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Brick House

Request:  Reader is a new Shield agent and has a huge crush on Steve.  Bucky is resentful of all the attention Steve gets and decides to take his pent up jealousy out on you.  

Warnings:  Smut, slight breeding, Dub-con please do not read if this offends you.  

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Words:  2k Just a drabble

A/N:  This is for my Darling @opheliadawnwalker3​. Sorry it took me so long!  Also you’re a shield agent in this so there are mentions of working-out/being in good shape (which I am not).  

   “You have such amazing definition.”  She grabbed Steve’s bicep.  “You really have to share your routine.”

   “Well I do…”. Steve trailed off as he went into his workout.

   Bucky shook his head in disbelief.  Not at the fact that his best friend was so oblivious that the new agent was into him,  Bucky knew Steve was dense in that department.   No, what shocked him was that Steve was the one to grab her attention.  

   “Maybe you could walk me through it?”  She was practically twirling her hair as she tilted her head.  “It sounds complicated.”

   Bucky scoffed.  Playing dumb?  No way she couldn’t follow that step-by-step from the simple explanation.  Hell, she probably had better work out tips than Steve did.  

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I Need You - Nicholas Scratch

word count: 8798 warnings: swearing summary: Nick and (y/n) had been at each other’s throats since forever, but a certain blonde witch helps them realize their real feelings ___

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Beautiful and Damned 8- The Snow Storm [Geralt of Rivia x Reader]

A.N: My darlings, your amazing feedback makes me so happy, thank you! Please don’t forget to tell me what you think of this chapter, kisses!

Reminder: This story will not follow the show’s plot, so even if you haven’t watched the series, you can still read it.

The previous chapters are on my masterlist!

Summary: There are things softer than silk.

Word Count: 3177

Warnings: Mentions of violence and death, poverty.

You couldn’t exactly feel it through your gloves, but it looked as if Geralt’s venom induced fever had gone down when the beams of the sun started spilling into the room. His skin wasn’t glistening anymore, and the roots of his white hair which were drenched with sweat before looked dry. You stretched out, making a face as your back cracked, reminding you of your uncomfortable position on the chair throughout the night, and you grabbed the sheets to pull it over him but the minute you made a move he opened with eyes with a gasp, then groaned.

“Hey,” you tried to smile as you dropped the sheets over his body, “I thought you might be cold.”

He blinked a couple of times, as if trying to focus on you, “Princess?”

“Welcome back.”

“What are you-?” he tried to sit up as you rushed to stop him,

“Wait- Geralt, lie down.”

“I’m fine.”

“A giant spider attacked you!”

“Yeah an arachnomorph.”

“Yeah, whatever it is!” you said, “Ciri is fine, so is Jaskier if that’s what you want to check. You’re still hurt, you should stay put.”

“I’m fine,” he repeated and attempted to get off, but you put your hands on his shoulder, stopping him,

“Geralt, please,” you said gently, “For my sake.”

That seemed to do the trick, because he stopped dead in his tracks, looking up at you as you retrieved your hands.

“I’ll call the healer here,” you told him, then walked to the door to open it before telling the guard at the door to bring the healer here.

“How do you feel?” you asked him, as you closed the door again, “Do you need anything? Water?”

He nodded slowly and you grabbed the glass, filled it with water and handed it to him.

“Were you here the whole night?” he asked after taking a huge sip and you stole a look at him, then nodded.

“I thought that arac- aracmor-“

“Arachnomorph.”

“Yeah, that,” you said, “That it would kill you. Roach brought you back here.”

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#duckandcover vibes—how do you think the boys/reader would deal with a birthday on the front?

      —– more sniper!bucky x medic!reader, featuring the commandos bucky’s birthday in the midst of the second world war. 

           enjoy ur cutesy dosage of #duckandcover!

“Happy Birthday, dear Bucky-o, happy birthday to youuuuuu –”

It’s pitiful, really – but Dum Dum insists that a celebration is a must for Bucky’s birthday, even if that means somehow breaking rations and muscling a few men around to make something special. 

Somehow – Bucky’s not really sure how – a cake is made.

(It was by your grace. You’d tossed a few smiles in the way of a marine officer by the names of Wilkinson – he was doe-eyed and young and when you’d said it was one of the nurses birthdays, he’d bent at the knee and handed over his sugar and flour with a bashful grin. Eggs were easy, you’d snagged those from a farmhouse up the road for a pack of cigarettes. And so, in a sad little ration tin, you made a little cake that probably tasted like shit. The crwoning candles weren’t really even candles – they were upturned lucky strikes, smoking from atop the cake.)

Once the singing has ended, Bucky finally speaks.

“You assholes didn’t have t’ do this.”

You grin, prodding the small campfire you’d all settled around. The boys are boisterous, shoving Bucky with good-natured grins plastered on their faces. Steve hooks an arm around his other half’s shoulder, poking his chest. 

“Anything for the birthday boy.”

You drag your cigarette, crossing your legs and leaning back into the rubble of the French farmhouse you’d camped in for the evening. The rest of the battalion and CP was down the road – men were billeted up and down the stretch in broken shambles of shelled homes. 

It was a clear night. 

Bucky’s eyes fleet across the fire, watching the orange glow dip along the slopes of your face – you look pretty like this, puffing your cigarette and watching the stars. He thinks maybe if this wasn’t a war and you weren’t mucked with blood and dirt, you’d pass for a crooning starlet. He’s surprised the USO hasn’t swept you up. You’re beautiful and you catch him staring.

He swallows.

“Who made the cake?” he asks, blinking up at Pinky and Falsworth, “None of you chumps can bake.”

“Well,” Jim chirps, “Lucky f’ you, our lovely medic is more than just a lifesaver, she’s also an esteemed chef.”

“Hold that thought,” you say, raising a finger and balancing your cigarette in the corner of your mouth, “He hasn’t tasted that yet and – listen, I’m no homemaker.”

“Come on,” Steve says, “Blow out the candles and eat.”

Bucky laughs and plucks a cigarette from the cake, smile dimpling the corners of his cheeks and it cements an equal look on your own face. Seeing the usual stoic sniper so jovial is infectious. 

He digs a spoon from his pack, thumbing through an MRE and raising it as if he was King Arthur brandishing Excalibur. The spoon wavers, and he moves to blow out the lucky-strikes-turned-candles, only before pausing at the sound of your voice.

“Gotta make a wish first, Buck.”

Dark eyes flick upwards, landing on your smile. He laughs.

“Nearly forgot.”

The three ‘candles’ fly out with a swirl of smoke, flames extinguished with one small breath. The Commandos jeer, dirty fingers snagging the stray smokes before settling into their spots around the fire. 

Bucky is quick to dig a heaping scoop of cake out and plop it into his mouth.

There is no baking in the world like that of Sarah Rogers – really, in all his years Bucky has never have anything comparable. It’s a wonder Stevie wasn’t bigger than a stick, as his mother had a gift for cakes and pies and pastries and dinners like you couldn’t believe. 

But, right now, in this crumbling French home a mile out from the front of the European front?

This is better – no, the best. 

The sound he makes is sinful and you have to hide the evident squirm it pulls out of you. His shoulders fall, guard slipping as he chews – it rouses a couple of laughs from the men and you have to smother a smile. 

“Christ,” he moans, “This – This is good. Really good.”

You raise your hands as praise from the men rains in, mockingly bowing a bit from your spot on the ground. “Thank you, thank you, what can I say? France is known for its cuisine…”

Buck chuckles, mouth full. And then he leans, passing the tin mug around.

“Come on,” he musters, “Everyone get a slice.”

“Oh gee, Barnes, how generous –”

“God, I love when you’re in a good mood.”

You take your own spoonful, happy and content and warm and dry for the first time in days, and it’s not long before the rest of the commandos have dosed off. You muscle the fire one more time, eyes catching Bucky – he’s still awake, eyes upturned on you. You blink, ignoring the stirring feeling the look churns in your gut.

He stands, then, stepping over Gabe beside you and settling down with a bit of leftover cake. 

His shoulder brushes yours and your knees knock like schoolkids locked in the gooey tempo of adoration. It feels good, and when he pulls the spoon from his lips and offers the tin, you can’t help but smile.

“Thanks.”

“Thanks for makin’ it.”

You take a spoonful, happy to be eating and happy to be beside him. “Wouldn’t be a birthday without cake.”

Bucky nudges you, stealing the spoon and worming a crumb from the tin in your hands. He shrugs, waving his hands a bit in front of the fire. His voice is soft, as if he doesn’t want to wake the men – but there’s a comforting level of softness to his words. You can’t help but feel special under his gaze.

“Birthdays were never big in m’ house,” he murmurs, “But in Steve’s house…”

You crack a grin, spotting the resident Captain America snoring softly against a stack of ammo crates. 

“His ma sounds like a legend,” you smile, “You both talk about her a lot.”

“She makes a mean cake,” Bucky chews and swallows, pointing with his spoon, “But this? This is good.”

“Probably because we haven’t eaten any real grub in weeks.”

“Oh, most definitely.”

You both laugh, bodies pressed close as you watch the fire dance and kiss the night air – you duck your smile into your arm, tugging your knees close and Bucky drops the empty ration tin by your feet. 

“I gotta say,” he rumbles, “Not the worst Birthday in the books.”

“Oh?”

“Mm,” Buck hums, eyes darting across your cheeks and lashes and heavy pout, “Not every year I get to spend the day in Europe, hunkered down in the French countryside with a beautiful girl.”

Your laugh is crystalline and genuine and Bucky swears the sound could stop the whole war – your nose scrunches and your eyes flutter shut at the line. It’s enough to get you to lean into him for a second, nudging him out of good-humor.

“That was a good line.”

“Thanks,” he smirks, “Been thinkin’ on it.”

“Will you two stop flirtin’ and shut up?” it’s Junior, rolling over from his spot across the fire to shoot you both a tired look, “Christ, some of us are tryna sleep.”

“Sorry, Junior,” you whisper, smothering a laugh, “Sorry.”

“Sorry my ass.”

You shoot Bucky a look – he matches it with an amused one, moving to stand in surrender. He reaches, giving your hand a heavy squeeze before he saunters off to his designated spot by Steve; the touch leaves a burning trail behind, and you wish you didn’t dwell so much on it.

“Happy Birthday, Buck,” you whisper, shrugging yourself under your blanket.

“Thanks, beautiful.”

“… Seriously?”

“Sorry, Junior.”

New Dark!fic Idea: Tinder!AU

If anyone’s been on Tinder, I’m sure y'all have stumbled across those occasional couples looking for a third partner.

You came across their account at random. Bucky and Steve: two men looking to add a third into their life. Never before had you considered a polyamorous relationship, but seeing the two extremely handsome men from their profile stirred your body with fantasies and arousal.

You swiped right, only curious to see if you would match, but shockingly you do match with them only a few days later.

They were joking, right? Two godly gorgeous men thinking you were attractive enough to swipe right?

You couldn’t believe it.

They messaged you first, and you were initially skeptical. Sometimes you would be texting Bucky and other times it would be Steve. You had gotten to know them real well, spending a few late nights on your phone as the three of you continued to learn more about each other.

They asked to meet you.

A casual dinner date. They suggested a public restaurant, and you were happy enough with that option, knowing too well yourself the dangers of meeting people online in their own homes.

But the dinner date went magically. Bucky and Steve welcomed you with warm smiles and gentle hugs. They were nothing less of gentlemen as Steve pulled your chair and Bucky held your hand. You were a complete babbling mess, head spinning and a hand covering your face as the men impressed you more and more. You all discussed the things in your ongoing lives, and you asked more about Steve and Bucky’s current relationship, and what they were looking for with a relationship with another.

“Oh.” Bucky tilted his head and scratched the back of his neck, the blush tinting his face red, “Well Steve and I had talked about it for awhile, and we just thought it was appropriate to have someone else in our relationship give us the thing that’s missing between us.”

“Missing?” You raised a brow.

“What Bucky means to say is that,” Steve gently held his hand over his partner’s before grabbing yours from across the table, “we want to have a baby.”

Your eyes popped open.

Oh… They weren’t just trying to fuck you. They were trying to knock you up.

“You know most people use Tinder for hook-ups, right? Have you two considered a surrogate?”

They both chuckled at you as though you told a joke.

“We’re not looking for a surrogate, but no worries sweetie. We aren’t going to force you if that’s what you’re uncomfortable with,” Steve said as he patted your hand. “Being with you is all we want for now.”

They seemed to be trying so hard–actually interested in having a long-lasting relationship with you. And you knew you shouldn’t have taken their offer to drive you home, but they were just so kind, how could you decline?

You trusted them.

They dropped you off and walked you to your door. Bucky took the initiative and kissed you goodbye, and you melted against his hot lips and touch. Steve was too bashful to do the same, but you pecked his cheek and hugged him anyway.

The two men walked back to their car after you closed the door. Bucky sat in the passenger’s seat while Steve walked around over to the driver’s side. Bucky hissed, his hands holding his hair back while Steve finally entered the car.

“She’s the one Steve. Fuck! That’s our baby girl.” The brunet let go of his hair, hissing the words through his teeth as his fists rested against his thighs. “I can’t wait like this anymore. We have to go back and get her. I don’t want her out here like this—”

“Hey Buck, calm down.” Steve turned and held his shoulder. “It’s alright. We’ll have our baby soon. We just can’t rush this too fast.”

“As long as it’s with her,” Bucky sighed.

Steve smiled before turning on the car ignition.

“Don’t worry. She’s the one.”

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This is just an idea and not an actual drabble or fic teaser. Though I will probably save this fic idea for a rainy day–way into the future when I get my other fic obligations done. Not sure what route to go with this though: forced relationship and breeding kink or forced age regression and dd/lg kink. Where do y’all wanna see this going?