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Delirious Decisions
Note: Do not Steal, Copy or Plagiarize any part of my work! Banner Credits to me. Photo Credits to the internet. Thank you :)
Just FYI: Masterlist is undergoing major editing!
Updated: January 25, 2025
Indulge Away!
Don't Flip your Wig, Steve
Steve and you time traveled. Your Steve is not happy meeting the old Steve because he shows interest in you.
His Fiore
Steve smexy Rogers moves into the neighborhood, and one evening, he catches you sneaking into the building opposite his through the fire escape. He watches curiously, slightly amused and, quite frankly, amazed by you. Guess what he does next? He writes a note, signs it with his middle name, Grant, and slips it under your door. How will you discover that Grant is none other than Captain America?
Love's Sanctity
Steve is there when you feel like you're falling apart, when the weight of stress becomes overwhelming. He sees right through you and always knows exactly what to do to make you feel better.
Berserk Captain Rogers
Steve has gone feral, and you are the only one who can calm him
Subdue
Alpha!Steve is giving a preview on what happens when someone dares to harm his mate.
Drugged Delusion of Mrs. Rogers
Some angsty goodness with the misunderstanding arc, and Steve fucking the misunderstanding out of you.
Wise Men Say
100-word drabble for Flash Fiction challenge
Not so Vanilla Man
Steve proves to you he is far from Vanilla. You catch my drift? This is just overloaded fluffiest smut. (My first attempt at Smut! :D)
Fortuitous Fate
You travel to the 40s, and meet Steve Rogers. That meeting marks important in their journey
Havenbrooke Trails
To finish your novel, you go to Havenbrooke for inspiration on the insistence of your editor. However, you find more than some inspiration for your novel there.
Oblivious Heart
Summary to be written
Hide 'N' Boink
Summary to be written
Drugged Courage
Steve gets drugged on a mission and inhales sex pollen, but no one notices any difference as he is very impassive. He has been craving y/n, and he takes her to his quarters as soon as he returns from the mission.
A Tale of Timely Interventions
You were sent on a mission in the 40s. It was highly unusual, and you play a bigger role in Captain America's life than you can even remotely comprehend. You also had no clue that Steve Rogers feels strongly for you. (Final Part Jan, 2025)
Snowed In
You were not supposed to be on that mission, but you were, and it was a trap. There was also a snowstorm, and you were stuck. Steve is furious when he learns about this and goes to lengths to reach you.
Starlord Ruffles Steve's Feathers
Steve jealous of Peter Quill flirting with you.
Captain's Boinking Escapades
Guess what Tony has found!
Crimson Tranquility
There is more to your husband than meets the eye.
Giddy Affairs
A congressman drabble!
On the qui vive
A fluffy drabble (ft. mafia!Bucky)
Yield to me
A fluffy drabble (ft. adventurous Alpine)
Strings
Bucky's housewife kink gets activated!
Pluvial Kisses!
Tooth rotting fluff, Bucky being the absolute fuckin dream of a man! *heavy sigh*
Catharsis
Summary to be drafted
The Time Thor Third-Wheeled
The title sums about it!
Confessions of Mr. Grumpaholic
I really need to draft a summary for this. :D
Enlivened Mornings
Summary to be drafted
Bucky Barnes vs Ethan Stark
Dad!Bucky fic set in the Sappy Sunday Thought universe.
Your Restive Man
This is a simple fluffy blurb. Clingy Bucky who cannot stay apart from you.
Stranded & Succored
You were having a bad day and decided to drive to calm your nerves. However, you get stranded in the middle of nowhere with no phone. And this tall, gorgeous man is pulling up in his truck and claiming your heart and body.
Wish Come True
100-word drabble for the Flash Fiction challenge
Stucky x Reader | Steve x Reader x Bucky
Captain Softly Stern and Sergeant Toughly Tender Vignettes
Collection of oneshots set in a universe.
Unwaveringly Homebound
100-word drabble for the Flash Fiction Challenge
I met them, and now I'm their queen
Angsty fluff & confessions to get it off their chest before the new year starts.
Half-baked, damn
Easy peasy, sweetheart. They’d said. It’s for the people. They’d said.
Permanence (F!Reader version)
Love transcends time.
Permanence (OFC version)
Love transcends time.
Sneaky & Sly
A blue hoodie, a sly man, and domesticated bliss
Blissful Summer Bruises
Some domesticated bliss with two hot super soldiers
The Pantry Affairs
A day in your life with two extremely wonderful and protective men
The Curious Affairs of Mr. Holmes
Waltz Into My Heart
This is the chaos corner. I'm still figuring out an efficient way to organize these. So, don't mind the mumble jumble.
Flash Fiction Challenge
Weeklong Thingamajig
SMUTTY SEPTEMBER FEST
ASKS
Alpha Steve
Blissful Adventures of Mr. Softly Stern & Mr. Toughly Tender
series masterlist | main masterlist | tip jar | ao3
a/n: this was suggested by an anon!!
soft!dom!bucky who knows you've never experienced subspace. when you'd initially agreed to the dynamic change in your relationship, bucky had been thorough in explaining everything it could entail, including that soft, warm headspace subs can experience during scenes. you'd had questions, of course, and bucky was happy and eager to answer every one of them. he would never force you into that headspace, nor would he judge you or get upset if you couldn't reach it, but bucky did state that he wanted to try to get you there at least once. he loves that you're incredibly capable but knows how overwhelmed you can get, and how it's hard to accept help when you need it, and all bucky wants to do is take away that worry, if even for a little bit. he wants to take that stress away from you and let you float for a little bit without a single thought in your pretty head, knowing that you're safe and taken care of.
soft!dom!bucky who eases you into subspace during your first scene. the scene itself is nothing too extreme, just some new toys and a few silk ropes added to the mix, as well as the quiet understanding that bucky isn't just 'in charge,' he's there to give you all the pleasure you deserve, and it will be intense. bucky lives and breathes to make you happy, so he takes his time in tying your hands to the headboard, kissing your lips every so often and mumbling look at me, princess, need to see those beautiful eyes because he wants to make note of all the minute changes in your expression, ready to stop if your lips even twitch downwards.
soft!dom!bucky who is the king of consent. sometimes, to the point of frustration. he'll have three fingers stretching you out, pressed in all the way to the third knuckle, and he's stopping to ask your color - always green, by the way. he brings you to orgasm twice before he actually fucks you, and somewhere along the way he can see the way your eyes start to glaze over, how your moans turn to pathetic whimpers, how you can't stop mumbling daddyyyyyy, please, yes!, making bucky so so so proud of you for trusting him enough to hand over full control, knowing that he won't hurt you.
soft!dom!bucky who finally cums after your fourth orgasm, grunting and groaning praises even though he's sure you can't really understand what he's saying. when his hips finally still, his eyes locked on the way drool trickles out of the side of your mouth, he feels an overwhelming surge of love, the need to protect and covet you so that no one can hurt you. he hurries to grab a glass of water and a damp cloth, setting the glass on the nightstand and carefully wipes between your legs, shushing and cooing at you when you whine at the overstimulation.
soft!dom!bucky who cuddles you close to his chest after tossing the rag onto the floor, content to worry about it later, after you're back to your senses and not so vulnerable. he's kissing your forehead, your hairline, cheeks, nose, anywhere he can reach without moving too much, murmuring praises the entire time. did so good for daddy, princess. so so good, 'm so proud of you, thank you. he massages your shoulders, running his hands up and down your arms and back, loving on you properly because it's what you deserve. and bucky swears that you've never looked more beautiful than you right now, looking up at him like he's your whole world with shining eyes and a hint of a smile. somewhere along the way, he makes a mental note to ask you later if he can take a picture of you if you decide you want to do this again.
soft!dom!bucky who feels you start to slowly come back to him after nearly thirty minutes of floating. you start squirming a little, letting out little whines, starting to blink faster as though you're just now realizing where you are. bucky continues kissing you and mumbling reassurances, wanting to have the first words you hear to be about how utterly perfect you are for him. but his heart drops a little when you whimper brokenly, your bottom lip wobbling and your squirming becoming a little more frantic. he can hear how your breath hitches, your body shaking slightly. in an instant he knows what's happening; you're dropping.
soft!dom!bucky who coos at you a little louder, assuring you that you're okay, you're safe, daddy's got you, but he can tell your mind is reeling. he knew what happened was intense, considering you've never experienced subspace before, and he knew this was a possibility, but that doesn't mean his heart doesn't hurt when tears start streaming down your face. he feels actual pain when you whimper out daddy? and look at him, eyes glassy now but for a different reason. even in the midst of worry, bucky recognizes that you're turning to him for comfort, that your trembling hands reaching out for him means that you need him closer. he ends up laying half on top of you, hoping that surrounding you with his body, feeling his bare skin pressed against you, will help ground you.
soft!dom!bucky who breathes a sigh of relief when you settle after a few minutes. your noises taper off, and your tears stop streaming down your cheeks, your hands no longer gripping his shoulders for dear life. he keeps his body over yours, though, just until you tap his arm, prompting him to lift up and lay next to you, propping himself up on his elbow and placing one hand on your stomach to keep the contact. you're still quiet for a few moments, focusing on steadying your breathing, but once you seem mostly calmed down, he presses a brief kiss to your forehead before staring into your eyes as he asks you okay, princess?
soft!dom!bucky who nods reassuringly when you mumble I think? he understands that you're vulnerable and emotional, and he wants you to know that it's okay to feel like that. he wants you to know that it's okay to have negative emotions, as long as you don't let it consume you. you talk about how you felt during the scene and afterward, listening with rapt attention as you recount how blissful floating like that was, but coming out of it was a little scary because it felt as though you would never feel like that again and you wanted to hang onto it for as long as you could. but also, you've never experienced subspace before, so bucky assures you that it's normal to feel anxious after coming out of it, that the change in sensation can be overwhelming. that makes you feel better, and you tell him that, and after a little more talking, you both agree that you want to try it again, but bucky makes a mental note to talk with you in depth later and come to a mutual agreement on what bucky can do to make that transition easier.
soft!dom!bucky who has never felt prouder of you, nor has he ever felt so lucky as to have you trust him enough to get you through a subdrop. he cherishes that trust, and promises you that he'll always keep you safe, won't let anyone or anything touch you, because it's his responsibility and honor as your dom to protect you.
AN: Have a suggestive slice of life from our favourite throuple from An Artist and an Engineer for day 18 of #JuneJukeboxScribbles.
Today’s prompt is Come and get your love – Red Bone.
Unbeta’d. Banner by me and divider by @firefly-graphics
Master list | Jukebox Master list | Series Master list | Join my tag list
Relationship: Artist! Steve Rogers x Engineer! Bucky Barnes x Female reader.
Word count: 300
CW: Fluff, Slice of life, implied sexual content
Your boys were in a cuddle-puddle on the couch when you made it home on Friday night. When the door shut behind you, they both raised their heads to look in your direction, but you waved them back down. They looked too cute and comfortable to disturb – at least right away.
You hummed to yourself as you took a shower, washing away the stress and the grime of the day and looking forward to the evening ahead, as well as the rest of the weekend. It had all been rather hectic recently and while the three of you had been spending time together, it wasn’t the slow, thorough loving that you all craved.
But that would be fixed this evening.
You took your time getting ready, moisturising every inch of your skin, spritzing on just the right amount of perfume. Finally you eased your way into some of your favourite lingerie, smoothing it over your curves as you admired yourself in the mirror.
Turning away, you pulled your sheer robe on and then dug through the toy box to get out everything you might need for this evening. Yes, having three of you meant there was always an extra hand or two, but no-one wanted to have to break the moment to go rummaging for the lube.
With a final check of your hair, you exited the bedroom, gliding down the stairs back to your boys. You observed from the doorway for a moment, entranced with how Bucky was lying with his head in Steve’s lap, your artist boyfriend petting his hair.
“Hey lovers,” you cooed, and suprressed a giggle as they both perked up like meerkats on patrol. Their eyes widened as they took in how you looked. You crooked your finger at them.
steve rogers x florist!reader ⎯⟢ [2.5k] Steve messed up, and his long suffering best friend giving him shit about it does not help.
chapter tags/warnings ⎯⟢ coarse language, but that’s pretty much it? it’s been ages since i’ve posted anything and i’m actually scared lmao 🙃 anyway, let’s hope i can keep this going...
PROLOGUE. The Florist and Me
WAKANDA, Golden City
Exact Location Classified — present day
Bucky Barnes always knew his best friend was an impulsive idiot.
He knew from the very moment they’d met back in 1923, when Bucky was six and the dumbass in question was only five but looked younger still.
Bucky had been walking to school, innocently clutching the straps of his bookbag on his shoulders, when he’d passed an alleyway and happened to see a group of boys gathered at the end of it.
He would’ve kept walking, but something had compelled him to stop, to squint into the relative darkness of the alley, and it was only after a few more seconds had passed that he realized what it was.
There were four boys standing shoulder to shoulder, towering over another boy who was sprawled out across the ground. One of them snickered, the next kicked halfheartedly at the smaller boy’s shoe, the third stepped forward when the boy tried to get up to push him back down, and yet another shouted, “Come on, Rogers! Is that all you got?”
Huh. Four against one.
And even at six years old, Bucky couldn’t stand for that, especially when he saw the younger boy struggling to his feet, already purple and bruised and bleeding from his skinned knees, but still stubbornly raising a pair of small fists in utter defiance.
So, with a small sigh because he knew he’d get in so much trouble with his Ma later, Bucky tossed his backpack to the side and ran down the alleyway.
Later, when the fight was over, the pair of them all scratched up but ultimately victorious, Bucky asked the kid over some ice cream cones what had happened to start the fight in the first place. They were already late for school, anyway.
“They pushed a girl into the mud, so I told them to apologize,” the boy had said, vanilla soft serve and rainbow sprinkles smeared across his mouth, soft blue eyes big and wide like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “She was crying… and I don’t like bullies.”
Bucky had just stared incredulously at his new friend for a bit, before he blinked and decided, well, yeah—there really was no better reason.
“Alright, well… maybe call for backup next time,” because even then, he’d already known this wouldn’t be the last time.
But he hadn’t known that Steve was this stupid.
Now fully grown (and then some), the two sit side by side at the edge of an open pasture just outside a small cozy little hut—where they always sit whenever Steve comes to visit him in Wakanda.
Their figures are partially hidden by tall blades of grass, their palms pressed into the soft, slightly damp earth, the heat of the beaming Africa sun not yet uncomfortable as they stare out over the gently rippling waters of a sparkling pond.
Once again, Bucky is forced away from any moment’s peace, turning away from the stunning view to glower at his friend.
“Tell me you didn’t,” he growls as their shoulders bump, just like they did when they were just boys, all tuckered out after spending an afternoon horsing around.
And just like when they were boys and Steve did something stupid, when the latter doesn’t say anything, his shoulders slightly raised and the tips of his ears pink with shame, Bucky smacks him up the back of his head.
“I’m not proud, okay?” Steve grimaces, but accepts the blow without resistance because he knows he deserves it. Bucky groans, wishing he still had the metal arm so he could really whack some sense into him.
“You—imbecile!”
“Hey.”
“You had to know I was kidding. You remember what jokes are, right?”
“Alright, I get it—”
“And the nerve—‘damn, they must’ve fried more of your brain cells than I thought’—” Okay, he can’t help it. Steve lets out a tiny snicker at this, even though he really shouldn’t. “Oh yeah? You think that’s funny?”
“No,” Steve lies, still smirking.
“That’s a fucked up thing to say to me.”
“I know, ‘m sorry,” but he doesn’t look very sorry at all, grinning like a maniac the way he is. Honestly though, Bucky’s been waiting for the day Steve can joke about all of this—otherwise they’d just sit here and weep, which wouldn’t be very productive, would it?
“What the hell happened to ‘that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard’?”
Steve really has nothing to say in his defence. At the time, it really had been absolutely ridiculous, Bucky’s offhand little joke when Steve fled New York for the safety and peace of Wakanda, complaining for the nth time about the parade of women his team insisted on setting him up with.
“Oh, no, how terrible. All those beautiful women, how will you ever cope? It must be so hard being you,” Bucky had deadpanned, rolling his eyes, used to all the venting and ranting by now. It was all Steve ever talked about now that the Accords fiasco had finally blown over, and everyone had forced him and Tony into a room and refused to let them out until they’d worked through their issues.
Which really just meant Steve standing there, all contrite with sad, puppy dog eyes, and letting Tony punch him in the face. Repeatedly. Apparently, that was going to be his plan for everything now. It had worked so well the first time, after all.
It wasn’t helped by the fact that Bucky had been watching way too many movies with Shuri lately. She’d gotten fed up one day, because “you never understand my pop culture references, it’s an absolute tragedy that you don’t know just how hilarious I am”, so she put together a line-up of films she insisted he had to watch before his hundredth birthday.
Just the week before, she’d sat him down for a night of romantic comedies that he would never admit out loud that he actually enjoyed.
“The Proposal?” He’d asked sardonically when the title came up on the screen in Shuri’s lab, raising a skeptical eyebrow, only to be shushed into silence by Okoye and Ayo. He shrank back into his spot and picked at his popcorn.
The films were silly, cheesy, and sometimes just plain juvenile—two very different people coming together because they needed partners for various reasons—her, because she needed a green card, and him, because he didn’t want to lose his job. Nobody talks about the problematic power imbalances, or how some of these side characters are such terrible people that the audience ends up rooting for the protagonists even though they aren’t really any better.
But damn it, if he wasn’t entertained. And damn it if it didn’t work every single time.
Even if it’s a florist—because her parents are colossal, gaping assholes from what Steve tells him. Apparently they don’t believe a single woman, whose sole focus prior to the sudden and tragic accident that left her niece orphaned at only eight months old, was her struggling flower shop, had any business raising a child on her own.
And even if it’s an emotionally traumatized supersoldier—who can easily command a room full of hardened agents but can’t ever seem to find the heart to tell his team to shut the hell up and mind their damned business.
“But hey, it would buy you—and me—some peace and quiet for once,” Bucky had chortled one day during one of Steve’s regular visits, using his one arm to toss a bale of hay to the side, sidestepping a particularly clingy goat that just wouldn’t leave his side whenever they decided to hang around the farm.
And Steve had rolled his eyes, said everything Bucky had remembered him saying in retaliation, but there was this little voice in his head. The proverbial devil on his shoulder, whispering more ideas into his ear.
Think about it: sweet, sweet silence.
Maybe even months of it, if you play your cards right.
He hated that tug of temptation he felt at the mere thought, because, god, when was the last time Steve had woken up in the Tower without Natasha sitting crosslegged at the foot of his bed—“Stop flailing, for Christ’s sake, it’s just me”—equipped with a laptop and a PowerPoint filled with the pictures and biographies (with more detail than anyone should really know about their coworkers) of women he thought he should try asking out?
“You done freaking out? Cool—” and then she’d command FRIDAY to shut the blinds so she could start the slideshow, projected onto the wall opposite his bed. Steve would just sit there, eyelids still heavy from sleep. “Alright, I know what you said last time, but I’m not ready to write Lillian off just yet…”
Without Tony badgering him about what his type was, because he had an entire Rolodex of women just dying to know exactly what Captain America was into in private?
“Blonde, brunette, or redhead? Or do you wanna get freaky? We’ve got all sorts,” and he’d only backtrack when Pepper shot him an unimpressed look from across the room, which thankfully meant Tony would soon be too busy grovelling to continue.
Without Sam going on and on about some cute girl at the VA who’d be “perfect” for him, having turned this whole thing into a strange kind of competition because he couldn’t possibly lose to Nat or Stark?
Without Clint snickering in the vents because even though he wasn’t particularly eager to play matchmaker, he very much enjoyed watching Steve squirm?
Without Thor launching into an impassioned tirade about how love could only make life so much more worth living—“take Jane and I, for example…” and cue the chorus of irritated groans.
Without Wanda shooting him a sympathetic look, but then also cackling to herself whenever the others made a joke about not wanting him to die a virgin?
(For the record, he’s not.)
Too long. It’s been too long. This was the downside of having friends, Steve discovered.
“What is wrong with you?” Bucky asks, bringing Steve back to the present, and back to his colossal fuck-up. “When I said it works every time, I meant—haa, have you ever even seen a romcom? The two leads always fall in love at the end.”
And there is the crux of his problem. Now, normally, for literally any other person on the planet, there is absolutely nothing wrong with falling in love. Given his circumstances, however, it complicated things. And if he were being honest, he genuinely didn’t think it would happen.
Not that you weren’t perfectly loveable. You are…
His lips automatically curve up into a smile.
Well, gosh, what’s there not to like?
While the rest of the world seems intent on rushing him, you just smile and tell him to take his time. Don’t shut people out though, or the possibility that you might meet someone special one day. And if you do go out for a coffee date, you don’t owe anyone anything—it can be just that.
The others tease him now that the Tower has been practically turned into a conservatory, what with how many flowers he buys from you every week. But you always bring him something a bit extra, dried flowers tucked into his bag when he isn’t looking.
He’d be halfway across the world, reaching into his duffle with a weary sigh, about to clean off the dirt and grime of that day’s mission, only to find that his clothes smelled like lavender or lilac. He’d fall asleep in some dingy motel somewhere, but with the smell of air-detoxing gerberas in his nostrils, the flowers placed on the nightstand by the bed.
Rather than looking at him with pity because, for a long time, he’d been hung up on a version of Peggy Carter—and himself—that no longer existed, you urged him to look up and smell the roses, to appreciate the future he was never supposed to see. Maybe, one day, he’d be able to look at this new life as a blessing and not a curse.
Pair all of that with a sense of humour and a kind heart, and Steve really had no other choice but to call himself your friend. But he swears, up until recently, all of it had always been platonic.
Sure, one or twice, or maybe a few more than that, he’d glance over and think to himself that you made quite the picture in that lighting, warm golden sunshine spilling through the front window of your shop as you held an arrangement of flowers in that particular colour combination that made you look soft and sweet.
It hadn’t been more than that. He couldn’t allow it.
Nevermind the fact that you had an agreement, chock full of boundaries and lines neither of you were allowed to cross, the nature of his job meant that he couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t ever need to leave at the drop of a hat because the next mission, the next global threat, the next existential crisis, would always take precedence over date night or meeting the parents.
While the two of you had managed to convince your parents otherwise, it wasn’t something he wanted for you. He wanted you to have more stability in your life, to be able to pick up the phone and call someone whenever you missed them (and have them actually answer), and without having to worry about whether they would ever come back.
He pictures it the other way around—what if he were the one left behind, not knowing whether someone he loved was even alive, let alone safe?—and remembers what it was like for him to say goodbye to Bucky before he went off to the front lines.
He’d felt helpless, frustrated, and just terribly sad at all once. How unfair it would be to subject anyone to that, let alone someone he was supposed to care about. Let alone you.
Steve wouldn’t do that to you, and the both of you were very aware of what the stakes were.
Violet. Your niece was at stake, and there was no way either of you were going to mess that up, not for anything or anyone. Not even for each other.
And that’s the part that gets him the most, because that kid is easily the best person he’s ever had the pleasure of meeting, no contest. Now, he doesn’t even know if he’ll ever see her again. He doesn’t know if he’s messed this whole thing up for you, whether it will affect the custody battle with your parents.
The thought, along with the one that reminds him he might never get to see you again either, makes his nose burn and his eyes watery.
Bucky seems to notice the shift in Steve’s mood, because he softens a little. He turns to face forward again, towards the horizon, and sighs.
“Alright, fine… just tell me what happened.”
Steve looks up from where his hands are fidgeting in his lap, squinting against the bright orange of the setting sun. He sighs too.
Hello everyone and welcome to my recommended reading list! I hope you will find something you will enjoy on this weeks list.
Thank you to everyone who enjoys my lists and reblogs them. Your support means the world to me. Thank you again to those who recommended fanfics or tagged me.
💜 This week, I read 45 fanfics—absolutely amazing fanfics. It has been so much fun for me, and I hope you enjoy my reading lists.
As always these will be listed in no particular order. None of these stories are mine. I’m just signal-boosting them. The author is listed next to the title. My goal is to signal boost writers and spread positivity in the community. 💜💜
Click HERE to see what I will or won’t read. This is very important.
Click HERE for past reading lists.
For my Masterlist Click HERE.
Please make sure you’re reading the warnings on every story. They range from dark to fluff. Do Not Read if you are under 18 years old. These stories are meant for adults only. You’re responsible for your own media consumption.
Header by @fictional-affairs
Page-break by @whimsicalrogers
If you can, please reblog these lists so they can reach more people on Tumblr. Likes are nice but Reblogs are golden.
I love you 3000 💜 Missy
The Ultimate Risk - Part 2 - (Bucky x Reader) - @saiyanprincessswanie
Things on My Mind - (Thor x Reader) - @societyfolklore
Every Word - (Lance T x Reader) - @societyfolklore
June 1: Break and Entry - (Lee x Reader) - @darkficsyouneveraskedfor
Breakfast Conversation - (Frank A x Reader) - @thezombieprostitute
Bad - (Nick x Reader) - @late-to-the-party-81
June 2nd - Wanna be bad - (Nick x Reader) - @daydreamgoddess14
Primary Source - (Bucky) - @sunday-bug
June 2: No Ifs, Ands, or Buts - (Ransom x Reader) - @darkficsyouneveraskedfor
Window Seat - (Chris B x Reader) - @societyfolklore
Exchange - (Lloyd x Reader) - @tarithenurse
Babe - (Curtis x Reader) - @late-to-the-party-81
Good Time - (Lee x Reader) - @societyfolklore
June 3rd - Prey - (Nick x Reader) - @daydreamgoddess14
June 3: Hear You - (Steve K x Reader) - @darkficsyouneveraskedfor
June 4th: Friend Zone - (Johnny S x Reader) - @darkficsyouneveraskedfor
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x F!Reader
WC: ~350
Warnings: Fluff | Some Bridgerton-inspired themes | Unbeta'd
A/N: Dedicated to @thereoncewasagirlnamedjane for all the love she showered on The Curious Affairs of Mr. Holmes. I never really thought I'd write for Sherlock again if not for you, love. So, thank you, my dearest Janie, for all the beautiful love notes and for encouraging me to write for him. ✨ Just a tiny spark of inspiration for now… but who says it won't grow into something more? 🤭🩷
Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! I do not consent to AI scraping my work. Banner and Divider credits to me. Photo credits to Pinterest. Thank you :) Check out my other works: Masterlist
Indulge Away!
Sherlock despised many things.
Balls. Grand declarations. Crowds. Boastful dumb twats.
Perhaps he was more pliable on matters of friendship, for he wouldn't otherwise subject himself to this madness if not for Watson, who was currently dancing with Lady Mary.
And boy, was Sherlock grateful he'd yielded to his friend's incessant pursuit! From the moment he first glimpsed you in passing, Sherlock had been quite unable to look away, and it wildly bothered him.
You stood at the farthest corner, turned from the room, hiding behind a gigantic vase--concealing yourself mostly from your mother, from what he gathered. He realized you were the Viscount's third daughter based on introductions, and your mother was eager to marry you off along with your sisters. It didn't sit well with Sherlock. He could also tell you hated being there.
Sherlock waited for a long moment, rationalizing himself not to gaze at you which he failed to do so. When he couldn't resist, he walked toward you. He told himself he was merely curious about what you were scribbling in your dance card, and not because he needed to be close to fend off the suitors swarming you.
It was highly improper to approach you without an introduction--but damn propriety.
"Mr. Picklethwaite?" Sherlock read upside-down, placing his palms on the console table and leaning forward.
Startled at the sudden intrusion, you looked up at him, shocked, lips parted. Sherlock knew the moment recognition dawned in your eyes as to who he was. His heart fluttered delightfully.
"I suppose Lord Tiddlewick shall take the next?" Sherlock murmured, stepping beside you, eyes sparkling with amusement. You'd figured he knew what you were doing--filling your dance card with fictitious names.
You let out a nervous chuckle. "I can't take this anymore," you whispered, gently pleading with him to keep your secret.
Goodness, you smelled divine, and it was numbing his senses. You decided to torment him further by biting your lip, waiting anxiously.
He internally groaned.
A suitor approached, and you stood frozen.
"I'm afraid her dance card is full, Lord Mason," Sherlock said, a bit irked as his presence didn't ward off the attention. Lord Mason excused himself.
You turned to him and smiled in relief. Grateful. His heart quickened.
Sherlock chuckled softly, "Would you care to dance with me, my lady?" he asked, his senses completely outwitted by his heart.
You appeared quite taken aback, a flush rising to your cheeks. Then, gathering your composure, you tapped your card with a mischievous smile. "I am told you solve mysteries, Your Grace. I should prefer to remain one."
Sherlock laughed, unfathomably delighted with your answer. As rationally adept as he was, he knew then--he was already tumbling into the abyss of love.
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Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader x Bucky Barnes | Stucky x F!Reader
WC: 2.6k
Warnings: Established relationship | Domestic fluff | Cavity-causing Fluff | Language | Hot supersoldiers alert | Protective Supersoldiers| A bunch of cheesy pick-up lines | Allusions to naughty times | Poly relationship | Unbeta'd | This is a buffed post from earlier, originally written for Essie's 300 follower celebration with the prompt: Why's it...sticky? | Lemme know if I'm missing anything.
Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! I do not consent to AI scraping my work. Banner & Divider made by me. Picture credits to Pinterest. Check out my other works: Masterlist
Set in Captain Softly Stern and Sergeant Toughly Tender universe!
Indulge Away!
You picked up some seeds at the Farmers' Market last week, planning to sow them in the garden. This morning, you decided to wake up early and get to work before it got too hot.
But your men had other plans.
You didn't wake up to the alarm. No. It was Steve's relentless rutting into your ass and Bucky's sharp nips at your neck that woke you up.
Well, your morning turned into a very different kind of plowing. Not that you minded AT ALL.
Safe to say, you were famished after falling apart so many times. Bucky, determined to feed both you and Steve something delicious, had decided to prepare a special lunch today.
Never one to deny him the pleasure of any kind, you both agreed to let him take over the kitchen.
Not that Bucky gave you much of a choice, "Stay away, or I'll spank that fine ass," he'd said earlier when you sauntered into the kitchen to prepare something.
Like a good girl, you complied. Though you were itching to test him, you didn't, mostly because you were starving, and your body was already overstimulated from the morning session.
Despite Steve's longstanding reputation as the better cook, after you, of course, Bucky had been devoting himself to learning both cooking and baking. To your surprise, he was definitely starting to outdo you both.
So you let him be and decided to just watch. And boy, was he a sight for hungry eyes. He looked practically edible in those shorts and a faded blue, short-sleeved t-shirt.
That man could seduce you just by chopping vegetables.
Sadly, your hungry worshipping got cut short when Bucky insisted you leave since you couldn't stop staring at him.
Such a buzzkill!
You groaned, hopping off the island and heading out to see where your other man was.
"Don't roll your eyes at me, pretty girl," Bucky called out loudly.
You flipped him off, which only made him chuckle.
~
The sun was glaring down on your lakefront home. It was hot, but all the luscious trees cast cool, calming shadows. You lived far away from the city, just a few miles away from the compound, which made life much easier for the three of you.
You looked around for Steve and found him on the boat, most likely cleaning. You and Steve had bought the boat as a surprise for Bucky's birthday three months ago. It was the best decision ever. The three of you often took it out on the lake at night to stargaze or just relax during the day.
You walked onto the pier and tried to join Steve, but he denied you outright.
"Sit your fine ass down, relax, and gimme a nice view," he said, kissing your lips and squeezing your ass. You squeaked and obeyed.
That was fifteen minutes ago.
Honestly, you didn't mind being pampered. Who were you kidding? You needed it after all the inhumane hours you'd been putting in over the past few weeks. That was why your men had forced you to take a break from work. Tony had vehemently agreed, reasoning that you were getting more spiteful with all the lack of sleep.
And right now, lounging on your favorite chaise on the porch, a book in your hands, and the peaceful sounds of nature around you, it really did feel like a great idea.
The occasional trilling of the birds, married with the sounds of wind chime put you in a happy trance, and you were quite immersed in the book you were reading.
It was Bucky's grunted huff that broke your reverie.
He placed a bowl of freshly cut fruit with a fork beside you on the small table, a deep frown on his face as he stared at Steve.
"That punk," he mumbled, and you raised your brows in confusion. Bucky turned to you, his expression softening.
He placed his left hand behind you at the top of the chair and hovered over you, pulling your chin up with his warm hand. You felt the familiar heat spread through your entire body as he rubbed his thumb along your jaw and pulled you in for a kiss.
You moaned happily into his mouth. But he broke the kiss too soon, and you whined at the loss of his soft lips.
Placing a kiss on your cheek, Bucky winked at you, "You've had enough for today. You need sustenance," he smirked, tugging at your thighs and suddenly pulling you down. You collapsed haphazardly onto the chair, your book falling to the side.
"BUCKY," you yelled, trying to smack his stomach, but he dodged away quickly.
"I hate you," you mumbled, trying to use the armrests to straighten up in the chair, but Bucky gently picked you up and set you upright.
"No, you don't. Eat up. Food'll be served in an hour," he said, pecking your forehead. You grinned, placated for now.
"Now, I have a mission to get to," he added, pulling something from the windowsill. He glanced at you, lips twitching as he held up the sunscreen.
"Good luck," you snickered, already anticipating what was about to unfold.
Steve was just coming out of the garage with the mower, looking sinfully gorgeous in his black track pants, which hung a little too low for your sanity. Such a slut! He'd discarded his white shirt on the porch banister near you a while ago, and you'd folded it and set it aside on the swing.
As soon as Steve spotted Bucky from a distance, he visibly withered.
Far more interested in the scene unfolding before you than the story in your hands, you let the book rest on your lap, the cover felt pleasant against your skin.
You watched as Steve rolled his eyes and took a step back.
"Bucky," Steve groaned, glancing toward you for help.
You blew him a kiss and pulled your book up to cover your face, just peeking. Steve scoffed, shaking his head before turning to the menace walking toward him.
"Buck," he tried again.
"Come on, Steve," Bucky said exasperatedly.
"I'm fine. I don't need it."
Bucky shook his head, stepping closer. "You say that every fucking time, and then you suffer and bitch. Just let me do it."
You tried to stifle your laughter as you watched the back and forth. Gosh! They're fucking adorable.
"Don't test me. I WILL tackle you, punk," Bucky warned.
Steve held his arm out, stopping Bucky, "I can do it myself."
Bucky raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced, "Yeah, because you did such a great job last time, right?"
Steve Rogers hated sunburns and loathed sunscreen. It was funny, really. For a supersoldier, he sure whined a lot about sunscreen.
Not that his sunburns lasted more than a few hours- thanks to the serum- but boy, did he bitch about it, making you and Bucky coo and soothe him. The last time you went out on the lake, Bucky had gotten so irritated when Steve avoided sunscreen and ended up burned. So now, he'd taken it upon himself.
"Fine, but make it quick," Steve huffed, turning around reluctantly and muttering under his breath. Bucky squirted a generous amount of sunscreen, starting on Steve's shoulders.
"And he faced Thanos," you added gently, wiggling your eyebrows. Bucky sniggered with you.
"This stuff is sticky and smells weird," Steve grumbled, wincing slightly as the cold lotion made contact with his warm skin.
"We bought the unscented one," you told him.
"Oh, but I can still smell it, sweetheart," Steve retorted. Bucky smacked his ass, winking at you.
"Of course, you do," you muttered playfully, fully aware he heard you just fine.
You did forget you lived with super soldiers. In the domesticated bliss, you three fell into such a natural rhythm that their super strength felt entirely normal.
"You want to smell like burnt skin instead?" Bucky teased, his hands moving expertly over Steve's back and front, ensuring every inch was covered.
"Buck, you're using too much," Steve whined, his voice muffled as he hung his head.
"Shut up," Bucky shot back, "Besides, I'm almost done. Quit being such a baby."
You couldn't stop giggling, watching Steve squirm.
Steve sighed dramatically, glancing over his shoulder at you with a pleading expression. "He's using too much, isn't he?"
"No, he isn't. Come on, Stevie. You got this. You can do this all day, can't you?"
Steve rolled his eyes, and after a beat, he added, "You know I could do you all day."
Well, facts!
Though his remark shot straight to your core, you laughed. So did Bucky.
"You have a really dirty mouth, Captain," you exclaimed.
"But you love it," he replied smugly.
You did.
Bucky pulled Steve into his arms, hooked his fingers in the waistband of Steve's joggers, and tugged him closer before planting a smothering kiss on his lips.
"That's for being a good boy," Bucky said, and proceeded to smack Steve's ass again, "And that's for whining."
"BUCKY!" Steve roared after him mirthfully.
"Can't really blame him, Stevie. That's one fine ass!"
Bucky simply laughed and headed inside to check on the food.
It was always so endearing, seeing how much they loved each other. You were so frickin' lucky.
You caught the faint blush dusting Steve's cheeks. Biting your lip, you tried to keep your own laughter in check as you absentmindedly turned a page in your book.
"Cut it out," he guffawed, when he caught your gaze, before getting back to mowing the lawn.
You finished the last of your fruit and decided to get up and tend to the garden because if you stayed in that chair any longer, you were definitely going to fall asleep.
~
"Oi, Rogers," you called out, setting the shovel aside and grinning wildly at him as you stood and dusted off your hands.
"Are you a garden? 'Coz I'm diggin' you."
Steve shook his head and gave you a mock glare. You'd been catcalling him with the cheesiest pickup lines, and though he was clearly amused, he was doing his best to hide it.
"Okay, wrap it up. Food's almost ready," Bucky yelled from the kitchen window.
Steve gave him a nod, and you threw up a thumbs-up.
"That means shut up and get inside," Steve said, smirking.
"Oh, come on, Steve. You love them, and you love me," you giggled.
"Only one of those is true," Steve mumbled playfully.
"I love you too! Okay, I've got another one: are you a campfire? Because you're hot, and I want s'more!"
"That's it," he said, stepping toward you.
You squealed and took off running toward the porch, only realizing too late how stupid it was to think you could outrun him. Steve was on you the very next second, cornering you at the far end of the porch.
"C'mere," he said smugly, hands on his hips.
Not thinking it through at all, you jumped right off the banister, landing on your ass with a thud a good three feet down.
"What the hell, sweetheart?" Steve's face morphed from amused to horrified as he rushed toward the railing.
You giggled, hardly believing you'd just done that, and took off running again.
"Oh, you little shit! Get back here," Steve laughed, shaking his head as he vaulted off the porch with far more finesse.
You glanced over your shoulder, only to see him right behind you. You picked up your pace, laughing as you went. Steve, meanwhile, was barely jogging, clearly letting you think you stood a chance at outrunning him.
"You've been teasing me all day. Do you need something? All you had to do was ask," he drawled, closing in.
You gathered your wits, barely, and shot back smugly and quite breathlessly, "I don't need anything. Besides, I don't like to beg." You shrugged.
Lies. All lies. You were just baiting him.
"LOOK OUT!" Steve shouted suddenly.
You realized too late you were about to crash straight into a tree.
Steve reached out quickly, placing his large palm on your forehead, and pulled you into him to soften the blow. Still, your right knee slammed into the bark.
"Ouch," you winced, the pain flaring instantly.
"Jesus!" Steve immediately pulled you into his arms, carefully taking the weight off your legs. He carried you back to the porch and sat you down in a chair. Then he knelt before you, lifting your leg onto his thigh to inspect it.
"It's sticky. Why the fuck is it sticky?" you hissed, eyeing the bruise.
"Where did you trip now?" Bucky appeared, mostly disappointed, slightly amused.
"Oh, she fell twice," Steve said, and you flicked his forehead. That didn't really stop him from narrating the whole thing anyway.
Bucky squatted beside Steve, eyeing your knee.
"That looks like tree sap," he said, blowing gently to ease the sting.
"Yeah, I figured," you pouted.
"Should we take her to the hospital? Is that stuff poisonous?" Steve asked, glancing at Bucky.
Your heart warmed. Gosh! How much you loved him. Steve was smart as a whip- linguist, strategist, and blessed with an elephant memory, but when it came to you or Bucky, he worried about things as small as paper cuts.
You rolled your eyes just to tease him, sharing a look with Bucky, who chuckled and leaned over to press a quick kiss to Steve's temple.
"You're adorable," Bucky teased, winking at him.
"Don't patronize me," Steve scoffed.
"I'm not," Bucky answered. He slid one arm under your knees, the other behind your back, and lifted you effortlessly.
"You are," Steve muttered as he followed you both inside.
"He is," you chimed over Bucky's shoulder.
"Shut up," Bucky groaned, biting your nose.
"Hey," you yelped, swatting at him.
Bucky set you on the couch.
"Let's clean that wound," he said. Steve was already back with the first-aid kit.
The oven timer beeped.
"I got this," Steve said, as he settled sideways on the couch before you, pulling your leg over his.
"Buck, just hand me…" Steve didn't even get to finish, and Bucky already handed him the isopropyl alcohol and cotton swabs before walking back into the kitchen.
Steve cleaned it gently with so much tenderness, and it made your insides flutter.
You knew exactly what he was thinking.
Gawd! This man!
"Steve. Stop worrying, will ya? I'm not that hurt," you told him, your voice gentle but firm.
"But you did get hurt, and I didn't catch you in time, doll," he muttered.
"Steve." You sighed.
There was no use arguing with him. Distraction it was then!
"Where's your shirt?" You asked playfully, eyeing his bare, sweat-slicked chest.
"Where are your pants?" he asked, blue eyes gleaming as his large hand rubbed your thigh in slow, soothing strokes. It was sweltering outside, and all you had on was an oversized T-shirt and panties.
"Touché." You chuckled.
"Food's ready," Bucky announced, walking back to the couch happily and leaning his arms on the back.
"Damn. It smells delicious," you said, smiling widely at Bucky.
"I can't smell anything over this stupid sunscreen," Steve mocked. Bucky and you rolled your eyes in tandem.
Steve huffed, applying the ointment now. You hissed loudly, gripping the back of the couch. Bucky pulled your hand into his warm one, placing a kiss inside your palm. You smiled up at him.
"Hey, Buck," you called out.
He leaned in. "Yes, pretty girl?"
"Did you just come out of the oven? Because you're too hot to handle," you said with a straight face.
Steve groaned.
Bucky looked at you, deadpan, and shook his head.
"Whaaat. That was soooo good!" you exclaimed, throwing your hands up.
"Where are you getting these lame pickup lines from?" Steve asked, squeezing your calf.
"theknot.com disagrees with you, Captain," you told him smugly.
"Why do you need pickup lines?" Bucky frowned, gently pulling your jaw up toward him.
Such a possessive little shit. Yours, though.
"Calm your horses, old man. I've been doing some research for Darcy. She made an account on a few dating apps."
"Good," Bucky breathed against your lips before placing a kiss.
"Oh. Oh. Steve, this one's for you. Do you have a Band-Aid? I scraped my knee falling for you," you grinned proudly.
Both your men scoffed in sync.
Steve chuckled, pulled out a large Band-Aid, and exaggeratedly rolled his eyes before placing it over your knee.
"You both are tasteless! Ugh!" you faux-scoffed.
"Tasteless? That's not what I heard you moaning this morning," Steve winked at you.
Bucky laughed, smacking Steve's shoulder proudly, and you teetered off the couch, blushing. He quickly steadied you.
"I dare you not to fall for one whole day," Bucky challenged, looking into your eyes intently.
You frowned at him.
"Yeah, not happening in this lifetime, Buck," Steve said, pulling you into his lap and kissing your frown away.
It didn't matter if they groaned at your pickup lines. You were going to test every single one on them anyway, mostly for your own amusement and partly for Darcy.
Blissful was an understatement.
Set in Captain Softly Stern and Sergeant Toughly Tender universe!
Well? 🤭 Did this tickle your fancy?
Psst...I might be a hopeless case myself, but just so you know, I make a pretty good wingwoman. 🙂↕️😆 Just an unnecessary piece of info about me for your cache.
Leave your thoughts if you enjoyed reading it. 💞✨
If you'd like to be tagged/removed from my works, please do so here.
When you got the job with the Avengers Initiative, you were giddy and in total disbelief, especially after how the final round of interviews with Tony Stark had gone.
Finding a decent place close to work while you were still living in another city was a nightmare. Everything in the City was pricey, and the parking charges were a joke, honestly. You couldn't afford that much 'coz you were just starting right outta college and didn't have anyone to support you financially.
But you landed a great deal on a place that was pretty close to the compound and decided to go with the roommate-matching option. And lo and behold, you were matched with a girl named Camila. You were really happy about the whole ordeal. Until the moment you rang the doorbell of apartment 517 and came face to face not with Camila but with Captain America and the Winter Soldier, both staring at you, equally confused.
Brace yourself for dealing with not one but two blue-eyed super soldiers, each with a staggeringly different personality.
A wild ride!
Especially since you tried really hard to stay invisible, but neither Steve nor Bucky seemed to be okay with that. Not when they found you so goddamn pretty, delicate, klutzy, and far too kind for your own good. What started as a friendship- quickly with Steve and not so quickly with Bucky- turned into a fierce love that consumed all three of you.
Join me on this chaotic friendship turned romance, and hasten your seat belts to enjoy the domestic bliss with two burly, entirely out-of-time, sinfully gorgeous, and annoyingly protective men.
A/N: This masterlist was long overdue. Most of these works are fluffy, but some of 'em have a dash of angst and smut. Be sure to heed the warnings posted with each one.
Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! I do not consent to AI scraping my work. Banner & Divider made by me. Picture credits to Pinterest. Check out my other works: Masterlist
Updated: June 12, 2025
Indulge Away!
Below is a collection of one-shots, snapped at various points in their lives. You can enjoy them individually or read them all together, whichever you prefer.
Yield to me
You were on a rescue op. But you find yourself a rescuer. This is a more Bucky-centric fic. (ft. adventurous Alpine)
Entrancing Haze
A rainy day domestic chaos.
Tantalizing Tuesday Thought
Bucky and you are competing. Domesticated chaos
Wibbly-Wobbly Wednesday Thought
Starting a snowball fight with two super soldiers probably wasn't a wise choice. They eventually get to you so did the cold.
Captain, Sgt. Grumpy, & their Doll!
Steve benches Bucky on a Hydra-related mission and Bucky's been too grumpy about it. Some Angsty fluff & making up.
Taut Thursday Thought
Bucky's still miffed with Steve. It takes a grocery trip to finally resolve the issue. Follow up to Captain, Sgt. Grumpy, & their Doll!
Serene Sunday Thought
You wake up from a nightmare, but your men blanket you in their warmth, fending off the embers of the nightmare.
Wanton Affairs
Fluffy Filthy goodness. Bucky being a little shit. Oh, and your torn bra.
Blissful Summer Bruises
Domesticated super soldiers, lame pickup lines, and did I say fluff? Gosh! cavity-causing fluff, I tell ya.
Brooklyn Bouncers
Domesticated fluff. A tad bit smut. You're overworked. Your men decide to take you far away from everything.
Relent to me
You were reckless and Bucky knew how to teach you a valuable lesson. A dollop of pampering Bucky married with hot n spicy Bucky.
Darcy Knows
You finally meet Darcy and Jane for drinks. And your plan to reveal your relationship with Bucky and Steve doesn't go the way you expect. Darcy puts two and two together though, when she sees your men taking care of you in 4k clarity.
Do you have a wild idea simmering in your head? Send an ask away, I'll try my best to word a world for you! 😘✨
If you'd like to be tagged/removed from my works, please do so here.
AN: The prompt for day 16 of #JuneJukeboxScribbles is ‘Every breath you take’ by The Police. So, who better to go with a song about stalking than Toy Story Lloyd? This is a little prequel to the established story line.
Unbeta’d. Banner by me and divider by @firefly-graphics
Master list | Jukebox Master list | Series Master list | Join my tag list
Relationship: Dark Lloyd Hansen x (Soon to be) Kidnapped! Female reader.
Word count: 300
CW: Lloyd PoV, Stalking, Fantasising
You were going to be perfect. He just knew it. Maybe a little too clever for your own good, but that wasn’t something that couldn’t be remedied.
From his position leaning against his car, Lloyd watched you exit the store you’d been browsing in and set off down the street. Oh, Sunshine, he thought, every step you take, I’ll be watching you.
It had taken him a while to find a suitable candidate. Months of collating data, doing research and then observing all the potential options and it all narrowed down to you. With your wide eyes that will look so pretty filled with tears. With your plump lips that will look so good around his cock. Fuck, the anticipation was getting him so hot. He kept thinking about all the different things he was going to do. All the different ways he was going to make you scream, and squirm, and cry. A shudder of arousal ran through him and he reached down to adjust his cock where it twitched in his slacks. He needed to have patience. It would be all the sweeter for waiting.
You turned the corner, out of sight, but Lloyd wasn’t worried. He knew your routine like the back of his hand and at this time you were on your way home. To your tiny, pathetic apartment with its laughable lack of security. But you had to negotiate the subway first, so by the time you got home, he would be there ahead of you. Waiting up on the roof opposite, binoculars in hand, ready to watch you carry out your nighttime routine.
He knew he could just take you now, waltz right on in and you’d be powerless to stop him, but he’d decided he could wait a little longer. And keep watching.
Type: medieval-ish fairy-tale-fantasy-ish three-shot, angst with fluff and a bit of hurt and comfort
Pairing: king!Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 12500 (oops?)
Summary:
Stolen by a couple of mercenaries to become a gift to a king of a neighbouring kingdom, you’re helpless to but watch even the pitiful remnants of your life burn down – and with it, your hopes. For freedom. For a good life. For love.
There are all kinds of tales told about King Steve Rogers I.; and only time will tell which of them are true and which are mere rumours. You can only hope – but hope is a fickle, whimsical thing.
And so is fate.
Warnings: brief reference to period-typical violence, references to reader’s kidnapping and injuries, allusions to internalized misogyny and strict religious rules (and a drop of religious trauma), clearly excellent parenting on the dad's side, lots of feels, my love for Steve showing a bit too much, … that’s it, I think? Oh and Steve. He’s a warning.
A/N: Let me thank you in advance for your patience - I hope you will find the wait was worth it. I'm bringing a humble offering of soft Steve, doubts and further lean into the soulmate(ish) trope; divider by @thecutestgrotto, header is mine; Happy reading!💕
He was already standing to greet you.
It shouldn’t have caught you off guard – your arrival must have caused some ruckus outside of the chambers and with him being a man whose survival depended on hearing the danger as it was coming if not before that, there was no wonder he stood alert – but it did.
Much like it did surprise you that for all the portraits and dreams you had dreamed of him in a stranger’s bed, for all you had thought you remembered his features sharply after only having met him for barely a moment, you had forgotten with just how fine care and reverence the gods and angels had carved his face.
How sweetly they’d diluted the blue of his eyes with kindness and warmth, warmer than the flames from the hearth that played across his cheeks and jaw and in the golden halo of his hair.
How your heart raced upon a single meeting of your gaze and his. How much you felt yourself sinking into the colours and wonders of the sky caught inside his irises.
And how it felt like drowning – to cast your gaze low, to the floor, when the heavy door behind you closed shut, the sound snapping you from your reverie enough to act with the respect a man like Steven Rogers I., The Just, deserved.
You bent in your knees so low they almost touched the floor, keeping the position unwaveringly despite every step you heard him take, his voice a caress, like the soft touch of a summer breeze.
“My lady… please, rise. And be welcomed.”
You obeyed, a shudder rushing through your body when you lifted your gaze slowly, trailing the impressive lines of his body until it reached his face again.
Open. Welcoming indeed. A brief flicker of his eyes all over, one corner of his lips rising higher in his smile as if whatever he was seeing pleased him greatly – and sincerely. As if the trial you had so desperately hoped to pass when you had found yourself at your wit’s end, wishing to choose a dress in likes to the king’s wishes, was the most successful when you had not thought about it at all.
When you let your heart guide you and left all worries behind.
You wished you could do so completely; the light in the king’s irises made you desire so, almost as if coaxing you to forget what had brought you here.
But you could not. Not with your heart having leapt to your throat, fear and cautious anticipation battling for your breath.
Your felt heat rise to your cheeks as you bowed just a fraction once more, to show profound respect and gratitude.
“Your Majesty,” you said, only rising when light scorn creased his brows. “Apologies for my tardiness… and for missing the dinner, that was not my intention in the least. I meant no offence if you could believe it.”
“I do believe you, my lady,” he replied, his frown smoothening. “Yet I wish for you to understand there was no offence taken. I meant what I said – what I wrote. I am glad you found peace and rest here. Would you sit with me for a moment?”
You gulped, willing your lips to curl up in a smile; with barely any effort in the face of his kindness, however surprising still.
He waited for you to nod before he set off, slow, but easily gaining several steps on you as you stood frozen for a moment, taking in the room for the first time. The fireplace with a heavy wooden table and three cushioned chairs at it dominated the spacious room, even if barely; the bed, not unlike the one in your temporary dwellings only with heavier dark blue canopy, took up the most space and was nothing short of a masterpiece. One wall was entirely lined with bookcases, while the three remaining ones were each adorned with a painting you were sure had been painted by the hand of the king himself; a landscape with mountains, the ocean, the golden fields. Three large windows, two of them hidden by thick curtains, one left exposing the view of the starry night.
With how clear the skies looked, it must have been freezing outside; yet, you felt like the cold could never touch you here, the room basking in endless warmth a part of you whispered could not come from the hearth only.
Your gaze trailed over the interior with an absent smile, soon drawn back to the man who truly was at its centre. At its heart.
“Please,” he beckoned to one of the chairs, pulling it out for you. “Would you like wine or cider? It is still warm.”
Blinking, you finally followed him, whispering your choice with a breath of a please and thank you. Watching him pour you a goblet as if it was meant to be the work of a king rather than a servant – rather than your work, since you had been brought to this castle to please him – was utterly bewildering. Dreamlike.
It was almost as if you only watched yourself too, mind outside of your body, as you sat down, the goblet set in front of you before he poured himself one as well, sitting next to you, chairs angled towards each other, dangerously close – and yet, to your heart’s yearnings, too afar.
You observed him in mute awe, thousands of questions and hundreds of vague answers circling your head, the absurd – and absurdly natural – circumstance not lost on you. The only thing truly at loss – and lost in his gaze – was you. His eyes hadn’t left you either; he watched you with intensity which would have been unbearably unnerving had it not been so pleasant at the same time.
“I do hope you found the entirety of your chambers to your satisfaction. I wish you found yourself comfortable here.”
You nodded minutely.
But you did not understand.
You did not understand how you had deserved his hospitality.
Neither you could as much as hope to comprehend why, despite feeling so out of place, you felt right at home and safe.
But much like you knew to pray and thank to any higher power there was for being it so, you knew to express your gratitude here, to the man whom, at this point, you owed everything.
For he owed everything you had.
Including yourself.
A rational part of realised how utterly terrifying that should make you; another part which you could feel residing deep within your chest did not find it terrifying in the slightest. For if there was one man who you needn’t to fear, it was him.
Your gaze, unable to bear the power of his, lowered to your lap where your fingers fiddled with the skirt of the lovely dress you had been gifted.
“I… words cannot express how grateful I am for all your generosity, Your Majesty. I admit I am… not quite certain how I deserved such, but I assure you it is my every intention to repay your kindness with all I am.”
From the corner of your eye, you saw his hand twitch; as if he wanted to reach out, but he didn’t.
“The gifts you have been given are given freely, without conditions, my lady.”
For you deserve everything, my sweetling, the soft breeze caressing your cheek seemed to whisper, an echo of the very voice that had just spoken. You deserve everything and I shall give you all that your heart desires.
You shook your head lightly, feeling the voice fill your ears sweetly, words of the kind you knew better than to believe:
The world, as different as this one seemed from the one you had known all your life, did not work in such ways.
For all the riches the man sitting across from you must have possessed, he could not afford such generosity to be true, to give so much away without conditions attached; for it would be too foolish. And to have gained such riches, to have been entrusted with them and to keep them, one could be no fool.
And yet – you would not look the gifted house in the mouth. You were not one who could afford to question.
“Your Majesty is too kind,” you whispered. “Even as I am certain I am far from the sole recipient of such kindness, I feel profoundly grateful. As… as no doubt the men who brought me here do,” you added, trailing off.
You were not sure why you’d even brought them up.
You had little reason to wish to think of Dimitri and Henry, for they had brought you nothing but misery, even as they were the sole reason why you were here, safe and warm and far away from the townspeople who had been secretly eyeing you for prize.
You had little reason to remind the king of them too; for they had angered him with the ways they had spoken at first.
To mention them was risking upsetting the man who was being nothing but pleasant and almost unbearably welcoming until that moment. And yet. Yet, something inside you had whispered you to tempt fate.
Perhaps it was curiosity. Perhaps it was fear of not having been done with the mercenaries just yet. Perhaps it was the inviting gentleness Steven had emanated, coaxing you to be all too honest and blunt even in subtlety of your claims.
The little breathy laugh erupting from the king’s chest was not an amused sound, not quite; it startled you enough to snap your gaze up, met with a storm in his irises, a glint like a flash of lightning born there.
“I am sure they do. But they more than earned the reward they received for their trouble… even as they shall not be joining the Royal Army.”
“Oh?” you chirped instinctively, unable to hide your surprise; and then quickly shook your head in a display of regret at failing to behave appropriately. Again. “My apologies, I did not--- I did not mean to pry-”
“It is quite alright, my lady,” he assured you, his features softening even as the stormy clouds remained in his eyes. “If you wish to know, ask.”
Ask me anything, my sweetling, his gaze whispered, his lips not moving an inch despite the heavy promise spoken in his voice echoing in your ears. I shall never lie to you.
You hesitated for barely three beats of your frantic heart, your question quiet.
“How so?”
He leaned forward a little, elbows resting on his thighs – and what an inconvenient moment for your gaze to flicker there and notice the powerful thickness of the muscle there – capturing your gaze with his without a chance to escape.
“Because, my lady, as much as you are a gift, you are not a thing to be dragged here under the threat of death, with your house burned to ashes so you’d have no home to return to.”
Your heart seized in your chest; your lips parted for a breath that caught in your throat instead.
Not because of the images he painted with his words, as painful as their shadow was, no; for the fact he knew.
“How— how did you-“
You knew the answer before either of you spoke a word, the realization creeping upon you much like the unamused smirk did to Steve’s lips.
‘Please, tell me more of the trouble you went through to deliver me a gift and about what you’d wish for…’
That was what he had asked.
‘Tell me more of the trouble you went through…’
He had not asked to reward them.
He had likely never intended to do so; every word he had chosen carefully to coax them into telling him everything. Telling him of every wrong they had done beyond binding your hands hard enough to bruise and treat you as a commodity rather than a human being.
Oh he was no fool at all indeed.
“Perhaps I too am guilty of being such, but I hear men are known be quite the simple creatures. Have them believe they speak of their heroics, and they can no longer tell the difference between bragging and a confession.”
I hope you can forgive me if I ever behave such too, my sweetling. Forgive me if my words have misled you at first.
You caught yourself before you could nod in reaction to the echo of his voice in your head, stunned.
And with startling clarity despite the sudden spin your mind set off to, you were certain in your very bones that you would forgive him anything. Let alone worrying you while tricking the men who hurt you into confessing every single one of their crimes against a knight’s code. A code of an honourable man.
A man like the one facing you now.
Your throat felt tighter than before, even as something in your ribcage cracked with soft understanding, the images of Steve in your head – that of a good, just man, a fierce warrior and yet a tender artist – blending together seamlessly once more.
“But then--- then their reward-“
“Was what the law commands as punishment for arson and laying a hand on a woman in the ways they have,” he said, voice tender despite the embers of anger smouldering under. “A brand burned to their arm to mark arsonists. A broken hand to remember not to use their strength to hurt an innocent ever again.”
A shudder ran down your spine, a thrill of justice executed; but for the first time in the king’s company, one of true fear too.
For for all the relief you felt for having him understand the situation perfectly, guilt bit into your conscience. The king was no fool indeed; and he seemed a man with a sense of justice etched into his very core. You could feel the righteous fury on your behalf simmering under his skin despite the air of quiet gentleness.
There was only one justice for men like that, as it should be: a universal one.
And you, too, had already committed crimes that would require the intervention of justice; you did not need to know the precise law of Starkerbürg to know such. You had taken what was not yours to take; stealing was a such an offence it had even been written into the Scripture.
And so, there was a punishment awaiting you. As it should.
It was the will of the Lord, of the old gods, and men alike.
Thou shalt not steal, spoke the Scripture, recited so many times in your home by your father’s slurred voice.
Honour thy father and thy mother.
You knew what your father had thought the punishment should be for breaking even one of the commandments.
What was the punishment for theft in these lands?
What would be the punishment for other wrongs you had done?
“Apologies, my lady. I did not mean to frighten you… nor to remind you of your sorrows-”
You shook our head as another shudder followed the first one, colder, guilt taking another bite off of your soul.
“It is-- it is not that, Your Majesty,” you offered quietly, a little white lie; but not quite, for your fear could truly not be blamed on him, only on yourself. “I merely judge that the word has not been wrong about you – your mind is quite brilliant and cunning indeed.”
Something flickered in his eye as he sat a bit straighter at the praise, shoulders relaxing, a reassuring smile playing on his lips.
“It would not be just to leave a crime as grave as this unpunished.”
I would never stand for you to suffer while the bastards who are to blame for your tears and bruises and cuts walk free, the enticing voice swore, Steve’s eyes boring into yours with fire burning as gently as fierce. As the fire, you supposed, should be burning in your veins by your lineage.
Yet the only burn you felt was shame seated deeply in your stomach, slowly crawling out.
Your smile in response – however grateful for Steve’s sentiment, true or imaginary – was tight, eyes turning glassy as you took a wavering breath and looked away, unable to bear it.
There he sat; a good man, honourable and generous and brave and cunning, believing in justice with all his heart.
You could not hold pretence in face of that. You could not find it in your soul to lie or keep a secret. Not from him. Even if your heart clenched in horrifying anticipation at the mere thought of confessing your sins.
“You are admirably fair, Your Majesty,” you husked, clearing your throat to raise your voice from but a whisper. He was worthy of as much. “As you are just… it feels even worse a crime not to say I do not deserve half the kindness I have been offered.”
Steve tilted his head to side a bit, observing you with curiosity, his face, gods bless, such a beautiful face, twisting into a slight frown.
“Why would that be so? You deserve to be treated with decency and respect and more. More so since you have done no wrong.”
His voice was so sincere in that belief that the words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them, the harsh truth scratchy on your tongue:
“I threatened my father with gutting him if he tried to touch me one more time.”
And I might would have done so had it come to it, raged the blood in your veins, a memory of your nails digging into his skin to protect yourself, a fiery sensation as brief as the words themselves, before dread of facing the rightful judgement replaced it with ice.
Judgement.
Disgust.
Loathing.
Punishment.
You did not dare to as much as glance up from where your fingers were gripping your skirts; not until you’d swear you heard Steve teeth clank together and grind, making you to look up anyway.
His jaw was set tight. Fingers dug into the armrests. His shoulders – wonderful broad shoulders, right arm twitching towards where you remembered he had kept the sword by his throne, now leaned against the table – squared and prepared for battle.
He was positively shaken by your inappropriate confession; but his conviction was not. If anything, it seemed to grow tenfold.
“If he had touched you once, it was one time too many,” he spat. “I fail to see how wishing to be safe could ever make you less worthy of the treatment you have received here.”
I would have personally ripped his hand clear off for such offence, committed on his own daughter no less. A mere threat, my sweetling, seems a kindness. I am proud of you and grateful you kept what I hold dear safe.
Your breath caught in your throat.
But it was the gentle ghost of a voice, dark with a promise, warm, that somehow urged you to continue, to share your own darkness so it may touch light; it was the unshakable ghost of the hand of your father on your shoulder, cold, that spurred you to try and defend and justify his drunken actions.
Honor thy father. Do not speak ill of him.
“He… he’d be too drunk to tell whether I was his daughter or a thief or… whether—whether I was my mother-”
The wood of the armrest cried under Steve’s grip, causing you to fall silent in an instant, palm flying to your mouth.
“My apologies, Your Majesty. Please… forgive me. Such talk is not for polite company,” you whispered swiftly, ignoring the sharp itch of tears in the base of your nose, the burn of shame in your cheeks. “…suppose should only serve to prove my point of not-”
“Yes, indeed. Proves my point perfectly.”
You met his gaze, not uttering a single word, hand slowly falling back into your lap.
For a quiet moment, you simply observed each other, each lost in your own thoughts.
You would not hope to image what his thoughts were beyond pity for what you had been through.
He, in turn, could not hope to imagine how deeply beyond overwhelmed by guilt you grew with every passing moment of the silence that had settled, interrupted only by your stumbling, frantic heart.
Sweet. Compassionate. Patient.
A flavour of silence you were not worth of tasting.
You closed your eyes as the fatal confession fell from your lips, unable to face the sincere warmth in his gaze, built up on the lie of you being but a victim, a good person through and through.
“… I stole a knife from your kitchens. When they brought me food, I--- I took it. And hid it… I—I hid it.”
Silence again.
Deeper than before; deep enough for you to drown in your own ragged heartbeat.
Darker too, in your sudden loneliness.
And yet all but such.
The air was cold and stiff and terribly still until it wasn’t.
A whisper of an instinct as ancient as this world, a whisper of what was to come just before it did, was the only thing that prevented you from nearly jumping out of your skin when you felt the touch.
A tender brush of a hand over yours, steadying the tremble by closing around it.
A stunningly, bafflingly gentle squeeze.
Endless warmth seeping through your skin to the very marrow of your bones, golden threads of a profound sense of right threading through your veins all the way to your heart.
The hot tears rolling down your cheeks from your tightly squeezed eyelids were as much shame and as sweet heaviness of relief.
You felt the absence of judgement whispering through your very soul, but you were sure it would coming. It had to.
It had to, for you had sinned, for you had taken what was not rightfully yours, abused kindness-
He might have steadied our hand, but your lower lip began to wobble.
“I am so sorry, there is no--- Your Highness—Your Majesty, no penance, but please-- please forgive me, I-“
I shall make it right, somehow- I--
“I heard.”
A shaky intake of breath caught in your lungs, eyes snapping open.
You were met with Steve, Steve Steve Steve watching you earnestly, the blue of his eyes brimming with emotion.
No anger. No judgement.
Not pity either, not quite.
Compassion.
And a profound understanding already assuring you that despite all logic, despite your confession, no punishment was coming for your crime.
I know of your shortcomings, my sweetling, his touch whispered, I do not blame you; I see you. Gods, do I see you.
He knew. He had known.
And still, he observed you without as much as minute change of expression, without malice or accusation.
Your face was damp with tears, but your throat felt dry, your voice but a scratchy sound.
“They--- they told you… And after all you have offered to me so generously and beyond, you knew I stole from you… and you--- you let me get away with it. So far.”
“Yes.”
“Why?” you choked out, the answer coming written all over his face, nonsensical and yet so right you had no reason to question it.
Because it’s you. Because you are mine.
Steve hummed a soft noncommittal sound. His free hand took your other hand, engulfing it in warmth.
“My mother used to say that one must always fight for what they believe in, for what they deem just – by sword, if necessary. And that yet, oftentimes, the greatest power one can wield is mercy and compassion.”
You shuddered.
You should already be whispering of gratitude. You should be falling to your knees. You should be swearing loyalty.
But you could not move, words growing heavier and heavier on your tongue you as he kept looking at you, hands cradled in his, eyes serious and so deeply kind, patiently waiting for you to process and fully understand what he was saying.
This is the time to exercise that compassion and mercy, my sweetling, and I shall do so.
You cleared your throat, only prepared to state the obvious.
“She... she sounds like a wise woman.”
Steve’s irises lit up with fondness and longing all too familiar; one of love lost, affection for the person who loved you despite your flaws and made you, fundamentally, into who you were.
“She was. Had she not fallen ill in the sick tents where she had been tending to the injured and ill, she would have died of the number of grey hairs I had given her.”
With the smallest of smile tempting your lips, you could not but recall Bucky’s words, all too similar, all too fond too. And you could not but notice how Steve’s voice, slow and reverent, translated perfectly into the affection the portrait of her you had seen had been painted with.
“I do not hold your actions against you. You do not deserve punishment for taking the knife,” he said, tender but firm. “You deserve to feel safe as that is the basic right of all. I stand by that and I shall continue to do so, all the more after what you have just told me. As much as I wish that my right hand, the best soldier and protector in the kingdom, stationed in front of the door to your chamber would make you feel so, I shall not deny you the comfort you are accustomed to.”
For all your confusion at what he meant by that and what by gods he was suggesting, for all the fresh tears rolling down your cheeks, you could not look away; you could not look away from the depth of the blue you were drowning in, the golden threads weaving through your body by Steve’s touch, reaching out through your skin, interlaced into a quilt warmer than anything you had ever felt. Safer than any armour you imagined you could ever wear.
Words failed you.
But perhaps you did not need them just yet.
“I rose from nothing. My father died too young in a senseless war, my mother was a healer serving the Royal army. I was barely a soldier without any chance of ever climbing ranks, until I was fortunate enough to end up fighting side by side with the king… I used to sleep with a rusty knife under my rag of a shawl instead of a pillow too.”
Your breath hitched deeper in your lungs, the sensation of your very soul being seen raw but not entirely unpleasant. For most of the fear people ever felt of being seen stemmed from the fear of being judged if it happened so; and there was nothing but profound understanding staring back at you.
And perhaps your own understanding, however impossible after knowing the man sitting in front of you less than half a day and having spent but half an hour with him, was staring right back at him.
Steven Rogers I., The Just.
The king who believed in justice driven by morality and compassion and mercy rather than cruelty and rigidity inspiring fear. Inspiring loyalty instead.
“So I shall not have you punished and I shall not take your comforts from you. Only, should you accept it, I would rather gift you a dagger as that is a much more proper weapon than a butter knife.”
Your exhale was almost a huff of laughter, a wave of fresh tears flooding your face; for he could not mean that.
And yet; yet you had no doubt he did.
He would reward a theft by another gift. And somehow, at the same time, he was not foolish in the slightest, however incomprehensible his actions were.
The gods and angels must have not only carved his handsome face; they had built his soul and heart with the same tender love, extending their care through his late mother.
The sudden urge to fall to your knees – not to beg forgiveness as it did not seem he would give it if he felt there had been no crime, but to display your respect and gratitude – was halted by the smallest squeeze to your hands. As if he knew; and as if he warned you not to. For to him, there was no need for as much as a thank you.
Perhaps there was a little piece of fool in him; for there was no world where you would not give that at least.
And yet; when you vision cleared, there was something glimmering in his own eyes, that brought a little smile to your still wobbly lips.
“As grateful as I am, your Majesty, for your mercy and such kind offering, I am afraid a knife is all I know how to use. A gift of a dagger would be rather wasted on my hand.”
His smile seemed almost proud; a brush of his thumb over the sensitive skin of your wrist, a warm shudder rushing up your arm, only turned his smile wider.
“Then we shall teach your hand to handle a dagger as well as needed. I can show you – or have Natasha or Bucky teach you. I have yet to meet a person more skilled with blades smaller than a sword than them… should you wish so.”
“…thank you, Your Majesty,” you said, no other words making sense, no words at all able to encompass the entirety of the storm of emotion and wonder raging in your mind and heart alike.
“It will be my pleasure, my lady, to ensure that whichever you choose will be done.”
For I shall fulfil your every wish, my love.
He squeezed your hands gently once more, hesitant as their warmth slowly withdrew, along with the golden tendrils of comfort and profound understanding threading around your heart.
Silence settled on the room once more, sweet and heavy; and too quiet for your mind, swirling with too many loud questions and conjectures, too quiet for your pounding heart and still burning eyes.
And you could not bear it; not for but a few rapid beats of your heart so strong in your tight ribcage you worried the muscle might break free off your chest. Not when he observed you with the steady bottomless kindness you had just understood he had a capacity for – but still made little sense.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty, I—I do not understand. I don’t--- for all you said, for the kindness I can see you have abundance of, I do not understand,” you husked, your voice betraying you, as the intrusive and profoundly evil echo of Henry’s voice whispered slimy answers to the questions you were yet to ask. “Why would you do such? What should I--- what is expected of me? What would you wish me to do in return? What-”
The king’s mouth barely opened when the assault of your questions ceased and you were already apologizing swiftly for it.
“I am sorry. My apologies, for— I should have not--- I-“
The hand to grasp yours returned in an instant; and it should not sooth you as much, for it made no sense, but it did. It did, for it allowed you to breathe again, to meet his gaze, to keep your heart steady. For the warmth and calm returned.
With a single touch.
How? Was that one of the blessings the gods had graced him with? Magic?
“I expect you to be honest with me, my lady,” he said simply, slowly. “I expect you to be honest with yourself. I expect you to do as it is in your power to find happiness in life and I hope you can accept my aid in doing so.”
Why? You wanted to ask, but he was not done, and his thumb drew a soothing circle over your wrist and you lost yourself in the tender gesture, tense shoulders falling, mirroring his own.
“And my hopes are that… perhaps, while staying true to yourself and without any duty you might think you’d have to repay me for that aid… that you might give me a chance.”
“A chance?” you echoed quietly.
“To prove myself a good man to you… worthy to be allowed to try and win over your heart.”
For that is all I wish for, my sweetling, my love, my queen, his voice whispered in your mind, his eyes most sincere despite the utter madness the words carried.
And yet the beat your heart skipped was not one of a startle nor a doubt, as much as your mind protested such reality. It was one of bliss.
He is a king, your mind argued.
He is mine, the heart hummed peacefully in return, and I am his.
The question fell from your lips nevertheless, breathless, but entirely justified.
“Why?”
Why me, the single word implied, even as with any lesser man, the question could also ask why bother proving anything and asking for a chance, when he could simply take.
With Steve, you already knew the answer to the latter, long before he could continue to prove to you as he apparently wished; for he was a good man.
The first shadow of uncertainty in the entirety of the evening passed over his face, hesitation clear as his hand twitched over yours just a bit, his gaze flickering to one of the documents on the edge of the table you had been politely ignoring for you had barely even noticed them, let alone thought to pay them any mind without a grave breach of a law, politeness and trust.
It was a single sheet of parchment, dark ink masterfully curled into letters just as beautiful as the letter you had received from His Majesty; while you could not read the words, for they were too afar and partly concealed by the natural curve of the parchment, you had no doubt the author of the words was holding your hand.
He took a wavering breath, drawing your gaze back to his, and his eyes turned the softest yet, even as his sudden determination shone through, his voice carrying an almost ceremonial note as he recited words that touched your very soul, the warm threads of gold travelling through your veins and bones, blooming inside your chest in an inevitable masterpiece.
“The first snow, like the last ashes, is settling down
A phoenix from them ashes rises, worthy of a crown.
A gentle soul, tireless spirit, bound by chain
Of exquisite beauty, heart restless, clothing plain.
A lonely soul soaked in gold’s already defied fate
Set aflame once it meets eye of its one true mate.
The glory of just rule is one of long-lost precious arts
The key to just world lies in two pure and content hearts.”
You listened with bated breath as the words rolled off Steve’s tongue with reverence; and with familiarity of something one had read and recited to themselves a thousand times before.
You had never heard those words spoken before in your life, you were certain; and yet you’d swear you could have recited them along with him, for you knew them. You would swear on your mother’s grave you knew them; a whisper as old as time itself in the back of your head, goosebumps rising on your skin at the touch of something, an entity that did deserve reverence indeed.
“That is beautiful…” you whispered, a ghost of a smile passing on Steve’s lips, soft. “Where does this come from?”
“A prophecy. Made by the Scalet Witch the day I was crowned the king.”
A prophecy I wrote down and learned by heart for I understood the fatal importance of it, the squeeze of his hand to yours murmured, the brush of his thumb over the back of your hand having your lips part. The importance of you, my sweetling.
A prophecy, your mind echoed, the likeliness of his wordless claim as absurd as the unlikeliness.
It would have been preposterous to believe a prophecy made by a figure as legendary as the Scarlet Witch could be speaking of you of all people.
But it would have been downright foolish to ignore the obvious. You would have to be nothing short of stubbornly blind to not see the reasons why Steve should believe it coming true with your arrival.
‘The first snow.’
‘Fire and ashes.’
‘Bound.’
‘Clothing plain.’
Clothing plain, rang in your mind with more familiarity than anything, your free hand instinctively curling in your skirts, the one dress you had put on and never changed from, almost mindlessly, driven by a force you did not quite understand; and yet you understood it quite well for it was a deep longing to see Steve as soon as possible.
‘Set aflame,’ a whisper sounded in your very soul, the fire your mother had always spoke of, the thing that was meant to keep crackling in your soul and was all but gently kindled by the threads of golden warmth seeping into you through Steve’s touch.
‘Soaked in gold.’
‘Defied fate.’
‘Just rule.’
As clear as these words were to speak of Steve Rogers I., The Just, it seemed as if they, of all things to be said of him, were not chosen by accident. You were feeling the consequences of all these qualities of his at the very moment; basking in the warmth of his touch, having found a relatable experience, having benefited from his merciful sense of justice.
And yes; one might argue other things mentioned were questionable at best and yet, you did not believe the Scarlet Witch said anything at all accidentally.
And neither did Steve.
Steve, who waited patiently for you to process what he had had years to come to terms to.
Had he been waiting, with every arrival of winter, for the prophecy to come true? Looking out of the window awaiting the first snow with longing for the one person, the one thing that seemed most unattainable and yet was the sweetest promise of the prophecy, foreseeing one true love, dooming all other love conquests as possibly futile in the process?
The tender crystals of blue in his irises – as he didn’t shift his gaze away from you, not once in your prolonged silence – were an answer enough.
“One true mate?” you questioned quietly. “…a soulmate?”
“That is my understanding, yes,” he said, not needing a second longer to think. “The one true love one only meets once in their lifetime… if they are fortunate.”
If I could ever be so fortunate, my sweetling, after all the blessings I have already received.
Earned, you wished to argue, fingers twitching, releasing the fabric of your skirts, gravitating towards the hand that held yours, fingertips brushing the skin of his knuckles, roughened by battle and scattered with scars that deserved nothing but a careful, soft touch.
The hitch of Steve’s breath a was tender music to your ears.
“…do you believe it? That…” Your voice faded out, unable, unwilling perhaps, to finish the exhilarating and yet fragile thought.
Not to believe that soulmates existed – you’d like to hope that they did, however they would come to be, written across the stars in your skies, the book of fate, a red string threading through people’s lives – no.
To believe, for some inexplicable reason, that the person for him could be you.
Reluctant to believe it despite fate having toyed with the pair of you more than he was yet to know.
He gulped and cleared his throat at your question, straightening in his seat.
“Yes. The Scarlet Witch has been with the court since I was a boy. She has not once been wrong.”
The Scarlet Witch, yes, you thought, unable to entirely swallow your disappointment at the sheer rationality of the answer while what was blooming inside you was all but.
Without doubt, however, his point was undebatable – for the Scarlet Witch was larger than life.
The mystical woman living everyone and nowhere, in the woods, in the streams, in the wind. No one knew of her true origin, only of her power.
An incredibly gifted prevoyant.
A god-like figure only few were fortunate enough to have seen for longer than a passing moment, let alone spoke to her.
Some believed her to be the daughter of the gods, others whispered she had made a horrible sacrifice of her own children to the gods in exchange for the gift of clairvoyance and other immeasurable powers. Some thought her but a charlatan with clever ways of speaking things; others called them fools for that for they swore that their grand grandfathers had seen her being the witch who would not burn at the stake several kingdoms over. And many had witnessed her to warn kingdoms of floods and fires and diseases killing the crops; many a warning which would be ignored by some and had them pay the highest price for they always came true.
You had no doubt she could see things that were to come… for all you knew, she might even be the sister to Lady Fortuna herself or was able to read her scribbles.
She had not once been wrong indeed; and if she had been, no one dared to speak of it, out of fear and respect alike.
“And yes, my lady. Yes, I do,” Steve added softly, the answer to your true question.
Almost as if he could hear your thoughts; or read in your face that legitimacy of a prophecy was not quite what mattered to you the most, even as it probably should have.
But how could it, if fate, Lady Fortuna, the gods, or whoever or whichever, had led a kind, generous, brilliant and undeniably handsome man into your path?
“Do you believe then that was it fate that brought me here?”
That brought me here to you?
A contemplative furrow appeared on Steve’s brow as his gaze fell lower, his hand shifting on your thigh to cradle your palm, thumb tracing your lifeline almost absently, a small smile playing in the corner of his lips when your other hand instinctively turned palm-up as well, an offering for him to place his free hand there.
Acceptance.
Of him. Of fate. Of whichever brought you here in his path.
Regardless of where that path would lead you.
He laid his hand into yours willingly, warmth seeping through even as it was your hand that cupped his, attempted to despite how large it was. It sent a shudder through your entire body, all but unpleasant, and the smile on his lips grew a fraction.
Does it matter whether it was fate, my sweetling, if you are here with me?
“I believe there is a higher power. The gods, the Lord, Fate, Fortuna – I do not know which. Perhaps all at once,” he mused, thumb still stroking your palm, as if he was trying to commit the sight and feeling to memory. “I… I believe in paths we are offered, perhaps in certain fates which are indeed inevitable… but I believe in free will too. We make choices. And those choices make us who we are and make us responsible for the consequences our actions have. To us or to others.”
His eyes snapped to yours with gravity and it was not difficult to guess what – and whom – he was thinking of; of men who treated others, who had treated you, wholly differently than he was now.
“Should the prophecy, and thus perhaps fate, speak of me meeting you – and I shall hope so and I believe so – then it is still my responsibility to treat you best to my ability and conscience. And I will,” he promised. “…And yes, it might mean then, that perhaps those men were always meant to bring you here, one way or another – but how they chose to try to earn my favour and how they mistreated you, that was their choice and it sent them on the path they walk now.”
The path they walked… in the dungeons, a brand burned on their skin, hands broken—
A tremor whispered along your spine, cold and strangely satisfied yet – and all the higher it reached, the more it made you shiver in reverence and respect in front of that higher power, perhaps fate or Fortuna indeed, who had threaded carefully to lead you here.
And yet, with a choice.
You thought of all the moments you had considered trying to escape but chose not to.
You thought of your choice, however subconscious and desperate, to grab a knife to your protection and giving into the strong urge to confess it to Steve, only to witness him being merciful.
You thought of your father’s choice to drink as much as he had those few fateful nights ago, getting into a brawl; a choice that had made you all the easier target for Henry and Dimitri.
You thought of the men’s decision to take you, to bring any woman to the king in the first place, by any means necessary, all but shy of violence and threats to your life and destroying what could have been left of it right in front of your eyes, such wicked actions, irreversible harm--
You drew in a sharp breath as the realisation landed on your chest heavily, the gravity of the thought this could all have been destiny lit anew.
“You have punished them for arson… and for laying a hand on me…” you whispered, and even as you were staring at your joined hands, you could feel Steve’s gaze on you.
Gaze thoughtful, sorrowful, and heavy with guilt.
You did not have the heart to finish your thought out loud. To voice the accusation, one you would have barely had the right to made, since what he had done was already more than you could ever ask for. To speak of it as of something to hold against him and blame him for.
You could not; for with humility which a deity as large as Fate deserved, you understood.
And so instead, you simply stated the facts.
“You did not punish them for taking me... For whether they were aware of such or not, they were but fulfilling their destiny. Guided by Fate…”
You dared to glance up, strangely certain of your assumptions, eyes falling on Steve’s face torn by guilt, anger and regret for having solved a dilemma the way he had.
“And as powerful as a hand of a king is, any wise man knows to respect the hand of Fate and that of the gods,” you added softly.
Something flashed in Steve’s eyes, his hand twitching in yours, thumb pressing against your palm.
“You are not wrong, my lady,” he admitted, hesitating but briefly before he continued. “But I also… I alone did not feel adequate to give punishment of a gravity fitting the crime since you were the one who has been done irreversible harm.”
Your lips parted, a violent shiver rushing through your very soul, a lick of a justified angry flame at your veins, a fire put out just as fast at the mere thought of holding someone’s fate – someone’s life, entirely possibly, the most precious entity – in your hand.
As empowering and all too terrifying as the thought was, it did not blind you. You were not unaware of the heat that settled in your stomach at the chivalrous and almost savage gesture of giving you the power to choose, instead of doing it himself; nor that you did not see, once again, how justice worked in Steve’s mind and how much you approved of it.
“And so if you choose their punishment and bestow me the power to do so, I will see to it that it is done,” he vowed, eyes boring into yours with intensity that made you see the very flame inside you mirror in his cerulean irises, before his gaze fell in what could only be shame. “But I am but a man too, my lady. Selfish in my ways like any other, despite priding in acting as just as I can. And I… I do struggle to—it is quite difficult for me decide a grave punishment for someone whose actions, however undisputably wicked and condemnable, I benefit from immensely… for you are here.”
And I am trying my damnest to be a good man, my love, for you the most… but I am not perfect. Far from it, whispered your mind in his voice, an apology, an atonement, a plea for forgiveness.
You observed the sorrow on Steve’s face, softened by his last words that made your heart sear, and you could not think of how wrong he was.
Not far from it in the slightest, was what you thought and almost as if he could hear it – or merely understood what the gentle squeeze to his hand meant – his features softened further, gaze lifting back to yours, the faintest hints of a smile in one corner of his lips.
“Can you forgive me for my shortcomings, my lady?”
You reciprocated the small smile, barely fazed anymore but no less grateful for his kindness and self-awareness.
“I cannot forgive for what I do not see as wrong, Steve. ----oh no, I mean-“
Faster than you could comprehend, faster than you could finish your apology for the too familial of an addressing that had no place in your mouth, for in your mind he might have had turned Steve long moments ago, but he remained His Majesty--- three tender fingers were laid over your lips, pressing lightly, sending delightfully dizzying tingle straight into your core, mind coming to a halt as all you could see and feel was him.
His eyes, tenderness incarnate, boring into yours.
His lips, plush and parted.
The touch of his fingers, roughened by hard work but all the more careful, no longer pressing but caressing your mouth, tracing its shape and feeling the stolen air.
His voice, echoing in your mind, resonating within your bones.
“Have never heard a sweeter sound, my sweetling… my lady.”
My love.
His gaze flickered to follow the touch of his fingers, so overwhelmingly warm you were sure you’d never feel a day of cold ever again, your heart racing miles a minute in sinful harmony of the pulse you could swear you could feel on Steve’s fingertips.
Your breath stuck deeper in your throat, a whisper of his name falling from your lips again, his gaze an inferno inviting you to say it over and over again; you only felt your chest finally expand with an inhale when his hand shifted, leaving your lips suddenly cold with but a sweet aftertaste, his knuckles caressing your cheek instead, the tenderness of the gesture filling your lungs with light and sweetness.
My sweetling, he’d said, the true sound of the echo you’d been hearing in your head like the headiest wine, making your head spin – letting you rise into heights you never wanted to leave.
But you did; his hand fell back into yours, a bliss nevertheless, however faint compared to the sensation still pulsing inside your veins and burning in your stomach.
You blinked, gathering your wits, a nearly lost cause given the hypnotizing smile on Steve’s lips.
My sweetling, my love-
“Where are your thoughts, my sweetling?”
Your cheeks burned at the addressing; burned with the urge to smile, gaze where your fingers laid interlaced still, a sight no less alluring with the protective hold Steve’s hands seemed to have on yours.
It took you a while to school your thoughts into coherence, the wild carousel of questions and answers and destiny and choices spinning still.
“Merely thinking about fate and choices… Perhaps Doctor Erskine was always meant to invent his great experiment… but you asking to the be one to undergo the risk brought you to the throne. A little bit of fate. A little bit of choice changing the courses of the lives of many,” you mused, raising your gaze to find Steve observing you, exasperated surprise blended with fondness all over his expression.
“Bucky has been talking.”
Indeed he had.
You smiled, remembering all too well he had clearly told you many things not only to paint Steve in the best possible light, being good a friend, but also to showcase his glee. Glee at Steve meeting someone at least half as stubborn as himself, ready to challenge him – and exasperate him too, to repay his for all the years he had been doing so to others with all the choices he was making in life.
Insane choices made for a greater good. Choices… made on carefully built paths and crossroads of fate itself, steered by the choices of others.
“Yes,” you admitted, seeing no point in denying so. “He also spoke of how--- how much pain it cost you… and how you might have not survived had it not been for the Doctor’s wife’s choice to run off with him from another kingdom and join his efforts.”
Steve’s eyebrow rose; no trace of anger, only surprise. You wondered briefly, if you had revealed too much, knowing more than Bucky could have told you; and whether Steve realized such or not. There was no telling whether the story of the woman – your grandmother – was known to many.
“Bucky truly has been talking… but yes. I believe that might be the case.”
“Her choice… or her fate. Fortune, really.”
‘Lady Fortuna is watching over you, my little love,’ your mother’s voice echoed in your ears for many a time that day, tempting you to believe. Believer her. Believe in fate. Believe in you. ‘The red thread of hers will lead you to your fate.’
Steve smiled warmly, nodding, his thumb stroking over the back of your hand. “Yes. Whichever it was, all there is to know is that I owe them both a great debt.”
For I have lived. For I have lived and have been given the chance guide the lives of many towards a better life.
For I have lived long enough to meet you.
None of those words were spoken and yet – you read them so clear in Steve’s irises they might as well have been.
And whichever choices had been made… you had no doubt they were the right ones, indeed, if they had, eventually, led you here.
Here, where despite all circumstance, everything felt right on such a fundamental level it must have been so.
“They certainly seem to have chosen well.”
Steve’s chest subtly puffed out at the praise, his chin inching higher, a spark of pride appearing in his irises; and it pleased you to have such effect on him, so simply as to speak—
And yet fright seized your mind at once, heart stumbling in your chest painfully, throat tight as it hit you that Steve, ever so slightly, turned into a vision of pride.
And pride… pride was a dangerous thing.
There was no doubt Steve deserved to feel so and had earned your every word of appreciation – to deny you thought so might as well be a crime.
But His Majesty the King was a wholly different entity than you.
For you, you were short of a virtue and exceptionality.
Under Steve’s gaze, with all his sweet words of soulmates and prophecies, with his touch pouring a sweet mist into your head and into your lungs expanding so wildly it affected your heart, it was all too easy – all too tempting – to be led astray. To believe it all to be true.
That you were exceptional.
Special enough to have been chosen by Lady Fortuna to be by his side.
Special enough to be mentioned in a prophecy made by one of the most powerful figures of the entire generation.
‘The women of our family have been blessed; there’s light blooming in our hearts, fire crackling in our souls,’ your mother used to say, the dreamer, the believer in great things, her light having been dimming every day as if to deny her words.
‘Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall,’ your father used to say, your daily bread, the deadly sins, the ten commandments, the warnings not to be seduced by evil that not o rarely wore a pretty face, all gold and promises glinting. ‘Humility, obedience – such is the true way of a good life. The way of a good woman. Honour thy father and thy mother.’
“I am trying to make the best choices possible too,” Steve’s gentle murmur snapped you from your dark reverie.
“From what I have seen, you have done so…” you said, words leaving your lips absently as your mind roamed shadowy places, doubt beginning to sprout in your chest despite the sweet threads of gold still blooming around your heart. “Me, however… it is still difficult to believe, despite all evidence, should we call it such, that a fate so great has been bestowed on me of all people.”
‘Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall—'
Steve’s gaze was inquisitive as it roamed your face, a myriad of emotions suddenly hard to read playing across his features, until a shadow of well-masked sadness covered it, his hold on you growing rather slack.
“I believe it,” he whispered, earnestly so. “And you know already that I believe in fate, in higher power, as much as in choice… What I do not believe in, however, is forced affection.”
Your heart skipped a startled beat, confusion no doubt showing on your face for you were at loss as to why he would say such thing. Unless his displays of affection, so warm and perfect and the incarnation of a home yet to be tainted by grief of a loss, were so.
Forced.
Pretend.
The mere idea was a cold stab straight to your heart, beating vigorously in opposition of the possibility of such being true.
“Please know… Should you not find me worthy, should you find that you do not feel the same… I would never force you to stay, never forced you to charm affection where there is none,” he continued, realization dawning to you and stealing your breath even as your lips parted to disprove the terrible misinterpretation of your own words--- “I would never take back what I have given and never laid a hand on you or otherwise punish you. Should you wish to leave… I would not stop you. I could not… but least I would ask you if you’d accept a chest of precious gems to ensure you were well off.”
But do not, my sweetling. Please. I could not bear it.
My heart would break, half my soul leaving with you.
You blinked, the ache of the loss as if already pulsing inside your ribcage, knocking all air from your lungs.
But it was the last sentence, so nonsensical and so contradictory to the truth of life that has proved to you that you always had to earn the fortune’s favour and the gods’ and Lord’s benevolence – and kindness of strangers, kindness of men – that urged you to ask questions; rather than reassure Steve that leaving was the last thing on your mind. For your heart, your soul, your mind, however foolish to have already fallen for him, would not bear separating from him either.
The loss of the warmth of his touch alone poured potency into the ache in your chest. To leave him altogether would rip you apart.
And yet… how could what he had said ever make sense?
“How would I deserve so? After all you have-“
“For I would never wish you any harm,” he said, his grip on your hand firmer again, his gaze a sea of regret. “And yet, it has already been done.”
Many people have been done harm in the course of their life, you thought to argue, but the touch, the blissful touch returning stopped you at once; and offered clarity without words, Steve’s hold on your hand as strong as the cage of his gaze he trapped yours with.
But none of them are you, my sweetling – and none of them, none, suffered in my name.
And those who had done so, serving me or my kingdom, had done so willingly; and even those, if it were possible, were compensated.
He did not speak those words yet you did not have the faintest doubt that they were true.
For he was the king of the people, serving, like the rest of them.
For he was the king responsible for his people.
And you were one of his already, in one sense of the word or another. A gift to him; whether he had asked for it or not, whether it was fate or someone else’s choice.
In the dim lights of the hearth, you nearly moved your hand to shield your eyes from the strikingly clear sight of him offered, his very soul speaking to you in tongues ancient and never learnt; and yet perfectly comprehensible.
He was not wearing a crown now; not even the simple circlet of gold he had worn when holding the very court you had been dragged to and yet, the shadow of the crown sat on his head heavier and more apparent than a few hours ago. And it was not the precious metal of it that weighted on him; it was the very responsibility he had told you he believed came with being given a choice, grown hundredfold as it came with the power bestowed to him as the king.
And gods help you, you never wished for him to be weighted down, weary with pain or as much as worry – but looking at him now, he was the most beautiful you had yet seen him. A fundamentally, undeniably good man.
And despite that, somehow, he had read your reluctance to belief in being so blessed as something to have anything to do with him not being enough. As if being a soulmate to the embodiment of kindness and fierceness was a feat rather than the most generous gift you had never done anything to deserve and had been given nevertheless.
And perhaps accepting it made you proud.
Perhaps it made you a sinner.
But you would atone for your sins the only way that, seeing the man in front of you, felt right in every fibre of your being.
By loving him.
“I see,” you rasped, emotions thickening your voice as it constricted your throat. “Your kindness sees no bounds… but I believe you misunderstand me.”
He winced as if you slapped him; but the brave man he was, wishing to understand, he held your gaze.
And thankfully, your hands too, still.
You let a small smile curl your lips, causing his head to tilt minutely to the left, some of the previous shadow falling away.
“I do have trouble believing, still… but I do not wish to leave or this not to be true. Quite the opposite. I… I only fear--- there so little sense in all this, and I fear that if there were any chance we might be wrong after all… that in all the hopes and--- wishes of such to be true, that we are— that you are forcing yourself into something you do not… yet-- feel…” Your voice trailed off, weaker with every word while hope grew in Steve’s eyes, determination rising and fleshing out right in front of your eyes.
You suddenly recognized how your worry seemed so silly with all you were feeling and was mirrored in Steve’s face, how it made little sense indeed, but it made all sense, with how you could still feel the touch to your lips, still tingling, still humming in your blood-
Warm.
So warm as his hand left yours, palm cradling your cheek instead, crystal-like blue shining around dark pupils observing you like you were the night skies with the most wonderful and rarest of constellations known to men visible for the first time.
Your breath hitched as the golden warmth seeped into your skin anew, rushing through your veins like the most potent wine and cider combined, neither of which you had touched tonight, but the touch, gentleness and firmness aligned, lit you alive like one of the stars on the skies indeed; and so did Steve’s voice.
“My sweetling… there is no doubt in my mind, in my heart, in my body nor soul,” he whispered and you caught yourself leaning into his touch, nuzzling into his palm, sinking into his tenderness and promise, for nothing had never felt like the touch of divine itself like this before. His eyes crinkled at the edges as you did so, a brilliant soft smile curling his lips. “Seeing you… having the privilege of touching you… it awoken something in me. We only have just met, I barely know your name, and yet I feel like a part of me, deep within me, my heart or my soul-“
“-has known me for a lifetime,” you finished the thought gingerly, finding yourself leaning in, gravitating closer to him, a force of nature you, at last, gave in to, the distance slowly erased.
Much like your doubts; and you were not bothered by either, not in the slightest.
Steve’s expression – and gods, he was nothing short of stunning, even up close, so close his exhale would almost tickle your lips, so so far – grew warmer.
“Yes. Is that…?”
You lowered your gaze, incidentally, glancing over his mouth, the curve of his broad shoulders in your peripheral, all exquisite things to observe.
“I… am not unaffected myself. I do not know how… or why.”
Yes, you do, my sweetling. Yes, you do.
You licked your lips. Steve’s Adam’s apple bobbed.
“Though I suppose I do… or I believe so,” you added, reluctantly raising your gaze only to meet Steve’s, a soft inferno of emotion staring back at you.
“Should you wish, we could explore that path together… I certainly wish so, if I have not made myself clear yet.”
You have, my love, you almost pushed past your lips, the last worry of yours the only obstacle.
That and the fact that Steve’s proximity was much like a spell you were quickly falling under, the sweet vertigo of a free fall making words lose all meaning.
“My only worry then is-“
“Isn’t it weary to worry as much, my sweetling? No need for it… I shall protect you from any further harm. From the gods themselves if I must…”
You sighed, weary indeed, where the weight of his crown seem to have but fade away when he held you.
And how tempting would be to believe him, to let your heart alone guide you, to set your fears and doubt free as if you were the one clutching at them and not the other way around.
“I am not of noble blood,” you husked, the issue seemingly so insignificant with the little distance between Steve’s lips and yours, his fingertips brushing your hair, his palm cradling your face oh so gingerly, his other mirroring the gesture, holding your face like the most precious gem with the fragility of a spring blossom- “Surely-- surely the laws-“
The instinctive flicker of your eyes to his mouth as he licked his lips was nothing short of devastating and delightful, the gentle thud on his forehead against yours almost comically tender compared to the violent pulse and rush of your blood past your ears and temples.
Your eyes slipped shut.
“I am the king… I am the law,” he spoke firmly, even if barely audible, sending a shudder down your spine, not at all cold. “I do discuss all important matters with my council, my trusted ones, the former queen, my friends… but if I wish to make you my queen, if you wish the same--- I shall see it done.”
My sweetling, my love, my queen-
All these wonderful unshakeable vows dissipated the last traces of hesitance and doubt like the very magic the Scarlet Witch possessed was at work, and tangled the words on your tongue.
“If it lightens your soul, my sweetling, Tony-- the late King, was not quite known for standing by the rules as old as his lineage either. I am the living proof of how much. I do not have the faintest care whether you are of nobility or not. I came from nothing. And I rule to my best conscience all the more for it, perhaps… if anything, a wife who understands such is the perfect partner… the perfect queen.”
My queen, sounded possessive and decisive and alluringly sweet and tempting in your ears, Steve’s breath tickling your lips, his warmth, his touch, the vision of him behind your closed eyelids an overwhelming assault on your senses tempting you to give up. To let go.
And you did.
The release of the air stuck in your lungs made you as light as a feather, as warm as the summer midday sun on your skin.
“Are you saying I am nothing, Your Majesty?” you whispered, an intimate tease more than anything.
And what a gorgeous reward you received, hearing his smile in his voice when he spoke again, feeling his fingers twitch on your face, tipping your head back a bit as if on pure instinct.
“Oh no, my sweetling, not at all…”
His lips a hair’s breadth from yours, he stole your breath and gave his in return, offering a torturously long time to withdrew as if you had the slightest intention of doing so--
“You… are everything.”
The small sound born in your throat at the sincerity in his voice was drowned in a sea of bliss.
In the light poured into your veins, sunshine and moonlight and stardust born in your bones and consuming your heart and soul alike.
In the heat spreading through every fibre of your being, from your fingertips to your core, beginning and ending where Steve’s lips pressed against yours with delight of the first kiss and deep familiarity of it having been done thousand times for a lifetime.
In his kiss.
Your hands laid against his chest and shoulder, the most solid anchor in the storm of sensations, his lips warmth and softness incarnate; hesitant but sure, cupping your face still for his hesitance neither stemmed from lack of desire, only fear of rejection.
Your lips parted with a breath, heat thrumming though your body when Steve’s deepened the kiss, thighs clenching at the not unfamiliar but shockingly powerful pulse in your core, your fingers clutching on the fabric of his chemise.
The action must have not gone unnoticed, for he shifted, a silent rumble in his chest and he retreated, parting with pressing a small chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth and a sigh.
Your ragged breathing meddled with his, forehead once more resting against yours, your grip on the fabric unrelenting; the idea of letting go painful despite it being the only logical thing to do.
Later then.
Never.
Steve caressed your hair, another kiss brushing your lips, drunk eagerly like the sweetest cider and the most delicious of wines.
You savoured the taste and let it sink into all your senses, refusing to open your eyes just yet.
“My sweetling, my queen…” Steve rasped, the rumbling noise bringing a tickling swoop into your stomach, “as belated as my questions seems… would you do me the honour of allowing me to court you?”
You huffed a surprised laugh, a quiet delightful sound that felt awfully foreign, an echo of a distant past, and yet so natural in his company. You opened your eyes at last, offered the gorgeous sight of him still savouring the moment, eyelashes casting shadows over his cheekbones, mouth kiss-swollen and red, and gently raked your fingers over his nape, his smile joining yours.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
When he met your gaze, sparkling with joy and the gentlest scold, only then you spoke what your heart had been whispering since the first time you had set your eyes on him, as reluctant as you had been to hear and listen:
“… yes, Steve.”
Another sweet kiss to your lips, before his hands slowly released your face, only to cradle your hand again and press one more kiss to your knuckles like the gentleman he was, a promise to court you and sweep your off your feet indeed.
“Thank you, my lady, for allowing me such honour… I feel I should escort you to your chambers, for the hour must be rather late…”
Before you could protest, for away was the furthest from where you wished to be at the moment-
– Forever, my love, for ever-
-he did so for you.
“Yet I cannot imagine parting from you for the night, not just yet… Would you sit with me for a moment, my sweetling?” he asked for the second time that evening, all respectful despite the profound plea you could not but hear, for it echoed your own, written all over his expression, all over his cheeks dusted with the faintest pink.
Your body sifted closer to him as he let your hand fall between you, never releasing it, and you pressed your free palm to his sternum, glancing up at him with an ever-present smile on your lips.
“It would be an awful shame to waste a drink, wouldn’t it? And a night so wonderful so far… I should wish to stay, my love.”
The endearment rolled off your lips with such ease – so nonsensically true and so right – that you could not find yourself regretting it, less so upon seeing Steve’s gaze light up like the starry frozen night outside, brilliant happiness shining brighter than the sun and the moon together.
“Indeed, my sweetling. Your wish is my pleasure to follow.”
And so after another passing moment of indulging in indecent proximity, you inched away far enough from each other to clear your minds at least a bit, yet not once not touching – a hand, a knee brushing the other, a kiss to your hand, a caress to his knuckles – and toasting to a new courtship.
And your heart – while racing, excited and perhaps a little scared of the future still, and with gentle fire crackling in your soul, with golden threads of affection interlacing with the red thread of fate in your veins – was content and blooming with pure love.
And never once taking your eyes off Steve, you could tell that you were not alone in feeling such.
One next to another, beating in hopeful harmony, sat two pure and content hearts, with a promise of a bright future ahead.
For both of you – and for the entire kingdom too.
S.R. masterlist
Hello esteemed readers 🥰 Thank you for reading all the way here, hopefully with a dreamy smile 😌 I am considering a fourth part where they would... consumate their marriage and union, but have nothing specific in mind, nor a solid plan... for now, their story on paper/screen ends here even as it is their beginning 🥰
Please, remember interaction is love and food for writer's thought, as well as greatly appreciated 💕
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader (ft. Alpine)
WC: ~2.5k
Warnings: Fluff | Hot & Seething Bucky | Overprotective Bucky | Reader being reckless | Cat dad Bucky | Cat mom Reader | Soft!dom Bucky | Allusions to smutty times | Pussy slapping | Spanking | Strictly pampering Bucky | Unbeta'd | Lemme know if I missed anything!
A/N: Sorry for the delay. I posted a few days ago, but dumblr ate it. I scheduled it for yesterday and dumblr gobbled it once more. Finally, I'm posting this from a different device. Here ya go!✨🥹💞
Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! I do not consent to AI scraping my work. Banner & Divider made by me. Picture credits to Pinterest. Check out my other works: Masterlist
Part 2 of Yield to Me. Can be read independently
Set in Captain Softly Stern and Sergeant Toughly Tender universe!
Indulge Away!
Sneeze
Giant. Fucking. Whoops.
You could see the piping hot emotions flicker on his face. Stern. Seething. Smoldering, and then some. All of it culminating into a look that made your breath hitch.
Sneeze
Damn it!
"You need a fuckin' spanking," Bucky groaned with pure frustration. He gripped your arm and hauled you over the threshold of the apartment as the door slammed shut behind you, cutting off the howl of the wind.
"I'd appreciate it if that weren't the 40s kind of spanking, Buck," you managed to snicker. Your teeth were beginning to chatter, a frantic percussion against your lip. You knew you should shut up 'coz Bucky looked ready to burst a nerve, but the freezing cold seemed to have driven away your sense of self-preservation.
Bucky stopped dead in his tracks, making you stumble, your wet feet sliding on the hardwood, and you collided hard against his solid and really warm, horribly inviting chest. His hand immediately flew to the small of your back to steady you, his stormy gaze locked you in his presence, making your heart jump.
"He just kept staring until you felt the urge to start confessing your crimes of the day. You tried to resist-tried-but no one wins a staring contest with Bucky Barnes. The man had an astronomical capacity to stare down and shatter a rock. You were only human, and you splintered in seconds."
"Whaaat?" you dragged out the word, trying to play it off with a casual shrug that only succeeded in sending another spray of icy rainwater onto the floor. You tried to look defiant, but the steady drip-drip-drip into the puddle forming at your feet made you feel increasingly ridiculous.
Bucky looked far from amused. Before you could even finish your excuse, he moved--a blur of broad shoulders and lethal intent. He turned you with a firm, steady push, pinning you back against the hallway wall.
His silence was making your heart race to a new staccato, and those blue eyes pinned you more firmly than his hand under your tits. He moved his other arm to grasp your chin in his warm grip and made you look at him gently.
"Shuttle broke down," you offered weakly, looking everywhere but him. "It wasn't that far…"
"…so you thought running through a goddamn storm was the smart option?" he cut in, his voice dropping into a dangerous register.
That sharp tone made you feel even stupider than you'd already been contemplating. He took one more step, closing the distance until the anger radiating from him was a physical force, enough to heat you up more than the radiator ever could.
Shamefully, a slight--okay, not so slight--wave of horniness crept in, which was entirely Bucky's fault. It was a design flaw on his part; he was so goddamn hot when he was angry. Albeit, this time his fury was directed entirely toward you, and the way he loomed over you made your knees feel a lot weaker than they had a second ago.
"You couldn't fucking call? As I asked you to?"
You looked up, gulping down both your stupidity and that ill-timed spark of horniness as you offered a lopsided smile. You knew you'd messed up. The bravado was starting to leak out of you, replaced by the bone-deep chill of the rain and a heavy, sinking guilt.
"My phone died," you muttered, your voice small against the leftover roar of the storm outside. You looked like a drowned rat, and you knew it, but it was the look of pure, agonizing worry behind Bucky's anger that really made you want to disappear into the floorboards.
Bucky tilted his head, a dark, snarky smirk playing on his lips. It was a beautiful look on him, and it meant you were in deep, deep trouble.
Oh no!
He was moments away from losing his temper entirely. "Power cut at the compound, I'm assuming? Every landline in the state went down simultaneously?"
You rolled your eyes, trying to push past the mounting guilt. "Very funny."
"I'm not laughing."
His hand came up fast, his fingers pinching your chin and forcing your head back until you had no choice but to meet that icy blue stare. Up close, he was a storm all on his own. "What's funny is you fucking didn't call."
"But the shuttle was right there, Buck! Right there!" You gestured wildly toward the window, where the rain was lashing against the glass in violent, rhythmic sheets. "And Steve had the car, and I know how risky it is to ride your bike in this weather, and I just…"
You stopped dead, the words dying in your throat as you noticed the frantic tick in his jaw that signaled he was officially at his limit.
You swiped his hand away, shivering violently now. "I'm soaking wet, and I don't want to hear it anymore," you grumbled, trying to skirt past him, but you didn't even make it a foot. His arm wound around your waist, yanking you back against him.
"You couldn't wait it out somewhere? Ask anyone for a damn phone?" He growled the words into the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your frozen skin. "Or, I don't know… call me before your phone dies?"
You were already wet, and you really didn't want to get any wetter.
You tried desperately to get away from the totally appropriate yet ill-timed scolding, but he simply wouldn't have it. With his metal vice grip, he made it very clear that you weren't going anywhere until he was done with you.
"Need to teach you how to follow orders, sweetheart?" he whispered hoarsely, his breath ghosting against your ear. The rhetorical question made you gasp.
You tried to turn around to face him, but he stopped you. Brushing his lips on your neck, which he knew was the spot.
You moaned, unable to stop yourself.
His other hand sneaked in, flicking your bra open, making your nipples taut from the sudden chill. Unwinding his other hand, he dragged your top up and threw it to the side. He then pulled your bra off.
"Always seeking trouble," he tutted, his frustration-fueled ministrations making you flush hot despite the damp chill clinging to your skin. "Bu…Bucky," you whimpered, pleading with him to end this torture, but he was never one to do half-assed things.
He unbuttoned your jeans, dragging them down with your panties, exposing you completely. He smacked your pussy in retribution, fingers lingering there for a second before slapping again. The sound of your indignant squeal fed right into his ego, sparking a low, triumphant chuckle.
When he tried to push the wet material past your thighs, it clung stubbornly.
Bucky turned you around. His eyes drooped, his tongue peeking out to lick his lips. A sensual heat veiled your body in waves as he bent down on his knees, peeling off your jeans and panties without tearing them for once.
He was bloody testing you, teasing you.
Bucky stood to his full height and wound both hands around your ass.
"Jump," he ordered. You obeyed without a second thought, wrapping your legs around his waist as he hoisted you up. Your damp skin pressed against the furnace of his chest. He carried you to the bathroom with effortless strides, his metal arm a solid anchor beneath you. He reached into the stall, his eyes fixed on the dial, and didn't let you down until the shower was humming, the water steaming at the exact, skin-scalding temperature he knew you preferred.
"Quick wash. You hear me?" he ordered, his voice like grinding stones.
"Yes, Sergeant," you chirped, lifting a hand in a mock, wobbling salute.
Bucky didn't laugh. Instead, he simply stood there, throwing daggers at you with that divine, devastating glare of his. He looked like he wanted to lecture you for another hour, but the sight of you shivering won out. With a final, sharp exhale, he turned on his heel to go mop up the wet, muddy mess you'd dragged from the front door to the hallway.
It gave you a few minutes of blessed silence to mull over your "fantastic" life choices. You were still mentally screaming at your own stupidity when Bucky reappeared in the doorway, a fresh, oversized towel draped over his metal arm.
He didn't say a word. He just gestured for you to spread your arms, his face still a mask of stern disapproval. It was funny, really, the contrast of angry Bucky, who looked ready to eat you, coupled with pampering Bucky, who was already meticulously tucking the corners of the towel around your shoulders to keep the heat in.
When you moved to step closer to him, the bathroom door creaked.
"I thought you were asleep," Bucky sighed, his shoulders dropping an inch as he reached down to intercept the streak of white fur darting across the tile. Alpine was faster, twisting mid-air and jumping out of his reach with a defiant, chirping meow.
"Really? You too, Alpine?" he groaned, sounding genuinely outmatched by the kitten.
"Daddy's in a bad mood, baby. Better go back to sleep," you murmured, the corner of your mouth twitching with a daring bit of mischief.
Bucky whipped his head around to glare at you. He didn't say a word, but his jaw began to tick frantically that told you exactly how much effort it was taking not to break. The sight of it made your own pulse ride high, a frantic drumming in your chest that had nothing to do with the cold.
Alpine tried to escape again to reach you, making Bucky groan, but this time, he was quick enough to scoop her into his strong arms. He cradled her against his chest, his biceps bulging beneath his sleeves, a much-needed sight that warmed you right up.
"Not now, baby. Mommy needs to be taught some lessons," he spoke, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly warning.
He was back within a minute, and before you could even catch your breath, he moved. You didn't even see him reach for you; you just felt the world tilt as he threw you over his shoulder like a sack of grain. His shoulder was a hard, solid anchor against your stomach as he carried you out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.
"I can walk, you know!" you yelped, your face heating up as you dangled against his back.
Bucky didn't offer a single word in reply. Instead, he dropped you unceremoniously onto the center of the bed. The mattress bounced under the sudden weight, leaving you sprawled and disoriented.
"I'm fine," you groaned, scrambling to sit up and trying and failing to summon an ounce of dignity while your hair dripped onto the duvet.
But your body wasn't interested in dignity. To Bucky's utter horror, you sneezed four times in a row-violent, rib-shaking bursts that left you breathless and blinking.
Sneeze. Sneeze. Sneeze. Sneeze.
Bucky let out a low, warning growl.
Sneeze.
Make that five.
Your eyes widened, even as his narrowed into dangerous, icy slits. You didn't wait for the lecture; you scrambled to grab the blanket, cocooning yourself in the heavy wool to hide from the cold and his mounting wrath.
"What the fuck were you thinking, huh?" he started again. This time, he didn't hold back, his voice was loud, authoritative, and echoing off the walls. You let out a dramatic, long-suffering groan that only seemed to fuel his fire.
"Sorry," you offered, tilting your head and pulling your most comically honest "sorry face."
Bucky scoffed, the sound sharp and cynical. He didn't buy the performance for a second, but you could see the way his hands stayed busy, reaching for dry clothes, proving that even when he was yelling, his priority was still you making your heart lurch.
He briskly walked back from the closet, pulled your towel aside and shoved his shirt over your head. You gladly lifted your arms and quickly cocooned yourself in the blanket again.
He stared at you for a whole damn minute. Your eyes thirstily dragged over his crossed arms.
"Shut it," he growled, though there was no real bite left in it. He threw a fresh towel over your head, effectively blinding you, and began vigorously--perhaps a little too vigorously--scrubbing the dampness from your scalp.
"Ow! Ow. Ouch, Buckyyy! My head!" you protested, your head lolling helplessly under the strength of his hands.
He slowed down instantly, his movements turning careful, though he refused to let go.
"Are you going to be angry all night?" your muffled voice drifted out from beneath the terrycloth. It only earned you a sharp scoff.
"Where's that thing?" he asked abruptly. He pulled the towel away, leaving your hair in a wild mess, and marched back toward the closet.
"What thing?" you asked, blinking up at him, curious as he began rummaging through the shelves with focused intensity.
"The thing…" he muttered to himself, his brow furrowed in concentration. "For your hair. I remember we bought it a while ago. From Target."
A realization dawned on you. "The hair dryer, Bucky. Second drawer, left side."
He didn't say a word, just retrieved the device and clicked it on. By the time he was finished, your hair was bone-dry, but you didn't mind the over-the-top intensity one bit, not when he was pampering you with such single-minded devotion.
"It's dry," he finally declared, clicking the power off once he was satisfied. He looked down at the wild, fluffy halo of hair he'd created, and then at you. You gave him a sweet, lingering smile, effectively tempering down his temper.
Bucky chuckled, frustrated but giving up. He threw the towel carelessly onto the chair and climbed onto the bed, making you fall back onto the pillows as he snuck inside the cozy blanket.
"What about my panties, you asked?"
"You wouldn't be needing them," he said, flipping you onto your stomach.
"Buckyyy," you shrieked as his hand moved slowly from the back of your thigh to your butt.
"You need a spanking, remember?"
You moaned as his hand came down hard on your ass before sliding his fingers to your very drenched pussy. Bucky growled. "I'm gonna fuck you till you're sorry," he promised.
By the end of the night, you were sore and hot in more than one way.
Bucky Barnes x female reader x Steve Rogers; Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers
summary: Bucky and Steve graciously make your fantasy of watching them together come true. But it comes for a price. One you may have not be prepared for.
warnings: smut; consensual; D/s undertones; power exchange; hints of voyeurism; orgasm denial; orgasm control; degradation
Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader x Bucky Barnes | Stucky x F!Reader
WC: ~2.5k
Warnings: MDNI | Established relationship | Domestic fluff | Cavity-causing Fluff | Language | Hot supersoldiers alert | Admiring Steve chopping wood | Shirtless Supersoldiers | Protective Supersoldiers| Threesome | A tad bit of smut | Poly relationship | Unbeta'd | Littleshit supersoldiers on the loose | Protective! Supersoldiers | Supersoldier Sandwich | Soft!dom Steve | Soft!dom Bucky | Lemme know if I'm missing anything.
A/N: Thanks for the ask, my love. For some reason, I'm unable to reply to your ask @anika-ann So here is what you kindled. You've unleashed my writing flow. Forever grateful for ya, my sweet. 💗😊 Writing my first fic after a looooooooooooong time. Good gosh it's been a year or so...Kindly bear with me! This is also my submission for Vivifying Valentine's Atelier | Prompt: Tease me and see where that'll get you. And, submission for Steve Rogers Bingo Round 5 | C-3 | @steverogersbingo
Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! I do not consent to AI scraping my work. Banner & Divider made by me. Picture credits to Pinterest. Check out my other works: Masterlist
Set in Captain Softly Stern and Sergeant Toughly Tender universe!
Indulge Away!
Stupid dumb dipshit!
It was near about an hour, and he was still going on.
Feeling trapped in a circular, exhausting debate that felt like it was draining the very marrow from your bones, you were screaming internally. The senior tech lead, a man whose ego was clearly larger than the size of the compound was currently dissecting your calculations for the thermal arrays.
As he spoke, you felt a hot, prickly irritation crawl over your skin.
Every time he said, "Well, actually, if you understood the dynamics..." a new knot of frustration twisted in your chest, teetering on the edge of a jagged explosion. You found yourself staring at the glass casing of the thermal cooler, genuinely wondering if you could shove his giant head inside it if he mansplained one more time.
You were tired AF.
Then, the heavy pressurized doors hissed open. You didn't even look up at first, assuming it was another intern bringing more bad news. But then, the room went unnaturally silent and you looked up.
Steve Rogers Captain America stepped in.
The tech lead actually took a physical step back, his bravado evaporating the moment Steve's shadow fell over him.
"Excuse me," Steve said. The frequency of his voice seemed to vibrate right through the frantic noise in your head, obliterating half of your stress instantly. He didn't even acknowledge the other man's existence. His blue eyes locked onto yours, softening with a look of deep, observant concern.
"Can I talk to you for a second?"
You blinked, your brain struggling to switch gears from liquid cooling to your man.
"Steve? I'm right in the middle of a…" You gestured vaguely at the mess of schematics. It was a damned meeting you'd been praying to escape for hours, but the professional guilt still clung to you.
"It's kinda urgent," he repeated, his eyebrows scrunched in a way that made your heart jump. You quickly gave a once-over. He looked alright. Your mind immediately went to Bucky…was he hurt? Was there a mission that you were not aware of? You'd been so busy you felt like floating through the days. Without another word to the stunned tech lead, you excused yourself and followed Steve into the hallway.
As soon as the doors closed behind you, Steve turned immediately, his large hand winding around your waist to pull you into his space. You stumbled slightly, steadying yourself with your hands flat against his firm chest.
"Steve, what's going on? Is everything…"
"You look like you're about to snap in half," he murmured, cutting you off. He reached up, his thumb grazing the pulse point at the base of your throat, feeling the frantic rhythm of your lingering adrenaline. "Bucky's downstairs. The car is packed. We're leaving."
"Steve, I can't," you protested, your hands flying up to gesture wildly at the door you'd just exited. "We're a week behind on the next design phase, and if I don't finish figuring things out, the whole project stalls…"
"You've got five minutes," he interrupted.
His voice dropped an octave, shifting into that 'Captain' tone, the one that had led armies. It wrapped around you like an unyielding vine. It was a gentle warning, but a warning nonetheless.
"Go back in there, tell them what they need to know for the weekend. If you aren't out by the time the clock hits five, I'm coming back in there and putting you over my shoulder. I don't care who's watching."
You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him about the deadlines and the arrays, but the steady, burning look in his eyes stopped the words cold. He wasn't joking. He was perfectly willing to carry you through a building full of high-ranking scientists.
"Five minutes," he reminded you, stepping back just enough to let you move, though his gaze never left your face. He leaned in one last time, a mischievous glint glimmering in his eyes. "Personally? I'd love an excuse to come back in and get you."
You rolled your eyes, a reluctant, exhausted smile finally breaking through the stress. You knew when you were beaten, and you were beaten long ago. Turning back toward the door, you prepared to give the tech lead the shortest briefing of his life.
Bucky was leaning against the driver's side door, looking far too relaxed in that blue Henley.
As you reached him, trailing behind Steve with your arms crossed and a pout that was mostly performative at this point, Bucky reached out. He cupped your jaw, tilting your face up.
"Thought for sure you'd be coming out over his shoulder," Bucky chuckled, as he leaned down to press a lingering kiss.
"I would've been if I stayed one second longer," you grumbled, though the fight was rapidly draining out of you.
Steve's grin widened, triumphant and impossibly bright as he tossed your laptop bag into the car. He looked back at Bucky, clapping a hand on the roof of the SUV.
"Told ya," he said, his voice brimming with that insufferable lift. "Five-minute warning worked like a charm. Didn't even have to break out the tactical carry."
"You need a break, sweetheart, and that's that." Bucky reaffirmed.
"I'm just outnumbered," you muttered against his chest as he pulled you into a quick, rib-crushing hug.
"Correct," Bucky murmured, already steering you toward the open passenger door with a smirk. "Now get in the car before Steve decides he wants to jog to the cabin and pull us there himself."
Steve scoffed, pulling you in for a kiss.
Charming idiots.
The transition from the sterile tension of the lab to the silence of the woods was almost jarring. As the SUV crunched over the last stretch of gravel, the cabin emerged from the treeline like something pulled from a dream--surreal, secluded, and perfect. Just stunningly perfect.
The structure was a beautiful contradiction of rugged timber and soft, inviting light. On the north side, the forest seemed to be trying to reclaim it; thick, ancient branches of hemlock and oak draped over the roof like a heavy green velvet cloak, shielding it from the rest of the world.
On the south side, the cabin opened up to a sprawling stone patio. It was laid with irregular flags of slate that still held the dying warmth of the afternoon sun. A set of Adirondack chairs sat perched near a fieldstone fire pit, overlooking a steep drop that revealed a breathtaking view of the valley below, now swathed in the purple haze of twilight.
Heavenly.
It was chilly, biting at your cheeks with a crispness that tasted of damp earth and pine resin. Every time you inhaled, the cold felt like it was scrubbing the scent of recycled office air out of your lungs. Your breathing finally leveled out, smoothing into a steady, deep cadence. For the first time in weeks, the only "thermal array" you had to worry about was the heat of the hearth waiting for you inside.
You gasped at the beauty of it all. As you looked around amazed at the scenary, Bucky decided to give you a piggyback ride and who in the right mind would say no to that.
As soon you stepped in, you were carried straight to the bedroom.
In no time, you were stripped and spread between your two men.
"One more, Plum, you can give us one more," Bucky groaned, his thrusts deepening.
You shook your head, whimpering in pleasure.
"She will, Buck," Steve rasped against your neck, pulling your thighs wider for Bucky to grind deliciously against you. With your back to Steve's front, he easily wrapped an arm around your throat, pulling your head up to give you a kiss.
You cried out loud as Bucky decided it was the moment to suck on your tit. In mere seconds, you were falling apart. Bucky groaned, pulling your face close to look you in the eye as he came.
"So pretty, babygirl," he whispered, tugging you into his arms and you let him. Their intoxicating smell wafting around you and the fire crackling in the hearth put you asleep in mere seconds.
You lay there, head smushed on Bucky's chest, limbs tangled between Steve's thighs, and fingers clutching onto Steve's hand, which was wrapped around your waist. They had cleaned you up and put on a soft, oversized t-shirt.
Steve waited a full five minutes after your eyes closed before he dared to move, gently tucking the edge of the blanket around your chin. "Look at her," he whispered, his voice thick with affection wrapped in worry. "You should've seen her in that lab, Buck. I thought she was going to bite that guy's head off."
Bucky let out a silent huff of a laugh, his chest vibrating against your back. He adjusted his arm protectively wrapping you more closer to him weight across your waist.
"Look at those eyebags, she's fucking sapped," Bucky whispered.
"Stubborn as a mule," Steve said, moving closer.
"You mean to say as stubborn as you?" Bucky raised a brow.
Steve rolled his eyes, scoffing weakly.
Bucky snorted, the sound raspy in the quiet room. "Don't you start, Punk. With all the 'I can do this all day.' Where do you think she learned that it's okay to run yourself into the ground?"
"I am not that stubborn," Steve countered, though his protest was weak.
"Right," Bucky whispered, his eyes gleaming with fond exasperation in the firelight. "Honestly, Steve, between the two of you, I'm the only reasonable one in this relationship."
Steve raised an eyebrow, looking pointedly at Bucky, "Reasonable? You're the one who wanted to barge in and beat the shit out of the people worrying her."
"Hey," Bucky muttered defensively, his jaw tightening slightly before he softened again, looking down at you.
Steve reached over, his hand resting briefly on Bucky's shoulder, bridging the gap over your sleeping form. "Well, she's here now."
"Yeah," Bucky murmured, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the cushion. "Mission accomplished."
Bucky had breakfast ready the moment you'd stepped through the door. You tried to sidestep him, your mind still buzzing with the phantom sleep and the orgasms, but Bucky was faster. With a low, rumbling hum of disagreement, he snagged your waist, his large hand anchoring you before he effortlessly pulled you back and settled you firmly onto his lap.
"I'm not hungry, Buck," you insisted, your voice small as you tried to wiggle away from the heat of his chest.
"Oh, I'm not asking, Plum," he countered, his voice a smooth, gravelly command that brooked no argument. He picked up the fork, his metal fingers glinting under the kitchen lights as he held a perfect bite toward you. "Now open your mouth."
Your protests were wild, a flurry of "I'm fine" and "maybe later," but he simply waited you out with that steady, unimpressed gaze until you finally gave in. You let him feed you, one bite at a time.
"Good girl," Bucky murmured with a soft, satisfied smile, leaning in to press a warm kiss to your cheek the moment the plate was clear.
"What's he up to?" you asked, glancing toward the empty hallway, curious about the sudden lack of your other man.
"He's outside," Bucky said, shifting his weight comfortably beneath you. "Chopping some wood."
Your eyebrows shot up instantly, a devious spark lighting up your eyes as you realized exactly what that entailed. "And we're sitting here and missing out?" you asked, a breathless chuckle escaping you as you started to scramble off his lap. "Absolutely not. Let's go."
Bucky let out a short, rhythmic snicker, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched your sudden surge of energy. "Yes, ma'am," he said, offering no resistance as you grabbed his hand and began dragging him toward the door, eager to find where the sound of the axe was echoing through the trees.
You and Bucky settled on the weathered, wooden porch stairs. You leaned into him, your shoulder tucking under his, and he didn't hesitate, draping his thick arm around you, his thumb tracing absentminded circles over your arm as he rested his cheek against the top of your head.
Steve stood planted, his legs set wide for stability, the heavy splitting maul resting momentarily on the block. His skin is already gleaming, a light sheen of sweat catching the warm light, accentuating the deep, familiar contours of his physique...the broad slope of his shoulders, the thick ropes of his biceps, and the V-taper leading to his waist.
Good lord!
With an easy grace, he hoisted the maul high. The muscles across his back bunched and tightened. Muscles so fucking defined that it made you want to climb him up. He paused for a heartbeat at the apex before unleashing the downward swing with smooth power.
The maul dropped with brutal speed, hitting the dead center of the log. There's a sharp CRACK that echoed off the trees, and the two halves of the log spring apart symmetrically, landing neatly at his feet. Steve barely broke the rhythm. Before the sound even faded, he'd bent down to hoist the next piece of oak onto the block. He took a breath, his chest expanding, a slight ripple passing through his abdominal muscles as he readied the maul once more. The fragrance of pine resin and freshly split wood drifted thick on the cool air, mingling with the primal scent of your soldier.
Fuckin' hell!
What did you do to deserve your godly men? You were a lucky bitch, alright.
"Here to help me?" Steve asked, his voice carried effortlessly through the clearing. He didn't stop his rhythm. He reached down, calloused fingers hooking into a fresh log of oak, and hoisted it onto the stump with a grunt of effort that made the muscles in his forearms cord like steel cable.
Show off.
"No," you said, a traitorous giggle bubbling up as you watched the way the rising sun caught the sheen of sweat on his shoulder blades. You tucked your chin closer to Bucky's chest, hiding a devious smirk. "We're strictly here for the entertainment. It's a very high-quality show."
Steve paused, the heavy splitting maul resting near his boots. He looked over his shoulder, squinting against the golden hour light, his hair tousled and damp against his forehead. "You coming, Buck? Or are you just going to sit there with our girl and objectify me?"
Bucky didn't move an inch. He just squeezed you a little tighter, his chest vibrating with a low, rumbling chuckle. "What she said," he jested, his voice raspy and relaxed. He tilted his head, eyeing Steve's form with an appreciative sort of mischief. "Besides, you look fine without my help. Real fine."
"Real fine," you echoed with a dramatic, dreamy sigh, letting your head fall back against Bucky's shoulder so you could take in the full view of Steve's V-tapered back.
Steve let out a huff. With one final, fluid motion, he brought the maul down, burying the blade deep into the heart of the last log with a final, echoing thud. He left it there, the handle quivering, and turned fully toward the porch.
He stood there for a moment, chest heaving with the exertion, hands settling on his hips. He was flushed from the work, his skin glowing in the amber light, but it was the stupidly cute, lopsided smile on his face that really did you in.
"Tease me and see where that'll get you," he declared, his voice dropping into that low, 'Captain' register that usually made people stand at attention, but here, it was a playful promise.
That, of course, was all the permission you and Bucky needed. The teasing only intensified as Steve finally bridged the gap between the chopping block and the porch, smelling of fresh wood shavings and salt. He didn't just give you a good time, he showed you a real fine time.
Well? 😏
Take a moment to reblog if you enjoyed reading it. 🥹
Set in Captain Softly Stern and Sergeant Toughly Tender universe!
