Summary: He's an experiment in living, and she's the stitches that holds the whole thing together. Even over dishes and promises of a Winter Soldier.
MCU Timeline Placement: post-Thunderbolts*
Disclaimers: pure fluff, established relationship, reader is an implied virgin but it isn't discussed, maybe some themes for my upcoming Miss Congressman Barnes series.
-> slowly pulling out of my spiral before the weekend, enjoy my man and whatever this is.
She feels his energy coming up behind her before she feels his hands, low on her hips, palming in slow circles along her curve as he rests his chin on her shoulder. His breath comes steady, like the sun, as he softly edges her back against him until his heartbeat is warm, alive against her spine.
The dishwater is hot between her fingers as she smiles, washing lazy circles over dinner's afterthoughts. The scent of dish soap is strong, but his cologne builds a fortress in her senses. Spins the blood in her ears a little as he presses a soft kiss to her shoulder, humming against her skin. Cool vibranium brushes the off-the-shoulder sweater a little farther away, beard scratching against the soft of her skin.
And Bucky breathes deeply of her scent, a mix of the little blue bottle of soap she insists on buying because of that one commercial, cinnamon Altoids she keeps everywhere to busy her from snacking when she's bored. Nose brushing along the line of her shoulder, she snorts a ticklish giggle, attempting to squirm away.
"Hey," she giggles softly, brushing at his hand with wrinkled, soapy fingers, "quit that, I'm busy." She doesn't mean it, not truly.
Smiling against her skin, she rinses the plate and places it off to the side, in the soft sunlight filling the window gorgeously.
His fingers softly curl into the flesh of her hips, her warmth. Skin he hasn't stopped dreaming about in weeks since the calendar rolled over to the new month, this new season. Always an experiment in living, Bucky's survived just about every facet of living in his century of life beneath the sun. War. Torture. Grief. Pain, manipulation, political uprise, apocalypse. Love, loss, all the blurred lines in between.
Despite all of that, nothing has prepared him for this. Moments between worlds, time that slips through his fingers most days like fast lightning, so few of them slow that it aches. It moves much like the rest of the modern world, too quickly. Shallowly. Very little of it means little, anymore.
But for a man out of time, a man who had died in the ice and came out a different thing, it is a sentinel importance. Something not gambled, easily given. The hours he spends here, in moments like this, will live with him forever. Whether he falls back into the grips of the icy otherworld he'd come from, or if he expands new horizons.
"Two days," he murmurs against the pulse that's steady, strong in her neck. The zip adrenaline that kicks up her blood amuses him to no end, fans a heat through his blood that even God could call sinful. "Two days, sweetheart," his hand cuts gently across her midsection, its softness - the fullness of her he can barely think beyond, all of its promise, for him. "And all of you is mine."
A hundred smaller things have to happen before that moment, he knows. Not all of them necessary, but mostly. There's a certain reverence to all of this she'd asked him to follow, years ago. Difficult but not unsurvivable. They'd made a promise to honor heaven in whatever direction this intimate thing they balanced like stars became, and while very often he cursed it in the quiet of the night and the hours alone, it was a delicate delight. One that he didn't regret, could never.
He'd been patient. Good. Sinfully so.
"Yeah," her hands lift from the water and find his, wrapped around her middle. Warm, her nails curl into his skin, the vibranium of him that is less him and more thing, "I know. Exciting, huh?" The little catch in her breath is enough to drive him to knees, "I'm kinda nervous, Buck."
"Hm?" He chuckles, kissing the spot behind her ear. "I'd be worried if you weren't," it's low from the base of his chest, fingers dipping low to pull at the hem of her oversized New York t-shirt that had, somehow, survived a decade of moving between cities, chasing after him.
"There's nothing to be nervous about. You're perfect."
He feels the heavy breath fall down the back of her throat, the bristle of her fall into line beneath the worry as she wets her bottom lip, attempting to be busy. Her hands bury beneath the water before he can visibly track the slight shake, but he doesn't need to see it to know.
"Yeah," she answered again, voice frail. Quiet. And nothing about her is usually so withdrawn, so small. She's been wild like the sun in his blood since the moment he'd met her, breaking open all those places the ice had sealed within a boy lost in the snow. To have her any other way feels wrong, pulls at the stitches she's so delicately drawn him back together with.
"Hope so. Would really suck if I'm bad at it."
It's a ridiculous thought, but he smiles all the same. "The fact you're worried about it tells me you're not gonna be bad at it," his finger gently guides her head back, to rest on his shoulder. Perfect access to the column of her throat, "and besides. You're forgetting who you're shacking up with."
"Oh, so that's what this is. Shacking up," her eyes roll to consider him, a smile threatening to undo him as she turns to wrap her arms around his neck, chest to chest. "No wonder you got elected, you have such a way with words, Congressman Barnes."
"I have a great speech writer," his brows knit together teasingly as he backs her up against the sink, arctic eyes darting between his and his mouth, "I should introduce you. She's pretty great."
"Is that right?" She hums, head canted to the side as his knuckles gently trace along the line of her collarbone, "Pretty tough to find a good speechwriter in DC that isn't already snapped up."
And it's the slow kisses, the messy ones that numb the torture from his spine and remind him he's still alive. That everything before leads to this moment, that changes everything. He lives and dies in the moments that fall between her hopeless little gasps, the hunger that burns in the back of his throat.
"What can I say," his tongue dips into the heat of her mouth, its softness, and pulls a sigh from her that rips down to his toes, "I'm a lucky son of a bitch."
Bucky can feel the moment her cheeks christen with heat, a sensation he could feel for the rest of his living days. Her smile is slow as she kisses him between giggles, between joy he hasn't felt in the depth of him since the moment he was reborn.
It's a small eternity, kissing her. But never enough. "I love you," her fingers card through his hair lovingly, the slip of them perfect as she arches closer, pressing into him like she's made to his order, "I love you so much, Bucky."
"I love you too, doll," his fingers slip through hers, tightly. Firmly. Like letting go is a foreign law, a grievance against physics. "Always gonna love you."
The Winter Soldier, a New Avenger. It's funny, making promises over dish soap and quiet minutes.
Just come to my ask box and tell me stuff about yourself. Your pets. Your favorite music. What you had for breakfast this morning. Literally anything you want, I love making new friends
I don’t reblog often, but please, feel free to flood my inbox with whatever. I may be slow with responses at times, especially when it comes to requests, but I love interacting with yall! <3
-> TFA (40s) Bucky: roses, without question. he knows he's gorgeous and he's chasing skirts like a dog and will pull out all the stops to get himself some tit. it's the uniform, it's the charm, how alive and bold and unashamed he is. kinda like red roses that have a couple of thorns here and there. "watch yourself, doll, they bite."
-> TWS Bucky: let's be honest, Hydra-insane Bucky may not even know what flowers are, or that such pretty things like you exist. he's a little busy altering history. but I imagine if he stopped for any kind of flower, it would be ones that are wild and a little colorful, wildflowers. they're so pure and innocent looking. they almost laugh. they remind him of a memory he can't put a finger on.
-> Civil War Bucky: post-Hydra, Bucky is a simple man. he lives in a no-nonsense apartment and it's been canonically confirmed by Sebastian Stan that he journals away his trauma and carries them around like whatever the opposite of a badge of honor is. but, he is of his own mind, and if he met a lovely thing like you, you better believe he'd bring you lilies. they're fragrant and pretty and come in lots of different colors, so he brings one of every kind in a bouquet so he doesn't have to face making the wrong choice. and there is absolutely no vase, so he brings them in a mason jar filled with water and sugar, because he remembers his mama using sugar to feed the flowers.
-> Infinity War/Endgame/Wakanda-era Bucky: Bucky 100% can't deny the beauty of a native flower. He doesn't know what flowers are what in Wakanda, but if you're there with Steve showing up to save the world, he absolutely would not hesitate to put one of whatever looks prettiest in your hair, behind your ear. as long as Shuri tells him it's safe. and when he's stateside? trying to pick up the pieces? you better believe he's going to track down the most virgin magnolia you've ever seen.
-> TFATWS: he hasn't danced in a long time, since like 1945. that's a lot of decades, and he really doesn't even know if girls in the modern world like flowers anymore. but, that doesn't stop him. every girl deserves flowers from a guy that can't stop thinking about her, and daisies are pretty unforgettable, so those seem perfect. plus he likes how bright they make your apartment.
-> BNW: we're running for office, babe. and he's absolutely not above spending campaign dollars to spoil his favorite girlie, so two dozen white roses outta do it. with a card. because reasons, and no, it wasn't Sam's idea.
-> Thunderbolts: it could be argued that he's mellowed out in twilight years, being an elected official and all. Congressman Barnes is well beyond making statements just to say words, and he doesn't care about societal norms and connotations. your favorite color is yellow, and you love the smell of roses (he goes wild for the way they take up the air in the apartment) so logic demands yellow roses, every Wednesday, as a middle-of-the-week pick me up at your office. you never used to bring them home until he asked you to, and now he sends two dozen because you really do like the look of them in your office, and he's proud that everybody knows to whom you belong.
⁀➷ Pretty Little Burden // Mafia!Stucky (AU) x F!Reader
Summary: You're a chaos-wrapped assassin with a bloody reputation and a sharp tongue to match. When a job goes sideways, putting you face-to-face with Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes—the city's most feared mafia leaders, tension ignites instantly. What begins as a dangerous partnership quickly spirals into obsession, power plays, and a connection none of you saw coming.
Requested by: @immenselyspicyshrine & anon -- both of you have requested something fairly similar; mafia!Stucky but AU where the reader is an assassin/completely unhinged. I hope you enjoy, and thank you for the requests/lovely comments, you're the best! <3
Everyone said you were unmanageable. Too unstable. Too fucking brutal. Too flirtatious. Too damn much for anyone.
Didn’t stop them from hiring you. And it certainly didn’t stop you from getting the job done.
You’d been trained as an assassin since you were old enough to hold a knife. Raised by killers, shaped by blood and bone and whispered threats in dark corridors. You had a reputation now–earned and sharpened like the blades strapped under your dress.
They said you enjoyed it too much, the killing, the mess that came with it—the aftermath.
Maybe they were right. You didn’t care.
So when you walked into the penthouse suite and found yourself staring down the barrel of a gun held by one of the most dangerous men in the city, you didn’t blink.
Steve Rogers stood tall and cold, a step away, the black muzzle of his pistol steady in his gloved hand, aimed right between your eyes. He was broad, built like a soldier, with the terrifying patience of a man who’d snapped necks just to make a point.
His partner stood just off to the side, metal arm glinting under the low light. Bucky Barnes. A half-smirk curled the edge of his lips as he looked you over, eyes dragging across your body without shame.
“You’re early,” Bucky said, casually. “We expected a man.”
You blew a bubble with your gum, popped it with a loud snap, and shrugged. “Disappointed?”
Steve’s voice was calm, but cold. “You killed four of my men.”
“Correction.” You chewed lazily. “They came at me with guns. I left with a new watch and no bullet holes. Call it a fair trade.”
Bucky raised his brows, amused. Steve didn’t move. Didn't lower the gun either.
“You think this is funny?”
“I think your team was sloppy.” You took a step closer. Steve didn’t stop you. “And I think you two are prettier than I expected.”
Steve’s jaw clenched. Bucky huffed a quiet laugh.
You ran a finger down the front of Steve’s shirt, slow and deliberate, feeling the hardness of his muscles beneath. He didn’t shoot you. His eyes darkened instead.
“You got a name, sweetheart?” Bucky asked, head tilted.
“Yeah. But you’ll be screaming it later, so let’s save the surprise.”
That made Bucky grin. Steve didn’t. But something in his eyes shifted—something dangerous and oh so curious.
“You're fucking unhinged,” he said flatly, the gun remained pointed at your head.
“Takes one to know one, honey.”
You stepped back, surveying the room like you owned it. “Look, I didn't come here for a standoff. I was just finishing another job. Didn’t realise the guys I killed had matching tattoos with yours.”
Steve lowered the gun a fraction. “You’re saying you didn't know they were with me?”
“Didn't care. Still don't. You tossed your gum in a nearby ashtray. “But since we’re all here–”
You gestured around the bloodstained suite, bodies cooling in the hallway. “-Maybe you could use someone who actually knows what they’re doing. Your security detail folded like paper.”
Steve stared at you, silent. “You want a job,” he said finally.
You grinned. “No, I want entertainment. A paycheck would be nice, too.”
Bucky continued to chuckle. “She's fucking insane.”
“And useful,” you reminded. “Let me help you get rid of a few problems.”
Steve exchanged a glance with Bucky, brief and loaded. Familiar. You clocked it instantly. The way Steve’s hand brushed Bucky’s hip, the barely-there touch of shoulders. They were together, or close enough.
And now they were both looking at you like they wanted to break you in half.
“Fine,” Steve said. “One job. Show us what you can do.”
You picked your switchblade off the table and winked. “Don't blink. You’ll miss the fun.”
The first mission was easy. Too easy, so you made it fun.
By the time you returned to the penthouse, blood on your dress and a smile on your face, the cleanup crew was already waiting.
You sauntered past Bucky and Steve, flopping onto the leather couch like it was your throne.
“Diplomat’s not gonna be a problem anymore,” you said, peeling off your gloves.
Steve frowned. “You stabbed him.”
“He called me adorable.” You blinked at him. Innocent. “Besides, it was just the thigh.”
Bucky tossed his gun on the table and leaned back, grinning. “She warned him. Twice.”
Steve sighed like a man who hadn’t slept in three days because he couldn’t handle one girl with a temper and a knife collection.
“Face it, boys,” you said, stretching with a satisfied sigh. “You didn't fall for a princess. You feel for the problem.”
They didn't argue. They just watched you like they already knew they were in trouble.
You came back from the next mission with a cut running from your cheekbone to your jaw, thin, clean, still bleeding and stinging like a bitch.
Steve was the first to notice, standing from his seat. “What the hell happened?” he demanded, his voice sharp as he stepped toward you.
You laughed to yourself as you licked the drop of blood from your lip, explaining, “Someone got lucky, but don’t worry, it didn't last long.”
Bucky whistled low, tilting your face so he could get a better look, “Shit, doll. That’s gonna scar.”
“Hot, right? I’d say it adds to my charm,” you grinned.
Steve's jaw ticked with irritation, “You're not invincible.”
You stepped in close, dragging a finger down his chest like always. “You worried about me, boss?”
His eyes darkened. “You don't take anything seriously, do you?”
“Only orgasms,” you purred.
Bucky burst into laughter, and Steve grabbed your wrist.
“You want to play, huh? Always coming in here flirting with us, you really think you can handle us, sweetheart? Because you can’t.”
It was your turn to tip your head back and laugh, right in his face. “Oh, honey, you should be more worried about being able to handle me. I don’t think either of you would last 10 seconds before busting right in your pants.”
Steve stepped closer, “Inside. Now.”
The moment the bedroom door is shut, the tension finally explodes.
Steve pushed you against the wall, mouth crushing against yours in a brutal kiss that stole your breath. You moaned into it, clawing at his shirt, ignoring the increased sting in your facial wound, blood smearing against Steve’s face. Bucky was then pushing behind you in seconds, hands on your hips, mouth on your neck, sucking brutal marks to the point of bruising.
“You don’t get to scare us like that,” Steve snapped, biting your lower lip with his big hand cupping your jaw.
You couldn’t help but laugh at Steve being vulnerable for a moment, always knowing he had a soft spot for you. “The fuck the fear out of me, boss,” you gasped.
They did. Both of them
Steve tossed you onto the bed, Bucky ripping your dress right down the middle with a feral grin. “You want rough? We’ll give you fucking rough.”
They devoured you. Steve’s hand wrapped around your throat as Bucky slid between your legs, tongue dragging through your folds before plunging inside.
“Taste how sweet she is,” Bucky groaned, eyes glazed. “Fucking addictive.”
He shared your taste with Steve by kissing him hard, pulling his mouth to his, tongues clashing together as you watched beneath.
Steve then pulled away, his hand moving between your legs as his face lowered to yours. The moment you could taste yourself on Steve’s tongue, his fingers slipped into your cunt, pumping and curling until your thighs shook with the need to orgasm.
But they didn’t let you, keeping you edged until you were panting, on the verge of begging.
Then they flipped you over.
Bucky was there, clothes hastily removed, his cock pulsing and pining up to your cunt. You didn’t want to wait, so you backed your hips up, forcing his cock inside instantly, the immediate burn from being stretched caused a scream from your throat.
“Holy fuck, doll. So fucking tight. So perfect. You like this?” Bucky asked, pulling out and thrusting in harshly, hands tightly gripping your hip to the point of pain.
Steve was then in front of you, naked and hand fisting his cock. “That’s mine,” you grunted, slapping his hand away and then pulling his cock to your mouth.
You gagged, tears springing to your eyes, but you didn’t stop, moving back and forth between both dicks.
They used you. Praised you and completely ruined you.
Bucky's metal hand gripped your ass, slapping it hard enough to leave prints. Steve grabbed your hair, forcing your eyes to stay locked on his as you sucked him.
“You’re ours now,” he demanded. “You take us both, and you love it.”
When they flipped you again, you ended up straddling Steve with Bucky behind, both cocks pressing and teasing both of your holes between your legs. You just laughed, high and wild and manic.
“Do it. Fuck me until I scream.”
They did. They double-team you with brutal rhythm, forcing you to feel every inch, the pain that came with it welcomed and only added to your pleasure. You sobbed, your body a live wire of overstimulation, pain and brutal pleasure.
“You like this, don't you?” Bucky hissed. “Like being fucked like a fucking toy.”
Steve was silent, focused and dominant, his hands bruising your thighs, mouth dragging over your collarbones. You came screaming, again and again, your body shaking between them.
They didn't stop until you were begging, laughing like a lunatic and on the verge of passing out. Even when they both came, their seeds filling up both holes and dripping between your legs, did they cling to you with possessive hands and grunts?
The moment the after sex calm washed over the three of you, the energy changed. Both of them eased out of you carefully, taking their time to clean you up, cleansing your body, cleaning your wounds, feeding you, and giving you water.
Then they held you in their arms, cocooning around your exhausted body as you clung to each of their bodies.
You should’ve felt owned. But all you felt was home.
Missions were faster now, more efficient. You, Steve and Bucky moved like a machine. A violent, precise, perfect machine.
You stopped asking for permission. They stopped pretending they didn't love it.
You tore a bullet from your arm with your teeth in a safehouse bathroom and grinned when Steve burst in, furious. “Jesus, you couldn’t wait–”
You simply laughed, preparing to stitch the wound shut. “Didn't want to ruin the sheets.”
He stared at you as if you were fire, and then he kissed you and took over the care.
The nights were worse. Or better. Depending on who you ask.
You came in still wearing blood. Bucky grabbed you at the door, pushing you against the wall, tore open your shirt and whispered, “I fucking missed you.”
Steve watched from the kitchen, still holding his gun.
“Bedroom. Now.”
They tied your wrists above your head this time. You moaned through the gag, hips bucking, cunt dripping around Steve’s thick cock while Bucky fuckd your ass with brutal precision.
You came shaking, sobbing, laughing. The boys were barely human when they finished, panting, gripping you too tightly as you buzz from the after sex glow.
But something was beginning to change.
It had started as pain and power. You needed control, they needed release. You all got what you wanted, rough hands, raw fucking, broken skin and gasping breaths.
But somewhere, the bruises and the aftercare shifted. You caught yourself staring at Steve’s mouth when he laughed.
You let Bucky see you cry. You hated it. This was support to be fucking. Nothing more. You didn’t fall in love. You didn’t get soft.
You were the shaos. The blade. The one who didn't feel.
But the way Steve stroked the apple of your cheek as you fell asleep in his arms? The way Bucky cleaned your wounds like it mattered?
It chipped at your armour. And now, you were sure what scared you more, the feelings or the quiet in your head. Because, for once in your life, you wanted the quiet to stay.
But there was one thing you were sure about. The calm never stayed in your life; that was why you chased the chaos and torture, because that was predictable, but when life was hovering in unknown territory, it wouldn’t ever last.
It started with a phone call you never should’ve answered. You ignored the number a dozen times. An old contact, specifically a very dangerous tie. But curiosity was a bitch, and the voice on the other end was smooth and familiar.
“You’ve gone soft,” he said. “Rogers and Barnes turning you into a house pet?”
You grinned, teeth bared, even though no one could see. “Soft doesn't leave a body count.”
But it lingered. The suggestion. The offer of a job.
Bigger payout than anything Steve could promise—a chance to walk away and start anew with no more feelings, no more confusing softness. No more waking up with Bucky wrapped around you and Steve brushing his lips to your temple like he meant it. No more expecting them to give you up like a stray dog when they get bored with you.
You told yourself you hadn’t said yes, but you also didn't tell them.
They noticed the change. Steve always watched you like a hawk, blue eyes calculating whilst Bucky's jokes got quieter. Their hands still roamed your body like they owned it, but now there was hesitation behind the heat.
One night, after another mission, Steve stood by the window, arms crossed.
“You’re distant,” he said, not looking at you.
You shrugged, slipping off your bloodied jacket. “You like distance. Makes it easier to shoot.”
Bucky sat on the edge of the bed, brow furrowed. “Did we do something wrong?”
You hated the way that hit. “No,” you lied. “Just tied.”
But the voice echoed in your head—the choice.
You could still take the deal. Slip out during the next job. Hand over the intel. Get your freedom. You just had to betray the only two people who ever made you feel like more than a weapon.
And every time Steve brushed your cheek or Bucky called you doll with that stupid smirk, you felt yourself craving. It was getting harder to pretend. But the clock was ticking, and betrayal doesn't wait.
They found out. You didn't even get the chance to explain first. You walked into the penthouse, soaked in rain and gunpowder, heart pounding, phone still in your pocket with the final message typed and just sent.
I'm out. Don't contact me again.
But it didn't matter.
Steve was standing in the centre of the room, fists clenched, jaw locked. Bucky sat at the table, phone in hand, eyes dark and wounded.
“You were gonna sell us out?” Steve's voice was low. Not furious, but worse. Hollow.
You froze.
“I didn’t”, you said barely above a whisper.
Bucky laughed, humourless. “But you thought about it. You fucking planned it.”
You could hardly even breathe as you tried to explain yourself, “I turned the offer down, I swear! Just now, I told them no.”
Steve stepped closer, eyes burning. “Really? And we are just supposed to believe you?”
You shook your head. “Please, I didn’t think–”
“Bullshit,” Bucky snapped. “You always think.”
They were both angry. But underneath it, the hurt was evident. And that was what gutted you most.
“I'm not good at this,” you choked, voice cracking. “I've never had something to lose before. I'm not sure how to feel about it. I thought if I kept the option open, it meant I was still in control for when you both inevitably decide you both don't want me anymore.”
Steve's face softened, barely. “And now?”
Your eyes filled. “Now I feel fucking stupid, Steve. Because I picked you. I picked this. I wanted you to hold me, and I wanted to stop running, and I didn't know how to say that without breaking.”
Bucky stood slowly. “So you were just gonna disappear?”
“No,” you said firmly. “I was going to try. And I still want to. But you found out before I could prove it.”
Silence. No jokes or weapons. Just raw, exposed silence.
“I'm not asking you to forgive me,” you whispered. “But I had to tell you first. Before you threw me out.”
Steve stared at you for a long time. Then he crossed the room and pulled you into his chest. You collapsed.
Not from weakness but from relief. From being seen and not instantly cast aside.
Bucky moved behind you, arms wrapping around both of you. “We’re not saying it's okay. Not yet.”
“I know.”
“But you're still ours. Even if you make it hard.”
“I always make it hard.”
Steve exclaimed hard, something like a laugh caught in it. “There she is.”
You buried your face in his neck. Maybe this wasn’t forgiveness. Not yet. But it was something like hope.
You didn’t sleep after they found out.
Every sound made you flinch. Every shift of the sheets had you thinking they were gone. But they stayed.
They were distant and quiet. So you did what you did best.
You worked.
Intel came in from one of your old contacts, presenting an urgent and time-sensitive matter. A planned hit. On steve and bucky.
You didn't think; you just moved.
They were ambushed in a warehouse. Backup is still fifteen minutes out. Steve was bleeding from a graze to his head. Bucky was pinned down behind a pillar.
And then you arrived—a blur of black leather, flying knives and unrelenting fury.
By the time the dust settled, bodies littered the floor, and your hands were slick with blood. You dropped the last man with a blade to the throat, panting and blood dripping down your face.
Steve stared at you like he didn't know whether to yell or kiss you.
“Saved your asses,” you breathed heavily.
Bucky stood slowly. “You didn't have to come.”
You looked between them with a shrug. “Yes, I did. I needed to protect what’s mine.”
And that was it. The moment that cracked everything open.
The shower scaled your skin, but you didn't care. You stood under the spray, eyes closed and trying not to shake. Then, gentle and grounding, hands touched your back.
You turned slowly, Steve, then Bucky behind him.
Wordlessly, they stepped in with you, clothes soaked, not caring. Steve’s hands cupped your jaw. Lucky kissed your shoulder.
And you broke. “I thought I lost you,” you whispered so quietly they almost didn't hear over the sound of the shower.
“We thought you left,” Steve said, forehead pressed to yours.
“I didn't. I couldn’t.”
Bucky's lips grazed your spine. “We know.”
Then they kissed you, one after the other. Slowly, savouring the feel and taste. Hands roamed your body with care and desperation, bruising in their need but tender in their intent.
They dried you off slowly and carried your exhausted body to bed.
Steve kissed every scar. Bucky held your wrists above your head and whispered how proud he was.
The sex wasn’t painful, or fast or dominant. It was intimate to begin with. Soft touches, bodies moving together like you were made for one another.
Steve slid into you with slow precision, holding your gaze like it hurt to look away, his hands holding your thighs up, giving him more room between your legs.
“You're ours,” he promised. “I don't want to run.”
You nodded, eyes glassy. “I don’t want to run.”
Bucky kissed your mouth, then your neck, then down your body, worshipping all of you.
Steve turned, so he was lying in the centre of the bed, with you straddling his waist. Bucky, now behind, slipped a finger into your puckered back hole. He stretched you for once, easing you open tenderly and carefully, without causing pain.
You were riding Steve's cock and Bucky’s fingers before long, begging for more. Bucky obliged, kneeling directly behind you, lube covering his cock as he slipped into your ass slowly.
You sobbed from the fullness, clinging to them both with a renewed desperation.
They didn't rush, didn't punish. They just held you—Steve's hand around your throat, Bucky teeth on your shoulder.
Each thrust was slow, and each tear you shed, one of them managed to catch with their mouths. “You're safe. You’re loved. You're ours.”
You came undone with their names screaming from your lips. And when it was over, when your body trembled and your chest ached and your soul finally let go.
They held you. You didn't need to say it. They already knew. You belonged to them, and they belonged to you now. Three broken people are finally whole.
Also you can’t tell me that Jubilee didn’t have the fattest crush on him, because look at him. Plus the amount of times he saved her during the pilot episodes of the OG xmen series alone. I would be crushing too girl.
