to see you in all the close, intimate ways that Daryl dreamed of.
You stormed inside before Spencer even had time to throw a response at you, slamming it behind you with a force that made Daryl jump.
"Daryl, what was that?" You stood in front of him with your hands on your hips.
He couldn't even look at you. He couldn't even keep control of his emotions at this point, purely acting on rage and impulse.
"Any asshole gives ya' compliments n' you're just gonna go all dumb and give him what he wants?" Daryl's voice was broken as he spoke, weaker than he wished it was.
It just hurt so much. He thought you were above men like Spencer. At least, he hoped you were.
"Excuse me?" You narrowed your eyes at him. Sure, you could be an airhead sometimes, but Daryl was overselling it by a mile.
"You're gettin' ready for your date now, right? Puttin' on that dress for your new man! Guess you don't need me around anymore, got what ya' wanted?" Daryl pointed a finger at you accusingly.
"Actually, I-" He cut you off. Speaking with anger and venom was one thing. Interrupting was something different entirely.
"Thought you were in love with that other man you've been talking about so much. Why don't you go see him too?" Daryl was falling apart in front of you; words he didn't mean were slipping out without care.
"Oh my god, will you just shut up?!" You shouted at him, fists clenching at the way he finally inched away from you.
"I turned him down. He's gone."
Daryl's expression softened a little. Still guarded and hurt, but this time a layer of regret brushed over his features. "Why?"
You took a deep breath, shaking your head as if to shake off the negativity. "I don't want him." Daryl just stared at you in confusion, the stupid look on his face making you laugh sadly.
"I like someone else. Were you even listening to me earlier?" The cute pout on Daryl's face melted your anger away. He could be an asshole sometimes, but part of that was him jumping to conclusions.
Despite his stubborn nature, you still wanted to jump his bones.
"Who?" Daryl figured it'd be best to rip off the bandage now, get all the heartbreak over with right now so he could get over you. Not that he'd ever truly get you out of his head.
"You really are a dumbass." You giggled at him softly. The sound made Daryl's heart jump.
But what you said next practically made his heart stop completely.
"I like you. Have for years. If you weren't eavesdropping on Maggie and me, you would have never-"
Daryl raced over to you in just a few long strides, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was desperate and rough. Hands cupping the sides of your face, his lips moved with yours hungrily.
He'd thank Maggie later.
You pressed into him after a second of shock. The emotional whiplash this man gave you was enough to drive you crazy.
One moment you're screaming at him, the next you're confessing your love, and the very next moment he had his tongue in your mouth.
Between his deep kiss and hands that roamed across your waist, you let out a soft moan. His hands found the sides of your face again as he pulled away to get a good look at you.
Your lips were red now, cheeks just as flushed as his were.
"Thought you were talkin' about someone else." Daryl finally responds, breathy and low. You swiped at the gloss that now adorned his lips after he kissed you so roughly.
"There isn't any other man in our group that would ignore me like you." You thought about the times you would try to get him to break. It always ended in him going silent or you giving up.
"I swear to god I was going to give up and just walk over here with nothin' but my heels and make you finally give in." Another cute giggle left your lips.
Oh god please. Daryl let out a quiet groan at your words.
You'd said it earlier with Maggie, but now that he had you, it hit even harder.
His face read embarrassment. So he was the asshole who didn't give you the time of day when you threw yourself at him. God, he should just go get eaten by walkers now. He thought.
"Was tryin' to be respectful." Daryl's eyes drifted down to your tits out of habit, his mind absolutely in overdrive because you were here. He was holding you; his hands were on you.
Now that you were here, and he was allowed to touch you, he wanted to show you just how much he had to offer you. How much he adored you.
"That was respectful out there?" You recalled how Daryl stared daggers into Spencer and slammed the door shut like a damn teenage girl. He pressed himself against you, arms crossing around you to fully enclose you in his grasp.
Those long, pretty lashes looked up at him, and he thought he'd died and gone to heaven. Your manicured nails tapped his chest lightly. "Hellooo? Are you gonna say somethin' or just stare at me?"
Stare. Definitely stare.
"Didn't want any other man touchin' ya'." Daryl confessed in a mumbled slur of words, his eyes meeting yours only for a brief moment. "They don't deserve you." Daryl kissed your jawline, pressing sloppy kisses along your heated skin.
"Yeah? And what do I deserve?" You hummed and wrapped your arms around his neck. Daryl smirked at the shiver that ran through you every time he glided his stubble across your smooth skin when he had his mouth on you.
You were so incredibly responsive he was gonna lose his goddamn mind.
"Gonna show ya'." He muttered, lightly nipping at the skin of your neck. That earned him a couple appreciative moans from your lips.
Moans that he was determined to hear again.
While you were focused on his kisses against your neck, you hadn't even realized that his hands had traveled down to your ass until he grabbed an impatient handful in his rough palms.
A giggle left your throat. "Mm, feelin' needy?" With a roll of your hips against his, Daryl let out a shortened grunt. His hands flew to your hips, holding your body in place.
"Says the one who's been wantin' me for years," Daryl spoke with a smirk, his face buried in your neck. You slapped his arm lightly for that comment.
"Stop being mean about it!" A whine left your lips as you struggled to escape his grasp, brushing your leg against his groin. Daryl let out something in between a scoff and a groan. You hated how his rough grip turned you on, heat rushing straight to your core the minute his hands yanked you closer.
Daryl chuckled at your whining. "A sweet thing like you, always hangin' around me." He spoke with a rough tone, one that made you consider just ripping everything off right here and now. "Were you tryin' to get me to break?"
A question that hung in the air for several seconds.
It wasn't like Daryl was complaining about the fact that you wanted to break his resolve. He loved seeing you approach him with a brand new, expensive-looking outfit to show off.
Except now he was rethinking those little 'fashion shows' where you posed in front of him while he worked on his bike. Those moments where you'd ask him to adjust the strap on your dress, purposefully inching a little too close to his crotch.
Fuck he always wanted to just bend you over right across the leather seat of his bike and give you everything. Wanted to slip those straps right off and explore what you looked like underneath all that bright sunshine.
You chewed at your lip nervously, the taste of your cherry lip gloss filling your mouth. "Yes, but only because it was taking so long and eventually it became kinda fun to see what made you react!" Daryl's ears went pink at your answer. And then a delicious thought came across his head.
"Guess it's my turn to see what makes you react," Daryl spoke with a teasing tone, backing you up against a wall.
Holy shit, he's good. You could hardly think straight as his hands fumbled with the multiple straps on your dress.
Daryl pulled away in confusion, eyes drawn to the clasps and straps that kept your dress practically glued to you. He'd come this far, there's no way a pretty little dress would stop him from doing what you've wanted him to do for years, apparently.
With a brief pause to consider his options, Daryl tore the straps and clasps. The plastic and metal clattered onto the floor, alerting you of what he had just done.
The sound earned a gasp from your lips.
"This is a Valentino dress! Could'a just asked me to help you!" You spoke with a pout, one that made Daryl's cock twitch in his pants.
"Found this back in Atlanta." Your voice came out as a pathetic whine. Daryl knew you'd be upset, but he just couldn't tear himself away enough to properly apologize.
Daryl pressed kisses to where the straps had sat on your shoulder, moans replacing complaints that left your mouth. "Sorry." He'd promised himself that he'd look for another one.
Whatever the hell a 'Valentino' dress was.
His hands slipped the dress off of your body, breath hitching at the sight of what you were wearing underneath.
Ever the fan of pink, Daryl expected you to be wearing some kind of pink bra and panties, but this was something else entirely.
His brain practically shut off. You were wearing a light pink lace set.
The last time Daryl saw anyone in a damn matching set was the goddamn mannequins at the mall when the world was still normal.
To say he was obsessed was an understatement. Daryl felt like he didn't even deserve to touch you, to somehow taint your light.
"Wore this scratchy set hopin' you'd touch it so you better not back out now!" You were teasing him. Obviously, if Daryl needed to stop, you would take no issue in that at all.
Daryl didn't need to be told twice. Fuck, the way your breasts were cupped by the lace bra, and how your panties lightly hugged your hips like they were made for you.
The heat pooling in your core made it damn near unbearable to wait for Daryl to gawk at you. "Please-" you whined, the sound only making his cock harder.
Daryl's hand brushed over the bra, admiring how sinfully sweet you looked in it before slipping his fingers behind you to unclasp it, letting it fall down onto the floor with a light thud.
He let out a shaky breath, eyes falling to your breasts without hesitation. His self-restraint had made it this far, but he wasn't sure if he'd be able to keep it up, especially with the way your hands were snaking over his body, wandering south.
When he managed to yank his gaze away from your tits, you were already on him, palming his erection through his jeans.
Daryl hummed, lips forming a smirk while he slipped a finger underneath the waistband of your panties.
"Wasn't done with ya'." Daryl snapped the band against your skin, the little sting only accelerating your need for him. "Hands off."
That last sentence hurt, like actually hurt him to say. Because he'd kill a hundred walkers just to see you like this again, to feel your hands rubbing him through his pants.
If you weren't careful, he'd have cum in his fucking pants.
"But I wanna help you!" Your breathy, whiny voice was driving him insane. He'd have to replace those words with moans if he wanted your stubborn nature to dissolve.
Daryl sank to his knees, his hands wrapping around to pull your clothed cunt inches from his face.
"Are you gonna stop whinin' and let me taste ya'?" Daryl wasn't even looking up at your eyes when he spoke. His gaze was fixed on the way your panties had a prominent wet spot where you needed him.
"Been actin' whiny this whole damn week." Daryl's voice gave off the feeling that he was scolding you, but by the way he dragged your panties down your legs,
He was not entirely upset by your little whines and neediness.
"Teasin' me while another man-" He paused with a scoff, hands rubbing circles into your hips and upper thighs. You were practically shaking with anticipation in his grip. His eyes were on you this time.
Staring into you with a heat that you'd only imagined in the dreams you'd had about him.
"While another man calls you pretty." In one swift move, Daryl lifted your leg over his shoulder, opening your legs wide. He had a perfect view of your cunt, soaking wet for him. You leaned up against the wall, your hands desperate for something to hold onto while he questioned you, inches from where you needed him.
"Ya' gonna let another man call you that?" Daryl's voice was higher this time as he pressed sloppy kisses across your inner thigh, teasing you in a way that made you whimper.
"That's not fair! I didn't know he-" You cut yourself off with a loud gasp as Daryl's tongue was on your cunt, giving you teasing licks.
Guess that was the wrong answer.
He had you pressed against the wall, while he was on his knees, face buried in your cunt. You could feel his grin as his tongue flicked your clit.
"O-Oh," A louder moan slips through your lips this time, your hands sifting through his hair. "Fuck Daryl-"
Daryl groaned into your entrance; the sound of his name on your lips as you moaned made his cock twitch, desperate for some kind of pressure.
He sucked and slipped his tongue into you, making you melt into his touch with loud whimpers and moans. Your hips were bucking into his face, only turning him on more.
He rubbed himself through his pants, one large hand pressed against your back to keep you where he wanted you. The other held to his cock as he desperately thrust into his palm.
"Oh my god," You gasped as you realized what he was doing. "And y-you called me needy!" You felt a little bit of pride, seeing him so desperate he'd fuck his hand with his face eating you out like a man with pure devotion.
Daryl grunted beneath you and smacked your ass in response to your witty comment. With a yelp mixed with a moan, your brain went blank. Your legs were shaking from holding yourself up against the wall.
"Watch it, pretty girl."
His mouth latched onto your clit, sucking and running his tongue over your sensitive spot. The way he could make you fall apart this easily made him incredibly proud of himself. You were beyond words, your moans and mumbles of his name now falling out of your mouth effortlessly.
Daryl ate you out enthusiastically, his groans sending powerful vibrations into your cunt. His face was fucking soaked as he fucked you with his tongue.
The sound of his mouth on you, slurping and humming at the taste of you, made you whimper in response. It was like you couldn't focus on anything else while he had one of your legs firmly pressed on his shoulders. Daryl's nose was pressed against your clit, his tongue circling your entrance, your arousal practically dripping onto him with every moment he spent devouring you.
He was a moaning mess into your cunt, his hips desperately humping his own hand, obscene noises leaving the both of you.
"Shit! Don't stop," Your head was thrown back, pressed against the wall as Daryl kept you pressed right on his mouth.
He couldn't. Not when he was the direct cause of your sweet sounds. Not when you were shaking and mindlessly whining his name. God, he just couldn't get enough of you.
With your moans getting higher, more dragged out as he ate you out, tongue teasing your entrance and slipping inside, Daryl could tell you were close by the way your cunt clenched around nothing.
"Oh my god please-" You didn't even know what you were asking for, brain numb in pleasure. "Feels so good," You whined. Daryl hummed against your skin in agreement, bringing a thumb up to rub circles into your cunt, making your back arch to push you impossibly closer to him.
He wanted to pull away, wanted to say words of comfort to get you there faster. But the way you tasted, the way your hips were just helplessly thrusting into his face, he couldn't manage to pull himself away from you.
So he removed his hand from his erection, body burning for release, especially when he'd been listening to your sweet sounds without him ever being inside of you. Taking his hand off of his clothed cock, he rubbed circles into your thigh.
White-hot pleasure began to rush through you as you let out a loud gasp at the feeling of your orgasm. You screamed out a loud moan, one that echoed and filled up the foyer where he had pushed you up against the wall.
Body tense and quivering against him, Daryl watched you with awe while your eyes were rolled back into your head. He rode you through it, slowly rubbing circles on your clit with a finger while his tongue did the rest of the work, sucking and lapping at your juices.
Everything throbbed, felt like it was on fire as your orgasm washed over you, pleasure slowly receding. Once he had worked you through your orgasm, he finally pulled away, hand still rubbing comforting circles on your thigh.
You finally glanced down at him, leg still thrown over his shoulder as your body trembled from the force of your climax and the way he worked you through it.
The look he was giving you made you whimper from the pure need that his face had shone. Daryl had a lazy, boyish smile on his face. His facial hair was soaked, and his hair was a tangled mess from the way you clung to it as a lifeline while he ate you out like a starved man.
"Are you gonna let another man call you pretty?" He asked again, clearer this time. Even though he was literally on his knees for you, your mind went dumb a long time ago.
"No." You shook your head quickly. "No, just you."
Daryl let out a quiet groan at your answer. "Never gonna get tired of hearin' that." He rose from his knees, scooping you up into his arms without a second thought, ignoring your little whine as your sore muscles adjusted.
"You're not bein' fair. You still have all your clothes on." There was that cute little pout again, lip gloss smudged from the way he kissed you earlier.
Daryl obliged your request, slipping off his vest and tank with fluid movements. You had a disheveled look, one that Daryl hadn't ever seen.
Up until now, you always looked put together. Always looked like you just spent about 2 hours in the bathroom doing your makeup.
But now, with your lip gloss smudged to the side of your lips and your mascara messy from your teary eyes. Daryl had never been more attracted to you.
He set you down on the kitchen counter, smirking at the gasp when your ass met with the freezing cold temperature of the counter.
"Ah!" You shivered and shot Daryl your best shot at an evil stare. "Quit bein' an asshole! Got any place warmer than the damn kitchen counter?" You were teasing him, but Daryl had plans to shut that down real fast.
He caged you in, arms placed on either side of you, face inches from yours. "Just ate you out n' yer' gonna call me an asshole?"
Daryl recalled how he had moved your hand away from his obvious bulge earlier. He grasped your hand and placed it on his clothed cock. Your eyes widened at the size of him. Although you couldn't exactly feel his length through his jeans, you could tell he was thick from the way it filled up the space of your empty hand.
"Been holdin' back to make ya' feel good, pretty girl." Daryl rasped.
"That doesn't make this any better. Are you gonna help me down or do you just want me to freeze up here?" You crossed your arms, hiding a smile.
Daryl glanced at you for a moment, taking in your features, making mental notes of places he'd want to worship while you sat helpless and cold in front of him. Finally, he lifted you off of the counter.
Only, he wasn't doing it out of the good of his heart.
"S'okay. I'll warm you up." With that line, Daryl turned you around so that your ass was firmly pressed against him. A large hand pressed against your bare back and gently pushed you down until your front was splayed on the counter.
"Daryl-" You surprised even yourself at the breathy whimper of his name that left your lips. Daryl's head lolled back at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue like that.
He'd do anything to hear that again. He'd throw himself in front of a damn bullet.
"Yer' gonna kill me." He scoffed to himself.
The heat rose between your legs at the sound of his belt unbuckling. You crossed your legs together in a hazy blur of lust, a poor attempt to relieve the arousal coursing through your veins.
Slipping out of the rest of his clothes, Daryl lightly tapped your thigh. "Need ya' to spread these." He watched as your legs trembled while you spread those pretty legs open.
His eyes fell to the heels that were still on your feet. Daryl had purposefully asked you to keep them on. It just drove him insane seeing how you stumbled and shook as he pleasured you, and you struggled to keep your balance.
"You okay?" He peeked over your hips to get a glance at the side of your face as you lay lazily against the counter. "Ready?"
After giving him a weak nod, you pushed your hips against his front. His hands flew to your skin quickly, a grunt leaving his lips. As his fingers ghosted across your heated skin, your face was firmly pressed onto the counter, relaxing as the cool sensation eased your nerves.
Sure, you'd been teasing him like a woman obsessed for months. But now that he was standing over you with his hands kneading your skin, you felt a little shy.
"Ya' look so beautiful," Daryl spoke softly, the tip of his cock pressing into your entrance slowly. His voice faltered slightly as your cunt squeezed around him. "Fuck, so pretty like this-" a quiet sigh escaped him as he tried to keep his composure.
You hissed quietly at the feeling of your pussy stretching around him, taking him inch by inch. Daryl watched the dirty scene, his cock sinking into you, with blown-out pupils and a slack jaw.
"Oh my god Daryl," A whiny moan escaped your lips, your brain too fuzzy, too deep in pleasure to even register it.
But Daryl did. His hips instinctively thrust into you at the sound, fully entranced by your sounds that he just couldn't control himself. By the time he was fully sheathed into you, his resolve was hanging by a thread.
He's wanted this for years. Watched you prance around him, teasing him with what he couldn't have. Only to find out he could have had you whenever he wanted.
Could have had you bent over, with nothing on your mind but his name and the feeling of his dick pushing deep into your soaking cunt.
He moves slowly, pulling out almost all the way, listening to the way your sounds responded to his every move. The tip of his cock is still pressed into you before he thrusts himself back in into you again. You writhed under his grip, tiny gasps and mewls mixed with his groans, filling the room with echoes.
Daryl picks up the pace, motivated by the way you pushed your hips back to meet his hard thrusts.
"So perfect for me," Daryl pants, keeping one hand firmly pressed against your hip while the other reaches up to palm your breasts.
He slams his hips into you and you just melt, legs shaking against the kitchen cabinets. Daryl was bigger than you expected, and by the time you had adjusted to his size, you could feel every inch stretching you out.
Small groans left Daryl's lips, jaw clenched tightly, as if he was still holding something back. If you'd have known he'd be this addictive, you'd have just asked him to fuck you years ago.
"Can you say my name again?" Daryl fucking loved to hear it leave your lips. Especially now, hearing how torn apart you were, feeling how your cunt was squeezing and fluttering around him and keeping him buried deep.
No response, just slack-jawed moans and heels softly clacking against the floor as Daryl lifted you slightly to meet every thrust.
"Too fucked out n' dumb already?" He leaned down, his breath brushing your ear as his low voice made you whine.
You nodded, cheek pressed against the counter in a lazy blur. Daryl stopped his movements, ignoring your half-mumbled protests. He wrapped an arm under your torso, pulling you up to press your back firmly against his front, his cock still buried inside you, only so much deeper.
"Mmm, much better isn't it? Get to have you right here, all for myself." Daryl was rambling now, just so obsessed with you.
Daryl's hand found your jaw, holding it firmly. "Get to hear all those little noises ya' make, loud and clear." He thrust up into you now, the force of him fucking you had you grasping the edge of the counter for some kind of stability.
It was so mean, the way he gripped your face in a way that made you feel like he was totally in control of the entire moment.
But the way his cock hit your spot every time, rolling his hips into you hard enough to make you scream out.
"Wanna hear ya' say it, pretty girl," Daryl pants, his voice right next to your ear, the rumble of his deep voice sending vibrations down your spine.
"Oh f-" You started mindlessly rambling, but Daryl stopped you with a harsh string of thrusts into you, making you cry out. "Ah! Daryl please-" Tears began to form in the corners of your eyes, stinging only further pulling you deep into the feeling of his cock, the pleasure he was giving you.
"Christ-" Daryl's voice was broken now, as frantic as his thrusts. Fuck he wished he could record that damn sound.
His grip on your trembling frame was tight, caging you into him as you writhed against his movements.
Any resolve that he's been holding onto was broken now, cast aside the minute his name left your lips for a third time. Daryl let go of your jaw, arms instead wrapping around you to keep you close to him.
The minute his hand left your jaw, your head fell back onto his shoulder, eyes tightly closed to feel everything he was giving you.
Daryl was completely lost now, groans echoing in the nearly empty space in Daryl's apartment. "Ain't ever gonna need anyone else." A gasp left him at the feeling of your cunt fluttering and squeezing around him.
Daryl was so fucking close, but he just had to have you get there first. After seeing you so composed, so put together and pretty; to see you fall apart from his doing would make his whole lifetime.
"Fuck- gonna treat you right." Drunken mumbles left his mouth, his lips pressed against your head as he pressed soft kisses. Nearly contradicting the rough thrusts he was sending up into your core.
"Make you feel so good all the time, pretty girl, oh-" He whimpered as you clenched down around him, making his thrusts stutter as he struggled to keep up the pace.
"You gotta cum for me. Can't hold on much longer." Loud grunts escaped him, rough hands gripping you so tight you thought they'd bruise. The way you squeezed him tightly, clenching with every word that you liked hearing from his mouth.
Especially when he called you pretty girl.
"Want ya' to stay here with me," the confession made your stomach twist in excitement. "Want you to wear those tiny skirts, maybe nothin' underneath." The words fell out of Daryl in a frantic, slurred fashion. God he was so fucking close.
"Oh- gonna look for a store. Get you more of those -ah- sets," Daryl couldn't see the way your eyes lit up at the thought.
"Jus' need you all the damn time. Please." Daryl's stomach tensed as his orgasm hit him suddenly, eyes rolling back with a strained whimper. He shuddered against your body.
Hearing him, feeling the way he shook as he filled you deep inside was all you needed to reach your own high. Your hips jerked against his thrusts, craving anything that he could give you.
It was overwhelming, the way that Daryl continued to thrust into you, fueling your orgasm to make every nerve feel like it was on fire.
Short gasps and whines came out of Daryl's mouth, overstimulation beginning to set in as he fucked you in a dizzy blur.
With breathless, desperate moans of his name over and over, the both of you chased the fading flames of it. Daryl was breathing heavily when he finally released you from his caging grip. He spun you around so that he could see you.
God you looked amazing.
All fucked-out and dizzy. Your mascara had run down your cheeks, from the tears that he had pulled from you.
Daryl scooped you up; and learning his lesson from when you complained about it earlier, he placed you on his couch. Slipping out of your grasp, he came back with some water and a cloth to clean you off.
"Was tellin' the truth. I want you here." Daryl cleaned you up, smiling fondly at the way you whined against his overstimulating touch.
"Were you lying about the matching sets?" You spoke in a hazy, tired voice. Your eyes were closed, drinking the water he gave you like it was the first time in months.
Daryl laughed at your response. "That's all ya' think about?" You lightly slapped his arm.
"I thought it was obvious that I wanna be here! You're my favorite person I've ever met, Daryl. You don't try to stop me from being myself." You opened your eyes, making sure that he knew you were sure about your decision.
"Annnnd you're the only one who takes me on shopping trips! There's no way in hell that I'm lettin' you go." You pulled Daryl onto the couch, snickering at the way he fell into you, arms immediately wrapping around you like you'd leave in a minute.
"I'll get you all the matching sets ya' want." Daryl pressed a kiss to your forehead.
"Okay, now you're starting to sound like a sugar daddy. Maybe I need to up my needs. I think I'll also take some makeup since you're offering."
"And I think you need to take a nap." Daryl's eyes felt heavy.
"Fine. But then we leave to get the matching sets." You poke his chest to keep him awake enough to hear you.
PLEASEEEEE thoughts on a boss!sam x reader now?? 🫦
okay this ones slightly easier for me because I think I get more of a vibe of what boss!Sam would be like...
✮ boss!Sam starts off with small touches, hand on the small of your back when he walks past, fingers brushing yours when you hand him his coffee
✮ boss!Sam offers you innocent smiles and polite words every time you're around, hoping you're naive enough not to realize he already has his sights set
✮ boss!Sam welcomes you into his office one day with a clear proposal- you're not gonna get fired if you say no to him, but saying yes would help your career a lot
✮ boss!Sam who looks so innocent no one suspects your new personal development meetings are actually just excuses to get you on your knees in his office every time he's feeling stressed
✮ boss!Sam gets off on fucking you on every surface in the office, he likes the images of you moaning and begging to follow him around
✮ boss!Sam doesn't punish you for getting things wrong, he rewards you for getting things right. Going down on you for good work with shareholders, fingering you every time you write up a report correctly, letting you cum only when you do something right for him
✮ boss!Sam who pretends he's doing it all for you but he's actually just a sick fuck who enjoys making you work for it
✮ boss!Sam who slowly trails his hand up your thigh under the table during meetings. By the time it finishes you have two of his long thin fingers slowly thrusting into you. Then he just pulls them out and leaves you needy for the rest of the day
✮ boss!Sam who doesn't let the sex get in the way of hard work, he makes you read out reports while he's got you bent over the desk, fucking you so deep you won't be able to sit down tomorrow
✮ boss!Sam who likes it slow- he rolls his hips into you just to make you feel every inch as you stretch around him. It doesn't last long, he always ends up fucking into you until you feel like you're going to break
plot: You, an ex former widow and now an avengers, got in a high risk mission, where you put yourself in danger while completing your task, Steve got angry for that but somehow he manage to make the anger fade away
warnings: SMUT (purple colour), Angst and Fluff; there's many things going on here
word count: 9k (?)
author's note: I MANGED TO PUT THE READ MORE!!!! FINALLY!!!!!! btw i don't know thesse days in the fucking italian summer heat got me inspired, this is for Steve since i never wrote for him untill now, since i prefere to be fucking railed down by his best friend :)> ; btw enjoy it!
MDNI 18+
The Red Room was all you’d ever known.
Even now, sometimes when you close your eyes, you’re back there—concrete walls cold against your spine, harsh fluorescent lights making your shadow look long and thin, a ghost trailing after you. The air always smelled of bleach and gun oil, and the silence was only broken by orders barked in Russian or the shuffle of combat boots on tile. You learned to move without sound, to make yourself smaller. You learned that hope was dangerous.
You’d heard whispers about Natasha Romanoff. Some of the girls called her a traitor, a myth, a name that shouldn’t be spoken. Others clung to her story when the lights went out, as if reciting her name could ward off the nightmares. You never thought you’d meet her. You never thought anyone from the outside would ever come.
You were one of the last. The instructors said that made you special. You knew it only meant you’d seen more disappearances, more empty bunks, more broken girls. Some nights, you pressed your face into your pillow and tried to remember your father’s voice. But it was gone, replaced by the endless litany: obey, perfect, survive.
The day everything changed started like any other. You woke to the shrill whistle, showered in cold water, dressed in black. Drills. Sparring. A new cut on your cheek. The taste of blood and metal. You were just about to disarm your training partner when the alarms began to shriek—a sound so loud, so alien, it made your bones vibrate.
Red lights strobed. The building shook with distant explosions. For a split second, you froze, mind blank, then adrenaline took over and you dove behind a console. Your knees curled to your chest, fists pressed to your mouth to stifle your breathing. All around you, chaos: gunfire, shouts in Russian and English, the acrid tang of smoke.
You heard boots—heavy, purposeful, not the quick, clipped steps of your instructors. You tried to make yourself invisible, but a shadow fell over you. Your heart hammered; you braced for pain, an order, or worse.
Instead, a voice: soft, urgent, achingly familiar.
“Hey. You’re safe now. I promise.”
You looked up through the smoke. Red hair, dust-streaked cheeks, eyes that saw right through you but didn’t flinch. Natasha Romanoff—real, not a story.
You tried to shrink away, jaw trembling. “Is this a trick?”
She shook her head, voice breaking just a little. “No tricks. I was you once. I know what it feels like.”
You wanted to believe her. For a moment, you hated her for making you hope. Then something inside you cracked, and the tears came—silent, violent, unstoppable. Natasha didn’t move away. She pulled you into her arms, and you sobbed against her shoulder, shaking so hard you thought you’d shatter. She held you, rubbing your back, whispering in Russian and English, “It’s over. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
“Why would you help me?” you managed, voice raw.
“Because someone helped me. Because you deserve more than this.”
You clung to her—scared, confused, desperate for the warmth she offered. She squeezed your hand, grounding you.
When the gunfire faded and the world went quiet, she led you through the ruined halls, never letting go. SHIELD agents rushed by, some shouting orders, others gently guiding dazed Widows like you. The sunlight outside was blinding, sharp and golden, and for a second, you thought it would burn you. Natasha stood beside you, her hand steady on your shoulder.
“You’re gonna be okay,” she said. “One step at a time.”
The next days blurred together. Doctors poked and prodded, their voices gentle but their questions sharp as scalpels. You flinched at every sudden movement. You slept in a real bed, sheets too soft and clean. Sometimes you woke up gasping, heart pounding, sure you’d be dragged back.
But Natasha was always there: sitting in the corner, sometimes reading, sometimes just watching you. She never rushed you. She never forced you to talk. When you couldn’t meet her eyes, she just squeezed your hand and let you be.
One afternoon, she brought someone else—a tall man with kind blue eyes and a gentle smile. “This is Steve,” Natasha said, like it was the most natural thing in the world for Captain America to sit beside a scared, broken Widow.
Steve nodded. “Hey. I’m really glad you’re safe.” His voice was warm, steadying. You didn’t trust it, but you didn’t flinch away.
Later, Sam Wilson appeared, all easy grins and soft jokes. He made sure you always had a seat at the table, even if you just picked at your food. “You know, you’re the toughest kid I’ve met,” he said one evening, sliding a granola bar across the table. “Survived the Red Room and my cooking? That’s legendary.”
You cracked the barest of smiles.
Bucky Barnes kept his distance at first—a shadow at the door, silent and watchful. But sometimes, he’d sit with you in the quiet, not needing words. You recognized something in his eyes, something you’d glimpsed in the mirror: the long echo of pain.
The first time you all gathered in the Avengers Tower common room, it felt surreal. Natasha patted the spot beside her on the couch. Sam lobbed a snack at you. “Looks like you’re stuck with us, kid.”
You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched upward. “I could do worse.”
Bucky’s mouth quirked as he sprawled back. “Just wait ‘til Stark tries to teach you poker. He cheats.”
Steve grinned, honest and open. “We’re glad you’re here.”
It felt strange, this warmth. Like it might slip through your fingers if you reached for it. Natasha nudged your shoulder. “Survivors take care of each other. You’re family now.”
Something in your chest ached—hope, you realized, raw and new. That night you slept without nightmares. For the first time since you could remember, you believed you might be more than a weapon. You believed, maybe, you could belong.
Sunlight poured through the broad windows of the Avengers Compound kitchen, lighting up the polished counters with a soft, familiar glow. Outside, dew still glittered on the grass and the trees shivered in the morning breeze, but inside, the world was a steady rhythm of comfort—your home for years now.
You sat cross-legged on a barstool, hands wrapped around your favorite mug. Chamomile and honey—Natasha’s old trick for stubborn mornings. You could hear the quiet hum of the Compound waking up: the soft thud of feet in the hallway, the low, sleepy voices of people you trusted.
Natasha was already in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, leaning back on the counter as she scrolled absently through her phone. She flashed you a small, knowing smirk. “Morning, sleepyhead.”
You grinned back. “I was up before you, don’t start.”
The fridge opened as Sam rummaged for eggs. “Omelet day,” he announced, holding up a carton. “Spinach and feta for the lucky few who show up early.”
“Don’t let Tony hear you call him lucky,” Clint chimed in as he wandered in, barefoot and still in pajama pants, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “He’ll have a gourmet chef here by noon.”
Wanda floated in next, her hair a halo of red curls, eyes still soft with sleep. She reached for the kettle, murmuring “good morning” and gave you a gentle smile. A moment later, Vision appeared, gliding in with his usual serene composure.
Vision took his seat at the table, folding his hands neatly in his lap. “Sam, I do enjoy observing your breakfast rituals. It’s fascinating how food brings everyone together, even if I don’t partake myself.”
Sam grinned over his shoulder. “Happy to provide the entertainment, Viz.”
Bucky shuffled in last, hoodie sleeves over his hands, nodding at you in that quiet, brotherly way. “You always steal the good mugs,” he grumbled, but there was no bite in his tone.
You stuck your tongue out at him. “Finders keepers.”
Natasha raised her mug. “To routines that don’t involve saving the world before breakfast.”
Clint clinked his glass of orange juice against hers. “Amen to that.”
Wanda nestled next to you, her presence warm and steady. “It’s nice, isn’t it? All of us together. Like this.”
You nodded, letting the hum of easy conversation, the sizzle of eggs, and the ring of laughter wrap around you. The Compound wasn’t just a place to sleep anymore—it was truly home.
As Sam slid a plate in front of you, FRIDAY’s smooth voice filled the kitchen:
“Good morning, Avengers. Mission briefing in the conference room in five minutes.”
Everyone groaned in unison.
“Guess playtime’s over,” Clint muttered, but he was already up and stretching.
You took a last bite of omelet, still laughing at something Clint had mumbled under his breath, and slid from your stool as the group began to filter down the hall. Plates and mugs abandoned for later, everyone migrated as a pack—still blinking sleep from their eyes but already falling into mission mode.
The conference room was awash in early sunlight. Steve stood at the head of the table, arms folded across a navy SHIELD hoodie, jeans fitting him like he’d actually relaxed for once. His hair was still damp from a quick shower, and he looked up as the group entered, one of those dazzling, heart-stopping smiles lighting his face when his eyes met yours.
Your stomach did that traitorous flip. You tried to play it cool, but Natasha nudged you as you slid into the seat beside Steve.
“Someone’s eager,” she whispered, smirk in her voice.
You shot her a look. “Shut up.”
Steve caught the exchange and grinned, but didn’t comment. Instead, he leaned in, his voice pitched low just for you as the others settled in. “Sleep okay?”
You shrugged, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Better than usual. The sunrise helps.”
His eyes warmed. “Yeah. It’s peaceful here, isn’t it?”
Clint flopped into a chair across from you, stretching his arms over his head. “So, Cap—are we about to ruin someone’s morning?”
“Depends if they’re holding our files hostage,” Sam quipped, spinning a pen between his fingers.
Steve cleared his throat, all business now. “Alright, listen up. We’ve got intel that a terrorist group has infiltrated the Trident Skytower downtown. They’ve acquired sensitive SHIELD documents. If those get out, it won’t just be our necks on the line.”
He tapped the tablet, blueprints flickering onto the screen.
“The Trident Skytower,” he began, voice steady and clear. “Our intel says the target documents are likely stored on one of the upper secure floors, but we can’t rule out movement on the lower levels. Here’s how we split up.”
He looked around at all of you, his gaze lingering a heartbeat on each face. “Sam, Bucky, and Y/N , you’ll take the upper floors. Your job is to sweep from the top down—find the server room, secure any hostiles, and retrieve the documents if you get there first. Keep your comms open at all times.”
Sam shot you a wink across the table. “Roof squad, huh? You ready to see the city from above?”
Bucky just gave a quiet nod, jaw tight with focus. “We’ll cover you.”
Steve continued, “Clint, Natasha, Bruce, and I will take the ground floor and lower levels. We’ll secure entry points, manage crowd control, and cut off any escape routes.”
Natasha flashed you a quick, reassuring smile, and Clint traced a route on the blueprints with his finger. “We’ll keep things quiet—unless Stark blows something up from the outside.”
That earned a snort from Tony, who was already spinning a pen between his fingers. “I’ll be outside with Vision and Thor, circling the perimeter and taking care of surveillance and anyone who tries to slip through. Don’t worry, Legolas, I’ll keep the fireworks to a minimum.”
Thor grinned, clapping Vision on the shoulder. “I shall keep an eye on Man of Iron, and if there is any thunder required, you know who to call.”
Vision inclined his head. “Tony and I will monitor the building’s electronic security—if anything changes, you’ll know.”
Steve looked around at everyone, making sure each pair felt solid. “We move out in the early evening. Gives us time for a final debrief, quick training, and to prep gear. Everyone clear on their assignments?”
A chorus of “Yeah,” “Got it,” and “Let’s do this” echoed around the room.
FRIDAY’s voice chimed overhead, crisp as ever:
“Mission departure is scheduled for 18:00 hours. All teams, please prepare accordingly.”
As the screen flickered off, chairs scraped and everyone stood, the energy in the room shifting from briefing to anticipation. You felt Bucky’s gloved hand press briefly to your shoulder—a wordless promise—and Sam nudged you with his elbow, grinning. “Come on, let’s make sure you can still outshoot Barnes.”
You smirked, the banter settling your nerves. “Please, I could do it in my sleep.”
Natasha caught your eye as she passed, her voice low and soft. “You’ll be great. Just trust yourself.”
Clint slung an arm around Bruce’s shoulder. “Ready to get back in the field, big guy?”
Bruce managed a nervous smile. “As long as you don’t make me angry.”
Tony was already halfway to the lab, calling over his shoulder, “Thor, race you to the armory!”
Thor boomed a laugh. “You’re on, Stark!”
You all filtered out of the conference room in pairs and trios, the hum of excitement and nerves buzzing between you. The halls echoed with familiar footfalls as you headed toward the gym for a quick sparring session—Sam and Bucky trading friendly insults, Natasha and Clint falling into their old rhythm, Bruce quietly stretching out beside them.
You let yourself breathe, the comfort of routine settling in as you laced up your boots and checked your gear. For a moment, you caught Steve’s eye from across the room—he gave you a thumbs-up and a bright, reassuring smile. You smiled back, feeling not just ready, but part of something bigger. Part of this family.
Later, you’d all head to the armory, check your weapons, and run through strategies one last time. But for now, you let yourself enjoy the warmth, the camaraderie, and the steady pulse of mission day adrenaline as it thrummed in your veins.
The quinjet touched down in a cordoned-off alley, engines winding down with a whine that vibrated in your bones. Through the tinted windows, the Trident Skytower soared above, its mirrored surface catching the last light of evening. You could feel the electric tension in the air as everyone checked their gear and prepared to move.
The ramp dropped, and Steve was the first out, scanning the perimeter with that steady, protective gaze you’d come to know so well. He signaled the all-clear, and you fell into step with the others, boots crunching on concrete as you crossed to the lobby entrance.
Inside, the marble floors gleamed under cold lights. The air was thick with anticipation and the faint scent of floor polish. The team fanned out, each group instinctively falling into their roles.
Steve’s voice was calm, clipped. “Alright, everyone knows their part. Sam, Bucky, Y/N—you three take the elevators to the top and sweep down. Clint, Nat, Bruce, and I will secure the ground floor and lower levels. Tony, Thor, and Vision, keep the perimeter tight and watch for movement outside.”
Wanda squeezed your hand before heading off with her group. “Stay safe,” she whispered.
You gave her a brave smile. “You too.”
Bucky pressed the elevator button, glancing over his shoulder at you and Sam. “Last chance to back out,” he teased.
You smirked. “Not a chance, Barnes.”
Sam grinned, gesturing grandly as the elevator doors slid open. “After you, fearless leader.”
The three of you stepped inside. As the doors closed, you heard Tony’s voice in your comm: “I’ll be listening in, so don’t embarrass yourselves.”
Bucky rolled his eyes. “No promises, Stark.”
The elevator hummed upward, numbers ticking by. Sam leaned against the wall, arms folded, and shot you a sideways look. “So. You and Cap, huh?”
You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Not you too.”
Bucky grinned, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “You can’t blame us for noticing. He looked like he was about to bench-press the quinjet when you almost tripped back there.”
You glared, though your ears burned. “He’s just… looking out for me. That’s what Steve does.”
Sam waggled his eyebrows. “Yeah, but he doesn’t look at the rest of us like that.”
You shook your head and sighed, your voice quieter as the elevator climbed higher. “I just… Sometimes he acts like I’m the most important person in the room. Then other times, he’s all business. I can’t tell if it’s just Captain America being Captain America, or… something else.”
Bucky nudged you gently. “He’s not exactly subtle with people he cares about.”
The elevator chimed past the twentieth floor. For a moment, you stared at your reflection in the polished doors, heart thumping. “I wish I could just tell him,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “That I… that I care about him. More than I should. But what if it ruins everything? What if he doesn’t feel the same, or he just wants to keep things professional?”
Sam’s teasing faded, replaced by a warm, understanding smile. “Hey, if anyone’s gonna appreciate a little honesty, it’s Steve Rogers. The guy’s allergic to lying.”
Bucky leaned back, arms crossed, giving you a look that was all big brother. “You’d be surprised what the truth can do. And if he doesn’t feel the same, he’ll still treat you with respect. That’s who he is.”
You nodded, nerves tangled up with hope. “Yeah. Maybe after the world isn’t on the line, I’ll find the courage.”
Sam grinned, bumping your shoulder. “We’ll hold you to that. And if you need backup, I’ll be there for moral support—or to tackle Steve if he gets all awkward.”
The elevator slowed to a stop, and Bucky smirked as the doors slid open. “Come on, lovebirds. Time to save the world. Feelings after.”
The mission unraveled faster than any of you expected.
You’d barely cleared half the top floor when gunfire erupted from the shadows—too many shooters, too coordinated. Sam dove behind a marble column, wings snapping open defensively. “They knew we were coming!” he shouted through the comms, voice crackling with static.
Bucky pressed himself against a wall, returning fire. “We’re pinned down—someone must’ve tipped them off.” Bullets ricocheted, glass shattered, the whole floor morphing into chaos.
“I’m going left!” you called, catching Bucky’s eye before you ducked through a side corridor, heart pounding.
“Stay close!” Bucky barked, but you’d already slipped away, weaving between overturned desks and debris. The comms crackled with overlapping voices:
“—Barton, get Banner out—” “—Thor, perimeter’s compromised—” “—Vision, can you jam their signals?—”
You pressed yourself against a door, breath coming in short bursts. “Bucky? Sam? I’m almost at the server room!”
Sam’s reply was broken by static. “Hold tight, we’re—floor’s blocked—get to—”
Gunfire tore up the gleaming silence of the upper floor, bullets sparking off steel and glass. You, Sam, and Bucky dove for cover behind an overturned conference table as the enemy swarmed from hidden doors, their movements too synchronized, too prepared.
Sam’s voice was tight in your ear. “This is a setup. They were waiting for us!”
Bucky fired a trio of shots, jaw clenched. “We need to fall back!”
You peeked over the edge of the table, eyes darting to the map on your HUD. The server room was just ahead—so close, but the way was thick with enemies. “The documents are still here. I’ll get them—we can’t leave without them!”
Bucky shot you a glare, voice rough. “No, we stick together—”
“No!” you barked, cutting him off, adrenaline drowning out your fear. “Sam, Bucky—GO! Get out, now! I’ll grab the drive and catch up, I promise. Go!”
Sam hesitated just a second, voice ragged. “Don’t do anything stupid—”
You shoved him, hard. “GO!”
With a curse, Bucky grabbed Sam and pulled him toward the service stairs, firing cover shots as they retreated. “You better be right behind us, kid!”
You ducked low, heart pounding, and dashed for the server room as enemy fire blazed past your heels. Your hands shook as you disabled the lock and slipped inside, the heavy door slamming behind you. The hum of machines filled your ears, harsh and sterile. You scanned the racks, searching—there, a drive marked “S.H.I.E.L.D. – Priority.” You snatched it, shoving it into your vest.
The comms crackled. Natasha’s voice cut through, urgent and breathless, “Everyone, listen—there’s a bomb on the upper floors! You have to get out, now!”
“Sam! Bucky! Get out!” you screamed into your mic, breath coming in gulps. “I’ve got the documents—I’m right behind you, just GO!”
From down the hall, you heard Bucky’s voice, tinny and desperate, “Come on, Y/N, MOVE!”
You hurled open the server room door, sprinting into the chaos of alarms and gunfire. The hallway was choked with smoke and the strobe of emergency lights. Your lungs burned; the building felt like it was already closing in.
Steve’s voice exploded over the comm, raw and panicked. “[Your Name], where are you? You need to get out now! That’s an order! Answer me—please, just answer!”
You heard him, heard the wild edge in his voice—but you were too busy running, dodging debris as the walls shook with the first rumble of the bomb’s timer arming. You pressed your comm to reply, but another burst of gunfire forced you to dive for cover, the earpiece crackling as it bounced on the floor.
“Y/N! Goddammit, talk to me!” Steve shouted, his fear cutting through the chaos, but you couldn’t answer—not with the world exploding around you, not with every muscle straining just to survive.
Sam’s voice was frantic, somewhere outside. “She’s not responding! Steve, I can’t hear her—”
Bucky’s voice was tight with terror: “Hang on, we’ll find her. We have to—”
You tore desperately down the hallway, lungs burning, alarms shrieking above the crackling roar of flames. The stairwell was gone—nothing but twisted steel and searing heat. Your only way out was the wall of glass at the end of the corridor, fifty stories above the city.
You pressed your comm, voice shaking. “Fiftieth floor—window exit! I’m jumping, I have no choice!”
Immediate panic burst through the comms: “Wait—don’t—!” “Tony, she’s at the glass wall on fifty!” “Hold on, Y/N—”
But there was no time. The bomb timer echoed in your ears, a cruel countdown. You sprinted straight at the glass wall, bracing your forearm as you crashed through it in a shower of glittering shards. For a split second, you were suspended in a storm of glass and wind—then you were falling, the city a dizzy blur below.
“Y/N, NO!” Steve’s voice was raw, terror breaking through every syllable.
The world spun. You hugged the drive tight to your chest, air screaming past your ears, glass sparkling all around you. And then—out of nowhere—a red-gold comet shot up from the street.
Tony’s arms locked around you with a grunt, the suit’s repulsors growling as he slowed your impossible momentum. “Gotcha! Jesus, kid, you sure know how to make an entrance.”
The ground rushed up. Tony landed hard, knees flexing with the impact. You staggered as he set you down, adrenaline and shock making your whole body tremble.
Clint was already there, grabbing your shoulders. “Are you out of your mind? You just jumped through a glass wall!”
Still panting, you pressed the drive into his palm. “Got it… had to…”
Bucky and Sam skidded up, faces wild with worry as they checked you for blood, bruises, any sign that you were really okay.
Bucky’s hands shook as he tilted your chin up. “You’re bleeding—does anything feel broken?”
Sam pressed a cloth to a scrape on your cheek, voice soft. “You ever do that again, at least give us a heads up.”
You managed a shaky laugh, tears pricking your eyes as the rest of the team rushed in—Natasha, Vision, Wanda, all hovering close, all relief and exasperation.
You were still catching your breath, glass in your hair and blood on your knuckles, when the rest of the team crowded around you. Natasha knelt at your side, her hands gentle as she checked for injuries; Bucky hovered protectively, eyes wild with worry. Sam pressed a fresh bandage into your palm, voice low and soothing. Clint cracked a joke about “kids these days and their dramatic exits,” and even Tony, still in half his suit, muttered something about “next time, less jumping, more surviving.”
But Steve stood a few feet away, back ramrod straight, face carved from stone. His blue eyes were cold, unreadable—focused everywhere but on you. You waited for him to come closer, to say something, to meet your gaze. He didn’t.
Instead, he squared his shoulders and barked, “Everyone to the jet, now. Debrief on board. Let’s move.” His voice was clipped, all business, leaving no room for argument or comfort.
You blinked, a cold ache spreading through your chest as the others gently ushered you toward the jet. Sam lingered by your side, concern etched in his features. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Fine,” you said, but your voice was thin, brittle. You could feel Steve’s presence at the edge of the group—commanding, distant, untouchable.
On board, you found a seat at the back, pressing gauze to your arm and staring out the window as the city blurred by. Around you, the team settled in, battered but alive. Steve stood at the front, voice calm and steady as he debriefed with Natasha and Bruce.
He didn’t look at you. Not once.
You waited for him to check on you, to ask if you were alright, to say anything at all. But instead, he praised Wanda, his tone warm. “Great work keeping the crowd calm, Wanda. That shield you put up at the entrance made all the difference.”
Wanda smiled, and the team murmured their agreement. You tried to smile, too, but the ache inside you only grew heavier. Every second Steve looked away, you felt yourself shrinking. You remembered the way he’d held you after Tony caught you, the way his voice had broken with relief. It felt like a lifetime ago.
Now, you wondered if you’d ever really mattered to him—or if you were just another soldier under his command, just another risk he wished you hadn’t taken.
You turned your face further toward the window, blinking hard as the jet rose into the night, wishing the ache in your chest would fade with the city lights below.
——————————————————————————
The quinjet touched down in the familiar field behind the Compound, the tension of the mission slowly giving way to the comfort of home. As the ramp opened and the team disembarked, you found yourself walking beside Sam, who bumped your shoulder with his.
“So, jumping out a glass wall on the fiftieth floor, huh?” he teased, a grin stretched across his face. “You trying to give us all heart attacks or just showing off for Tony’s flight record?”
You snorted, nudging him back. “Please, Stark wishes he looked that cool in the air. And besides, I stuck the landing.”
“Yeah, with some help from Iron Man and pure luck,” Bucky interjected, falling into step on your other side. “Next time, try the stairs.”
You rolled your eyes but laughed, the banter easing the lingering ache in your chest. For a moment, you almost forgot the way Steve had iced you out on the jet.
But as you approached the main doors, Steve’s voice cut through the chatter—serious, commanding. “[Your Name], a word. Now.”
The hall fell silent. You glanced at Sam and Bucky, nerves prickling. Sam gave you a reassuring nod, Bucky squeezed your shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t punch him.”
You took a steadying breath and followed Steve down a quiet corridor, your footsteps echoing off the tile. When you stopped, he turned to face you, arms folded, jaw set.
“What the hell was that stunt?” His voice was sharp, scraping, each word another blow. “You left your team. You disobeyed orders. You almost got yourself killed. Do you have any idea—?”
You cut him off, anger and humiliation boiling over. “I did what needed to be done. I got the documents. I made a call—if I hadn’t moved, we would have lost everything.”
He stepped closer, blue eyes burning. “That’s not how we do things. We’re a unit. You don’t get to make life-or-death decisions for yourself and risk the whole team. You never listen, you never—”
You snapped, voice trembling, hands balled at your sides. “I’m not a kid, Steve! I’m not sixteen anymore—I know what I’m doing. I’ve survived worse than this. I don’t need you to babysit me—”
He exploded, the words raw and ugly, echoing off the sterile walls: “I’M YOUR CAPTAIN FOR FUCK’S SAKE!”
The world seemed to stop. His voice rang in your ears, louder than the bomb, louder than the gunfire, louder than anything. You stared at him, breath caught in your throat, the sting of tears hot in your eyes.
Something inside you broke. You swallowed hard, your voice coming out barely above a whisper. “You’re right. Thanks, Cap.”
You turned away, footsteps wooden, pulse thundering in your ears. You didn’t look back, not even when you felt his silence pressing at your back like a storm waiting to break.
You made it halfway down the hall before the tears came, hot and helpless. You ducked your head, quickening your pace, desperate for somewhere private to fall apart. The locker room by the pool was empty, the tiles cold against your bare feet as you changed with shaking hands. You nearly dropped your bag as you fumbled out your goggles, cap, and fins. You didn’t even bother to wipe your face—what was the point?
You stepped into the pool room, the scent of chlorine sharp and familiar. For a moment, the blue water was the only thing in the world that made sense. You sat on the edge, pulling your knees to your chest, shoulders shaking as the tears came harder, silent and unstoppable.
When you finally couldn’t breathe, you yanked on your goggles, slid your cap over wet hair, and shoved your fins onto your feet. Without hesitation, you slid into the water, letting the cold shock push the world away.
You swam hard—furious, desperate, each stroke a silent scream, each kick a release of everything you couldn’t say. The water muffled everything: your thoughts, your pain, even the memory of Steve’s voice. Your muscles burned, lungs aching as you pushed yourself to the edge, then further.
When you finally stopped, you floated on your back, chest heaving, blinking up at the rippling lights. The ache in your arms was nothing compared to the ache in your heart.
You let yourself drift, eyes burning with fresh tears you could blame on the chlorine. You thought of Steve’s face, the anger, the disappointment, the authority. I’m your captain, for fuck’s sake. Not your friend. Not your equal. Certainly not someone who could ever love you back.
You blinked up at the ceiling, letting the sting of salt and chlorine blur the world, wishing—just for a moment—that you could dissolve into the water and never feel this small again.
You pushed through the next set, arms burning, legs slicing the water, the chill stinging your skin. Your favorite playlist blasted through the pool room’s speakers—fast beats, electric energy, the kind of music that always made you feel invincible, even when your heart was cracked open.
The music filled the empty space, drowning out the echo of Steve’s voice in your head. You swam lap after lap, letting the thump of bass and the rush of water in your ears crowd out every thought except the rhythm of your breath.
At the end of a sprint, you surfaced, panting, pulling off your goggles and blinking water from your eyes. As you caught your breath, you glanced toward the glass wall separating the pool from the locker area.
Steve stood half-hidden in the shadows just outside the stalls, arms folded, his posture tense and uncertain. Guilt was written in every line of his body; he watched you with a look that might have once made your heart flutter.
Your eyes met for a long moment—his blue, troubled; yours hard, tired, unreadable. For a split second, the world seemed to pause, only your music and ragged breaths filling the space between you.
But this time, you didn’t care. The ache from your argument was still raw, the words still burning in your ears. You looked away, diving back under the water, letting the playlist drown out everything except the beat and the burn in your muscles. Whatever hope you’d clung to before was gone—Steve’s earlier words had made that clear.
You finished your last set faster than ever, uncaring that he was there, uncaring that he watched. You’d gotten the message: you were his responsibility, his soldier, nothing more.
When you finally hauled yourself out of the water, you didn’t look back to see if he was still there. You just toweled off, music still pulsing, heart heavy but determined. If Steve Rogers wanted to stay on the other side of the glass, that was his choice.
After your swim, you lingered in the shower until your skin was tingling and your eyes raw. You dressed slowly, letting the familiar comfort of Steve’s old navy hoodie wrap around your shoulders, the fabric soft and worn from secret late nights and lonely mornings. Hair damp and tied up, you slung your bag over your shoulder and forced yourself back out into the Compound’s quiet halls.
You nearly collided with Steve waiting outside the locker room, tense and uncertain, his hands buried in his pockets. His eyes searched your face, guilt and longing flickering in their blue depths.
“Hey,” he started, voice rough and low. “Can we talk? Please. I’m sorry about earlier. I—”
You brushed past him, jaw set, not even looking up. “Is this where you pull rank again, Steve? Remind me I’m just here to follow orders?”
He fell into step beside you, voice growing desperate as you walked. “No—it’s not like that. I was scared, and I—”
You shook your head, cutting him off. “You made yourself clear. Orders first, feelings don’t matter. It’s fine. I get it.”
He reached, just brushing your arm, but you pulled away, walking faster. “Would you just stop?” he pleaded quietly, but you kept going, hardly noticing as you crossed into the common room.
You finally spun around, anger and pain breaking through. “You want a perfect soldier, Steve? You got one. I did the job. But my feelings screwed everything up, right? Don’t worry, they won’t get in your way again.”
Steve’s expression shattered, his voice barely a whisper. “Is that really what you think? That you’re just a responsibility to me?”
Your laugh was sharp, bitter. “What else am I supposed to think? You made it pretty damn clear I’m just someone you have to protect, not someone you could ever—” Your voice broke. “Not someone you could ever love.”
He stepped closer, crowding your space, his hands shaking as he reached for you. “You have no idea how wrong you are. I was terrified. Terrified I’d lose you, that loving you would put you in more danger. That’s why I tried to act like your captain, not—” His words caught, but his eyes burned with raw honesty. “I love you. I love you, and it scares the hell out of me.”
You stared at him, breath caught, the world narrowing until it was just him and you—never noticing the team frozen around the room, silent and wide-eyed.
“I feel that,” you whispered, voice shaking. “I’ve felt it for a long time. But I thought I was wrong.”
He brushed a tear from your cheek, his thumb trembling. “You’re not wrong. You never were.”
And then he kissed you, desperate and hungry, years of longing crashing between you. You clung to him, hoodie fisted in his hands, and nothing else in the world existed but the two of you finally, finally together.
You clung to Steve, your fingers knotted in the soft fabric of his hoodie, the world fading until there was only the thundering of your heart and the press of his lips against yours. The kiss, soft and searching at first, quickly deepened—years of longing and denial poured into a single, heated moment. Steve’s hands framed your face, thumbs brushing away the last stray tears, his breath coming fast and uneven as he tilted your chin, claiming you with a hunger that made you dizzy.
You felt him smile against your mouth as he slid his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. With a low, helpless laugh, he lifted you—effortless, strong, as if you weighed nothing at all. You wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his hips, the oversized hoodie riding up as he spun you, oblivious to everything but you.
The team, frozen on the couches and scattered around the room, watched in stunned silence as Steve carried you through the living room—your lips never parting, your hands tangled in his hair. For a moment, it was almost comical: the world’s mightiest heroes rendered speechless by a love confession.
Steve spared the team a glance—a dazed, quiet smile on his lips, the kind you’d only ever seen in your wildest dreams. He carried you down the hallway, your laughter echoing softly, your body pressed close to his as if you were afraid to let go. You were home, finally, in every sense.
As the door to your room clicked shut behind you, the common room erupted with a collective exhalation.
From the corner, Tony leaned back and declared, loud enough for the whole team to hear, “The American golden boy is going to ffffffuuuuuuuckkkk!” The room burst into fresh laughter; the tension finally snapped. Sam broke the silence first, sprawling back on the couch with a huge, delighted grin. “Well, it’s about damn time. I thought I was gonna have to lock them in the training room with a bottle of whiskey and a playlist of love songs.”
Natasha smirked, spinning her empty mug in her hands. “I told you all—seriously, I told you—once she finally snapped at him, he’d cave. Captain America can’t resist a challenge.”
Bucky shook his head, leaning back and letting out a rare, genuine laugh. “Should’ve bet money. I was starting to think one of us would have to spell it out for them in crayon.”
Tony, ever the opportunist, dramatically waved his phone. “I have the security footage! I’ll edit out the sappy bits and use it as blackmail—unless one of you wants to Venmo me for the director’s cut.”
Clint grinned, nudging Wanda. “You think they’ll ever be seen in daylight again? Or should we send supplies?”
Wanda’s eyes sparkled with genuine happiness. “Let them have tonight. They’ve both waited long enough.”
Vision, seated primly with a mug of tea, added with characteristic calm, “It is statistically probable that they will require sustenance within the next twelve to sixteen hours. Unless, of course, emotional fulfillment proves supernaturally sustaining.”
As the door clicked firmly shut, the world outside faded to a distant, muffled memory. Steve’s hands were already at your waist, his touch rougher now—hungry. He pressed you against the wall, his mouth finding yours with a desperation that stole your breath.
He tasted like adrenaline and longing, his tongue greedy, his teeth catching on your lower lip. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, aching for more. You felt the hard line of his body, the heat radiating from him as he slid his hands beneath your shirt, palms burning against your skin.
Steve broke the kiss only to drag his lips along your jaw, down your neck, tracing a path that set your nerves on fire. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," he murmured, voice ragged, as he tugged your shirt over your head. You gasped as cool air brushed your skin, then gasped again when his mouth replaced it, worshipping every inch he revealed.
You arched into him, needing him everywhere at once. His hands roamed, bold, reverent; your hips rocked against his, seeking friction, craving him. Pants, shirts, everything was a blur of motion—his hands, your laughter, the wild, unrestrained sound of desire filling the room. When you finally tumbled onto the bed, Steve followed, covering you, his eyes dark and full of promise.
“Tell me you want this,” he whispered, breath hot against your ear, and you answered with a wordless moan, pulling him down, giving yourself over to the passion you’d both denied for far too long.
“You know,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear, “I can’t believe you made me wait this long.”
You arched a brow, feigning innocence. “Maybe I just wanted to see how much you could take, Captain.”
He nipped at your earlobe, hands sliding down your sides, deliberately slow, and you squirmed against him, laughing when he held you in place. “Oh, you’re going to pay for that,” he whispered, teasing, not quite giving you what you wanted yet.
His palms burning against your skin as he pulled you close. Your fingers tangled in his hair, guiding him deeper into the kiss, your bodies pressed together, hearts racing. His breath was hot against your cheek as he trailed kisses along your jaw and down your neck, teeth scraping lightly, making you shiver with anticipation.
You tugged at his shirt, desperate to feel him, and he helped you pull it over his head, revealing the sculpted warmth of his chest. You ran your hands over his skin, feeling the tension in his muscles, the tremble in his arms. "God, I’ve wanted you for so long," Steve whispered, voice rough as his lips found your collarbone, then lower, worshipping every inch of exposed skin.
He knelt, hands at your waist, thumbs stroking circles as he hooked your pants and slid them down, slow and reverent. He pressed his face to your stomach, inhaling your scent, lips brushing over sensitive skin, making you gasp and arch into him. Your hands found his shoulders, nails digging in as he made his way back up, kissing and biting, leaving a trail of heat in his wake.
You pulled him up, crashing your mouths together again, your bodies already feverish with need. Steve’s hands roamed, bold and unhurried, exploring every curve, every shiver. He laid you down with a gentleness that only made your desire burn hotter. He hovered above you, eyes searching yours, dark with want and something so much deeper.
He kissed you as if memorizing the taste of your lips, the sound of your moans, the tremor in your breath. He teased you, his tip barely pressing at your entrance, making you whimper with impatience. “Is this what you want?” he whispered, voice husky with a teasing edge. You tried to rock your hips upward, desperate for more, but he held you in place, grinning at your frustration.
Only when you pleaded did he finally sink into you, inch by inch, slow at first—deep, thorough, every movement a promise. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, letting him fill you, letting the sensation overwhelm your senses. But then, with a burst of boldness, you pushed against his shoulders and rolled him onto his back, straddling him. Now on top, you took control, guiding him back inside, riding him slow and deep. Steve’s hands gripped your hips, his head falling back, a groan tearing from his throat as you set the pace, teasing him with how slowly you moved, rolling your hips just to watch him lose control.
He tried to regain command, thrusting up to meet you, but you caught his wrists and pinned them above his head, grinning in triumph. “Not yet, Captain,” you teased, leaning down to kiss him hard. The tension between you crackled—playful, electric, desperate for release. When he finally broke free, flipping you beneath him with a laugh and a growl, both of you were breathless, finally surrendering to the wild, urgent rhythm you both craved. But just as you felt yourself teetering on the edge, Steve paused, his hands slipping beneath your hips, guiding you to your knees.
You glanced over your shoulder, heart pounding, as he moved behind you, his touch reverent and hungry. He ran his hands up your back, tracing your spine, then gripped your hips firmly. You gasped as he entered you from behind, slow at first, then with a deep, powerful thrust that made you arch and cry out. The new angle sent sparks through you, each movement building the tension higher as Steve pressed kisses along your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin.
He held you close, moving harder, faster, until the only sounds left were your ragged breaths, the sharp slap of skin, and his voice—low and urgent, whispering your name as you both finally surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure, lost in each other all over again.
When you shattered, it was with Steve’s hands in yours, his mouth on your skin, his love in every breathless whisper.
You lay tangled together afterward, sweat cooling, hearts still thundering. Steve pressed a kiss to your temple, holding you as if he’d never let go. Your legs were still entwined, his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek. Your breaths gradually slowed, the air heavy with the scent of skin and the warmth of shared exhaustion.
You shifted to rest your chin on his chest, tracing lazy circles over his heart. “You know,” you murmured, a tired, giddy laugh bubbling up, “I’m almost certain the others heard everything. Especially Tony—he probably has a tally board.”
Steve’s ears and cheeks turned a spectacular shade of red. “God, don’t say that,” he groaned, hiding his face against your shoulder. “They’re never going to let me live this down.”
You grinned, poking his side. “Relax, Captain. I think you’ll survive some teasing. Besides, you sounded pretty impressive.”
He groaned louder, but you caught the smile tugging at his lips. “You’re evil, you know that?”
You laughed, snuggling closer. “You love it.”
He turned, pulling you half on top of him, arms tight around your back. “I do. More than I can say.”
For a moment, the teasing faded, replaced by something gentle and vulnerable. Steve tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers trembling just slightly. He drew a shaky breath. “And about earlier—on the mission, when I shouted at you—I’m so sorry. I lost my temper and it wasn’t fair. I was scared and I let it come out all wrong. You didn’t deserve that.”
He swallowed, eyes fixed on yours, voice rough. “I really am sorry it took me so long to figure this out. To figure out how much I wanted you. How much I need you.”
You softened, brushing your fingers along his jaw. “Hey. You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”
He nodded, but didn’t let go of your hand. “Would you… stay with me? Not just tonight. I mean, really be with me. I want us to try. For real.”
Your heart fluttered, hope and affection tangling in your chest. “Ask me again when I’m not delirious from sex,” you teased, but your hand squeezed his tightly. “Because the answer’s still yes.”
He chuckled, a relieved sound, but his eyes were shining with sincerity. “I mean it, you know. I want you. All of you. For as long as you’ll let me.”
You rolled over to face him fully, cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing the soft pink at his cheekbone. “Then you’re in luck, Rogers. Because I was planning on making it impossible for you to get rid of me.”
He grinned, all boyish charm and overflowing happiness, and pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your hair. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
You stayed like that, limbs tangled, laughter and hope filling the space between you, feeling—finally, beautifully—at home.
Day 5 - “I would choose you in every lifetime, every universe.” 🍒
Steve Rogers x Reader
Summary: You were raised that if you love something you set it free, even if that’s the absolute last thing you want.
PSA: @wildflowersandvibranium the angst bug got me
Warnings: hurt but mostly comfort, implied to be post sex but no explicit mention, Steve being sweet, reader being insecure, happy ending :)
Word Count: 800
Isla & Pink's Galentine's Event
"You can go if you want." You offer.
Steve stops breathing under you, the soft rise and fall of his chest going completely still.
"What?" He asks, and poor Steve genuinely doesn't seem to have a clue.
With a sigh you continue, ignoring the sting of tears in your eyes as you do.
"You can go back I mean." You tell him, ignoring how bitter the words taste despite how much you do truly mean them. "I understand."
You're not stupid.
When Steve volunteered to return the stones, you saw it.
He's had that look in his eyes, ever since him and Tony came back. That wistfulness that only comes with regret and an irrepressible "What if?"
You know it's her. The woman who's legacy you've been chasing since you met him. The one you could never compete with.
It didn't used to bother you, it still doesn't truthfully. After all, who can compete with a dead woman?
Who can compete with the chance to go back in time and get it right?
"It's okay." You choke out, closing your eyes to stave off the sting of tears. "I just want you to be happy."
Steve is stiff as a board beneath you. The hand that had been tracing your spine stops, hovering somewhere over the back of your neck as he processes your offer.
"You want me to go back in time?" He asks.
His voice sounds thin, worried almost.
"Of course." You try to force some cheerfulness. "I just want you to be happy."
You can hear the sheets rustle as Steve shifts. "And you think I'd be happier there?"
The tears well anyway, bubbling under your eyelids and threatening to spill no matter how you tight you squeeze them shut.
"Wouldn't you?"
Steve is quiet for a long time, long enough for your chest to start to shake as you do your best to stay strong. Heart pounding with nerves as you brace yourself for what comes next.
What comes next is his hands.
Slowly, they move you, guiding you flat onto you back so Steve can roll over top of you. A large hand cradles your face, the touch so familiar and comforting it sets you over the edge.
A hiccup escapes, then another, just as the first tear pushes past your waterline.
"Where would you be?" He asks.
He doesn't acknowledge your tears, but brushes them away, his thumb catching the sad droplets and catching them as they threaten to roll down your cheek.
"Here." You croak, chest heaving with an stifled sob.
"Here?" He repeats.
You nod, eyes still squeezed shut.
Another one escapes, crashing into the pad of Steve's finger as it rules from the corner of your eye.
"Look at me." Steve tells you, voice steady.
You shake your head, petulant and hurting. A girl can only be so mature when telling her boyfriend it's okay if he breaks up with her.
"Please." Steve breaks, barely above a whisper.
You give in, fighting through stuck lashes as you finally peek at Steve's face.
He's staring at you like he's afraid you'll break, pretty blue eyes confused and shining with worry.
"Why would I go there when you're here?" He asks.
God, is he really going to make you spell it out?
You choke down another sob, releasing an uneven exhale as you try to give him a calm answer.
"To be with her." You tell him, "With Peggy."
Steve's reaction is nothing short of shock, his jaw dropping and closing, just to fall open again.
"Oh honey." He coos.
"Steve stop-" you try to fight him, hand weekly pushing at the one holding your face. "I know you still love her."
Steve shushes you, but not to be mean or cruel.
"I don't want that life anymore." He tells you.
The tears keep coming anyway, streaming down your cheeks like rivers as he leans in and starts to kiss them away.
"I haven't in a long time."
You hiccup again, hand holding onto Steve's wrist like you're afraid he might disappear.
"You haven't?" You ask, sounding so small.
"No." Steve breathes, pressing his forehead to you. "I like the life I'm building here, now, with you."
"But-"
"No buts." Steve interrupts, pressing a kiss to your lips. "I would choose you in every life time, every universe."
Despite the pounding of your heart, the ache in your chest and the salt of your tears, you believe him.
"Then why'd you ask to go back?" You blink up at him, searching for any sign of that regret you swore you saw.
Steve laughs, a breathy huff against your lips as he presses a chaste kiss to them.
"There's a ring." He explains. "It was my moms and I'm pretty sure I can get my hands on it if I get the timing right."
You heart stutters.
"A ring?"
Steve nods, his own eyes watery eyes as he kisses you again. "Your ring."
"Oh."
"My silly girl." He says, nudging his nose against yours. "You're my future, the only one I want."
Warnings: so like you ride Bucky’s thigh, a little bit of overstim in you squint, implied age gap, pretty tame! MDNI 18+
Word Count: 1.1k
Bucky is old.
He didn’t feel like it, not before you anyway.
He’s always prided himself on stamina, he can run for an hour straight without breaking a sweat. He spent the better part of two years living off of only a few hours of sleep.
He never left a woman unsatisfied.
Then you came into his life, popped into place like a missing puzzle piece. You called it ‘matching each others freak,’ he called it you being his soulmate.
His gorgeous, lovely, soft, younger, and utterly insatiable soulmate.
It’s late, the stars fading as the sun begins to tease the horizon.
You should be fucked out, three rounds and at least five orgasms later you should be snoring into your pillow.
Instead you’re pawing at his thigh, a mischievous smile paired with your signature ‘please Bucky’ eyes.
You just showered, skin still damp enough to make your sleep shirt cling to it and already trying to make a new mess. Wet hair sticks to Bucky’s forehead, fresh sweats protect his poor, soft, milked dry, cock from your advances.
“Doll.” He begs. “I don’t think I have anything left.”
You pout, bottom lip jutting out. If he weren’t already half asleep he’d bite it.
You’d cornered him before he could lie down, pushed a hand against his chest until he leaned against the headboard.
“Just one more Buck?” You plea, leaning in to press a kiss to his still swollen lips.
Bucky groans into your mouth, meeting your seduction with a mean tongue and teeth that nibble on your lower lip. “Never one more with you.” He grunts, but despite the words, his hands find your hips. “Like negotiating with a terrorist.”
Bucky guides you overtop of his thigh, pushing your thigh back down when you try to lift it over his other leg as well.
You cock your head, your question obvious.
“Told you, tanks empty.” Bucky says, then the hand on your hip starts to push down, applying pressure until you get the idea and sit your weight onto him.
“Bucky I’m sorry. I thought you were joking, we don’t have too-“ You fluster, eye contact breaking as you look over to your side of the bed, as if the comforter can save you.
Bucky hums, grabbing your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “My girl needs to get off, my girls gonna get off.” He says matter-of-factly.
“Not your fault this old man can’t keep up.”
You whine, still trying to pull away. Babbling that you’re fine, and tired and that you should really just go to bed anyway.
Your body betrays you, cunt throbbing so hard Bucky can feel it against his thigh.
“Doll.” He says, still holding your chin tight, forcing you to look him in the eyes. “Do you wanna cum?” The question is blunt, pushing past your embarrassment and leaving no room for your guilt.
You nod, heat creeping up your neck and below your waist, leaving your skin feverish everywhere he touches. “Then go ahead Sweetheart.” He bounces his thigh beneath you, eliciting a gasp and shocking your body into action.
Your hands fall, bracing themselves on his chest. Bucky’s palms, still seated on your hips, pull your cunt against him in one slow drag. The wet heat of you seeps through the cotton, bunching the fabric up as you move.
Then, as if to prove his exhaustion, Bucky’s hands fall away.
You startle again, hips stilling.
Bucky nods, folding his arms and tucking them behind his head. “Go ahead, ride my thigh. Make yourself cum.”
He slouches, lazy and unhurried, pupils dilated and fixated on where your bodies meet. A smug smile rests on his face, he uses every nonverbal signal possible to assure you that he is exactly where he wants to be.
You face twists, cheeks hollowing as you bite them. Then a slow, deliberate roll of your hips. A soft hum escapes from behind your lips. You shift, position changing ever so slightly as you tilt your hips downward. Another roll, this one harder than the last.
Your mouth falls open, breath hitching as you rush to repeat the action, a second, and then a third time, until you’re rutting against him like a desperate teenager.
Still, it’s not enough. You push down harder on his thigh, beating your full weight as you change the rhythm, clockwise, then counter clockwise followed by a long hard drag up the muscle.
Ever the gentleman Bucky follows your path, thigh clenching every-time you repeat the last step, giving you a hard corded muscle to grind onto. You whine, your hands on his chest begin to claw, nails leaving crescent shaped divots in his skin.
Bucky coos, shushing you as you begin to hiccup, body fighting the pleasure as much as it seeks it out. Desperate to help his girl, he reaches down.
His hands find your panties with ease, tugging them to side and leaving you bare against his sweats.
You’re so wet, despite the shower the remnants of the night still leak out of you, leaving a creamy mess on Bucky’s thigh. He can feel you soaking through the cotton, leaving his skin slick beneath it.
He can see your orgasm building, there’s something almost intimate about being able to watch you like this. With his own pleasure taken out of the equation he’s free to watch you, give you all of his attention. It’s like a drug, making his heart race and his eyes dilate.
Bucky wishes he could paint, he thinks it’s the only way he could capture how beautiful you look right now, eyes squeezed shut, mouthed open with your head tilted back as your hips grind against him.
You whine, chest heaving as you continue to try and chase the feeling. His poor girl he can’t help but give you a hand. One of his hands finds your waist, helping you with the steady push and pull of your cunt. The other hand splays over your pelvis, his thumb reaching down to find your clit.
He doesn’t circle it, or even move your panties aside, just applies pressure.
It’s enough to send you over the edge anyway, a hot gush against Bucky’s thigh as your whimper his name.
His sweet girl, his little doll, his favorite sex maniac, finally falls asleep. Your head buried in his neck, legs gone limp on either side of his thigh. He can hear your breathing even out, almost immediately after, a breathy laugh escaping his chest.
Gently, he maneuvers your bodies down the bed. A slow shuffle until his back finally flattens against the mattress. Naturally, you don’t stir, body curling to meet his in the new position.
As the first rays of daylight start to peak through the curtains, Bucky slips away in to a dream, the wet patch on his sweats long forgotten.
Pinktober Masterlist
Main Masterlist
Another one!! Literally had no idea how to end this one so forgive me!!! But I think it’s a cutie! Okay love you see you tomorrow!
