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ifearzombies · 1 year

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When They Have To Have You (W/FemMC)

[This is very much not for minors. This is about sex and BDSM. 18+ only]

Masterlist: [x]

Belphegor:

You’re in the attic alone, laying on the bed and looking up at the stars overhead. You hear footsteps and smile as you see Belphie enter your view. He sits beside you, laying his head on your chest.

“Hey you,” you ask as you hug him, “Miss me?”

“I did,” Belphie replies as his hand moves over your body, your clothes melting under his touch, “Especially after the fun you had with Beel.”

“I forget you can feel that sometimes.” Your breath hitches as you feel something enter you. You look down and shadowed tendrils take hold of your legs and spread them. Your arms are bound behind your head and Belphie is smiling wickedly at you while two fingers are massaging your folds. “Belphie?”

“How dare you not invite me, little brat,” he chastises, his tail flicking to swat your stomach.

“Mm! You were sleeping,” you argue, trying to free yourself to no avail, “Plus we didn’t exactly plan it. I was actually in the bath! He came in to brush his teeth because he ate Solomon’s cooking.”

“Ah so you let him have dessert, did you?” Belphie’s tail whaps you again as he teases your clit, “You should have woken me up.”

“I’m sorry,” you moan, “Fuck... Be-elphie!”

“Yes~? I’m listening.” You hear him laugh as his fingers leave you. He sucks your fluids off his fingers as his clothes dissipate in a small breeze. He moves to sit on your chest and the tendrils squeeze your breasts together as he starts thrusting between them. His tail is wrapped around your leg and his hands are tilting your head so you look up at him.

“Please... Please fuck me,” you beg as you arched your back and rocked your hips. You want more. You need more. Your body is feeling hot and needy. The lust is nearly overwhelming.

“I will consider it. Now open your mouth, my Toy.”

You comply and kiss and suck on the head of his cock as it thrusts to your face. You can hear the slick from your pussy as the tendrils pound into you. You look close to climaxing when the tendril leaves you and you let out a cry of disappointment.

“Please! Fuck... I’m so close, Belphie.”

“Maybe~.”

He has the tendrils leave your breasts as he grabs your head and he begins fucking your mouth. You moan around the length as you writhe. You start whining for more, trying to move your legs so you can give yourself some sort of stimulation down there to get yourself off. But the tendrils hold firm and keep your legs apart.

Belphegor looks down at you with smugness as he pulls out of your mouth. “Beg me, Toy.”

“Please! Please... Fuck... I need... Need you in me... Please!” Your cries are broken as Belphie’s tail moves to sit right between your legs. It’s some relief, but not enough. “Please Belphie... My pussy is aching. Throbbing... I need you to fuck me! Please! Please give me your cock!”

Belphie looks pleased and his tail begins to move, his eyes never leaving your face. One hand moves to cradle the side to run a thumb over your cheek. “Good girl. But you know what would be better?”

“Ye-es?” You’re gasping for breath, your folds and cheeks soaked from how much you’re leaking fluid from your arousal.

“If you woke up so I could fuck you properly~.”

“What?!”

You wake up in your bed, pajamas and panties soaked. Your body is nearly feverish with need and you realize instantly what happened. Belphie got you worked up while you were sleeping and now you were horny and had to make the walk upstairs to his room to get off.

And of course it was the middle of the night and everyone was asleep with the exception of Beel. You could hear him going to town in the kitchen.

With a huff, you get out of bed and discard your pajamas before grabbing your bathrobe. You’re not bothering with coverings because you’re too desperate. You then wobble your way up to the twin’s room and barge in.

“You. Motherfucker.” You go to the bed and flick Belphie’s nose as he laughs. “You better take care of the problem you started.”

“Only if you beg,” Belphie teases before he flips and pins you to the bed. “Because I will only reward a good girl. And right now you’re being naughty.”

“Fuck...” You bit your lip as Belphie bites your neck. “Please? Belphie... I need you... I want you... Fuck me like you hate me... Punish me...”

“That’s a good toy,” he replies as he slides two fingers into you and begins swirling them around inside you.

“FUCK!” You can’t help but cry out as you drench Belphie’s hand from your orgasm. Your head is practically spinning as the Avatar of Sloth flips you over and reaches for the lube. “Mm? Wha? Are... you finally going to fuck me?”

“Oh. Don’t worry. I very much am,” Belphie replies as he slicks his fingers. He gives your ass a smack before working a finger into your backside, “But I want this hole tonight... That way if Beel comes back we can punish you together. Or I can just fuck your tight ass. I love how tight it is.”

“Mmmf! Oh fuck... I love it... Please... Please Belphie...”

“I think I’m going to fuck this sopping wet pussy first. Fill you with my cum so that when I finally fuck your ass, you make even more a mess of yourself. Because you’re my slutty little toy, aren’t you? You love when I ruin you.”

You do love it. And you reply by rocking your hips back in a wordless plea. You need his cock so bad right now. Your body feels like it’s on fire and your pussy is throbbing with need.

You let out a long, loud moan when Belphie enters you, a second finger working into your ass at the same time. You can’t help but grip the headboard as he fucks you roughly. For the Avatar of Sloth, he’s not lax in lovemaking. His thrusts are shaking the bed and you find yourself begging him for more, the words pouring from you lips like a prayer.

“That’s it, my pretty little toy. Beg me. Worship me. Your pleasure is at my whim,” Belphie purrs as he leans over you to bite and kiss at your back and neck. A third finger enters your ass while his cock continues to punish you. You can practically feel your folds slightly bruising with how roughly he’s taking you.

“Be-Belph-Belphie! I... Fuck... I’m...”

“Do you want my permission to cum? If you cum without it, I’ll have to punish you more.”

“Ple-Please! Ma-May I?”

“You may, my toy. But only because you’re being such a good cocksleeve for me.”

You shout as you climax again. You feel Belphie thrust deep and fill you shortly after. You try to catch your breath, but you fail. As soon as he’s done filling you, he slides his fingers and cock from you, only for you to feel him push into your ass.

“AH! FUCK! OH FUCK!” You can’t help but be loud as Belphie pounds into you. You feel his hand start smacking your ass and you start gripping the sheets. You gasp as your mind slowly becomes hazy. “BELPHIE! MO-MORE! PLEASE!”

Belphie chuckles and obliges, his tail now lashing your back and leaving marks. You know he can tell how oversensitive you are now by the way he’s toying with you. His tail lifts you so you’re both kneeling on the bed, allowing his cock to go even deeper. One hand begins teasing and pinching your chest as the other slides down to tease your clit.

“You getting close again? It’s okay. You can cum, Toy.”

You don’t cum immediately but it’s not long after that you do as Belphie keeps sucking and biting your neck. He thrusts deep one more time and fills your ass before he’s finally too tired to keep toying with you.

“You did such a good job, Toy.” He uses a cleaning spell to fix the bed. But not you. No. He wants you to feel his cum slowly leaking out of you all night. And in the morning. He wants you to make a mess for the brothers to see when you go to the shower in the morning.

You’re too tired to care. You curl up against Belphie as he lays you both down and covers you.

“I love you, my Starlight.”

“I... love... you... too...”

***** TWIN BONUS*****

Beel couldn’t stop eating. He was so hungry. And he kept getting hungrier. And he needed something sweet. With a growl he tore into the ice cream in the freezer. And then the cookies that Lucifer had made for Diavolo. And then into the fruit that was meant for breakfast.

His stomach roared, and he also felt his cock throb. “Dammit... So... So hungry. WHY IS NONE OF THIS FILLING ME?!”

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me om #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #the divider was not made by me #it was made by rubystarrraven

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cut3blush · 1 year

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My Goddess

TW: femdom, ooc Chisaki, flogging

Authors note: He’s a slut

Chisaki kneels at the side of your bed, naked except for his collar, hard, waiting, wanting, salivating as he watches your sleeping form. Your eyes flutter open and he spasms upward, perking up like a waiting puppy for your attention. you moan as you roll to your side. You know he's there but you don’t look at him directly. Just out of the corner of your eye as the dimness of the morning filters through the mini blinds on the window. You smile softly, closing your eyes, moaning softly as you yawn, "Good morning, my slutty whore bitch."

His voice is soft with an edge of hoarseness, he doesn't dare clear his throat, fearful that he may interrupt the serenity of the morning you lifted your lids to greet. "Good morning, my Goddess ..." You cut him off as he was about to whisper your name.

"Climb in next to me, pet. you'm cold. Rub your body." Chisaki expression is one that you purposely open your eyes to see. you see surprise and elation spread quickly across his face as Chisaki wastes no time in sliding himself under your blanket, wrapping himself around you with one arm and with his palm rubs down your arms and your legs. Chisaki is careful not to touch your intimate areas, knowing fully that Chisaki would be punished for touching.

"Pet, rub my breasts also." And Kai does obediently. He can tell as your nipples harden that he is having an effect on you. His touch is kind, admiring, gently and soft. As if he is caressing a delicate flower, gently stroking, kneading, massaging your chest, yet not forgetting about your arms and legs as well. You smile secretly and mischievously, knowing that you’re tempting the fates.

His hands gently massage down your legs, his naughty fingers, moving closer and closer to your wetness. The back of his fingers catch a bit as he pulls away and instinctively he sucks his fingers, his eyes closing as kai tastes it.

Chisaki’s golden eyes spring open rapidly as the thuddy whap comes from the leather tails of your flogger sprawling across his back, two more of the same sounds echo off the walls as his head lowers in submission, whispering softly, "I'm sorry, my Goddess."

"Get up!" you order softly but firmly, your body moving to release Kai from his hold around you. He moves to sit on his legs, kneeling beside you, staring off into space at nothing in particular. "Lean down, you know what to do."

Chisaki nods, with a sad look in his eye. His face hovers over your pussy. His hands are behind his back. One hand clutching the other wrist. You hear his muffled voice, "Goddess...please..."

"No." You say harshly as you slip your fingers in the space between his face and your clit, rubbing slightly, moaning little by little at each swipe. "You want to taste don't you, pet?" You moan again.

"Yes, Goddess, please let me!" Kai says desperately, pleadingly. Another thud at his back as your flogger comes down to meet his flesh. He moans loudly, trying not to move. Another thrash, another moan of his and you feel your wetness start to drip down your lips. He's breathing hard, his hot breath on your clit.

Your body reacts to this, your back arching and your hips rising till your pussy and clit are grinding against his nose. You feel Kai’s tongue and you slap the flogger down again on your back. "No." You demand, though you know Kai will do it again. The grinding of your body against his face begins to slow when you know your juices cover his cheeks, nose, lips, and chin. Chisaki’s mouth opens and before he can do anything you lift you clit into his mouth. "Suck it...NOW!" You grin at this then feel his mouth tighten around you . "Harder." You demand, and he does so obediently.

You moan as you listen to him slurping until you feel his tongue again. This time you let him lap at you a few times before you beat him with the flogger across his back an equal amount of lashings. He moans then begs, "Goddess, let me please you, let me lick you, suckle and nibble you. Please, I'm begging you..."

When you don’t answer Kai leans in, sucking and licking at your clit, to which your flogger equally gives him back as many lashes as he has given licks. You purse your lips together as Chisaki looks up at you, his tongue hanging out, licking your clit slowly. He knows he's defying you. He knows what he's taking without permission. "Get off my bed." You demand. He winces, gets up and moves back to the side of my bed. "Kneel." You’re pointing at the floor. He does so with a pained look in his eyes. You shake your head, "OH no, turn around."

Your pet groans, knowing he will not be watching you. You lash him again for the outburst, he should be grateful to be in your room. His back is to you, close enough for you to whip with your flogger from time to time. Now the thuddy sting is not as pleasurable as before for Kai. Each shriek of breath and pain, his whimpering and shuddering at the leather on his back and the whispers of "More, please, Goddess!" he thinks you can’t hear him say drive your pleasure ever closer as each muffled moan of yours lingers on your lips. Your other hand goes to work on yourself, your moans billowing from your lips. He whines, whispering, "Goddess please...I want to taste you cum all over my face. I want to know I've pleased you."

"You naughty, dirty, little slut whore, it's too late for that. You know the rules." It's so clear that you’re enjoying his frustration and your pleasure. Your lips mutter things, "You don't deserve to even listen to me. Beg for another, dirty bitch." as your fingers massage, play, penetrate, and bring you closer to ecstasy. The rule is simply that Kai is not to touch you in any way without permission or direction.

Another slap of the flogger hits his back as he cries out, "More, Goddess, please!!"

Another thrash of Chisaki’s back cascades its leather strands against his back before your demanding words reach his ears, "Get up here now." He moves swiftly knowing what you want. Your hands reach out to the table beside the bed, pulling out a face harness with a dildo attached to it. He begs and pleads He wants to be the reason that you cum. He wants to satisfy you but he is denied. Your back is turned to him, ass in his face as you lower myself down onto it, moaning loudly as the flexible yet hard cock enters and fills you up.

You move quickly forward pinching his nipples hard as you bounce up and down on his face. As you reach the edge, you slide off him and finish yourself off as you lay beside him. He only is given the right to watch you cum if you allow him and he fucked that up. "That's' all you fucking deserve." Your hand reaches up, unlatching the dildo and shoving it into his mouth. "You're as good as a fuck toy and a towel”.

He whimpers again, his cock is still throbbing. "Don't fucking lick me again without permission." You slap his cock hard with your flogger and smirk, "Now, go buy me something." He whimpers as he gets up and starts getting dressed his back and ass adorned with red streaks.

"As you wish, my Goddess."

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lu-sn · 2 years

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#kpweek2022 day 1: mvp

pete & macau, vegaspete, shooting things for fun, <1K

Pete yelps as he receives a whap to the back of the head, right before the offender circles around to perch himself on the arm of the sofa Pete is sitting on.

“That’s for not telling me you’re a crack shot,” Macau grumbles.

Pete hisses as he gingerly rubs at the back of his head. “Did you have to hit me that hard?”

“That’s on you for withholding literally the coolest thing about you,” Macau says, crossing his arms. “Hia says you grazed his shoulder. I didn’t know that was you.”

“Um.” Pete wonders if he should maybe scooch away from Macau before he gets bopped on the head again. “Yeah, yep. That was me.” He winces. “If it helps, I didn’t mean to hurt him?”

“Obviously,” Macau scoffs. “That’s why you’re so legit. Hia says you shot him as a distraction, so you shot him in the least painful place possible, and you did it from across a parking garage. With your left hand.”

“I’m a leftie,” Pete says weakly.

Macau waves a hand dismissively. “Details. You aimed for a spot inches away from his heart and you nailed it.”

Well, when Macau puts it like that. “I am a pretty good shooter,” Pete admits.

Pretty good is probably underselling it. When Pete started working for the main family, fresh out of the boxing arena and with the ever-burning desire to prove himself worthy, shooting was understandably the skill he sucked at the most. Luckily, shooting was also one of the easier skills to practice. It didn’t tire him out the way hand-to-hand training did, and to be honest he still finds it a bit meditative. So he put in way too many hours at the shooting range — and it paid off. Chan used to pull him for sniper jobs, and that was practically a badge of honor for Pete.

“You’re a sniper? Phi, why the hell are you not on my CS:GO team?”

“What’s CS:GO?” Pete asks bewilderingly.

Macau facepalms. “Okay, you know what, I’ll get to that later.” He abruptly stands up, then grabs Pete by the arm. “Right now, you’re gonna show me your stuff.”

“Holy shit,” Macau says, almost reverently, after an hour of making Pete attempt increasingly ridiculous trick shots. “You’re an absolute beast. What the hell. I’m in the presence of a god.”

Pete isn’t really used to receiving praise, so he awkwardly laughs it off. But there’s a warmth inside his chest that has been growing ever since they got to the range, and it’s making him feel a little giddy.

“What are you waiting for?” Macau shouts at the bodyguard way off in the distance, who’s been reluctantly recruited to throw stuff in the air for Pete to shoot at. “Do the playing cards next.”

Pete is confident enough in his skills to know that he’s not going to hit the guard, but he decides it’s well past time to put the poor man out of his misery. “That’s ok, we can stop here,” he tries.

“Hmm, no,” Macau says, whipping out his phone, “You need to do one more, so I can get it on video. And then you’re gonna teach me.”

“I am?” Pete says.

Macau turns to him, suddenly looking just the slightest bit vulnerable. “Well, yeah,” he says. “I wanna try. Can I?”

Pete just stands there for a moment, struck dumb, before he feels his face break out into a huge grin. He’s never had the chance to teach someone something before. He’s never had someone ask.

He puts the gun he’s holding down, before yanking Macau into a headlock and ruffling his hair, to great protest. “Of course, if my Nong asks so nicely,” he says sweetly.

“Ow, Phi, get off-”

Pete can’t help himself. He hugs Macau tightly, drops a sniff kiss on the top of Macau’s head. Is this what it feels like to have a younger sibling? Pete gets it now.

“Phi! Ew, gross.” Macau frantically manages to extract himself before attempting to knee Pete in the stomach - which Pete manages to deflect, laughing all the while.

“Yes, Macau, I’ll teach you,” Pete says happily as he watches Macau fix his hair. “But you’re going to have to practice, you know? You can’t complain later, when I have you running drills until you drop.”

“A cause worth suffering for,” Macau says magnanimously. “Now stop distracting me, I need footage.”

(Later, Vegas corners Pete in the kitchen, wraps his arms around Pete’s waist from behind. “Are you going to teach me how to shoot too?” he murmurs.

Pete snorts. “Is that a euphemism?”

“Maybe.” Vegas presses closer. “I think I deserve to see just how good you are. And don’t you want to teach me?”

“As if you’re even going to try learning anything.” Pete says, rolling his eyes. “You’ll just use it as an excuse to fuck me. And we really should stop traumatizing the staff.”

“I don’t need an excuse to fuck you,” Vegas says, clearly skipping straight over Pete’s well-earned concern for the staff’s sanity. “See?” he continues, as he begins to drag Pete backwards and out of the kitchen. “Here I am, no excuses.”)

day 1 - day 2 - day 3 - day 4 - day 5 - day 6 - day 7

#kinnporsche #kpweek2022 #pete saengtham #macau theerapanyakul #vegaspete #vegaspetemacau #mine: fic

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tienkou · 2 months

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@sinshosted

It was a Saturday afternoon, a little past lunch. The temperature was still that of the Winter. People are bundled outside with their sweaters and their jackets in this small, lesser-known shopping mall. Aeria, her blonde friend, had carefully chosen it after she mentioned that her new friend Ava did not like the subway. Aeria seemed to have wanted to make sure everything was perfect and comfortable for Ava: according to her, it is not every day one got to build someone's wardrobe from scratch.

She is still not sure what exactly constituted the wardrobe. It looks like Aeria is putting colors, clothes, and accessories on Ava with no rhyme or reason, but the clothes seller would always nod in appreciation with Aeria's choices - so perhaps there is a method to her madness.

She glanced over at the dressing room where Ava was getting changed and her blonde friend speaking loudly and excitedly from outside it.

"-and make sure you tuck in your shirt properly! You're going to a rich person school!" Aeria spoke towards the dressing room, "Gotta make sure you keep up the basic things, or stupid people will make up gossip!"

As Aeria was busy speaking, she glanced over at the large pile of clothes Ava had already worn, separated into acceptable and unacceptable. And the many many hats, lots of hats. Aeria states Ava should keep a collection of sunhats because the redhead looks great in one, especially the straw-colored ones.

Aeria also often asked her opinion - more to train her eye for the fashion - on the many item combinations. Her own comments usually amounted to writing on the tablet: [ Okay ], [ Too bright? ], [I am reminded of x/y/z food ] -

Whap.

"Lils! You gotta pay attention!" her blonde friend Aeria smacked her in the back, pushing another bundle of clothes into her arms, "You're not exempt from learning this too! Look at you, wearing the school uniform on the weekend!"

[ It is a comfortable uniform. ], she replied quickly on her tablet using the slide-writing.

"It's the school uniform! The only reason why it looks remotely decent on you is because you look a perpetually cold bitch," Aeria grumbled, "And between your weird personality and your mean sister, your reputation already sucks. But at least Ava here has a chance."

Aeria returned her attention to the dressing room.

"Hey. We've got a dozen more clothes to try like jackets and coats, and then we have to go to the next store!"

#p #sinshosted

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fanfic-scribbles · 2 years

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Marry Me 2 - Boyfriend’s Back (All Right)

Sequel to: Marry Me

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: You’re settling into married life with Steve quite well when his (ex?)boyfriend Bucky starts making his way back into Steve’s life. You wish he’d do it a little faster but that’s all right– you’re more than willing to lend a helping hand. They’ll thank you for this. Someday.

Quick facts: Romance – Steve Rogers/Reader and Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers leading into Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers/Reader – Female Reader

MCU Timeline: Set some nebulous time after CA:TWS

Words: 7118

Warnings: Mention of past kidnapping/harm to the reader-character and also a brief mention of peril at the end because I like a call-back, a lot of fluff, and one vague dirty joke

A/N: Apologies; I really wanted to get this out last month, but then I got stuck, and then I got rolling, and then I got stuck, and then I got rolling again all the way to the end…and then I had to rewrite the ending three times. I couldn’t quite come as full-circle as I wanted, buuuuut I really like this and I hope you will too! I do not know how much sense this will make without having read “Marry Me” first, but give it a whirl if you are so inclined. Part 3 is partly written, but no promises on when that’ll land, as I’ll be working on another story for my next posting, and I am very…very…slow these days. Well, one sentence a day is better than no sentence a day, and that’s all I can say on that. Anyways, please enjoy, and I hope that the rest of the year finds you well (～￣▽￣)～❤

It’s cold and your husband can not take a hint.

“What about this one?”

You take advantage of the opportunity to lean in closer to try and suck up more of Steve’s ambient heat. You can’t really blame him– he’s excited and distracted and you underestimated the weather today and wore the wrong jacket.

Still…did you have to sit outside when the restaurant has so many wonderful seats open inside?

“It looks warm,” you say longingly while looking at the picturesque Greek coastline.

“It does,” Steve says blithely and makes a note on the page.

It is nice to see him so excited about a vacation, so you smile and suck it up. Mind over matter; surely you can tough out a little chill; this is nothing; you are mentally in Santorini or wherever it is Steve wants to go; you are–

–suddenly ensconced by a big, heavy…jacket…that is so soft and warm and smells quite nice, actually, that you sort of snuggle into it before you look around for whoever has surely accidentally draped it across your shoulders. They must have mistaken you for a friend or something, but while you look, so does Steve, and there is…no one else around.

“Did you see…?” you ask Steve but he shakes his head and his brow furrows in concern. He’s out of his excitement and into his danger-seeking mode, and he gestures for the jacket.

“Here, let me check for–” But as he leans in, he stops and…smells.

You raise both eyebrows. That’s new. “Steve?”

He turns pink and jerks back. “Sorry, I just– that was–” But he smiles slowly and says, “It smells like Bucky.”

“Really?” You bring up the collar and inhale. Bucky has very good taste in aftershave, you think, and Steve relaxes into his seat even though he looks like he’s holding back on as much giddiness as you feel, because that means Bucky is back, and hanging around. You grin at Steve. “You know what this means?”

“That his social skills are as atrocious as ever?” Steve says.

You whap at him with the empty sleeve. “If it’s his jacket, that means he has to come back to get it.”

Steve puts his arm around you. “I guess it does.”

“We’ll have to hold off on the vacation.”

Steve shakes his head. “No, we don’t,” he says. “We don’t even know if he’s actually sticking around.”

“But what if he is and we leave him?” you say.

At that he does look a little hesitant– but then he shrugs. “It’s not like we’re leaving him to fend for himself against the Wet Bandits,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “We won’t be gone that long. Also, if Bucky is sticking around, and decides he wants to tag along behind us, I’m pretty sure he knows how to take a flight.”

“Maybe we can get him to come with us.”

“He won’t even let us see him drop by.”

“Not yet,” you say, already thinking ahead. “It’s okay. We just have to be patient.” Steve snorts. You poke him. He may not have much faith, but this is going to be great.

Operation: Get Husband a Boyfriend is a go.

You’re in the park, trying to angle a nice selfie to send to Steve’s request for one, when you feel a presence just off to the side. Your arm twinges a bit– as if your brain isn’t sending enough danger signals on its own, it has to remind you of the one time you ignored it in favor of your (normally very safe) shortcut home– but nearly as soon as you realize someone is there, you realize that someone is Bucky.

“Sorry,” he says.

“It’s okay,” you say and go back to trying to pose while also keeping the camera at a good spot. If you don’t look at him, maybe he won’t be so nervous and he’ll stay? You’ve handled stray cats more high-strung than Bucky; you can do this.

He reaches over and, with a touch so light it’s like he needs to be able to bolt in an instant, shifts the camera into place for maybe the best angle you’ve ever had. “Thanks! You know, I’m only sending it to Steve. Do you wanna–”

“No.”

“Okay,” you say easily, because boundaries are important and it’s honestly nice to know he’s firm about his. You snap the picture and shoot off the text as quick as you can. “Hey, since you’re here, do you wanna–” But as soon as you lift your head you see that he’s gone. You look around, futile though that is, and let out a sigh.

Well, he came around on his own, so this is still a net positive. Baby steps. Steve himself has bemoaned your stubbornness on more than one occasion when it has won out over his. Bucky has no idea who he’s dealing with.

You’re shifting your grocery bags for the fiftieth time in maybe five minutes and wondering if it would somehow behoove you to eat a third of the food you just bought, when there’s a familiar presence at your side. You take a peek and, thankfully, it is in fact Bucky. “Don’t take this the wrong way, since I do like seeing you show up, but I feel like if you’re watching me grocery shop, we’ve got to get you some better hobbies,” you say and wince as one of the bags falls from your elbow to your much-less fortified wrist.

“I’ve got hobbies,” he mutters, almost as if offended.

“Are they purely for fun or do they serve another purpose too?” you ask.

He looks at the bags. “Do you want help or not?”

You hold out a bag, and he slips two of them off your arm, and then snakes another one from your other hand, leaving you with a decidedly lighter load before he takes a few steps forward and looks back at you. You take a few quick steps to catch up– and hook the elbow of your newly freed arm around his. He stiffens and you hesitate, ready to pull back, but he looks at you and inclines his head forward.

Later, all the groceries are laid out on the counter and you’re in the middle of putting them away when you (very calm and casual and not at all incredibly eager) call out, “I know Steve says he wasn’t much of a cook before, but he’s gotten a lot better now and tonight we’re having–”

As soon as you peek your head into the living room you realize you’re all alone. You sigh heavily– and then again, even heavier, when you see Bucky’s coat is now missing from the rack. Slippery bastard. But he showed up in the first place, and you’re not giving up now. You’re just getting started.

The problem with this situation, though, is that you’re still fairly dependent upon Bucky deciding to show up. Which he hasn’t done for over a week now. Walking into traffic just to see if he pops up like a demented guardian angel seems a bit extreme– and also not something you can do more than once or twice, so you’re keeping it well in reserve.

…But it’s tempting.

“Hey,” Steve says as he enters the room. He sounds happy– just shy of delighted. “How did you know I needed a new shaving brush?”

“Uh…” You look at him and have to think back, but Steve’s shaving set-up is not something you touch. Not after you ruined the nice leather thing he used to sharpen his razor and had to grovel for almost a month. Or at least, what felt like a month. No, everything you learned about straight razors and the maintenance thereof was entirely against your will and only stayed in your head for as long as it took for him to forgive you, and you have kept your distance ever since.

“You didn’t replace it,” he says, watching your face and whatever journey it has gone on while wandering off on memory lane. You shake your head and his expression becomes perplexed. “I could have sworn I didn’t– no, I didn’t even get to the store yet, so how…”

You gasp at the same time Steve’s eyes widen. “I can’t believe it,” you say and turn back to the TV in a fit of annoyance. If he’s going to be leaving gifts would it kill him to also leave a little card?

“I’m going to regret asking this since I know what the answer probably is,” Steve says as he leans on the back of the couch next to you, “–but you didn’t give him a key, did you?”

“I didn’t get a chance,” you grumble. And you’re not sure how you’re going to now, when he won’t pop up, but then Steve is rubbing your shoulders and very successfully distracting you from the problem at hand. “Mm, what’s this for?” you ask but lean in.

“I’m sorry,” he says earnestly.

“For what?” you ask, only half-caring.

“For Bucky,” he says, but before you can tell him he shouldn’t apologize for his boyfriend’s bad manners he adds, “You seem pretty upset about him breaking in and I understand, but he–”

“Pffft.” You wave your hand. “I don’t care; it’s Bucky and he probably left the place safer than he found it. No; my problem is that he left you a gift and didn’t also leave a little note or something telling you. That’s not romantic at all!”

Steve stops, snorts, and then lets his head fall against the cushion next to you. “Seriously?”

“Of course! If he’s going to woo you, he needs to put in more of an effort.” You turn your head and give Steve a little kiss on the cheek. “Don’t worry; I’ll teach him everything I know.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “You’re not seriously going to teach Bucky how to flirt with me, are you?” But just as you open your mouth he stands up. “Sorry; I forgot who I was talking to.”

You pat his hand. The one with the ring. “I’m an expert.”

“Are you also going to teach him how to set someone on fire?”

“First: it wasn’t my fault, the waiter bumped into me; second: nothing should have exploded like that so I’m pretty sure whatever she was using in her hair has been illegal since the eighties; third: she was fine; fourth: Bucky probably knows much better ways of setting fires and explosions,” you say. “Oh…”

Steve sighs heavily and starts walking out of the room. “I need to find out if I can get a restraining order on behalf of another person just to keep you two away from each other.”

You lean back and watch him go. “But would you get it to protect me from Bucky, or to protect Bucky from me?”

“Yes.”

It has taken you way longer than it should have to position this one stupid picture frame when you realize you’ve left the hammer just out of reach. For a moment you consider the merits of driving the nail you’re holding into the wall with your own skull, for the arrogance of trying to do this without a pencil if nothing else, when someone walks casually up behind you. In your securely locked and very safe home.

“Think you forgot something,” Bucky says and slides the hammer over your shoulder so you can grab it.

“You are my hero,” you say and reposition yourself so you can finally drive this stupid nail into the stupid wall. Once that’s done you take a moment– if you turn too fast, will he bolt? …If you don’t turn, will he think he’s unwanted, and bolt? You sigh, and decide to take a chance. “You know, when you get someone a gift, a little card with a sweet message would not go amiss,” you say, turn, and to your (pleased) surprise he’s actually still there.

He rolls his eyes. “Do they have greeting cards that say ‘hey honey, back from the dead?’” he asks.

“Hm…” Probably not, but considering what there are cards for, you hesitate to commit. “If we can’t find one, I can at least get a blank card with a cute picture and we can make our own.” You put your hand on your chest. “I can definitely give you some pointers on romantic messages.”

He stares at you, inscrutable. “You married him.”

“I did!” you say proudly. “I married him knowing he loves me, and knowing he’s always going to love you.” You stare right back at him. “This isn’t a fight, and nobly sacrificing yourself isn’t going to do anything good for either of you. For any of us. That’s not atonement, that’s martyrdom, and don’t you think you and Steve have been through enough without enduring pain just for pain’s sake?”

He looks down, shifts his weight, but though you tense, he doesn’t run. He stays. But it’s so quiet, and he looks so scared, so you clear your throat. “We’re having take-out tonight from an Italian place we love,” you say. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”

He doesn’t move, at first, doesn’t say anything, but then he settles on his back foot and says, quietly, “I like Italian.”

To his credit, he only looks like he regrets it a little when you punch your fist in the air.

It’s dark and you really shouldn’t be walking alone in this area but there is something to be said for taking your life back after a traumatic experience. Or so you will say, when Steve inevitably gets mad at you for being out and alone like this.

Truth be told, you’re not so fond of it either– if you could go back in time you’d pick a nice bright coffee shop to sit at while you text Steve to come meet you, or just suck it up and pay for a cab. But no, an interminable subway delay led to ‘doing something different,’ and ‘it isn’t that far,’ and ‘can’t be a nervous wreck forever,’ and now you’re gripping your phone like it’s more of a literal lifeline than just a glorified map.

A car comes up on your side and slows. You cross your arms and hold your phone closer to your body. Great; just what today needed.

“Hey baby–”

Another body comes between you and the car– a very bulky one, and an arm slides gently over your shoulders as Bucky grunts, the men spit out rude epithets, and the car speeds off. You take a deep breath and he tightens his hold on you. “What the hell are you doing over here?” he asks, apparently having taken the same lessons on how to lecture that Steve has. Actually, Steve probably got it from him, now that you think about it.

“Taking a detour,” you say and stand straighter. “The subway was way delayed.”

“They run out of cabs when I wasn’t looking?”

You look away. “It’s not that far.”

“It’s safer.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t be a scaredy-cat forever now can I?” you say a little sharper than you mean to. You take a few moments, and you sigh. “Though I guess that’s not true, since I am.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being cautious,” Bucky says, and squeezes you gently. “Taking risks and bein’ reckless ain't exactly sticking it to them.”

Given some of the…explosive methods Bucky has used in taking out Hydra bases, you hope he can feel the way you stare at him.

Feel, no, but otherwise sense, yes, apparently. “Shut up,” he mutters and shoots you a side-glare.

“I didn’t say anything,” you say and lift your nose.

“Don’t hav’ta,” he huffs and pokes your side, making you laugh reflexively and you hit his stomach. Which feels about as solid as his arm, so at least you don’t smack it hard. He gives a little half-smile, and nods ahead at your home coming into sight. “I know what I’m doing.”

Steve comes to the door to meet you and is, predictably, unamused by how late you are, even with your very handy escort, but it all gets smoothed over, because you are an expert in handling Steve Rogers by now.

“Do you want to stay the night?” Steve asks Bucky, very casually, and you try to mimic his attitude by being very normal (really) and pretending like you haven’t been waiting forever (a few weeks) for an opening like this.

Bucky stares at you, though, enough that confusion helps you calm down enough to ask, “What?”

He fights a losing battle against a small smile. “Just wondering how long it’ll take you to vibrate into the stratosphere from pretending to keep your cool.”

Your jaw drops and Steve (the traitor) laughs. On one hand, that was pretty good. On the other hand…you can’t just let him win.

“Sorry Bucky; as much as I appreciate and respect you as Steve’s boyfriend, seeing me vibrate into the stratosphere is a relationship milestone you have to apply for after a substantial amount of groundwork.” You grin. “Just ask Steve.”

Steve chokes and Bucky turns red, and for a moment you fear you might have actually scared him off, but he slumps. “Good luck,” he mutters to Steve before going inside and Steve, still a traitor, rubs his face and nods, and then all but drags you in.

Bucky leaves in the morning before you wake (of course), but while the bed is made to look as pristine as if no one was ever there, you know for a fact that Bucky stayed, and for no real reason other than it was offered. You’ll take it.

Over the next few weeks Bucky pops in and out as he pleases. Sometimes he lets himself be seen, but rarely, even though he always makes his presence known. Mostly by Steve, who mentions hearing the guest room window pop open, or having heard someone putter around the kitchen. You find traces of him by the replenished food stores– you can barely tell he drank any juice but he still gets a whole new carton to make up for the half-cup he must have taken– and the way the house gets mysteriously cleaner overnight. Typically, the kitchen and the spare bathroom get a wipe down, but the guest bedroom is always way nicer than you left it.

It’s starting to drive you a little insane.

You leave a note on the fridge telling him not to replace anything, you’re going shopping later and it’s fine, only for him to predict half your shopping list and put it where you can see it. You hide the cleaning products only to walk in to a kitchen counter fresh enough to perform surgery on. His hospital corners somehow get even tighter when you start going into the guest bedroom at night, pulling at the blankets and setting the pillows just slightly askew. Not enough to make a mess, but enough to make it…human.

He's acting like he has to make up for his very existence and, though there’s probably a lot of psychological heartbreak in that, you know he’s also doing it to tweak you at this point.

He’s doing too damn good a job at it.

One night you’re replacing one of the pillows slightly left of center when someone loudly clears their throat behind you and you jump guiltily to find Steve, arms crossed and leaning against the doorway with a look that would be stern if he wasn’t also slightly smiling.

“You know, it might be old-fashioned…” he says and drops the act as he walks into the room to stand in front of you. “But I thought a host was supposed to make a room nicer for a guest.”

You huff and cross your arms. “Some people get guests that aren’t constantly antagonizing them.”

“By doing shopping and cleaning up whatever mess he’s made?” Steve asks. “Other people would kill for a guest so considerate.”

“Yeah well maybe they don’t care about their guests enough, but I know what he’s doing and why,” you say, starting to get a little heated, but this has been coming for a while, and if Bucky won’t show his face to get it, Steve can damn well pass it along. “He’s being too considerate; he’s acting like his entire existence is a stain and it’s driving me up a wall!”

Steve jerks back but your frown is deep-set and you tighten the fold of your arms. “Like you said, he’s a guest, which means we take care of him,” you say. “If he doesn’t want that then he can be a-a resident; a member of the house– if he wants to be– but either way he’s walking on eggshells right now, like he owes us something, and I swear to God if he starts leaving rent money I am getting Natasha involved to track him down so I can deck him. He’s not a fucking Brownie and I don’t know how else to make him stop acting like his presence is an inconvenience when it’s not!”

“Hey, easy,” Steve says softly and gently takes you in his arms. It’s nice. He does give really good hugs, and against your will some of the anger fades. “This really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

You let your head flop against his chest. “I could be a good host if he’d fucking let me.”

Steve rubs your back and lets you cool off a little bit more. After a few moments he says, “And a good host short-sheets the guest bed?”

You push yourself further into him and grumble. “At this point he deserves it.”

Later that night you wake to some noise and shuffling– and open your eyes to the delightful sight of Bucky, sour-faced, wearing a soft shirt and sweatpants, crawling into bed on Steve’s other side as Steve holds up the blanket. When Bucky sees you awake his scowl deepens. “Fuck you,” he says, and though Steve is facing away, you see him shake with laughter.

“Good night jerk-face,” you say and snuggle back into the best sleep of your life.

After that Bucky no longer takes great pains to sneak in and out. He goes back to the guest bed (that he makes you painstakingly remake under his very watchful eye) and spends his days doing…something you’re probably better off not asking about. But he takes the key you had made for him and uses the door. He sticks around for movie night and shares in the popcorn you offer. He drinks a soda without immediately buying a replacement case, but comes grocery shopping when you ask for a little extra muscle. He writes insulting messages on the whiteboard for Steve that make your husband roll his eyes and pout at you in betrayal when you laugh. He keeps his room tidy but starts to leave little things behind. He forgets his jacket on the back of the couch. At the end of the day, he comes home.

The more Bucky settles in, the less you have to worry about him. Which is, of course, a good thing– however, it means you have more mental energy to devote to your own crap. Which is…not ideal. You’d swear you had been doing better after that whole ‘kidnapping’ thing, but now the nights seem to get darker, the side streets emptier, and nearly every person looks suspicious. It’s stupid. And you don’t want to tell Steve– it took forever to get him to stop hovering and you don’t want to make him anxious for no reason too, but you’re starting to get paranoid. It feels like someone’s watching you– not all the time, but often enough that constant vigilance is starting to wear.

Like now. You’ve had such a rough day you decided to treat yourself to a well-made drink at a nearby coffee shop. Steve is still working and though Bucky hadn’t wanted anything when you’d asked, he had offered to walk with you. You had declined– it was so close to home and you were going to come right back– and so you had left him tap-tapping away on his laptop in the living room.

Now though…

It’s really, really stupid. It’s not even night; the sun is right in the midst of setting, and you’re in the middle of a bustling coffee shop, getting ready to walk down a city sidewalk that is far from barren, back home where the world’s most dangerous (former) assassin sits waiting, and you…

You feel so unsettled you can’t even make yourself step just outside.

After a few minutes of awkward shuffling to get out of the way of other people coming and going while pretending to text, you concede defeat and actually send a message to Bucky that reads, ‘Do you want to take a little walk still?’

Not even five seconds later you receive a response: ‘Are you safe?’

‘Yes,’ you reply immediately and sigh. You know Bucky well enough by now to know that as soon as he got the text he shut his laptop and started getting ready to head out. That’s a guy who doesn’t do take-backs. ‘I’m just being stupid.’

‘You got a long way to go to catch up to Steve. ETA 10 min’

‘15 if this damn tourist doesn’t MOVE’

You smile at the follow-up and look around. You don’t want to commandeer a table for the short time you’ll be here, but standing by the door is weird. You wander back over to the display case and pretend to very seriously consider baked goods you just don’t have a taste for right now.

It doesn’t feel like ten minutes have gone by when a hand settles on your shoulder, and that’s why you jump. Or so you’ll say if anybody asks, but Bucky studies you like he’s just looking for confirmation for an answer he already has, and then he lifts his head and glances around.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” you ask.

“Nah; don’t wanna spoil my appetite,” he says and throws his arm around your shoulders. “You’re getting extra potstickers tonight, right?”

At the mere mention you scowl. “I’d love to ruin your appetite,” you say even as he leads you out of the shop. “Especially if it means you stop stealing my food.”

“It’s called ‘sharing.’”

“Sharing implies asking, and being granted permission.” But you stay close to him as you walk home. “We’re getting extra extra potstickers.”

“Sounds like permission to me,” he says and squeezes you a little closer. Though he can’t protect you from everything– something you learned the hard way– you feel safe right now, and that’s enough.

The feeling lasts well into the remainder of the night, as you and Steve settle into bed. He curls his arm around you and dims the lights, and you snuggle closer into his chest. The doors and windows have all been checked, as Steve, and now Bucky, are wont to do, and you are as safe as anyone can be.

“I’m sorry I’ve been busy lately,” Steve says softly and runs his hand up and down your back in soft, slow strokes.

“I know. I go through all this trouble to get you a boyfriend and you hardly see him,” you say and turn your smile up at him, just in case.

He smiles back. “To say nothing of my wife,” he says with an added little huff, though his tone is light, and he kisses your forehead. “At least my boyfriend goes running with me in the mornings.”

“He does?” There is not an expression sad enough even for Captain America to make to get you up before the sun just to try to keep pace with a supersoldier. Even Sam has long since lost patience with him, and only joins when he can deal with Steve’s nonsense. “Oh. I’m glad you have a regular jogging buddy again.”

“Yeah. I do.” He goes quiet, but he remains looking at you. “I’ll be home sooner this week. We can go back to planning our vacation.”

“That’ll be nice.”

“Mm hm.”

He stares for a few moments and it slowly dawns on you as to why. You sigh. “Bucky’s a snitch,” you grumble and flop face-first into the pillow.

“A real double-crosser,” Steve agrees lightly and continues stroking your back. Well…it does feel nice, so you fold your arms under your head and look at him again. “You feeling all right, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you say. At his raised eyebrows you flop your face back into your arms. You peek, though, and Steve has changed to a gentle expression that breaks your heart.

“A strategist through and through,” you huff and turn your head back to the side. He chuckles and you try to relax. “I’m…better, I think; I’ve just been a little off lately.”

“If you’ve noticed anything–”

“I haven’t,” you say. “I’m just being paranoid. Honest.”

He studies you for a few moments more, as though he can see whether or not you’re telling the truth. Foolish, considering you once hid a mountainous chocolate cake practically right under his very nose, but you let him have a few moments to determine your sincerity until he comes down on the right side and settles in. He shuts his eyes and you follow suit.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again,” he says, his arm laying across you. “And neither will our boyfriend.”

You’re just about to drift off when you catch his wording and you crack open your eye. “Your boyfriend.”

“Mm hm,” he says, already well on his way to sleep. You smile to yourself and follow. You can needle him about his slip of the tongue later.

It has been another long day, but when you come home at the end of it, Steve is home, and making dinner with Bucky in the kitchen. They don’t acknowledge you at first, too caught up in a conversation obviously well-established, and you take a moment to watch Steve shoulder-check Bucky and get cursed out before he turns his head to you, smiling and laughing. He brightens even more when he sees you, though he then takes in all of you. “Hey sweetheart,” he says warmly. “Rough day?”

You don’t respond with words, instead going up to him and flopping your forehead right onto his shoulder. He shifts to circle an arm around you, and brings you in between him and Bucky.

Bucky lifts a spoon filled with steaming sauce up to your face. “Try this,” he says.

You blow a bit and then have a taste. “Mm,” you say. “Just a little more salt?”

“Told you,” Bucky says and Steve moves as if to hip-check him, before remembering you are in between. Steve ducks sheepishly and you roll your eyes before you hip-check him.

“That’s my cue to get out of here,” you say and step back, giving Steve a little kiss on the cheek before you go. Instinctively you turn towards Bucky and– stop, because you can’t kiss him, he’s not your boyfriend, he’s Steve’s boyfriend, that would be weird, but oh no, now he’s staring at you, and Steve is staring at you (and smirking, like he knows how you almost slipped,) and it’s getting a little awkward so you do the only thing you can think of.

You kiss two fingers and press them to Bucky’s cheek.

Steve snorts, and Bucky looks bewildered. He then looks so offended that you ask, “What?”

“I don’t have fucking cooties,” he says, sounding a bit sour, and turns back to the pot.

You smirk, and then start drawing on his flesh arm. “Circle, circle–” You lose all pretense of gentility and jab his arm a couple of times, which makes him jump and swear which you ignore to finish, “–dot, dot, now you’ve had your cooties sh– ack!”

Bucky has you in a gentle headlock and Steve, your husband, love of your life, apple of your eye, supposedly devoted, there through sickness and health, or so he has lied, does absolutely nothing to help you. “If you two are going to roughhouse, can you do it away from dinner?” he says.

You and Bucky stop and share a look.

Soon Steve is rubbing his arm and muttering under his breath and giving the both of you dirty looks as Bucky goes back to calmly stirring the sauce. You smile sweetly and give your husband a kiss that seems to mollify him a little– and then, you figure, what the hell, and you give Bucky an exaggerated kiss to the back of his head. “Mwah!”

“Inoculation working great, doc,” he says without turning around. “I don’t feel even a little queasy.”

You roll your eyes over to Steve. “I’m going to murder your boyfriend.”

Steve snorts and then, in unison, they both say, “Good luck.”

You mutter and retreat to the bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes. And call Natasha to see if she can help make you a widow.

“What do you think of this one, Bucky?”

“I think it’s your vacation,” he says and continues to read his book.

You’re laying across the couch and, by association, Steve and Bucky, who sit on it properly– poor suckers they are. Your legs are draped across Steve’s lap and your head is on Bucky’s thigh, and though you can’t read whatever language the spine of his book is in, you’re pretty sure it’s boring and not as nice as the pretty pictures you’re perusing on your tablet.

You poke the book just above your face. He somehow keeps it completely still so you poke it harder, and he retaliates by bopping your nose with it. “Ow,” you say mostly on reflex. Steve chuckles and pats your feet but otherwise keeps reading his boring reports. He’d humor you if you asked, but in all honesty you’ve made your decision already, and it’s more fun to bother Bucky.

“Come on,” you say. Maybe you whine. Just a little. “When’s the last time you sat on a beach for hours doing nothing?”

The way he goes still make you think he’s thinking– and you suddenly realize, yeah, assassin who was an exceptional sniper even before the bad guys got their hands on him, that’s probably not something you want him to delve too deep into, so you quickly amend, “When’s the last time you laid on a beach for a vacation?”

He moves his book just so he can give you an incredulous look. You grin and move your tablet in front of your face, image-side up. “So you’re overdue!” you say proudly.

He, somehow, bops you with your own tablet. “Ow.”

You lay the tablet on your lap and rub your nose, and you’re back to staring at the spine of his book. However, he says, “I’m not crashing your vacation.”

You roll your eyes. “You followed us close enough to give me your jacket when I was cold. You really expect me to believe you weren’t planning on following us?”

Unfortunately, you are not fast enough to put your hand up before he gets you again. Next time you’ll forgo the leg rub and keep your head closer to Steve; you’re pretty sure he’s smart enough not to provoke you.

“I don’t know if you need protection from Bucky or protection from yourself.”

Then again, maybe not.

Bucky slots into your life with Steve even better than you had hoped. He’s handy around the house, considerate, and always fun to bug when you need some quick entertainment. It’s really quite…nice. You had worried about the potential awkwardness– a lot, actually; more than either Steve or Bucky would likely ever give you credit for. However, the only uncomfortable moments come when Bucky is trying to be too polite (in your ever un-humble opinion) and you’ve found you can easily diffuse said moments by being very rude, which has the intended effect of making Bucky more comfortable around you, and the unintended-but-still-pleasurable side-effect of making Steve very red. Every time.

Bucky even eventually gets used to you throwing an arm around him, or giving him a hug, to the point where he starts to relax, and lean in, and one day, miracle of miracles, even reflexively puts an arm around you in return. He’s busy (because the best hugs are given randomly) but he squeezes you, rubs your shoulder, and lets his arm drop, but he’s only handling the TV remote and so it just kind of curls partly behind you on the sofa. You smile proudly at Steve to find him already watching the both of you with undeniable love in his eyes. It’s…nice. It’s nice how happy Steve is, and how well you get on with Bucky, to the point where you’re happy to see him and sit with him and spend time with both him and Steve. It’s nice. You should be friends with your husband’s boyfriend. This is totally appropriate. This is completely fine.

What’s not completely fine, is that you weren’t just paranoid. Somebody has been watching you, and now you’re in a derelict factory, on the run from a maniac who wants to hurt Steve by proxy, which is gross and offensive and if you weren’t so tragically allergic to pain you’d take this large plank of wood you’re holding and go give him a good whack with it. You almost had when the guy had actually done a little sing-song “Come out, come out, wherever you are.” There’s a level of pathetic you’ll allow in your kidnapping/murder attempts and you have far, far surpassed it.

You sigh heavily. Kidnapping/murder attempts. Plural. Seriously, what is your life.

A body suddenly comes from around a corner and you shriek and bring up the flimsy piece of wood to bring it down as hard as you possibly can. The man holds up his arm defensively and the fucking thing breaks the goddamn cheap piece of–

Wait. Arm.

“Bucky!” you gasp, toss the broken piece of wood down, and leap onto him to cling like a koala.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, holding you easily even as he feels you over for injuries, and then immediately wraps both his arms around you. “That was a good swing, doll.”

“You have no idea how glad I am to see you,” you say into his chest. Your heart starts to return to normal. You can breathe. Steve isn’t here, and you do desperately want to see him, but seeing Bucky is good too.

“I think I can imagine,” Bucky says and doesn’t let go even as you set your feet down and loosen your grip to give him a chance. You pull your face back to look at him and…oh dear; you suddenly feel very, very grateful. His hair is a little windswept, and he’s looking at you just as intensely, and you wonder if maybe, possibly, perhaps, you need to have a conversation with Steve about how sharing is caring. As Bucky puts his hand on your cheek and presses his forehead to yours, but does not move to do anything else, you…

“Bucky?” you say, nearly breathless and very, very much restraining yourself.

“Yeah Doll?” he says, sounding just as hard-pressed as you not to move forward.

“We…” You lick your lips and his eyes immediately flick down and damn it, when they flick back up there’s an intensity there that nearly makes you weak in the knees. “We should talk to Steve.”

He swallows and your eyes flick down to his throat before you make eye contact again. He opens his mouth.

“Steve is going to be damned glad to see the two of you stop dancing around each other.”

You gasp and try to jerk away but Bucky reacts by hugging you tight with one arm while the other brings up his gun and the two of you look to a walkway just a level up to see–

“Steve!” you breathe in relief, happy to see him safe.

He grins, and before you can remind him for the umpteenth time to stop testing the limits of his poor knees, he grips the railing with one hand and leaps down. Bucky exhales heavily and slips his gun back into place, letting you go for Steve to come over and check that you’re all right for himself.

“Wait,” you say and pull back from him. He looks like the cat that got the cream, looking between you and Bucky. “You’re smug.”

“I am,” he says and flashes you a little grin. “You two finally got a goddamn clue. So can you just kiss already?”

“You knew?” you– and Bucky– say in unison.

Steve rolls his eyes like the know-it-all little shit he is (seriously, you love him, but some of his past ass-kickings must have been deserved), but his gaze softens when he looks at you again. “Yeah, I knew. Serum gave me perfect vision, you know,” he says. “And it’s plain common-sense. Knew it was only a matter of time before the two most charming people in my life charmed the socks off each other too.”

You roll your eyes and look at Bucky, but instead of shared exasperation, you find his gaze very firmly settled on you. You don’t know what to do at first, but you smile and eventually say, “Your boyfriend’s a pain in the ass.”

“Been that way for a century now,” Bucky says, cracking a smile and sliding an arm behind you. You take a step, and he slowly pulls you in. “It’s good to have backup for a punk like him.”

“Mm hm,” you say, because there’s nothing else to say, and you and Bucky continue your slow trajectory into each other, until your lips finally meet, and it feels natural and good and right to kiss your husband’s boyfriend. And…yours now too.

You get about ten seconds of peace before said husband ruins the mood. “Finally. I can’t believe it took you two so long though do you know how many times I’ve wanted to take both your heads and just knock them toge–”

Bucky yanks him in by the shirt collar and Steve reflexively steadies himself with one hand on Bucky’s shoulder and the other hand on yours. A three-way kiss is as awkward as you would have assumed, but that’s all right. You have plenty of time to figure it out.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #captain america reader insert #avengers reader insert #mcu reader insert #established steve x reader #developing bucky x reader x steve

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snowisflesh · 1 year

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need people to send me images of brain griffin to redraw before i go insane

#i have.run out of ways to draw him sucking penis so were here #whap whap its wolfgang

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klarion-the-witch-boy · 4 months

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So. The emotions are uncooperative right now. I'm interacting bare minimum until it passes, because it would suck to transfer this passing Mood on anyone. At the same time, though, the emotions are like "no one likes you" which *rolls up newspaper* is not true *whaps inner voice with newspaper* at all, shut up.

#out of context shit #nightblogging #lmao

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elsanna-shenanigans · 3 months

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December 2023/January 2024 Contest Submission #3: NightLink

Words: ca. 2,900 Setting: modern AU Lemon: lime CW: none

Elsa’s delicate fingernails danced without pressing down along her backlit Macbook keyboard—tikitikitik—one of countless nervous habits she channeled through her restless hands on a daily, weekly, lifetime basis. She sat hunched over her kitchen counter in the dark, blinking into the cool glow of the laptop screen like a neurotic mushroom.

“You need to let loose,”Kristoff had said to her two weeks ago, during a lull while they polished up pint glasses behind the bar. “Spice up your life a little.”

“I don’t take romantic advice from guys who quote Spice Girls,” Elsa retorted.

“Yeah, well, you could use it. I see you vibrating with pent-up frustration whenever a female with a pulse comes up to order a drink. So, what’s the issue?”

What could she say? It’s not like she could tell him why no one was good enough, why no one could even come close to—god, it was shameful just thinking about it. So she just whapped his arm with a dish towel and said, “I’m not trying your stupid hookup site.”

But she was lonely. And yes, vibrating with pent-up frustration.

She tried the stupid hookup site.

Now, weeks later, she sat at her laptop and questioned the life choices that had brought her to this corner of the internet on her night off. NIGHTLINK proclaimed the banner in lurid scarlet script. Below that, in joyless contrast, was the Terms and Conditions page. Elsa had set that part of the website as her bookmark because the homepage’s bouncing, jiggling DickTok ads and lecherous mosaic of g-string thirst traps scared her.

But what scared her even more: a tiny red inbox notification blinking in the lower corner of the screen. The little speech bubble icon had been pinging patiently at her for the last ten minutes while she stared, stewed, screwed up the courage to open the new message.

What if it was from her?

“They’re just internet randoms,” Elsa chastised herself, rubbing her elbow. “Who the hell cares? Just read it.”

So she sucked in a deep breath and opened her messages.

[NEW] Subject: u want sum?

She let out a sigh. False alarm.

Her eyes drifted to the message thread second from the top:

[1:18 P.M.] Subject: still awake?

Elsa’s nails skittered across the keys in another fitful burst of phantom typing: tikitikitik. No new messages from the one person whose notifications made her heart skip a beat. It had taken her entire lunch break to craft and commit to a reply, so why crickets ten whole hours later?

Whatever. Just internet randoms. She opened the new message at the top of her inbox.

The sender, EforEveryone, hadn’t even bothered typing a body to the message. All he’d sent was a photo attachment; a tiny thumbnail beneath the subject linepreviewed the nice surprise he had sent over for her viewing pleasure.

Elsa grimaced. Why did so many of them turn the camera flash on for dick pics? Did they want their junk to look like a naked mole rat?

As for the rest of him: EforEveryone’s profile picture showed a shirtless, sunburned bro flipping the bird at—Elsa surmised—all the haters. She could just imagine his sleazy voice:

u want sum?

“No thank you,” Elsa grunted, then hit BLOCK. She’d set her preferences to women only, but like clockwork, a steady influx of thirsty internet dudes came sniffing around with zero sense of boundaries. Actually… zero sense. Full stop.

Navigating back to her inbox, she skimmed over more than a dozen subject lines proposing threesomes and/or drooling over the girl-girl preference listed on her profile.

Nearly all of them, except…

[1:18 P.M.] Subject: still awake?

Elsa clicked on the second message in her inbox. She couldn’t help it.

Her fingernails tapped a frenetic rhythm on the granite countertop while she gazed at the profile picture that appeared on her screen. ginger4u13 lay on her back, molten red hair fanned out on a pillow, while a lacy maroon bra pushed up generous cleavage. The picture cropped just below a tantalizing slice of the girl’s taut white stomach. A flaming heart emoji pasted on the picture obscured her face.

God, this girl was so… she was just so…

Elsa hated to admit that she might have a type.

And it wasn’t just the picture that excited Elsa. Just rereading that morning’s messages with ginger4u13 made Elsa’s cheeks burn.

ginger4u13:

i want to say something really forward, but i’m worried i’ll scare you off

it’s about your picture

Wanderlusting:

Try me.

Elsa’s reply had read like a deadpan delivery, but her heart had been pounding in her throat when the girl diverted from light flirting into this territory. Elsa’s own picture—a vacation snapshot from her January solo trip to Iceland’s Blue Lagoon hot springs—showed her half-submerged in a sweeping expanse of milky blue water, tendrils of steam rising up around her, with snow-capped black cliffs jutting out in the breathtaking backdrop. She’d censored her face with a black rectangle, of course, but the string bikini left little to the imagination. She marveled at her own daring in uploading the picture—at asking a Korean tourist to snap the full-body photograph in the first place—but it was a big hit with the horny straight guys and unicorn hunters flooding her inbox. As for the women…

ginger4u13:

looking at you in the hot springs, i can’t help thinking

that blush on your chest is so sexy

my mind goes to one of my favorite things about being with a woman

hmmm, i should stop

Wanderlusting:

You can go on.

I’m curious.

ginger4u13:

i love the way a woman’s body flushes with color when you heat her up with your hands

so when i see you like that in your picture, i just think…

ginger4u13:

sorry, was that too much?

Wanderlusting:

It’s not.

I like it.

Your words are triggering my imagination.

That was an understatement. Elsa had spent the entire morning pacing her apartment like a tiger in a cage. Elsa had never thought to appreciate this physical detail, but now that it was in her head, it was so incredibly suggestive. She imagined ginger4u13’s photo come to life, flushing pink just above her breasts the way the girl had described. She also imagined the girl’s chest heaving off-rhythm with quickening breaths, sweat gleaming at the hollow of her throat, a bloom of color heating up behind scattered freckles.

…What?

Elsa couldn’t know that ginger4u13 had freckles behind the emoji that obscured her face. Why would she imagine that? Her thoughts were wandering to such dangerous places.

“I’m going to hell,” Elsa rasped, mouth dry. She hopped off the stool and padded to the fridge for a bottle of water. Standing in the stark light pouring out from inside the fridge, she started in on what had become—in the last three days she’d been chatting with ginger4u13—her constant spiral of self-reassurance. Surely she wasn’t a complete degenerate for gravitating towards a girl who so, so closely resembled her literal sister?

Florence Pugh married a dude who’s nearly identical to her dad, Elsa thought as she sipped, and she keeps scoring roles in blockbusters, so it’s not some unforgivable offense that will get a girl canceled. This is just a subconscious affinity our monkey brains make when we select our partners.

She carried the water back to her laptop and hopped back up on the stool. On the tail end of that afternoon’s exchange, she had composed a proposition that took all of her courage to type. Only to be ghosted. Elsa groaned and dropped her head into her hands.

This is what I get for following Kristoff’s advice. I’m so bad at this, it’s pathetic.

To torture herself, Elsa scrolled down to reread her rejected proposition. Then her cheeks tingled as the blood drained from her face.

She’d typed the message, but hadn’t hit send. The sentence waited in the limbo of the chat composition bar:

Do you want to trade more pictures?

Elsa stifled a strangled cry of dismay in her fist. ginger4u13 must think she’s the ghost. Before she could second-guess herself, Elsa hit send on the message draft.

Wanderlusting:

Do you want to trade more pictures?

Elsa chugged down the rest of her water. When she looked back to the screen, she spotted a green dot indicating ginger4u13 had logged online. Barely thirty seconds had elapsed. Then, a typing bubble appeared.

ginger4u13:

yes

i want to see more of you

do you want more of me?

Elsa chewed her lip. Once again, her mind wandered.

Wanderlusting:

More than you know.

ginger4u13:

give me 5 minutes :)

i want to snap something🌶️just for you

Elsa sat frozen on the stool for a minute. She hadn’t thought this far ahead. She didn’t think she would get this far, especially not with an internet random who was so absolutely gorgeous and easy to talk to.

something 🌶️ just for you

That very minute, ginger4u13 was taking a photo exclusively for Elsa. Not a selection pulled from the selfie bank—a real-time glimpse. The thought electrified Elsa with excitement. She closed her laptop, hopped off the stool, and weaved her way through the dark kitchen into her bedroom. When she switched on the lamp next to the bed, she took a minute to appreciate how well her floor-to-ceiling mirror would suit full-body thirst traps.

She’d never used it for that purpose before.

But for this girl, who was so… who was just so…

Elsa pulled down her sweats and stripped off her T-shirt.

Five minutes later, she sat in her lingerie on the edge of the bed and swiped through her camera roll. The photos were… fine. Elsa had no idea how to pose herself seductively, and had settled for toying with her bra strap. At the very least, she could work a nervous tic into a suggestive pose, sliding the strap partway down her shoulder. She selected the photo where the light and shadow play best captured the subtle parentheses of her obliques—a feature she actually liked about herself. After hastily scribbling over her face in the photo markup editor, Elsa lay back on the bed and opened the NightLink app on her phone.

Nothing from ginger4u13 yet. It had been seven minutes; had she changed her mind? But Elsa had already committed to the photo shoot. She uploaded the thirst trap… and hit send. Then, after a minute, she figured the picture looked weird without any accompanying text, so she typed out:

Wanderlusting:

Just for you.

A typing bubble appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again, and once more disappeared. Elsa’s heart rate spiked—insecurity, suspense, and arousal clashed within her. A moment later:

ginger4u13:

you are so fucking

unbelievably

gorgeous💦

The wet emoji—Elsa blinked. What was the girl implying? That she was… that Elsa had made her…?

ginger4u13:

you’ve got me sweating now

Elsa cleared her throat. Right. She began typing an automatic “Thank you,” then thought better of it. Too sterile.

Wanderlusting:

Like I said, just for you.

If I’m being honest… talking to you has already had me sweating.

ginger4u13:

really?

Elsa hesitated. Then:

Wanderlusting:

Absolutely.

Your words, your picture

I think you might be just my type.

ginger4u13:

i’d love to be your type

Before Elsa could reply, a photo attachment filled her phone screen.

All the blood rushed to one pulsing point below her stomach.

ginger4u13 lay on her back, this time pulling the camera back far enough to show more of her body. She stretched out in dark lingerie, spine arched just so, showing off the smooth expanse of her bare stomach, her thighs tightly squeezed together. One hand squeezed her left breast, the thumb sliding her bra a few inches aside to reveal a taut, pink nipple. The photo cut off just above her lips—a tantalizing hint at an identity just out of reach.

Elsa drank in the photo for a full minute, skin tingling all over.

Just for you.

She fumbled and backspaced through typos. Then:

Wanderlusting:

Is it wrong that I want to touch you?

ginger4u13:

i’d want it

Wanderlusting:

Where?

The typing bubble appeared, then disappeared. Thirty seconds later, another photo dropped in. Embers erupted low in Elsa’s stomach. ginger4u13 lay in the same pose, only this time, her left hand had snaked all the way down past the waistband of her underwear and disappeared inside. The thumb hovered over the patch of skin between her navel and her waistband. Elsa imagined the tiny hairs there, imagined grazing them with her lips. She was throbbing, now.

ginger4u13:

right here

Elsa typed and scrapped one reply after another:

What would you do if

I would

I wish I could

You’re making me so

ginger4u13:

you’re making me nervous with all the typing

;)

Wanderlusting:

I’m trying to find the words for what

Sorry, accidentally hit send.

For what you’re doing to me.

ginger4u13:

try harder

It was also hard for Elsa to type with just one thumb. Her left hand kept drifting, as if with a mind of its own, to roam across her fevered skin, trailing along her bra cups, lightly scratching her inner thighs—

Kristoff was right. She did need to let loose some of her pent-up frustration, even if on some twisted level, she knew she was engaging in a fucked-up fantasy that played into her “subconscious affinity.”

ginger4u13:

if you can’t find the words, you can show me instead

yes, i’m greedy

after that fucking picture you sent, how could i not be?

Elsa stared into the whirring blades of the ceiling fan overhead, trying to think of a reasonable argument to slow down, too hazy in the heady mist of arousal to form anything more coherent than More, now, go, go, more.

ginger4u13 hadn’t asked for a video, but whenever Elsa managed to break her chains of insecurity, she was surprisingly prone to escalating one-upmanship. While she waited for the ten-second video to upload, she grabbed her discarded bra from the duvet and tossed it in the direction of her laundry pile chair. She obsessively scanned ginger4u13’s previous messages, breath coming in hot jets from her nostrils, while she waited for a reply.

i’d want it

yes, i’m greedy

Finally:

ginger4u13:

oh my fucking god

jesus christ

you have no idea how this makes me so… 💦

who are you?

Elsa froze. Frown lines appeared between her brows as she tried to wrap her head around the question.

ginger4u13:

easy on the typing bubbles, it’s a joke ;)

i’m just saying, though

if you turn me on so badly over the phone, of course i’m dying to find out what you’d feel like in person

your body, your hands…unless you just want to text…

Elsa hesitated. Her rational thoughts said, Don’t be an impulsive idiot. Her thrumming body said, Don’t fucking stop now. After a minute, she bit her lip and typed a reply:

Wanderlusting:

I wouldn’t rule it out.

ginger4u13:

i’m glad

you know, i’m forming this fantasy about you

about your body, and the way you’re touching yourself

ginger4u13:

should i stop?

Wanderlusting:

Tell me.

Please.

ginger4u13:

it’s hard to type though

my hand is occupied ;)

can i tell you over the phone?

Elsa sucked in a deep breath, anticipation racing like wildfire along every inch of skin that she’d exposed for her video.

Wanderlust:

Okay.

ginger4u13:

here’s my number

5550131127

call me

Elsa closed out of the NightLink app and readjusted herself, crooking her legs wider and easing herself fully flat on her back as she began tapping ginger4u13’s number into the keypad.

555 013—

What appeared on the screen gripped Elsa’s chest with an icy fist.

Contact: Anna 🍫 (555) 013-1127

NO. NO. NONONO NO.

Elsa scrambled to punch backspace. She tried typing ginger4u13’s number again. The same contact suggestion appeared. She opened Anna’s contact card and compared it with the number ginger4u13 had sent. Identical.

A full ten minutes of immobilized panic followed. With her head swimming in a thick gauze of dread, Elsa didn’t hear the ping of “ginger4u13”’s incoming messages. She saw them pop up on her lock screen, though.

ginger4u13:

where did you go?

ginger4u13:

hello?

Elsa imagined Anna lying on her bed across town, frowning into her phone—her phone with the spidery cracks from dropping it two stories off a hotel balcony on their sisters’ trip to Oslo last summer.

Emphasis on sisters’ trip. Jesus fucking Christ. Elsa had taken her top off for her own baby sister, sent her a video of full-on—of literally touching her own—

A sudden thought lunged, unbidden, to the forefront of Elsa’s sickened internal spiral:

What was her fantasy about me?

Elsa wanted to die. She’d gotten aroused—so painfully aroused—from looking at her own sister.

Another warped thought shot like a lance past all the others:

That wasn’t the first time, though, was it?

Elsa snatched up her phone, opened her thread with “ginger4u13,” and jabbed BLOCK.

That was enough spice for twenty lifetimes. Fucking Kristoff. Fucking Spice Girls.

A drop from a two-story balcony wasn’t sounding so bad right now.

#elsanna #December 2023 contest #prompt: spice #lime #submission

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