#MCU fanfiction

[inej-ruination-ghafa]

NEXT OF KIN - J.T

Warnings: hospitals, near death experience

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x fem!Wilson!reader

Summary: the one where Joaquin nearly dies and you finally have to tell your father

Wordcount: 3.3k

Footsteps echoed through the building, the methodical clicking of heels ricocheting off of the walls. Everyone watched as you ran through the doors, yanking them open and scanning the sign on the wall.

Before the staff behind the desk could stop you, you were storming into the room and that’s where you stood for a moment, eyes glued on the window.

A doctor followed you in, holding his paper to his chest as he looked at you. He just watched for a moment as you reached a hand up to the glass, unable to take your eyes off of the scene.

“Excuse me,” he cared his throat and you turned your head to look at him. There were tears brimming in your eyes and you hoped he wouldn’t notice, “You can’t be in here without authorisation,”

when you said your name, the doctors eyes went wide. Your last name held a lot of power in places nowadays. Wilson. Your father had been apprehensive about you keeping the last name since his rise to fame, not wanting his daughter to get in trouble. Yet, here you were, with the same determined look on your face, willing to get in trouble if you have to

“I, um, I’m Joaquin’s next of kin, you called me,”

the doctor seemed to have gotten over his shock because he nodded his head intently, almost like he remembered calling you, “His fiancée, is it?”

“Girlfriend,”

“Miss Wilson, the injuries are extensive,” the doctor said as he walked over, looking at the scene in front of him.

You looked over again, staring at the surgery. He was under the knife and you just watched as they chopped into him, over and over again. They were keeping him alive, a ventilator on, blood bags ready in the corner.

Your heart was racing as you wondered if this was it. This could be the last time you saw him alive, covered in tarps and surrounded by doctors with bloody scalpels. He looked so fragile.

“I can see,” the words were hoarse coming from your throat.

You had cried most of the way over here. You had been in the middle of a work meeting when your phone had rung and you ignored it for a few moments before remembering that you had said goodbye to your boyfriend and father a few days prior.

joaquin had come to say his goodbye to you before he left, the two of you parting with a kiss before he drove off to work that day. He knew he wasn’t going to be back any time soon. And now here he was, lying on an operating table.

Your heart felt like it was splintering every moment that he stayed on that table. Tears pooled in your eyes as you looked at him in that condition; he seemed so fragile.

“He has been in rough condition but should be out of surgery within the hour, they’re just fixing him up. He broke a few ribs, has a few first and second degree burns, a broken arm,” there was a weight in your chest as you listened to the doctor explain it all, “His heart did stop but there should be no long lasting issues,”

Your eyes went wide and you turned to the doctor, a sharp pain in your chest, “He died?”

“Miss Wilson,” he tried to reason with you.

Your head was spinning and it was like you were drowning in all of your thoughts. You had nearly lost the love of your life, the one person who had ever cared for you so much. He had nearly died and you couldnt do anything about it.

“He died?” You repeated, breath heavy.

“Medically speaking,”

You choked back a sob, hand coming to cover your mouth as the tears spilled over your cheeks. He had died. He had died. That was all that you kept repeating to yourself.

You turned and looked back at Joaquin. You remembered meeting him for the first time at an awards ceremony two years ago. He was standing alongside your father and he had caught your eye in moments. He had come up to you, nervous, hands shaking, yet he kept that suave smile on his face as he introduced himself.

Now, as you stared at the man on the operating table, you realised just how much he meant to you. You would not be the same person if you had not met him that day.

You were so consumed with your thoughts as you stared at the operating table hat you didnt hear the footsteps approaching.

In the glass, you caught your fathers reflection and realised that he was going to see you standing there, crying your eyes out over nearly losing your boyfriend. A boyfriend he didnt know you had.

You and Joaquin had been together for around 18 months now and had decided to hide the relationship from your father because it was easier not to get him involved. He was so overly protective over you and you knew he would be mad if he saw that you were falling in love with someone with such a dangerous occupation.

as discreetly as you could, you wiped the tears from your cheeks with the sleeve of your cardigan, checking yourself in the reflection to make sure you didn’t look too bad before you turned and saw him.

”Kiddo, what are you doing here?” He furrowed his brows at you, giving you that familiar judgemental look, like he was concerned with your wellbeing but was disappointed that you were there, “I dont want you getting caught up in this,”

You shrugged, not sure what to say, “I got a call,”

“As Torres’ next of kin, it is procedure, sir,” the doctor stated, thinking that he was solving the issue.

Silence fell over the room and you locked eyes with your father. He had that look on your face that you hadn’t seen since you were 17 and sneaking Billy Newsome out of your second story window. He was so angry at you that you could feel it in the air.

The doctors eyes went wide as he realised what he had done, exposing something that he had wrongfully assumed was common knowledge.

He took a deep breath, tilting his head as he looked at you, eyes narrowed, ”Excuse me,”

The lack of words made it even worse. Those two very simple words sent a chill down your spine and even if you were 23 years old, you could still feel the panic in your chest, like you were a little girl about to be reprimanded again.

“Dad,” there were no words that you could think of that would fix this.

If your heart wasnt already pounding in your chest from how nervous you were about Joaquin, it was definitely racing now as you realised you had been caught in a lie.

“I am sorry, I, uh, Mr Captain America, I will be back in half an hour when the surgery is complete,” he explained before rushing away.

Neither of them moved as the doctor fled the room, horrified at what he had just caused. You couldnt care less, all you could care about was that Joaquin was going to be okay.

You looked at your father, the man who had raised you, your hero. Now he was giving you that disapproving stare and you were uncomfortable standing in the tension.

“Spit it out dad,”

He folded his arms across his chest, “What do you want me to say?”

“Hey, how are you doing?” You mimicked his voice.

There was that tension again, even if you tried to make a joke. In any other circumstance, he would have laughed but he just narrowed his eyes at you.

“No. Who called you?” He quizzed.

You rolled your eyes as you realised that he was really angry, “The hospital,”

“why?” Sam knew the answer. It was obvious at this point what was going on and he kicked himself for not having noticed it sooner.

He should have noticed how whenever Joaquin would come round for dinner, he would always sit beside you. Or the way that he would watch you at the galas that you would attend, his eyes always following you around the room and tracing your curves.

“I am his next of kin,” you said.

For a moment you weren’t sure what would be the right thing to do, whether you should try to explain it or just rip the band aid off. At the time, the latter made more sense but now as you stood there, looking at the shock on his face, you wondered if it was right.

After the two of you had been together for six months, you had both put each other as emergency contacts. He lived such a dangerous life and you would never forgive yourself if you werent there for him when he needed you.

”I heard that the first time,” your father said angrily, almost as if hearing you say it made it real.

“Then why did you ask again?” You scoffed, furrowing your brow. You’re sure that if anyone had seen the two of you, you’d be mirrors of each others annoyed expressions.

“I thought I was hearing things,”

He folded his arms across his chest and then looked to his right and stared at the operating theatre. They were starting to pack things away and you were glad that he was going to be out of surgery.

You followed his eyeline and the two of you were both silent for a moment as you looked at the scene. Joaquin meant a lot to the two of you so to lose him would have broken you.

You sighed, shaking your head as you remembered the situation you had gotten yourself into. Your father turned to you, giving you that look again, “What is wrong with you?”

that was the final straw. You were sleep deprived from the flight over to the Indian Ocean to see your boyfriend and you were scared out of your mind and you were angry at your dad and all of it just bubbled up at that moment and you exploded.

“Wrong with me! My boyfriend just fell out of the sky. He was hit by a missile and nearly died in the Indian Ocean and you’re asking what is wrong with me!” You yelled it out, hands waving around as you tried to convey just how awful this all was.

Although Sam was still angry at you for not telling him your biggest secret, he could see how much you loved Joaquin just from how mad you got. He had seen you stand up for yourself all the time but never like this.

“Calm down kid, I’m your dad, I am allowed to be mad that you didn’t tell me you were dating my protégée,” he said, shaking his head.

“For this reason,” you brushed your hand over your face, trying to calm yourself down.

“What?”

You scoffed, not understanding who he couldn't see what was wrong, “You are overreacting. You don't approve,”

“Its dangerous to be in love with a superhero,” he stated.

Sam would know. There was a reason why him and your mother didn’t work out, and that’s because of his time in the army. He couldn’t imagine trying to make that relationship work as a superhero.

He could see Pepper sobbing over Tony’s body, or Steve having to leave Peggy. All of those things were because of their superhero powers. He would never wish that fate on you.

“I love him dad,” it was all you could say, all you could think of to try and convince him that this was worth it.

“I can see that, it doesn't mean I approve,” he explained.

“That's why I didn't tell you. Joaquin, he wanted to, he hated having to lie to you,” you reasoned with him.

You thought back to a few weeks ago as you lay in Joaquin’s arms, before everything had gone to shit. He had asked you whether you wanted to tell your father now about the two of you. Maybe you should have done it then.

“He still did it,” Sam shook his head. He saw Joaquin as the son he never had, and he thought that maybe he was the only one worthy for his daughter. Yet he still lied to him for 18 months.

“Dad. He loves me and I love him. I will spend the rest of my life loving that man and the second i found out he had been hurt, I rushed over. I cannot lose him daddy,” your voice broke at the end.

There was silence. You never called him that, not since you were a little kid. He could see the fear, watched as the tears pooled in your waterline, threatening to spill over.

Although he wished his little girl would never grow up, that you would stay that innocent child forever, he knew that you and Joaquin were in love, just from the fear in your eyes.

“Come here kid,” he held his arms out.

It was like all of your lies didn’t matter and he just embraced you, holding you close as you sobbed into his shoulder.

For the first time since you heard the news, you gave yourself a moment to cry, hands clenched onto his jacket as you cried. You had nearly lost Joaquin, your dad could have died as well. Sometimes it was too much.

There was no conversation as you composed yourself, pulling back, wiping the tears from your cheeks. He placed a hand on your cheek, smiling at the woman you had become.

“You are going to live a very long life and so will he, you will get to do that together. I wish you would have told me,” he said.

Although you hated to admit defeat, you knew he was right, “You would have been more worried about him,”

“I am worried about him,” he said, eyes flickering back over to where he was being wheeled away into another room, ready to be transported back to the states, “He’s gonna be okay kiddo,”

“Thanks dad,” you smiled, knowing this was all going to work out.

Joaquin was transported back to the states within a few days, still fast asleep. You had barely left his side, the news constantly on by his bedside so you could see what your father was up to. You were sat by Joaqquin’s bedside as you watched Sam fight the Red Hulk.

“What ya watching?” A voice asked and you whipped your head to the side to see him opening his eyes, looking at you.

A sob racked through your chest and your hand flew to your mouth. You were happier than you had ever been before as you looked at him. He had been awake sometimes with the doctors but you hadn’t spoken to him yet.

“Dad on the news, hes sorted everything out,” you explained, knowing he wouldn’t want to be too sappy.

he hummed in response, closing his eyes for a moment. You watched him, that peaceful look on his face and you thanked whatever God was out there for saving the man you loved.

“You nearly died baby,” you whispered, almost like saying it out loud made it real.

He opened his eyes and looked at you, really looked at you. There were bags under your eyes from his lack of sleep and your eyes were red like you had been crying for days.

Almost like he hadn’t been in a near death experience, he lifted his hand up and brushed a hand over your cheek, almost like he was making sure that you were real and not some kind of dream.

“I’m sorry,”

you shook your head because there was nothing to be sorry for. “You’re here now,” you smiled at him, a tear rolling down your cheek that he quickly wiped away with the pad of his thumb.

“I should have been more careful,” he said like it would have changed it, someone would always get hurt in these situations.

“You wouldn’t be the man I love if you didn’t work so hard, didn’t go out there no care for everyone else,” you said.

that was one of the reasons you fell in love with him, his devotion to his job and his dedication for what is right in the world.

“I should be more careful,” he repeated, “I couldn’t stand not coming home to you,”

You took his hand in yours and placed it in your lap, brushing your fingers over his knuckles absentmindedly. There was something so domestic about the moment, in the way that he looked at you with pure adoration.

“I always knew you would come home,”

He nodded, tears burning behind his eyes but he didn’t want you to see him like that right now, especially when he is already so weak, one hand strapped up in a sling, burns healing over his neck.

“Dad knows,” you broke the silence.

You watched as the fear fell over his face, eyes widening. This was what he had feared for so long, of not being good enough for your father, his mentor, his idol.

“And?” He waited for your response, eyes still wide.

You smiled at his reaction, “He was angry, but he knows how much we love each other,”

Joaquin let out a sigh of relief, “I’m glad, so hes not angry?”

“Just a little bit,” another voice said and you turned to look over your shoulder to see Sam standing at the door, looking at the two of you.

You couldnt tell for a moment if it was a look of shock but then you saw the smile on his face, the way that he looked at the obvious love between you and Joaquin and you knew he approved.

“Sir, I am so sorry-” he started to defend himself but Sam held his hand up, shutting the boy up.

“As long as you look after my daughter then I will not be angry,” he chuckled to himself, “But if you ever lay a hand on her, I will kill you,”

“Yes sir, I would never,” he looked at you, a smile pulling at the corner of your mouth, “I love her,”

Sam smiled, “I can see, son,”

Joaquin’s face lit up like he had always wanted that approval from him. You leaned down and pressed a kiss against his temple, avoiding the cut on his forehead that was still fresh.

“Can you give me and Joaquin a minute to talk, we have to discuss his new roles,�� Sam said and your boyfriends eyes widened. He wasn’t sure what this meant but it could be about your relationship, or his role as the new Falcon.

“Sure dad,” you leaned down and pressed a kiss against Joaquin’s lips, a chaste kiss that promised that you would be back. When you pulled back and saw your dad’s disgusted face, you laughed, “Go easy on him,”

as you walked out of the room, you looked back at the two most important men in your life and wondered why it took you so long to reveal the relationship.

[takenbypeter]

The Counsel Given

SPOILERS FOR CAP AMERICA 4

Bucky Barnes x reader

Hey hey 👋 I’ve slowly SLOWLY been writing fanfiction again just haven’t edit and posted butttt I finally watched Cap America 4 yesterday and the Bucky scene was one of the scenes to make me cry because of how far he’s come. Soooo I wrote this lil story that takes place literally right after that scene. Anyways hope y’all like it 💕

Patience. That’s what you told yourself as you rocked on your heels, back and forth, standing outside the building. Patience is what you needed in this situation.

You knew they needed their space.

After alternating between standing and sitting for about twenty minutes your attention drew to the door that was finally opening up again and you watched as Bucky finally came out.

Without waiting another moment you walked up to him, “so how is he?”

Bucky nodded, “he’ll be alright.”

Bucky led the way as you trailed close, “and Joaquin, how did he look?”

“From what I’ve heard he’s a tough kid, he’ll pull through.”

You nodded following Bucky to the direction of his car.

Although you knew it was none of your business you were still curious, “what did you say to him?”

“I told him what he needs to hear,” he opens the passenger side door on his car prompting you to take a seat, which you do, while he adds, “and the truth.”

He shuts the door before entering from the other side.

“Good. He knows you care about him Buck.”

Bucky shares a considerable look before you ask, “did you tell him you loved him?”

Bucky paused for a moment. At his eventual nod you reach over, your hand landing on his. Bucky wasn’t cold hearted, you knew this could all be a lot for him too.

“I’m proud of you,” Bucky‘s eyes were down as he seemed to be listening. “You dealt with feelings and emotions.”

“Yup,” he let out a sigh through his pressed lips, “therapy will do that to you.”

“Buck I’m serious,” you rubbed your thumb comfortingly along the back of his hand, causing him to shift his gaze from your hands to your eyes. “Sure it maybe stemmed from therapy, but it’s also coming from you. You have come a long way. And I’m proud of you.”

Bucky’s expression softens. It’s the slightest shift but you catch it. Turning his palm upwards he interlocks his fingers with yours and lifting them up he presses his lips to the back of your hand.

While his stubble scratches you a bit, his lips are soft against your skin.

Your words seem to lift some weight off of him as his shoulders drop and he breathes out a deep breath. “Thank you.”

You nod, a soft smile decorating your face in reply.

Although he didn’t outright mention it, you knew that Bucky was worried for his friend. You had some worries too, but just like Bucky you were sure Sam and Joaquin, they would pull through even stronger than before.

[cheekybarnes]

Salt in the Blood | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You live in a quiet fishing town on the East Coast, far from the mess of politics, superheroes, and global conflicts. At least, you did, until a stranger with sharp eyes, a metal arm, and a haunted look shows up at your dock one evening, asking for a boat. He’s not looking for trouble. But it always seems to find him.

MCU Timeline Placement: Pre/Early The Falcon and The Winter Soldier

Master List: Find my other stuff here!

Warnings: Blood, stitches, gunshot wounds, general violence, brief descriptions of open ocean waters

Word Count: 9.1k

Author’s Note: this is something i dug out of the depths of my google drive—started writing it back when TFATWS was airing and then... never touched it again. until now. figured it was time to finally finish it! also, yes, there is indeed a sam wilson cameo at the end. seemed fitting.

───────────────────────────────

The air smelled like salt and rain.

Not fresh rain—nothing that clean. The kind of rain that had been waiting offshore all day, heavy and humid, pressing against the horizon like it had nowhere better to be. It clung to your skin, thick with the scent of rotting seaweed, damp wood, and the unmistakable brine of the Atlantic. The tide was rolling in slow tonight, dragging long fingers of foam up onto the shore before pulling back again.

It was late, or maybe just early enough to be something in between. The docks were quiet. No tourists, no weekend fishermen, no drunk locals stumbling out of the Rusty Gull looking to piss into the harbor. Just the occasional sway of a boat knocking against its mooring, the distant cry of a gull that hadn’t realized it was too dark to hunt, and the faint hum of the broken radio drifting from the bait shop down the way.

Your town didn’t have much in the way of industry anymore—hadn’t since the last cannery shut down five years back. Now, it was all small-time charters, independent boats, and the kind of people who stuck around because they didn’t have anywhere else to go. That was fine. You liked it that way. You’d come here looking for quiet, and for the most part, you’d found it.

You nudged a stray coil of rope with the toe of your boot, then crouched down to check the lines. The wood of the dock was damp, slick from the mist rolling in off the water, and the lantern you’d set beside you barely cut through the gloom. The boat rocked gently under your hands as you double-checked the knots—not that you needed to. You could tie these blindfolded by now.

A low murmur of thunder rumbled somewhere out past the breakers, distant but coming closer. Another hour, maybe two, and the storm would hit. Not enough to do any damage, but enough to make the air thick, the ocean restless.

You sighed, stretching your shoulders as you stood. Your shift had ended an hour ago, but it wasn’t like you had anywhere better to be. The docks were empty, and you liked them that way.

And then—footsteps.

Not heavy. Not hurried. Just the slow, deliberate kind, the kind that didn’t belong to someone who had a reason to be here this late. The hair at the back of your neck prickled, your fingers still curled loosely around the rope you’d been tying off.

The footsteps stopped—just at the edge of the dock. You glanced over your shoulder.

A man stood there, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched slightly against the wind. The low glow of the lantern threw shadows over his face, but you could see the sharp angles of it, the set of his jaw, the way his mouth was pressed into something just shy of a frown.

A stranger.

Which was odd. You didn’t get strangers here.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the creak of the dock shifting under your weight, the distant slap of water against the pilings. He stood just outside the reach of the lantern’s glow, watching you in a way that felt more like waiting.

“Bit late for a stroll,” you said finally.

His head tipped slightly, like he was considering that. “Yeah.”

Not much of an answer.

You turned fully now, crossing your arms loosely over your chest. “You lost?”

“No.”

That didn’t sound like the truth, but it also didn’t sound like a lie. His voice was low, steady, just gravelly enough to suggest exhaustion more than anything else. He shifted slightly, glancing out over the water before looking back at you.

“I need a boat.”

That gave you pause.

You blinked at him, then let your gaze flick down the dock. A dozen vessels sat bobbing in the gentle current, most tied up for the night, a few still prepped for morning runs. There was no shortage of boats—but there was a shortage of reasons why someone would come here in the middle of the night asking for one.

Something in your gut pulled tight.

“You a fisherman?” you asked.

“No.”

“You with the Coast Guard?”

“No.”

You arched a brow. “Then why do you need a boat?”

The stranger was quiet for a beat. Then he exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly. “You always ask this many questions?”

“You always avoid answering them?”

His mouth twitched, but it wasn’t quite amusement. More like resignation. His gaze flicked past you, scanning the boats again, like he was making mental calculations.

You watched him carefully. It wasn’t just the fact that he was here at this hour, or the way he carried himself—tense, coiled, like something waiting for an excuse to snap. It was something else, something quieter.

Like he was running from something.

Or someone.

“Look,” you said, keeping your voice even, “this isn’t exactly a rental dock. If you want a boat, you need to go through the right channels. Permits, all that.”

He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling slowly. “Don’t have time for that.”

Your pulse kicked up just slightly. “That a problem you want to elaborate on?”

He shook his head. “No.”

Another pause.

He took a step forward, just enough for the lantern to catch the edge of his face. The cut of his cheekbone, the faint shadow of stubble, the cropped hair. The glint of metal where his left arm should’ve been.

Your stomach dropped.

You knew who he was.

James Buchanan Barnes.

The Winter Soldier.

The realization hit like a riptide, cold and fast. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be anywhere near here. His face had been all over the news too many times, his name dragged through too many histories for you not to recognize him.

And now he was standing on your dock, asking for a boat.

And from the look in his eyes, he already knew you’d figured it out.

The dock creaked beneath your boots as you shifted your weight, your stomach still sinking in cold, briny dread. The tide had turned, the slow, rolling waves slapping against the pilings in time with the pulse in your throat. You didn’t move. Neither did he.

The lantern swayed in the wind, casting shadows that stretched and curled across his face, catching in the sharp line of his jaw, the dark circles beneath his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Looked like if he stopped moving, even for a second, something might catch up to him.

The wind tugged at your jacket, damp with salt spray. You let the moment stretch, the distant rumble of the storm pressing low against the sky. A part of you wanted to turn him away, to let him walk into the night and leave this whole thing behind.

But the other part—the part that had seen what desperate men looked like—knew he had nowhere else to go.

You swallowed hard and licked the salt from your lips. You exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through your hair before gesturing toward the nearest boat. “I don’t loan out boats to strangers.”

His expression didn’t change. “Figured.”

“But,” you continued, stepping closer, watching for any signs of tension in his stance, “if I were planning to take my boat past the breakers for a few hours—no questions asked, no paperwork filed, just disappearing off the grid for a bit—I’d probably want someone to keep an eye on the wheel.”

A beat of silence.

His gaze flicked to the boat, then back to you. Considering.

“You saying I got a ride?” His voice was careful, like he didn’t want to put weight on the idea before it was solid.

You exhaled sharply. “I’m saying if you want to go, you’re going with me.”

Something flickered behind his eyes. Not relief. Not gratitude.

Something closer to understanding.

It was a risk. A stupid one. But if he was running from something, if someone else was looking for him, you’d rather he be with you than taking off in the only working boat at the dock with no idea what the hell he was doing. And if someone was looking for him, you sure as hell didn’t want to be standing around the docks when they showed up.

And besides, you weren’t convinced he wasn’t bleeding.

“Storm’s rolling in,” you pointed out, nodding toward the horizon. “You afraid of a little rough water?”

His mouth twitched, something like amusement, but not quite.

“No,” he muttered, glancing back toward the town, toward whatever he was running from. “Afraid of what’s behind me.”

That, more than anything, made up your mind.

You let out a slow breath, then turned toward the boat, stepping onto the slick, creaking deck. “Then let’s go.”

───────────────────────────────

The sea was restless.

Beyond the glow of the dock lights, the water stretched out into an abyss of shifting black, its surface rippling under the weight of an oncoming storm. The tide had pulled in deeper now, and with it came the scent of churned brine and something heavier, something electric. You weren’t worried—not yet. You’d been through worse.

The engine rumbled beneath your feet as you guided the boat past the harbor mouth, the shoreline fading behind you. The town’s dim glow flickered like a memory, swallowed by the dark. The lantern you’d brought cast just enough light to catch the silhouette of the man standing near the bow, his frame cutting sharp against the night.

Bucky hadn’t spoken much since you left the dock.

Not that you’d expected him to.

You watched him through the dim light as he braced himself against the gentle sway of the boat, his weight shifting with the water like it was instinct. He had pulled his jacket tighter against the spray, the collar popped just enough to shield part of his face. From what, you weren’t sure. The wind, the cold, the world. Maybe all of it.

He was watching the horizon, like if he let his guard down, something might rise out of the deep and swallow him whole.

You turned your gaze back to the water, adjusting the throttle as you cut a steady path toward open sea. There were no destinations this far out, nothing but empty miles and the promise of deeper waters.

Finally, after too much silence, you exhaled and glanced at him. “You gonna tell me what’s so important past the breakers, or are we just playing hide-and-seek with the coast guard?”

Bucky’s eyes flicked toward you, sharp even in the low light. He didn’t answer right away, just shifted, adjusting the strap of his bag where it rested against his hip.

“Few miles out,” he said, voice even, quiet. “Just long enough to be off the radar.”

You arched a brow. “That easy, huh?”

His mouth twitched—almost something like humor, but not quite. “Expecting a high-speed chase?”

You shrugged, shifting your grip on the wheel. “Considering who you are? Maybe.”

That got a reaction. A small one, but you caught it—the brief clench of his jaw, the flicker of something in his gaze before he turned his attention back to the water. Like he hadn’t meant to let that slip. Like the weight of being recognized had already settled in his ribs.

He stood silent and still in that way that told you everything you needed to know. The tension in his shoulders, the tight set of his jaw, the way he shifted his weight like he was bracing for something unseen. Like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Like he was hurting.

You watched him for another second before looking away, letting the silence stretch again. The wind cut through your jacket, damp and biting, but you didn’t move to pull it tighter. You were used to this kind of cold. The kind that settled in your bones.

The boat rocked slightly with the swell, the waves growing more restless beneath you.

You exhaled sharply, reaching into your jacket and pulling out a ring of keys. You tossed them toward him without warning, and he caught them without looking, his reflexes as sharp as you expected.

He turned his head slightly, brows pulling together in quiet question.

“There’s a medical kit under the mattress in the cabin,” you continued, nodding toward the door leading below deck. “Go fix yourself up.”

Bucky hesitated, just for a second, before sighing through his nose. He adjusted the strap of his bag and moved toward the stairs, boots heavy against the damp wood.

You didn’t watch him go. Just kept your eyes on the dark stretch of water ahead, listening as the door creaked open and then shut behind him.

The minutes stretched. The wind picked up.

Six miles past the breakers, you killed the engine. Better to be safe than sorry.

The quiet was thick, stretching out in the absence of the steady hum of the boat cutting through water. You let out a slow breath, adjusting your jacket before turning toward the door leading below deck.

You hesitated.

Something about this—about him—was making your instincts pull in two different directions. One part of you was saying to keep your distance, let him patch himself up and be on his way. The other part—the part that had noticed the way his breathing had been just slightly uneven, the way his stance had been just a little too careful—was telling you to check.

He had been quiet. Far too quiet.

Which, in theory, should’ve been a good thing. If he was actually using the damn medical kit instead of just bleeding all over your boat, that was a win. But something about the silence unsettled you.

With a quiet exhale, you made your decision.

The door groaned slightly as you pushed it open, stepping into the cramped space below deck. It was small but functional—one narrow cot, a small table, a rusting storage cabinet shoved against the far wall. The air was thick with salt and the faint scent of engine grease. The light overhead flickered, casting dim light over the space.

And there, sitting on the edge of the cot, was Bucky.

His shirt was off, tossed beside him. The dim glow of the light caught the sharp lines of his torso, the thick, roped scars that cut across his flesh, old wounds layered over new ones. His left arm—the metal one—was steady, braced against his knee, while his right hand clutched a needle and thread, hovering over a deep gash along his ribs.

A deep gash he had clearly been struggling to stitch.

His shoulders tensed as you stepped inside, his gaze flicking to you, sharp even in exhaustion.

“Need a hand?” you asked, nodding toward the half-finished stitches.

He exhaled slowly, flexing his fingers against his knee. “I got it.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” You stepped closer, tilting your head as you took in the mess he’d made of the stitching. The edges of the wound weren’t closing right, the thread already darkening with blood. “Pretty sure that’s not how you’re supposed to do it.”

Bucky huffed out something close to a laugh, but it was humorless. He didn’t argue.

You moved toward the small cabinet, grabbing the bottle of antiseptic and some fresh gauze before stepping back toward him. “Sit still.”

He didn’t move as you crouched in front of him, didn’t say a word as you carefully took the needle from his grip. His skin was warm under your fingers. Up close, you could see the new bruising along his ribs, the faint hitch in his breath whenever the boat rocked too hard.

You wet a piece of gauze with the antiseptic, pressing it gently against the wound. He didn’t flinch, but you caught the way his fingers curled slightly against his knee.

“You always this bad at taking care of yourself?” you asked quietly, threading the needle.

Bucky was silent for a long moment. Then—“Been out of practice.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

Didn’t know if you were supposed to say anything.

You glanced up at him. His face was unreadable, his expression carefully schooled into nothing. But his eyes—his eyes were sharp, tired in a way that didn’t just come from lack of sleep.

You dipped the needle into his skin, and still, he barely reacted. “So,” you said, voice even, “you wanna tell me how this happened?”

Bucky’s gaze flicked to yours, sharp, assessing. Like he was trying to decide if he should even bother lying.

“Got into a fight.”

You lifted a brow. “And lost?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, but there was no humor in it. “Didn’t say that.”

The boat rocked, shifting the shadows across the walls.

You worked in silence for a few more moments, the thread pulling through his skin in steady, practiced movements. He was still as stone beneath your hands, muscles tight but unmoving, like he was used to this, like he had done this more times than he could count. You were sure he had.

Finally, you spoke again. “You always pick fights you don’t need to?”

“Only when I deserve ‘em.”

Your fingers hesitated for half a second before pushing forward. The words had been quiet, almost like he hadn’t meant to say them at all. You weren’t sure what to do with them, but you felt them settle under your ribs all the same.

Bucky was quiet for a long moment. Too long.

The only sound was the distant slap of waves against the hull, the creak of the boat shifting with the tide. His eyes flicked to you, sharp and assessing even as you worked the needle through his skin, slow and steady.

Then—“You always this reckless?”

You exhaled sharply through your nose. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Some guy shows up on your dock in the middle of the night looking like hell, doesn’t tell you a damn thing, and you take him out past the breakers anyway.” A beat. Then, quieter—flatter—“You that desperate to get yourself killed, or just real bad at telling when to walk away?”

Your hands stilled for just a second—just long enough for the weight of his words to settle between you.

Then you kept stitching.

“That what this is?” you asked evenly. “You planning on killing me?”

Bucky didn’t answer. Not right away. He just watched you, something unreadable passing behind his gaze, before his mouth pressed into a thin line.

“No.”

You tilted your head slightly, glancing up at him. “Good. I think my judgment is just fine.”

A low huff of air. Maybe amusement. Maybe something else. “That right?”

“I’ve dealt with worse men.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened slightly. “None of them were me.”

That stopped you.

Your fingers hovered just over the wound, your grip tightening around the thread before you forced yourself to keep going. But the shift in the air was impossible to ignore. He wasn’t saying it as a threat. He wasn’t saying it to intimidate you.

He was saying it because it was the truth. Because you knew who he was.

Not just the name, not just the face. You’d seen the footage—grainy surveillance clips, shaky cell phone recordings, headlines stamped over still frames of wreckage. You’d read the words ex-HYDRA asset, government pardon, ongoing rehabilitation. You knew that people still whispered about what he’d done and whether he could ever really be something else.

He wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore.

But that didn’t mean the world had forgotten.

Your fingers tightened around the thread as you finished another stitch. “You saying I should be afraid of you?”

His jaw flexed, gaze dropping briefly before flicking back to yours. “I’m saying you should have better instincts.”

You tied off the last stitch with a steady hand, letting the silence stretch for another beat before you finally sat back, tossing the bloodied needle into a tiny metal tray beside you.

You exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through your hair. "I thought about saying no."

His brow twitched slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

"I saw you on that dock, and for a second—" You swallowed, flexing your fingers in your lap. "For a second, I felt it. That instinct. The one that says run."

Bucky's jaw clenched.

"But I didn’t."

His gaze flicked to yours again, something unreadable passing behind his eyes. “Why not?”

Your fingers curled loosely against your knee, considering.

"Because men who are dangerous don’t show up asking for a boat," you murmured. "Men who are dangerous take."

The boat rocked slightly, shifting the shadows along the walls.

"And you didn’t."

Bucky exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off something heavy.

"That was your mistake," he muttered.

You scoffed, shaking your head. "No. My mistake was thinking you’d be more grateful for the stitches."

His mouth twitched again, but there was something else behind it now—something you couldn’t quite place.

You pushed yourself to your feet, rolling the tension from your shoulders as you moved toward the cabinets. The space was narrow enough that you had to turn slightly to fit, the wood creaking under your weight. You pulled open the first cabinet, scanning the shelves, fingers trailing over old bottles and dusty tins, brushing past things left untouched for too long.

Behind you, you heard the rustle of fabric as Bucky pulled his shirt back over his shoulders, the faint hitch in his breath as he maneuvered the stiff muscles beneath fresh stitches. 

The first two bottles you picked up were worthless. Expired. Probably more vinegar than alcohol by now. You turned them over in your hands, checking the faded labels before setting them aside with a quiet thunk. The third one—better. The glass was cold against your palm, half full, the amber liquid inside sloshing slightly as you tested the weight.

Good enough.

You uncapped it, took a slow, burning swig, letting the warmth curl down your throat before turning, holding the bottle out toward him.

"You trying to clean the wound from the inside?" he muttered.

You smirked. "Something like that."

He hesitated—just for a second—before taking the bottle. He tipped it back, took a slow swallow, then another, before lowering it again. The light swung gently with the shift of the boat, throwing broken light over his face, glinting off the dark amber liquid still clinging to the glass.

You leaned against the counter, watching him.

“Y’know,” you said, tilting your head slightly, “when I was younger, I used to take my little brother to the Captain America exhibit at the Smithsonian. He loved it—dragged me through it a dozen times. I could probably still recite half the plaques from memory.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Hell of a segue."

You huffed a quiet laugh, tipping your head back against the cabinet. "Yeah, well. You don’t seem like you’re much for small talk."

A beat passed. Then—"You still walk through it?"

You arched a brow. "No. Haven't been in years."

Bucky let the bottle hang loose between his fingers, watching you carefully. "Why not?"

You shrugged, glancing at the low ceiling before meeting his gaze again. “Dunno. Maybe it got weird after SHIELD fell. After all the shit that came out.”

His jaw twitched. You saw it—the way he braced, the way something deep in his ribs locked up tight.

"But," you added, reaching for the bottle again, "I remember thinking something was off about it. Even back then."

Bucky let you take the whiskey from his hands, watching as you took another sip. “Yeah?" His voice was quieter now.

"Yeah," you murmured, licking a drop from your lips. "For starters, you barely existed in it."

His fingers curled slightly against his knee. His expression didn’t shift, but you saw it again—that flicker of something unreadable.

"Whole damn exhibit dedicated to Captain America, to the war, to the Howling Commandos," you continued, shaking your head slightly. "And you were just a footnote."

Bucky exhaled through his nose, looking past you now, gaze distant. "Guess that was the point."

You studied him, watching the way his mouth pressed into a thin line, the way he stared at nothing like he was seeing something else entirely.

“Even before everything,” you mused, passing the bottle back, “you were kind of a ghost.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, but he didn’t respond.

So, you pushed.

“I used to think you were attractive,” you admitted, voice even. “The infamous James Buchanan Barnes.”

That did something.

Bucky blinked, the briefest hitch in his breath, like you’d said something he hadn’t expected. His gaze flicked back to you, sharp and searching.

Then—he scoffed, shaking his head. “You and every other girl in Brooklyn.”

You smirked. “Maybe.”

Bucky let out a slow breath, rolling the bottle between his hands. "Let me guess," he muttered. "You’re about to say I don’t look like that anymore."

You tilted your head slightly, considering him. The dim light carved deep lines into his face, caught on the scars that weren’t there in the old photographs. He looked harder now, sharper. Older in ways that had nothing to do with years.

"No," you murmured. "I think you look better."

His gaze snapped to yours, something sharp cutting through the exhaustion.

You held it.

A breath. A shift in the water. The slow rock of the boat beneath you.

He huffed softly, shaking his head. “You must be drunk.”

You smirked, plucking the bottle from his hand again. "Not yet."

───────────────────────────────

The boat drifted back into the harbor under the weight of the tide, the slow churn of the engine humming beneath your feet. The night had stretched long, thick with salt and whiskey and words you weren’t sure either of you had meant to say. Somewhere between the breakers and the horizon, the former Winter Soldier had loosened his grip on silence. Not by much, but enough. 

Enough to take the bottle from your hands without a second thought. Enough to let conversation stretch past reluctant one-word answers.

Enough to make you forget, just for a second, who he was.

The docks were creeping back into view, the lanterns throwing long shadows over the damp wood. The Rusty Gull’s sign flickered dimly in the distance, the sound of a lone gull cutting through the night. The town was as still as you had left it.

Or so it seemed.

Bucky had gone quiet again, leaning against the side of the boat, the nearly empty bottle of whiskey loose in his grip. His eyes were fixed on the dock ahead, shoulders tense, breath slow and measured. You knew that look. A shift in the air, a change in the current. He was listening to something you hadn’t caught yet.

You slowed the engine, coasting toward the dock. The boat rocked slightly, the ropes creaking as the current nudged it forward.

Bucky moved before you heard it.

A gunshot cracked through the night, splintering the quiet, and before you could even react, Bucky was on you. His arm slammed into your chest, knocking you off balance, sending you sprawling against the deck. The whiskey bottle hit the wood with a dull thunk and rolled away, forgotten.

Another shot. Wood exploded near the bow, sending splinters through the air.

Bucky’s body was over yours in an instant, shielding you as he reached blindly for the edge of the boat, grabbing hold of a mooring line and yanking it, using the momentum to shift the entire vessel sideways, throwing off their line of sight.

“Stay down,” he ordered, voice low, urgent.

Your breath came fast and shallow, adrenaline flooding your system as you pressed yourself into the deck. 

The dock creaked under heavy footsteps. More than one, maybe three. They were moving in.

Bucky reached into his bag, and you caught the briefest glint of metal before his gun was in his hand. The barrel gleamed under the pale dock lights as he pressed himself against the side of the boat, jaw clenched, breathing steady.

You forced yourself to move, pushing up slightly, just enough to see over the edge. Four figures. Dark clothing, tactical stance. Not cops. Not locals. These men weren’t here for anything else but him.

Another shot rang out, punching into the boat’s railing just inches from your head.

Bucky didn’t hesitate.

He fired twice—quick, controlled. One of the figures grunted, hitting the deck hard, but the other two didn’t stop. One had already taken cover behind a piling, waiting for his opening. The other was moving, fast, boots heavy against the dock as he aimed for the boat.

Bucky turned to you, eyes dark. “Can you run?”

It wasn’t an insult. It wasn’t doubt. It was calculation.

You exhaled sharply, scanning the dock. The harbor was too open, too exposed. You could take off down the main road, but if these guys had backup, you’d be running straight into it.

A better option—

“There,” you muttered, jerking your chin toward the far end of the dock. The old bait shop. It had a back door that led straight into the alley between the buildings. If you could get through there—

Bucky caught on quick.

“Go.”

The word was barely out before he was moving. A blur of force and precision. He fired again, a sharp, deafening crack. The second man dropped, his gun skidding across the dock. The other lunged.

The impact was brutal—a collision of muscle and momentum. The man swung first, aiming for Bucky’s ribs, but he was too slow. Bucky shifted, catching the strike with his left arm before twisting, using the force against him. He wrenched the guy’s arm back, a sickening crack splitting the air as he drove him to the ground. 

He slammed his metal fist into the base of his skull. Hard.

The body went limp.

Another shot.

You turned just in time to see the last man raising his weapon, but Bucky was faster. Too fast.

The gun barely cleared the holster before Bucky closed the distance. A sharp strike to the wrist sent it clattering onto the dock. The man barely had time to react before Bucky’s fist drove into his gut, then his jaw.

The man staggered, but Bucky wasn’t done. He grabbed him by the front of his jacket, yanking him in close, and for a second, there was nothing but the dark, merciless weight of the Winter Soldier staring him down.

The man gasped, struggled—

But Bucky didn’t give him the chance. His metal arm snapped up—

The sickening crack of vertebrae snapping.

The body went slack, dead weight against Bucky’s grip. He let it drop unceremoniously, the limp form hitting the dock with a dull thud.

A new sound split the air—tires.

A car. Fast. Coming closer.

“Shit,” you hissed, backing toward the alley. “We need to go. Now.”

Bucky didn’t argue. He shoved the man away, sending him sprawling against the dock, and turned to you.

“Move.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

You took off, boots pounding against the damp wood, the sharp scent of salt and gunpowder thick in the air. Bucky was right behind you, his presence a solid, unshakable force at your back. The bait shop’s door was barely hanging onto its hinges—probably hadn’t been locked in years. You shoved through it, stumbling into the darkened space, the scent of fish and old wood clogging your lungs.

Three more shots.

You heard a windshield shattering, glass exploding outward, before you nearly covered your ears with sickening crunch of metal as the car plowed into the dock piling,

Bucky grabbed your wrist, pulling you forward, past the shelves of rusted tackle boxes and forgotten bait buckets. The alley door was dead ahead, slightly ajar. You hit it hard, the damp night air slamming into your face as you burst into the narrow corridor between buildings.

“Where?” he asked, voice low.

You sucked in a breath, scanning the street. The town was still mostly quiet, but that wouldn’t last. Not now.

“My place,” you said quickly, jerking your head toward the opposite end of the alley. “Five blocks. End of the road.”

Bucky hesitated for half a second. Then—he nodded.

The alley spit you out onto a side street, slick with mist, the air thick with brine and the sharp, acrid burn of gunpowder still clinging to your skin. You ran. Fast, steady, keeping your head down as Bucky moved beside you—silent, controlled, like the adrenaline hadn’t even touched him.

You weren’t sure what was worse—the silence or the fact that you weren’t scared.

Five blocks felt longer than it should have, your boots slapping against the pavement, breath curling in the cold.

Your house came into view at the end of the road—small, weathered, but sturdy. The kind of place that had taken a beating from the Atlantic and still stood tall. The kind of place that didn’t usually see gunfights at the harbor.

Bucky slowed first, eyes sweeping the street, the shadows between the buildings. Checking for threats. He didn’t even look winded. Just alert. He wasn’t breathing hard, wasn’t reacting like someone who had just torn through four armed men and a vehicle of more. The only sign that he’d even exerted himself was the faint clench of his jaw, the set of his shoulders. 

You didn’t stop moving until you hit the porch, fumbling for your keys. You rolled your shoulders, shaking out the adrenaline as best you could, which wasn’t much.

“I hope you know,” you muttered, finally shoving the key into the lock, “you’re paying to fix those bullet holes in my damn boat.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, stepping up onto the porch behind you. “Add it to my tab.”

You scoffed, pushing the door open. “Didn’t know we had a running one.”

“You do now.”

A ghost of a smirk, gone as quick as it came.

You flicked the porch light off behind you, locking the door as soon as he stepped inside. The house was quiet, almost too quiet after the night you just had.

Bucky moved straight toward the windows, pushing back the curtain just enough to glance outside. The street was still empty, the ocean a distant murmur beyond the rows of houses.

The silence stretched for a beat, the tension between you settling into something solid. Bucky finally stepped away from the window, rolling his shoulders slightly, probably testing the fresh stitches along his ribs. His jacket was streaked with salt spray and something darker—blood, probably. He didn’t seem to care.

You should’ve cared. Should’ve been shaken, rattled, anything. But instead, the only thing you felt was exhausted.

Your boat was fucked. Your night was fucked. And you still weren’t entirely convinced this wasn’t going to get worse.

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “There’s vodka in the cabinet. And a couch.”

Bucky gave you a look—half-amused, half-skeptical. “That an invitation?”

“That’s me choosing not to kick you out on your ass.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Generous.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing off the counter. But as soon as you did—the floor tilted.

A sharp, blinding heat spiked through your side.

Your hand flew to your ribs, fingers pressing into your shirt. And when they came away—

Blood.

The room dimmed slightly at the edges, as if your body had only just decided to register the damage.

"Shit," you muttered, voice weaker this time, but it pissed you off more than anything else. You hadn’t even felt the damn bullet. Not really. Adrenaline had carried you too far, too fast.

Bucky was already moving.

His metal hand caught your arm before you could fully stumble, his other pressing just under your ribs—where the warmth was spreading, where the fabric was sticking wet and fast to your skin.

He said something, but you barely heard him. Everything was compressing, tunneling. The room felt smaller. Hotter. You exhaled sharply through your nose, blinking hard, trying to focus.

Bucky muttered something under his breath, something sharp, before gripping the hem of your shirt and hauling it up, no warning, no hesitation. You flinched at the rush of cold air against your skin.

"Hold still."

The bark of command would have pissed you off under normal circumstances, but you were too busy gripping the edge of the counter, trying to ignore the way your ears were ringing.

His fingers pressed against the wound. You hissed, back arching, pain flashing bright behind your eyes.

"Through and through," he muttered, mostly to himself. “Messy, but not enough to hit anything fatal.”

"Oh," you panted. "Fantastic. Love that for me."

Bucky didn’t even look up.

His fingers skimmed over the exit wound along your back, brushing your spine. The warmth of his flesh hand contrasted with the cold press of metal, the latter steadying your side as he assessed the damage.

"You should be on the floor."

You let out something close to a laugh, dry and humorless. "Hate to disappoint."

"You’re losing too much blood."

"I got that part, thanks."

Bucky exhaled sharply, pushing down harder. It wasn’t gentle. You clenched your jaw, gripping the counter tighter.

"You got medical supplies here?"

"Bathroom," you ground out. "Hall closet. Second shelf."

Bucky hesitated, eyes flicking to yours, like he didn’t trust you to stay on your feet.

Which was fair.

"Go," you muttered. "I’ll still be here bleeding when you get back."

His mouth twitched. Not amusement. Something closer to frustration.

And then, just like that, he was moving, boots heavy against the wooden floors as he disappeared down the hall.

You exhaled shakily, letting your head tip forward.

Fuck.

Your ribs ached, your breath shuddering in and out. Bucky was right—you should be on the damn floor. But you weren’t about to pass out in your kitchen like some tragic idiot in a noir film. You forced yourself to straighten, which was a mistake. A fresh wave of dizziness rolled through you, black spots creeping at the edges of your vision.

Bucky returned before you could crumple.

He didn’t say anything—just tossed a first-aid kit onto the counter, cracked open a bottle of vodka, grabbed a clean rag, and hauled you up to sit on the countertop. He twisted the cap off with a little too much force, then poured the vodka directly over the wound before you had a chance to argue.

The burn was instant.

"Fuck—!" You nearly buckled, white-hot pain stealing your breath, barely resisting the urge to kick him.

Instead, you clenched your teeth, sucking in a sharp breath as he worked. His metal fingers were unyielding against your ribs, keeping you steady, grounding you. He packed gauze over the wound, pressing down just hard enough to make you see stars.

"Been shot before?"

You let out a weak, breathless scoff. "Nothing more than a BB pellet."

Bucky didn’t react. He just secured the gauze with tape, movements practiced, almost too practiced. Then he reached for another bottle—this time, painkillers.

"Take three," he said, shaking a few into your palm.

You swallowed the pills dry, sighing as you sagged back against the counter. The pain was still there, but Bucky’s presence made it feel less overwhelming. Less like you were alone in it.

He leaned back slightly, studying you for another long second.

"You’re lucky."

You scoffed, rolling your head against the cabinet. “Feels like my lucky night.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "If it had hit a little lower—"

"It didn’t."

Bucky exhaled sharply, pressing his knuckles against the counter like he needed something to brace against. His gaze flicked down to the gauze, already damp with blood, then back to your face.

“You can’t stay here,” he muttered.

You frowned. “What?”

“The counter,” he clarified, reaching for your arm.

You huffed, but let him pull you forward. The movement sent a fresh stab of pain through your side, sharp and blinding. You sucked in a breath, fingers clenching weakly around his wrist.

The couch wasn’t much—worn down, broken in, a relic of years of use—but right now, it might as well have been a damn hospital bed. You sagged against the cushions, exhaling as the pain eased just enough for you to unclench your jaw.

Bucky crouched in front of you, resting his arms on his knees. His eyes scanned you, sharp, assessing, like he was cataloging every little way your body was reacting, every subtle sign of shock.

“You’re not allowed to close your eyes.”

You blinked, head tilting slightly. “Excuse me?”

Bucky’s expression didn’t shift. “You lost more blood than you think.” His voice was even, steady. Not quite gentle, but not harsh either. Just…certain. “I need you awake.”

You let out a slow breath, rolling your head against the back of the couch. The exhaustion was creeping in now, slow and heavy. Your limbs felt distant, like they weren’t quite attached to the rest of you.

But Bucky was still watching. Still waiting.

You dragged your gaze back to his, brows pinching slightly. “You gonna entertain me, then?”

His mouth twitched—just slightly. Not a smile, but close.

“I’ll stitch you up in a few minutes,” he said instead. “Bleeding needs to slow first.”

Your head tipped back again. “Fantastic.”

You swallowed against the dryness in your throat, letting your head loll slightly to the side. The exhaustion was pulling at you, but the sting in your side was still sharp enough to keep you tethered to consciousness. Barely.

Your fingers curled loosely against your stomach, pressing against the gauze. “So,” you muttered, voice hoarse, “who the hell were those guys?”

Bucky didn’t answer immediately.

You watched as he exhaled, long and slow, dragging a hand down his face before glancing toward the window. The street outside was dark, still and silent save for the occasional drip of off the gutters. No sirens, no running footsteps. Whoever had come after him wasn’t lurking nearby. Not anymore.

Your eyelids grew heavier. You felt your body sinking further into the couch, the ache in your side dulling into something distant, something manageable. Maybe you could just rest for a second. Just a second—

A sharp pat against your cheek. Not hard, but firm enough to pull you back.

“Hey.” Bucky’s voice was closer now, rougher. You forced your eyes open, finding him crouched in front of you again, watching with something just shy of impatience. “You don’t get to pass out yet.”

You tried to glare at him, but the fatigue made it half-hearted at best. “Then stop letting me get bored.”

Something flickered in his eyes—an argument, maybe—but instead, he let out another slow breath, rubbing a hand along the nape of his neck. 

“I don’t know their names,” he said finally, voice quieter now. “Doesn’t really matter.”

You frowned, shifting slightly. “Seems like it matters to them.”

He reached over, checking the gauze again with careful fingers. His hands were steady, practiced, but you caught the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers pressed just a little too firmly before he pulled away.

"They’re part of something I’ve been trying to fix," he admitted, voice low. "Or…was supposed to fix."

You frowned, watching the way his shoulders curled inward, just slightly. Like the weight of whatever this was had settled there, pressing down in a way that no amount of strength could shake off.

A ghost too heavy to carry.

He sat back on his heels, exhaling slowly through his nose. “Government wants me to make amends.”

You blinked. “Like—officially? That part of your pardon deal?”

Bucky huffed out a humorless laugh. “Yeah.”

Your head tipped slightly, scanning his expression. The way his fingers flexed against his knee, his mouth pressed into a thin, exhausted line.

“Lemme guess,” you murmured. “It’s not going great.”

His jaw flexed.

“You ever try to apologize to a ghost?” he muttered. “Try to make things right when the damage is already done?”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t know how to.

“No,” you muttered, voice dry. “But I guess I can cross ‘getting shot over some guy I just met’ off my bucket list.”

Bucky’s expression didn’t shift, but his fingers curled slightly against his knee.

“You should’ve left me on that dock.”

You scoffed, cracking an eye open to glare at him. “Yeah? And then what? Let you steal my boat?”

His brow twitched slightly, but he didn’t argue.

You sighed, shifting slightly, wincing as the movement tugged at your wound. “Besides,” you muttered, “maybe you were right.”

Bucky frowned slightly. “About what?”

You exhaled through your nose, staring at the ceiling. “My instincts.”

He was quiet. Too quiet.

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze again. Still sharp. Still unreadable. But there was something else now—something flickering at the edges of his expression, something that looked almost…guilty.

Bucky exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand down his face. His fingers lingered at his jaw for a second, pressing into the muscle like he was trying to hold something back. Like he was trying to smother whatever guilt was creeping up the back of his throat.

He shouldn’t be here.

He shouldn’t be in your house, shouldn’t have dragged you into this.

Shouldn’t be sitting here, watching you bleed because of him.

His hands curled into fists before he forced them to relax, palms pressing against the tops of his knees.

“You trust too easy,” he muttered.

You huffed out a weak laugh, your eyes flicking toward him, heavy-lidded but still sharp. Still watching him in a way that made something inside him twist.

Your stomach twisted. “Don’t do that.”

His brows twitched. “Do what?”

“That.” You exhaled sharply, head rolling back against the couch. “That thing where you look at me like I’m already dead.”

Bucky’s jaw locked tight. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, gaze flicking to the wound at your side before finding yours again.

"You’re not," he muttered.

"Yeah?" You arched a brow. "Then stop acting like you already have to atone for it."

He didn’t respond. Didn’t deny it.

The silence stretched long and heavy, broken only by the rhythmic ticking of the old clock in the kitchen. The smell of whiskey still clung to your skin, to the air between you, but it felt distant now.

Your eyelids were heavier than they should’ve been, the exhaustion creeping in slow, inevitable.

Before you could drift, Bucky’s voice pulled you back.

“You still awake?”

His voice was low, measured. But there was something underneath it, something sharp and edged.

You sighed, blinking blearily at the ceiling. “Unfortunately.”

His gaze swept over you again, another quick assessment, before he nodded to himself. Then—he reached for the kit.

“You’re gonna hate me for this,” he muttered, pulling out a clean needle, the thread, the bottle of antiseptic.

Your stomach dipped. “Is it a bad time to mention my fear of needles?”

───────────────────────────────

The morning air was thick with salt and brine, the scent of seaweed clinging to the wind as the tide pulled in slow. The docks were alive in a way they hadn’t been the night you first saw him—Bucky Barnes, standing just outside the reach of the lantern light, looking like something lost.

Now, the world was awake.

Boats swayed in their slips, men hauling ropes and loading coolers onto deck. The occasional bark of laughter, the clang of a metal latch swinging closed, the hum of a radio spilling some old tune into the air. You nodded to a few familiar faces—Earl, hauling a crate of bait toward his skiff, Old Tommy, already griping about how the ocean had taken more from him than it ever gave back.

None of them mentioned the way you moved slower than usual, favoring your left side, a dull pull where the stitches still held tight.

You adjusted your jacket, rolling your shoulders against the stiffness. The wound wasn’t bad—not compared to what it could’ve been—but it had kept you off the water the past week. You hated that. The ocean was your rhythm, your constant, and being stuck on land too long made your skin itch.

Which made the sight at the end of the dock all the more bearable.

There, standing on the deck of your bullet-riddled boat, was Bucky Barnes.

His sleeves were shoved up to his elbows, exposing both metal and flesh, his vibranium arm catching the late-morning light in dull glints of gold. His dark henley clung to him, damp with sweat, the fabric stretched slightly over his shoulders as he leaned down to secure a section of the patched hull, not before staring it down. His jeans—worn, dark—were dusted with sawdust and flecks of dried paint.

And beside him—Sam Wilson.

You slowed your steps, watching as The Falcon —a man you’d only seen through a screen, or the occasional news article—gestured toward the boat’s hull with the kind of exasperation that had to be directed at Bucky.

“I’m just saying,” Sam was muttering, adjusting his grip on the power sander, “you could maybe pretend to be more helpful instead of just standing there looking pissed off.”

Bucky shot him a flat look. “I am being helpful.”

Sam arched a brow. “Oh? My bad—I didn’t realize glaring at the boat was part of the restoration process.”

You huffed out a laugh before you could stop yourself.

Two pairs of eyes flicked toward you at once.

Sam’s face split into an easy grin, like he already knew who you were. “Ah—the woman of the hour.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face like he was already done with this interaction. “Oh, great.”

You stepped closer, taking in the damage that hadn’t been there before—the patched holes along the hull, the wood still sanded raw in places, the faint scent of paint lingering in the air. They’d been at this for a while.

You tilted your head, eyeing the work. “Hate to break it to you, Barnes, but I don’t think carpentry’s your calling.”

Sam let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Damn. She’s fun.”

Bucky shot him a look. “Don’t encourage her.”

“Oh, no,” Sam grinned. “I love this.”

You smirked, bracing a hand against the dock railing. “And who do I have to thank for putting my boat back together?”

“That’d be me,” Sam said, shooting Bucky a pointed look. “Since I actually know how to fix a boat.”

Bucky sighed through his nose. “I was helping.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah. You held things.”

You shook your head, letting them bicker as you ran a hand along the patched wood. It wasn’t pretty yet, but it would hold.

“So,” you said, glancing back at Sam, “you always spend your free time fixing up boats for people you don’t know?”

Sam smirked. “You always let ex-assassins borrow your boat?”

You opened your mouth, then shut it again, considering. “Touché.”

Sam chuckled, brushing sawdust from his sleeves. “Figured if this guy was gonna be moping around your dock, I might as well make myself useful.”

Bucky didn’t argue. 

Didn’t even deny it.

Just kept his arms crossed, gaze flicking toward you for a fraction of a second before shifting away again.

The silence stretched—not awkward, but heavy. Something unspoken settled between you and Bucky, the weight of everything that had happened still fresh.

Sam, apparently, picked up on it.

He exhaled, shaking his head. “Right. Well. As much as I’d love to stand here and watch this little staring contest, I’ve got places to be.”

He tossed the power sander onto the deck, grabbing his jacket from where it had been draped over the railing.

Sam paused beside you, lowering his voice just enough. “He’s not as mean as he looks.”

You smirked, shooting Bucky a glance. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Sam chuckled, clapping a gentle hand to your shoulder. “You’ll be alright.” Then, louder: “Don’t forget to actually help, Barnes.”

Bucky grumbled something unintelligible under his breath as Sam walked away.

The wind shifted. The dock creaked beneath your feet, the tide lapping lazily against the pylons.

And suddenly, it was just the two of you.

Bucky didn’t say anything. Just stood there, staring at the boat like it might offer him an escape. 

You exhaled, shaking your head. “You’re fixing my boat.”

Bucky grunted.

“Are you gonna try and say that’s making amends, too?”

He was quiet for a second—then:

“Nah.” He shrugged, gaze flicking to yours. Something tired. Something honest. “Just seemed like the right thing to do.”

You leaned against the dock railing, arms folded loosely over your chest. Bucky was still looking at the boat, but not really looking at it. Like it was easier to stare at than whatever was running through his head.

You tilted your head. “So, what? You gonna hang around town now? Make a life fixing boats, grunting at people, drinking whiskey in alleyways?”

Bucky exhaled sharply—not quite a laugh, but damn close. His mouth twitched, and he shot you a sidelong glance. “Sounds peaceful.”

You huffed. “You don’t strike me as the peaceful type.”

His jaw ticked slightly. Neither did he.

“I’m not,” he admitted, shifting his weight. “But… I wouldn’t mind trying.”

That settled between you—heavy, but not uncomfortable.

You let your gaze drift out toward the water. The tide was shifting again, the sun catching in the ripples like scattered gold.

“Lot of people come here trying to disappear,” you murmured.

Bucky was quiet. Then—“That what you did?”

You glanced at him. “What makes you think I’m running from something?”

He didn’t blink. “Because people don’t just end up in places like this.” His voice was even, careful. “They come here because they don’t wanna be anywhere else.”

You considered that for a moment, rolling the thought over in your mind like a stone in your palm. Then, finally—you shrugged.

“Guess that makes two of us.”

Something in his expression flickered, just for a second. A shift in the weight he carried.

“You still planning to leave?” you asked.

Bucky’s fingers curled loosely around the railing, his knuckles faintly scarred where the flesh met metal. “That depends.”

“On what?”

He looked at you then—really looked at you. Not with that guarded edge he’d carried since the moment you met, not with the sharp, assessing stare he used to measure threats. Just… looked.

“I don’t know yet.”

Your stomach turned in a way you didn’t quite know what to do with.

You exhaled slowly, nodding toward the boat. “Well, if you’re gonna stick around, you might as well finish the job.”

Bucky huffed out something that might’ve been amusement. “I will.”

“Damn right you will,” you smirked, nudging his arm lightly. “You owe me, Barnes.”

His gaze flicked to yours, and this time, you swore something softened.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I do.”

The weight in his voice hit you somewhere deep. It didn’t sound like an obligation.

It sounded like a promise.

[itsmrvlxh50]

I love how we say "PROTECT THIS CHARACTER AT ALL COSTS" and then we go and hurt them like they have never been hurt before

[fungateshortcakes]

Jealous much?

Pairing: dofp!Logan x fem!teacher!Reader

Summary: What happens when Logan finds the father of one of your students flirting with you after class?

Wordcount: 1.7k

Warnings/tags: Jealous!Logan, established relationship (you are married), flirting, Logan asserting dominance to the guy that thinks he has a chance with you, smitten Logan bc he loves u so much, reader is implied to be 'turned on' once, no use of (y/n), english is not my first language!

_________________

I love love LOVE jealous Logan. Someone (I think it was by @pandapetals) made a fic where Logan and reader were married and a students mother was flirting with Logan, which pissed reader off and she has to show the lady who has that man wrapped around her finger already. That was so YUMMY so this is the Logan-being-jealous counterpart, hope you enjoy!

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The end of the school day brought with it a familiar sense of relief and exhaustion. You loved your job, but after spending hours with a classroom full of high-energy students, you were ready to pack up and head to your room in the mansion.

The thought of your shared room and of your husband Logan waiting there brought a small smile to your face. But as you were tidying up your desk, the last few students leaving your classroom, you heard a voice call your name. Your head wiped around as you heard it. “Excuse me, Miss!” At first, you thought it was one of your students, but their voice was too deep to be a teenage boy.

You turned to see Mr. Reed, a tall, polished man with a charming smile. You recognized him immediately. He was the father of one of your more rambunctious students, Jason Reed. He seemed to live in this school, it was weird just how often you saw him around. He attended every single one of the parent evenings you hosted - only yours. And he often sought you out to have a conversation with him and his son. You didn't think too much of it, it was your job after all to answer the parents questions if they had any concerns.

You gave him a friendly wave as he approached. “Oh, hey, Mr. Reed” you greeted warmly, pausing in your steps. "Is there something you needed?

The man gave a casual shrug, slipping his hands into the pockets of his well-tailored suitjacket. “I was hoping to catch you for a moment. My son just won’t stop talking about you. Miss "the-coolest-teacher-ever’” he added with a chuckle, his blue eyes holding a distinct shimmer in them.

You laughed softly. Hearing this went down like honey. You were always happy to know that your students were enjoying your class. You were the teacher you wanted to be since you were a student yourself. The teacher that made other students feel safe, that didn't make them feel like they were pressured and had to deliver a certain level of performance to be good enough "Well, Jason is a great kid. He’s got so much energy. I can barely keep up sometimes, but I’m glad to hear he is liking my classes this far."

“Oh, absolutely. You’ve really made a difference for him” Mr. Reed said, his voice dipping into something smoother, something deeper. “He’s had a hard time adjusting to his mutation, you know. And the abilities that come with it. But since he’s been in your class, I can tell he’s a lot happier. More confident" he praised you highly, teeth bared in a dashing smile to you. “And that’s all thanks to you. I don’t know how you do it, managing a class full of kids with various mutations and powers they can't quite control yet. It’s impressive.”

You waved your hand dissmisvely at the single father, giggling bashfully. You weren't used to such direct praise from parents, not even from him. “I'm flattered, but it’s not just me" you replied modestly. “Mr. Xavier has build a great support system over the years.”

Mr. Reed clicked his tounge at your humble answer. “Don’t sell yourself short” he flashed you another grin. “You clearly have a talent with kids. Jason has made more progress in the past few months than he ever has before. I’m not sure how I could ever thank you properly.”

His tone was friendly for the time being. The conversation continued. And at first it felt completely professional, how it should be. Mr. Reed asked about Jason’s curriculum, your teaching methods and even about the schools approach to managing the students unique abilities. You were more than happy to answer all his questions, oblivious to the way he started inching closer.

“It’s just refreshing” he said, leaning casually against the wall next to you, his eyes subtly roaming your figure “to meet someone as smart, kind and beautiful as you. Jason’s lucky to have you as his teacher. The whole class is.”

The realisation hit you like a ton of bricks. He wasn’t just being nice. He was flirting. You blinked, your polite smile faltering. “Oh, um, thank you” you replied, starting to feel a little awkward. It showed with the way you brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. A sign for him that you were all shy and bashful around him. Far from that. You felt really uncomfortable.

"I’m lucky, too, really” he added, fueling the bad feeling in your gut. His eyes sweeped over you, this time less subtle, in a way that made your skin prickle, but not the good kind.

Then he decided to just go for it and ask the big question. He was impatient and wasn't in the mood to wait until you initiated something first. He had waited long enough. “Do you ever take time for yourself? Maybe let someone take you out for dinner?”

Your composure completely faltered for a second. The nerve this guy had. Didn't he see the obvious gold ring on your finger or did he purposefully decided to ignore it? You opened your mouth, trying to come up with a diplomatic way to shut this down, but you didn’t get the chance to.

“Everything alright in here?”

Logan’s gruff voice cut through the hallway like a blade, low and unmistakably annoyed. You turned to see him striding toward you, eyeing Mr. Reed like a wild animal stalking its prey. His broad shoulders were squared, his jaw set, and his dark eyes locked onto the other man with visible irritation.

You jumped as if you had just been caught cheating. “Logan” you squeaked surprised.

He huffed through his nose, his nostrils flaring like the ones of an angry bull that was riled up by the red in its vision. Well, when he had this loser of a man flirt with a goddess like you, his goddess, then he saw red. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt” Logan nearly growled, his tone anything but apologetic as he stopped next to you.

Mr. Reed blinked, clearly caught off guard. He swallowed thickly “Oh, I was just-” he tried to save the situation, or rather his own life, but Logan cut him off. “Flirtin’ with my wife?” Logan asked, arching a brow.

Mr. Reed’s face went pale as the snow falling outside the mansion, coating the gardenwith a thin layer of white. His eyes searched for your hand. They went wide as he looked at the wedding band you had been proudly wearing for six years now as if it had just appeared. “You-wait, you’re married?”

“Sure am” Logan said, slipping an arm around your waist and pulling you firmly against his side, securing you there. Marking his territory. His grip was warm and possessive and you could feel the tension radiating from him.

Mr. Reed stammered, his eyes darting between you and Logan in embarrassement and if you looked correctly, a little bit of fear. “I-I had no idea. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-” he stuttered out, laughing awkwardly in a bad attempt to play down his nervousness.

“Yeah, well, now you know,” Logan said flatly. “So maybe next time, think twice before you try to fuck someones woman" he spat, taking a step closer to Mr. Reed. You gasped softly at Logans word and placed a hand on his chest, giving him a warning look. “Logan” you muttered softly, trying to rein him in like a guard dog that was ready to pounce if its owner let him. You couldn't say that this side of him didn't turn you on immensly. But you didn’t need to get scolded by Charles for scaring off a parent.

But Logan wasn’t done. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble. “And just so we’re clear, she’s not interested. Ever” He snarled, down right barked his last word into Reeds face, who then mumbled another apology before practically fleeing down the hallway, leaving you alone with Logan.

Once he was gone, you turned to your husband with a mix of exasperation and amusement. “and that was really necessary?" you chuckled with a proud smirk. “Damn right it was” Logan replied, his hand still possessively gripping your hips, smoothing over them. “Guy needed to know who he was dealin’ with.”

You sighed, but your lips twitched into a small smile as you leaned against your broad and strong teddy bear of a husband. “You know I can handle myself, right?”

Logans lips pulled into the slightest smile as he looked down at you as if you were the most precious thing in the whole universe. “Yeah, I know” Logan muttered, his tone softening as he admired your pretty face. That pretty face he had the privilege to wake up to every morning because you were his wife. His. “Doesn’t mean I’m gonna let some jackass hit on you though.”

You giggled, shaking your head fondly, reaching up to cup his gruff cheek. “You’re ridiculous.”

Logan shrugged “Maybe” he said, smirking. “But you like ridiculous. Wouldn’t have married me otherwise, missy" he rumbled deep in his chest, making you smile because it was the truth. You married him for it. Married him for everything he was. “Guilty as charged" you murmured with a smile, standing on your toes to kiss him softly.

Logan’s arms wrapped around you fully, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss. By the time he pulled away, his loving smirk had returned, but his eyes were filled with something softer. Something only you got to see. Something that you wanted to see for the rest of your life just from him.

“Still don’t like sharin’,” he muttered. You laughed, resting your forehead against his. “You don’t have to.”

And as Logan laced his fingers with yours, leading you towards the mansions garden to take a relaxing stroll through the green and white landscape after this unpleasant encounter, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the man who’d fight the world to keep you by his side.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

And weirdly enough, you never saw Mr. Reed after that, not even at the parent evenings. I wonder why...

If you liked this- like, comments and reblog! It helps a lot🎀

[darealsaltysam]

hey tumblr. you should read my xmen fic. the second chapter just came out. this image tells you all you need to know about the plot. thanks <3

[buckyalpine]

I love Bucky loving his body. I love Bucky loved by the team. I love Bucky having his happy ending with a family. Imagine Bucky lounging around the sofa with his little baby girl tucked in his arm, her sweet face covered in frosting after smothering half of her cupcake onto her cheeks. The icing is bright red just like Tony's suit and it's his birthday party afterall, so everything is in full swing. Most of the cupcake is squished between her fingers, very little actually making it into her mouth but Bucky doesn't mind. He chuckles, watching her with heart eyes as she happily smears it onto his crisp white shirt, babbling and cooing, now sucking her thumb.

He is absolutely unbothered by this, all he sees is his happy little baby with her cheeky smile licking up all the frosting just like her mama. While Bucky couldn't care less about his shirt, a few others certainly did.

"Better get dunk that shirt into a bucket of tide pens Barnes" Clint snorted.

"Actually the quicker you get it off, the less likely it is to stain. Take it off now" Tony's voice went from fatherly advice to a seductive growl making Bucky's face twist in amusement, pink starting to color his cheeks.

"Yeah, give the little munchkin to y/n and take it off. Cause of the stain" Nat agreed, cocking an eyebrow. You giggled watching the scene unfold before you, your husband growing bashfully shy.

"Can't hurt punk" Steve shrugged and Bucky's eyes nearly popped out of his head until he realized his best friend had been nursing a rather large glass of Asgardian mead. Tipsy Steve was always a little bit of a pervert...

"I-

"For the stain"

"I think you just want me to take my shirt off" Bucky huffed while you grinned, giving his cheek a peck before taking your little princess in your arms.

"Can't blame them handsome, c'mon, show em' how lucky I am" you whisper and that sells it. Couldn't hurt and since they were all asking...

"Just take it off!" Nat howled with a wink, a bunch of whistles when Bucky sighed, indulging the team a little. He unbuttons his shirt and hands it off to a genuinely concerned Sam who would normally make sure the shirt got sent to the cleaners but this is too good so he throws it into a bucket of cold water and is back within seconds.

"Good God"

"Jesus"

"You look fuckin' good terminator"

"Alright, alright" Bucky holds his hands up, unable to stop the way his ears are bright red, shaking his head when you blow him a kiss making him blush more.

"Body shots!"

"What?"

"Yes"

Tony's eyes glimmer with excitement, and Bucky snorts, loving the way you egg him on, his daughter also squealing with excitement.

"Go on Sarge, y'know you look good"

He lies down on the bar table, surrounded by just the team, abs beautifully flexed as Nat pours a generous amount of some type of alcohol right on his belly button.

"When else will we get this lucky" She says with a playful smirk while Steve cracks his knuckles.

"Why are you cracking your knuckles, what the hell do you plan on-

"ME FIRST" He doesn't give anyone a chance, face planting himself into Bucky's tummy, his lips sealed, drinking every bit of the burning liquor with a satisfied hum.

"How much has he had to drink"

"Who cares, me next"

"I think you've licked enough of my husband"

"You get him all the time, don't be greedy"

"That cute little chubby ball of frosting and giggles is enough evidence you get him every which way, besides isn't there another one cooking, y'can't have any now git"

"Blink twice if you need help"

"Bro looks like an angel"

"Why aren't you blinking"

"Crafted by the heavens"

"You like this, don't you"

Bucky can't help but chuckle, surrounded by idiots. Drunk idiots. His wife. His baby girl. Another little one on the way. All who love him. Would protect him. Life was good.

[avocado-writing]

pairing: logan howlett x reader x wade wilson

rating: E, minors dni, 18+ (mmf threesome; resolved sexual tension; sex pollen; unprotected p in v sex; oral [f receiving]; double penetration)

words: 6.7k

summary: you, logan and wade are on a stakeout after reports of a new drug which only affects mutants. but what happens when you accidentally get a hit of it yourselves…? (the sex pollen fic from the poll! thank you @eupheme for betaing for me, i owe you my life!)

“I spy with my little eye…”

“Wade, I swear to god…” Logan’s voice is a low rumble, a warning.

“Awww c’mon, peanut! What else do we have to do? Indulge me in my childlike whimsy.”

“Let me guess,” you say, shelling a pistachio before throwing it in the air to catch it on your waiting tongue, “you spy something beginning with R-D, which is the rising damp, which is the fourth goddamn time you spied it because there’s nothing else in this fucking place.”

Wade huffs and throws himself back in his chair. 

“Killjoy,” he mutters, and goes back to carving obscene doodles into the side table with baby knife. 

On the first day you were happy to play along, just to ease the boredom and tension which came hand-in-hand with this arrangement. Now it’s been five of them, stacking on top of each other and getting claustrophobic-heavy, the three of you crowded into each other’s space and on the razor’s edge.

Something is going to break, and you’re worried it’ll be Wade’s nose under Logan’s fist.

What a stupid fucking mission. You should never have said yes.

Ever since the whole Void situation was resolved you, Logan and Wade have been X-Men adjacent. Not part of the group exactly but happy to play along if needed. This most recent assignment had been a request from Piotr - there was something going on downtown to do with trafficking drugs which affected mutants, and someone needed to keep an eye on it. Couldn’t be anyone from the mansion, they’re all hands on deck at the moment keeping an influx of kids in check. But the three of you? With no jobs between you and an urge to do good?

It was a problem with an obvious solution.

It’s a stakeout. Which means sitting and waiting and holy fuck is it boring. 

You can tell something is going on in the alley across the street but you’ve had strict instructions not to take action until you see the guy in charge: thickset man with a penchant for misdeeds and built like a brick shithouse. Once you have proof he’s involved, you’ll get the go-ahead to close in and shut the place down in whatever manner you see fit.

But until he comes in, your little trio has no choice but to stay put, watching petty criminals come and go with no idea they’re being monitored.

Life has revolved around watches from the dingy window. Usually two of you will stay up while one of you tries to get some sleep on one of the uncomfortable twin beds that have been provided, but it isn’t easy to drift off when it feels like the mattresses are made of cinder blocks stuffed with broken glass. It isn’t that you’re unused to being in each others’ spaces - if you’re not at their apartment they’re at yours, after all, you are friends - but this is different. You have the luxury of walking away from each other in normal day-to-day life when things gets too much. Here? Here, you’re stuck until you’re done with the job. You’re all tired, irritated, and desperate for entertainment. You’ve even considered chopping off your own hand to watch it grow back, just for something to do.

And the thing is that’s not the worst of it. Ever since the three of you returned from the Void there’s been something there. Something difficult to pin down, exactly.  A niggling little feeling worming its way through your body. Something which thrums every time Wade flexes the muscles in his hand and you see his long, strong fingers; every time Logan grits his jaw and the tendons in his neck throb. 

Oh, right. You sort of really want to fuck them both.

You don’t go through something that traumatic and not have deep-rooted feelings which surpass normal boundaries. You fought for each others’ lives. You’re bonded in a way people rarely are. And the more time you spend with them the blurrier the lines between platonic and fucking soulmate become. You’ve seen both of them stare at you - and each other - when they think you’re not looking, so you’re sure this isn’t something that only you are harbouring. It’s a secret desire harboured by all three of you.

Like you said, something is gonna break. And in this shitty little surveillance room? It’s gonna break soon.

A movement outside. The three of you sit forward to take a look at the evening’s street view, only to fall back into your chairs as it turns out to be a false alarm. Just a pedestrian walking by. You’re going to go insane.

You drum your fingers on your thighs just to keep them busy, then turn to Logan. 

“You got a smoke?”

He cocks a brow at you.

“You want a cigar?”

“Nothing else to fucking do.”

“Whoa, hey!” says Wade, putting his hand on Logan’s arm as he roots around in his jacket pocket, “No no no, you quit last year! Don’t start up bad habits again unless I’m the one convincing you to, pookie.”

“Wade, c’mon. I’m gonna lose my mind if I don’t have something to do,” you groan. Plus, really, you’d kinda like something to suck on, just to relieve some of the ache in your belly.

As if Wade can hear your thoughts he pipes up again.

“Well if you’re that desperate to use your mouth, I know what we could play to pass the time…”

You and Logan groan in unison, and he balls his fist in a way which suggests it’s not long until the claws come out. Wade holds up his hands to signify peace.

“Whoa, chill out, honeybadger. No need to get scratchy. You don’t have to join in if you don’t want to… but it’s more fun the more people there are.”

Accepting there’s nothing else to pass the time, Logan lets out a long, exhausted sigh and lets Wade continue.

The mercenary licks his lips as if, for once, considering his phrasing. Then blurts out what he wanted to say anyway.

“We could play blowjob roulette.”

It was a foolish time to take a drink of your soda, because you spurt it out your nose. After a moment of mopping yourself up with your sleeve you manage a, “what?!”

“Well, oral roulette I guess, if we’re being PC about it.”

“Oh my god,” Logan groans, getting to his feet and stomping into the tiny excuse for a kitchenette, grabbing a beer and opening it with such gusto that the cap bounces off an adjacent wall.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything! We just spin the bottle and whoever it ends up pointing out deals out a round of Australian kisses for the other players. Relieves the boredom, and it’s fun to see how long everyone lasts.”

Your mouth is open, you’re sure of it. You’re looking at Wade in abject horror. This has got to just be part of his stupid bravado, right? Making an ill-timed joke?

Because the other option is he’s serious.

Logan drinks. You stare. Wade rabbits on.

“I’m just saying we used to play it at Sister Margaret’s all the time, when we were waiting for new marks to come in and didn’t have anything better to do! It wasn’t gay or anything except for, you know, the rampant homoeroticism of slurping everyone’s gherkin.”

“Did you… did you ever have to do it?” you ask, morbid fascination taking over. He scoffs.

“Did I ever have to… pookie, I’ve taken more loads than my building’s washing machine. Yeah, I’d say I’m pretty fucking great at it.”

He’s staring at you with an intensity which makes you feel like you’re on fire, but from embarrassment or enthusiasm you’re not sure. 

“So?” he asks, quietly, putting a hand on your knee. Your body burns. You swallow. You look to Logan. 

He sighs. Finishes his beer, but in a way which suggests he’s giving in. You see the way Logan’s teeth touch his bottom lip. The start of a fricative. 

He’s going to say fine.

Movement out of the window. You bolt up, knocking Wade’s hand away. He deflates.

“Aww. But I really wanted to - ”

“No, guys - look!”

They quickly crowd you, following where you point. A huge man walks into the alleyway, flanked by underlings, the bulk of him taking up the small space.

“There’s our guy,” you say, “let’s go.”

You descend upon the alleyway in a flash of swords and claws. You tug your cowl up over your nose to protect your face, hand on one of your Brügger & Thomet MP9s as the three of you come face-to-face with the door you’ve been monitoring all week.

“So are we going in sneaky style, or—”

Logan rips the door off its hinges, throwing it down the length of the alley; he is desperate to be done with this. You exchange a look with Wade.

“Okiedokie, asked and answered I guess,” he sighs, grabbing his Desert Eagles from his holsters.

You both follow Logan who’s thrown himself into the middle of the lab claws-first. Two-thirds of the people scream and flee, the others stand their guard and grab their guns.

Fingers on triggers, you take a beat to examine the situation.

Equipment everywhere. Beakers and cylinders you can possibly guess the use for, set up on desks and synthesising something nasty. The boss is standing in the middle of the room, eyebrow cocked and mild annoyance plastered on his face. Bingo. You make a beeline for him, taking a couple of bullets in your flank as you go.

“Cover me!” you shout to Wade. He pulls his katana out of a guy’s head and throws you a bloodied thumbs-up.

“Got your back, pookie! Hate to see you leave, love to watch you spill entrails as you go!”

As if he was predicting your next action, you whip your knife out of your belt and stab it in an assailant’s belly, watching his warm guts slide onto the floor. He releases a strangled noise as he drops to his knees - you make a move to continue on your way to the boss only to feel someone pick you up.

“Shit!” you mutter as you’re hoisted into the air. Wade and Logan stop their onslaught to turn at the sound of your panic, their eyes both going wide as they see you restrained. With a twinned shout of your name they come running to help.

Aww, your boys. It’d be cute if you weren’t bracing yourself for the pain.

Your attacker launches you across the room. A couple of seconds go by as you fly through the air - and then into a table full of test tubes and pipettes.

A great cloud rises into the air. A cloud of spores?

Before you can get a chance to properly read the situation, Wade and Logan are at your side. Sturdy hands grasp around your forearms and you’re dragged to your feet. 

Of course, it goes unnoticed…but all three of you take in a deep breath.

“You okay, baby?” rasps Logan. 

“Yeah, I’m f— move!” you scream, shouldering him out of the way so you can sink your knife into the neck of the man about to spray bullets down his spine. As you rip through the soft skin at his throat something occurs to you. 

‘Baby’? Where did that come from?

Not that it isn’t nice, obviously, but… it’s unlike Logan to show that much tenderness ever. Especially with pet names.

Oh well, no time to dwell.

Picking bits of glass from your biceps you tank a punch from a man closing in on your left, parry his next couple of blows, then shoot him in the dick. Wade has called this a ‘low blow’ before which isn’t incorrect but honestly, there’s no time for fighting fair when it’s 3-versus-30. 

The boss has finally gotten involved. A pair of brass knuckles shines against his fist as he swings at Logan, a meaty crack filling the air in a way which you’re worried might actually have dented one of your friend’s ribs. Wade uses the distraction to stab a katana into the guy’s back, then another one a little further up - using him like a goddamn climbing wall. The boss roars like an animal and attempts to swat him off but there’s no use. His massive bulk is working against him, and Wade can be a fast little motherfucker when he wants to be.

Wade lets out a ‘peekaboo!’ as he pops up over the boss’s shoulder, pressing his pistol into the meat of his neck and firing. Blood sprays across the floor but somehow the guy doesn’t stop, not even when Logan picks himself back up and sinks both his claws into his stomach; it only elicits another snarl.

Okay, time to close.

You sheath your guns and go back to your knife, using Logan as a launchpad as you throw yourself off the arch of his back and into the air - stabbing down into the boss’s skull with a dull thunk.

A line of blood dribbles out of his mouth. He starts to fall.

“Uh oh - call me Ke$ha, because I’m yelling timber!” Wade warns. With a snarl Logan rips his claws free from muscle, snatching you off of the boss’s corpse as he stumbles forward under his own weight. Pulling you free you both lose your footing, and you crash down onto your friend.

You look at Logan.

He looks at you. 

Suddenly, his hands clasp around your hips. Probably you move you off of him…

And then you’re on fire. 

Like gasoline has made a line from his touch to your cunt, everything in you is set ablaze. Your pussy clenches and you’ve never felt so empty before - or at least not so aware of it.

There is a cock-shaped hole and it’s begging to be filled.

You expect Logan to freak out, you’re freaking out - you never thought you had a murder kink but you guess you’re never too old to find out something new about yourself - but he doesn’t.

Instead you just see him furrow his brow as if processing something; then acknowledge the press of his hardening cock rub against your thigh as he bucks up into you.

Oh no. Something is wrong.

When you feel Wade grab your shoulder and haul you back to your feet it’s the same, that delicious burning sensation rocketing through you… and from the way he moans as soon as his hands are on you, the feeling is mutual. 

“Fuck. Fuck,” he breathes. Yeah. You want to, that’s the issue.

You stagger away from him with wide eyes and electric skin, a beat passing between the three of you as the people left in the lab decide to give up the fight now their boss is toast. Hearts racing, hands wanting to reach out and touch.

Logan is the one to break the silence.

“We should call in and let the others know we’re done,” he manages. You nod.

“Yeah. Can we… can we go back across the street? I don’t feel so good.”

“Oh, don’t you go Spider-Man Infinity War Part 1 on me,” Wade chuckles. You don’t have the energy to work out what he’s referencing, especially when a jolt goes through your body to your cunt when you feel his eyes meet yours. 

Damn. This is bad. 

“Yeah. Of course, honey,” Logan manages. He goes to put his hand on the small of your back and then thinks better of it, though you can feel its nearness like a magnetic pull. You almost moan when he retracts his touch instead. Wade whips his phone out and fires off a message to let someone know a cleanup crew is needed as you stagger out of the alleyway and back across the street. 

You didn’t bother closing the door when you ran out, too desperate to monopolise on the chance of getting your mark. The three of you tumble back into the room you’d been dying to get out of just a scant few minutes ago, relieved to be in the privacy of its confines again.

A moment passes as all three of you adjust to the feeling coursing through your bodies.

“What’s happening?” you breathe, bracing your hands on the back of your go-to wooden chair and breaking it with the force of your grip. You wince at the sound of splintering, blood dripping down your palms before you feel it heal over.

“I’ve not felt like this since I first discovered how easy it was to masturbate to Good Housekeeping,” Wade groans, whipping off his mask as he flops down onto the battered-up-couch. Logan has made his way to the fridge again, practically ripping its door off to get to a beer which he downs in one swig. Fuck. It’s so sexy. You want to lick the muscles in his neck.

“It’s a pollen,” he states, voice rocky in a way which goes straight to the burning pit of your stomach. You and Wade exchange a look and then turn to him, waiting for further explanation. “Only has a reaction in mutants. Charles said it was something about putting the id into overdrive, like a fuckin’ adrenaline shot to the libido.”

“It… it makes you aroused?” you manage, attempting not to rock your cunt into the palm of your hand. Logan grunts.

“Was trying to be more tactful, but yeah, honey. That’s the idea.”

Honey. The pet name once again goes down your spine.

“Fucking sorry,” says Wade, “someone was manufacturing this stuff as a drug for what? To make mutants too horny to fight?”

Logan shrugs, still not tearing his gaze from his empty bottle, as if to agree it’s his best guess. Wade’s head falls back against the sofa’s arm.

“I mean, damn, they could have just shown me any frame from Magic Mike XXL and it would have had the same result. Seems like a lot of effort.”

Something about the way Logan talks sticks out to you, you circle back around to it. 

“Logan, you seem to know a lot about this stuff… have you encountered it before?”

Another beer grabbed and chugged down, the forward hunch in his shoulders physical evidence of his walls raising. 

“Once. Back in the day with the other X-Men.”

“How did you get through it? Does it go away?”

Logan doesn’t reply. Drinks.

The unspoken answer sinks in.

“Oh my god, you had to fuck it out, didn’t you?” gasps Wade. Logan doesn’t even growl. Jesus Christ he’s right. “Who was it? Storm? Beast? By the love of all things 100k+ enemies-to-lovers-slowburn, tell me it was Cyclops.”

Logan doesn’t dignify him with an answer, instead putting the empty bottle down with enough force you’re surprised it doesn’t shatter.

“It’ll pass. I just need to sit it out,” he reasons, the grit in his jaw suggesting this isn’t the optimal solution. You feel your eyebrows tug together, a crease of concern settling between them.

“But…”

“I’ll be fine.” The way he says it, he’s trying to convince himself more than anyone. With the room in the air practically throbbing he heads to the bedroom, leaving you and Wade alone.

Holy shit. You and Wade are alone.

Your eyes wander over to him, to find his gaze is already resting heavy on you. Your skin lights up.

“So, uh,” he starts, shifting himself awkwardly where his hard-on is trapped in his suit, “you read any good books lately?”

That does help to alleviate the tension and you find yourself chuckling, only for the relief to be ablated when your empty pussy pulses. You whine.

“Wade…”

As soon as you say his name he’s rushing over to you, helping you sit down on the ruined chair. You both moan as hot skin slides against hot skin. 

“Look, it isn’t…” you groan as you slide your hand up his bicep. Fuck, he’s strong. “...it isn’t a crazy idea to help each other out, right? We’re friends. It’s just two friends giving each other a hand…”

Wade dips down to run the bridge of nose along the line of your jaw, letting his lips drop to the pulse in your neck.

“Just friends…” he mutters. You buck up into nothing. Oh, god. You’re going to die here. “Baby?”

Oh shit, oh fuck. You want him to call you that over and over again, stamp it into your fucking mind.

“Yeah?” you reply, the word ripped rawly from your throat.

“I wanted to do this before we even left this goddamn apartment, you think I might have changed my mind after the mutant viagra?”

He pulls back just enough for you to see the seriousness on his face. No, he’s not joking, not saying something dirty just because he thinks it’s funny. 

He’s saying it because it’s true, and it’s both thrilling and terrifying. 

“Can I?”

Oh, it’s so tempting to say yes yes yes… but the more tempting thing is to tease him. Just a little.

You hook your leg over his shoulder and he groans as you dig your heel into the muscle of his back. He groans loud and long.

“Wade?”

“Mmm?”

“Ask me properly.”

His breath hitches in his throat, and you’re pretty sure he’s making a mess in his suit.

“Fuck, can I eat you out, baby? Please?”

You nod so fast you fear you’ll break your neck.

Wade lifts you like you weigh fucking nothing at all, strong arms scooping you up and bringing you to the couch - desperate for more space. His hands move quick and roughly as he goes to the pants on your suit, so wracked with need his fingers shake just from the promise of getting to touch you properly. You help him as much as you can, toeing off your boots and helping him tug your underwear off along with your waistband. His eyes widen as he realises your panties are in his hands. He takes a moment to run his thumb over the cotton of them and he fucking moans. Oh, god damn it, you’re going to be fucking ruined.

“Fuck. Never seen a pussy look this good,” he breathes as he finds himself face-to-face with your dripping cunt. You’re already so wet that it’s embarrassing and, while it would be easy enough to blame on the pollen, you know that you’ve wanted this for months. When he drags his tongue up your puffy, desperate folds, you pretty much combust.

“Oh shit,” you groan, wrapping your other leg round his face to hold him flush against you - not that Wade needs any convincing though, because you’ve never seen a man so desperate to fuck you with his mouth before. He buries himself in you, scarred hands reaching up to dig into the soft skin of your thighs and keep you steady. He wants you at his own pace, it seems, and is strong enough to make it happen. Fuck, you are not complaining.

Wade’s eyes flit upwards to see how you’re reacting as he moves his whole face side to side to bury himself into your cunt deeper. It’s like he’s trying to find where your scent is the strongest and, honestly? With what you’ve heard about this pollen stuff? Seems right on track. He has no hair for you to bury your fingers in so instead you press your hand to the top of his head and pull him closer, because god knows you don’t have the ability to vocalise it. You sink your fingernails in so he knows, though.

Holy hell you’ve never felt so good. The pollen is heightening everything, each movement he makes into you shooting shockwaves through your nerves. Wade’s tongue is insistent in exploring every inch of you, pressing bluntly into your clit; lapping at the wetness seeping from you like he’ll die if he can’t taste what he’s doing to you; dragging down to your ass and toying with you there, too. Yes, fuck, anything he goddamn wants. When his teeth skim the needy folds of your cunt you jackknife into his mouth, almost breaking them clean out of his gums.

“Holy shit, babe. What’s gotten into you?” he chuckles, pupils so blown wide with lust that his eyes are eclipsed with black. You chase after him with your hips.

“Not you, and that’s the problem,” you harrumph. He grins and you see how covered with your slick he is and fuck you are going to die here. 

“I’ll take care of you. That’s what friends do, right?” he asks, putting emphasis on the word you’re both masquerading behind. When you reach out with a searching hand he threads his finger through yours wordlessly, using the other to grab a pillow so he has something to fuck up against. You feel a tiny bit bad for not offering to help but you know he’ll get his in time - in fact just thinking about sucking his cock your mouth begins to water.

He presses his palm into yours as he goes back to your cunt with his mouth. It takes only moments for him to start up his desperate pace again, tongue sinfully sweet, and you’re chasing and chasing…

Stars explode in your vision and in your blood. The noise you let out is feral, a euphony of pleasure and you don’t care who hears. Wade’s eyes drift close as he tastes your orgasm directly at his lips, drinking you down. You’re certain his hips stutter as he comes just from getting you off. Oh god it’s so hot.

Oh god, you’re not done.

Wade surges up your body and kisses you ferociously, you moan at the taste of yourself he gives back. 

“Fuck, yes, do you taste that, baby? What did I do to you? Holy fuck you are the hottest thing I’ve ever seen…”

“Wade, I need you.”

“Yeah, fuck, okay. Let me get this stupid sexy suit off…”

Hands begin to fumble messily, needily at each other’s zippers in order to strip. You sit up to get a better handle on him—

And freeze when you see you have an audience.

Wade follows your gaze to where Logan is standing in the bedroom doorway. He’s managed to get his suit off and change back into his jeans, though you can’t imagine he’ll want to stay in them for long the way his trapped cock is staining dark blue denim even darker. He’s gripping the doorframe with such force that his claws have popped out, eyes a matching pitch black to Wade’s, chest heaving as he watches the show.

“You okay, honey badger?” Wade drawls, a cocky smile dragging across him. Logan grunts. Swallows hard. You go for a softer tactic.

“Logan, sweetheart, you wanna join in?” your voice is husky as you ask, oh so inviting. Logan squeezes his eyes shut and his fist tight, taking a chunk out of the wall.

“Get into the goddamn bedroom, both of you,” he growls. The two of you absolutely do not need to be told twice. Partially undressed you vault over the back of the dishevelled sofa, letting Logan lead the way. As soon as you’re within arms’ reach he snags you around the waist and pulls you in for a kiss.

Logan kisses like he wants to devour you. Rough, commanding, dragging his tongue into your mouth as if trying to claim you. Oh, you’ll let him a hundred times over. You mewl when his hand reaches down you cup your still dripping pussy, immediately swiping a thumb against your clit. It pulses as if Wade didn’t just pull an orgasm out of you.

“Fuckin’ needy little thing,” he snarls, delighted. You reach down to grab the bulge he’s rocking, squeezing hard enough to get him to groan.

“Look who’s talking,” you chuckle. He taps at the top of your suit, an instruction. 

“Off,” he says, but that’s as much as he gets to say, because Wade grabs him by the beard and steers him in for a kiss. You pause for just a second to see what will happen but clearly you needn’t have worried - Logan moans into your friend’s mouth, grabbing a handful of Wade’s pretty decent ass and digging in his fingers. While they’re busy you finish stripping, going for the zipper on the back of the red suit and pulling it down. It’s such a goddamn stupid design having it at the back like a goddamn prom dress - but at the moment you’re kinda thankful for it because it means you get to kiss along the revealed plain of skin. Wade has such beautiful fucking back muscles, you’ve stared at them for long enough to memorise every damned one.

He steps out of the suit when you get to his feet - yeah, he did come just from eating you out earlier and holy fuck are you proud - and lets out a strangled noise when you bite the meat of his asscheek hard enough to leave a mark.

“Fuck, are you gonna rim me? Because if so I’m a thousand percent down,” he chokes, pulling away from Logan’s mouth and leaving a string of spit between them, evidence of a messy kiss. You shrug.

“You want me to, baby?”

Wade seems to have a crisis of faith as he considers this, letting Logan nibble down the length of his neck; eventually he shakes his head though.

“No, I wanna be inside you, like, yesterday,” he confesses. 

“I’ve got enough room for two,” you state, so absolutely sure the pollen will accommodate that you don’t even need to think about it. Both Wade and Logan suck in a breath at that idea.

“Fuck, baby, aren’t you just perfect,” Logan drawls, grabbing you by the hips as you stand up and pulling you to the pathetic twin bed this apartment was provided with. Not how you wanted this first time to go down but hey, at least it’s going down at all. No longer just a dirty fantasy you bury your fingers into your cunt imagining but a real bonafide liaison (boner-fide liaison, Wade’s voice in your head pipes up).

You paw at his jeans, desperate to have all three of you naked and ready. There’s nothing to hide between you any more. Any boundaries have been not only crossed but decimated, absolutely destroyed beyond repair, and you couldn’t be happier. When his cock falls heavy into your palm you can’t help but suck air in through your teeth at its sheer size. Logan chuckles, gravelly and tempting.

“Oh it’ll fit, baby,” he coos, as if reading your mind. Fuck. Yep, it will. There’s no two ways about it. You’re having both Wade and Logan inside you if it kills you.

He wraps you in his arms before you can have any more thoughts on the matter and pulls you down onto the mattress with him, the pollen in your veins making you feel every touch like the end of a live wire - yet you keep coming back to get shocked. Logan positions himself under you, chest-to-chest, grinning at the way your nipples rub against the coarse and gorgeous hair of his chest. There’s a slapping noise and you realise it’s Wade’s hand on Logan’s thigh, encouraging him to move up the bed.

“Big boy, you know you have to scoot up if this is happening. I’m all for fucking the same pussy together but you have to be realistic…”

Obscured by your body, only you get to see the way Logan rolls his eyes fondly at Wade’s blabbering. He manouveurs you both to allow Wade room to kneel on the mattress behind you and you gasp at the feeling of their cocks bullying at your entrance.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, body on fire and desperate to be extinguished by them. Logan hums in your ear.

“I know, baby, I know. We’ll take care of you.”

“And each other. I got sex-pollened too, old man,” Wade harrumphs, rubbing his head against the slick lips of your cunt. 

“Nobody’s forgetting you, princess,” he murmurs, “now be good and put me inside.”

Logan probably misses the soft hiss Wade lets out at that, but you feel the way the mercenary’s hand wraps around his cock and presses Logan to your empty cunt. You moan in pleasure as he follows the path Wade has laid out and pushes himself inside of you, no resistance given. It takes you only a couple of seconds to adjust to the pure size of him. Holy shit, if this were any other time you’d be falling apart by now, but the way your body pumps with desperation suggests one dick alone isn’t going to be enough.

“You okay?” Logan rumbles by your ear. You cling onto him for dear life, nodding.

“Yeah. Fuck, Wade, I know you’ll fit, you’ve gotta fuck me too.”

Wade doesn’t even have an answer for that. Instead you feel his thumb tug at your lips, stretching you for him - or just watching the way Logan fills you, getting off on the filthy way you’re plugged. Another cock begins to press at your already stuffed hole and you whine.

“S’okay, I gotcha,” Logan says through gritted teeth as he feels Wade’s length slide along his own, the feeling almost overwhelming for him. You drop your head to his shoulder and choke on your own spit as Wade forces himself inside of you. Your cunt feels like it is about to burst into flames in the most satisfying way possible, flowering open between them both.

“Fuck, never felt anything so goddamn tight in my life…” Wade manages. Eventually he bottoms out alongside Logan, both of them sitting snugly inside of you, sharing you, clutched in your warmth. 

“There we go,” Logan growls. “You okay, baby?”

Not knowing if the question is aimed at you or Wade you both whine a yes. Logan laughs and you feel his chest move beneath you, all muscle and heat.

“I’m gonna move now.”

He drags himself out of you, inch by glorious inch, like a match striking against a box and sparking an ember. A deep ragged breath shudders through you at the feeling of it but it is nothing compared to how he slams back inside. Lights flood your periphery. You are going to fucking die between these two men and that is fine. Heaven, even.

Once Wade feels Logan’s rhythm it is too much of a competition for him not to match it. The mercenary’s arms fall either side of your bodies to support himself as he works himself in and out of you, sliding deep as Logan retreats to the tip. Your cunt makes a lewd noise as they piston inside of you and you have never cared about anything less in your life. You are bathed in light, high off this, euphoric over being fucked. A tiny rivulet of drool falls from the edge of your mouth into Logan’s chest hair and he curses at the glorious rawness of it all.

Above you, Wade has finally found his voice again.

“Look at you taking us so well. Oh, fuck, goddamn. I’ve wanted you like this for so long. Remember when we were neighbours, honey? Those guys who you used to bring home… fuck, baby… I used to give myself the old low-five to the sound of you getting fucked…”

You make a pathetic little noise which spurs him onwards. Wade’s mouth drops to your ear.

“...and I used to get angry because I knew I could do it better myself.”

“Oh my god Wade…” you whisper. Tears are beginning to pool in your eyes at the way you’re starting to get overstimulated, two cocks hitting that sweet spot inside you verges on being too much. Were the pollen not still in full force you’re sure you’d need to tap out.

“And you?” Wade’s hand grips Logan’s bicep, squeezing appreciatively. “Do you know what it’s like to wake up every morning and see you shirtless on my couch, and not be able to fuck you? You do it on purpose, peanut, I swear…”

Logan chuckles again, that deep honey-rich sound eked out in magnitudes. 

“And what if I do, Red?”

Wade pauses in his thrusting, you don’t have to see him to know that his eyes are wide.

“Wait, what? For real?”

“Wade!” you whine, reaching over to slap at his arm, annoyed that he’s stopped moving. “Can we all just agree we’ve gotten off to the thought of each other and we’d have fucked eventually anyway?”

The men either side of you seem to think it’s a good compromise to come to and redouble their efforts. All you can do is to cling onto whatever muscles you’re able to find and ride the wave of pleasure. Fireworks go off in your synapses, brain a messy goo of euphoria, cunt fucked out and thoroughly taken care of. 

They speed up, thrusts getting messy and arrhythmic and yet still somehow matching, and you know that they’re going to come together. What a fucking treat, how divine, oh god. Logan’s hands sink into your ass to keep you anchored as his cock goes faster, skin slapping on skin as his sac moves against Wade’s - causing the merc to let out a string of curses - and you’re suddenly flooded with his warm, sticky cum pumping inside you in jets. Wade whines at the feeling of himself being doused and follows Logan’s lead. The filthy cocktail of them drips around both their lengths and out of your hole, falling onto the pathetic mattress below. One last little nudge of the hips is all it takes to push you over the edge again. Your next orgasm is dragged out of you… but you know your body will demand more.

For now, though, respite. The urge to reach that peak again immediately has at least settled for the moment.

“Holy fuck,” you sigh. Logan hums an affirmative note, fingers playing with the small of your back as Wade peppers kisses across your shoulderblades.

“We should go on stakeouts more often, if this is the nice little bow everything gets tied up in,” Wade sighs, dreamily. You nod against Logan’s chest. His hair rubs your cheek deliciously. Your pussy throbs again, reminding you this dirty escapade needs to continue soon. “So what does this mean? Are we a little mutant charcuterie now?”

Your brow furrows as you try to parse what Wade has just said.

“Oh. Wade, baby, do you mean ‘coterie’?”

Logan bursts out laughing, a noise you’ve never properly heard before, and it has you grinning - and Wade, too, even though he grumbles a little at being corrected. Their cocks jostle inside you and you feel them getting hard again and, as you prepare yourself for round two, it’s nice to know that whatever the three of you face at the end of this will be happy.

Three days later, you’re laid across the couch, head in Wade’s lap and legs in Logan’s, all tangled together as you get the single worst telling-off of your life.

“Non-lethal mission, Wade! How many times did I have to tell you, it was meant to be non-lethal!” Piotr shouts down the line. Wade grimaces.

“Look, there were other things we had to sort out first, okay? We kinda forgot about the no-killing part. Besides the guy can’t traffic drugs if he’s dead,” he confesses. You can picture Piotr’s disappointed face.

“Other things!? WHAT other things, Wade?!”

“Okay so there was this horny pollen, and we all had to—”

Logan grabs Wade’s phone and hurls it across the room. It shatters into pieces against the wall. Wade gawps.

“Hey! That was new! Well, okay, not new, but it wasn’t cracked. Well, it was cracked, but it had all my best dick pics on there!”

“You can take new ones,” Logan states. 

You smile. Yeah. The charcuterie is nice.

[moonyflesh]

What if Wolverine took you to a hockey game?

WARNINGS: (not much). no smut- just a playful set of imagines/headcannons — very fluffy and ‘lovey-dovey’ (small kisses and cursing).

CHARACTERS: James “Logan” Howlett (‘Wolverine’) - (MARVEL/X-MEN)

🍺 .*.. 🏒

- At first you thought he was joking.

- i mean- can you imagine trying to squeeze his massive frame into one of those tiny, plastic stadium chairs?

- sure you know nothing about the “Calgary Flames”, but supporting the beast either way is entertaining enough as it is—

- (^) literally the worst person to sit around. he’s loud, obnoxious, (big), and curses like there’s no tomorrow.

- “fuckin- can you fuckin’ believe these pieces ‘uh shit? i totally could’ve fuckin’ made that fuckin’ shot. buncha’ bullshit ifya ask me.”

- he’s definitely big on stadium snacks. constantly has to get up and get more food (and beer).

- (^) the bar would 100% have to draw a limit on the amount of beer they can physically sell him.

- probably walks you through the basic rules of ice hockey, and/or the different players, and the fan-favorites.

- little forehead or cheek kisses when he needs to run to go to the bathroom or grab more food.

- one of his arms is slung around your shoulders at all times.

- throughout the game, he’s constantly glancing over at you- reading your facial expressions. are you enjoying yourself? do you know what’s happening? is this entertaining for you, too?

- definitely likes to show you (and your jersey) off.

- (^) forced you to wear a Flames jersey (that’s much to large on you) and is proud of you for “pickin’ the right fuckin’ team”— so what? at least you get his undivided attention.

- puts you on his shoulders so you both have a better chance of getting on the big screen.

- (^) and if you do? jesus, it makes his whole month. the second that camera pans to you two he’s already tongue-deep into your mouth, grinning like an idiot as you try to push him away from embarrassment.

- you totally go to the photo booth and take the most grainy, out-of-focus pictures known to man together in some shitty ice rink backdrop, (to which he insists you look beautiful- and sticks the entirety of the photo into his wallet).

- buys you a shitload of merch, including one of the collectible hockey pucks.

- claims to know some of the players personally (he’s never met any of them outside of the rink).

- distinctly shouts out each player’s first and last names when cheering them on.

- boos the other team, and their fans with zero shame whatsoever.

- the drive home depends on the outcome of the game.

- (^) The Flames lose? he’s not even mad- he’s just disappointed that that was all his team could manage for your first game. he promises to take you to more, though.

- (^) and if they win? he’s already discussing the ticket prices for the next game (if you’re willing to go with him again); excited grins tossed your way here and there as he makes sure you’re paying attention.

@trenchcoathunnybee08 this is dedicated to you! Sorry it took so long to finally get out (in some ways, it’s still a WIP). 🫶🏼

((if any of you would like to be added to my taglist, let me know through my inbox.))

[appocalipse]

the same thing ・❥・b. barnes

summary: during a mission, you put yourself in harm's way to protect bucky. back at the avengers compound, he wants to know why. | 1.4k words, angst with a happy ending

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

"You should be resting."

You don't turn your head as the familiar voice comes from behind you, too focused on the delicate art of making the perfect sandwich to look away. You are a woman on a mission. "I was hungry."

A few seconds later, he's standing next to you, leaning back against the countertop with arms folded across his broad chest. "It's been less than twelve hours since they patched you up."

He's not going to stop hovering, you realize, because that's what Bucky does when he's worried.

"Want half?" Maybe you can distract him with food.

He regards the towering monstrosity on the cutting board and the chaotic layers of meat, cheese, and veggies sticking out at all angles.

You can't help but grin as you slap another slice of bread on top. "A quarter, then?"

Bucky has the audacity to look offended. "I'm not eating that thing."

You cradle the plate in your left hand, holding the sandwich with your right, and give him a pointed look. "Your loss."

Bucky just watches, arms still crossed, as you take a huge bite. His blue eyes remain narrowed, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He's like a one-man intervention waiting to happen. You shrug and wander over to the kitchen table.

Sitting down is a bit of an effort. The wound on your side pulls as you slowly lower yourself onto the chair, but if you can keep from grimacing too hard, Bucky won't be able to tell, will he?

Your smile probably gives you away. He narrows his eyes further. "Why did you do that?"

"Because I'm hungry?"

"No." Bucky takes a step forward. "I meant why did you get between me and that shot?"

Good question. The answer is embarrassing and you'd sooner walk barefoot over hot coals than tell him the truth.

"Hm?"

Another step. "I have superhuman healing powers."

"I'll live."

"It was stupid."

"You're ruining my—ow," you mutter, dropping the sandwich as you instinctively put your hand over your bandage. There goes the carefully maintained poker face. You force yourself to remove your hand and look up at Bucky with what you hope is an innocent expression, even as your side throbs in protest. "My sandwich. You're ruining my sandwich. Are you sure you don't want a bite?"

Bucky is too smart to take the bait. He moves around the table, coming to stand in front of you. The whole 'arms-crossed-stern-glare' thing again. It would be intimidating if you didn't know him so well.

"You could've been killed," he's like a dog with a bone, you swear.

"But I wasn't," you say pointedly. "I'm fine."

"Fine? You were shot."

"Will you just let it go? It doesn't even...hurt...that much," you lie.

It will take a while for the super-soldier serum in your blood — a weaker variation of the same stuff that runs through Bucky's veins — to kick in and accelerate your healing.

Bucky exhales. He looks about ready to give you an earful, but then his gaze shifts and he notices the way you're holding your side, how stiffly you're sitting.

You move your traitorous hand away like you've been burned.

"How bad is it?"

"Huh?" you sound deliberately casual. Too casual. "It's...totally fine. Not bad, really. Don't worry. I don't even feel it."

There's the reason why you've never been a spy. You can't lie to save your life, apparently.

Or maybe just not to Bucky.

"Okay. It hurts, like, just a little bit...like—like not even hurts hurts, just..." you trail off with a grimace as he comes closer. "More of an itch?"

"An itch?" Bucky sounds dubious.

"More of a burn," you concede. "A...mildly annoying but totally manageable sort of a burn."

"You are a terrible liar."

"Okay, so it hurts," you snap, the last vestiges of your patience vanishing. "I have an extensive hole in my side, I get it. It's not—I don't want you to feel bad about it. It's really not terrible, I can take it."

Bucky shakes his head. "What if it had been worse? What if they'd shot you somewhere vital?"

"They didn't."

"But what if they had?"

"Then I would have died!"

Bucky looks at you like you just kicked him. "Yeah. That's what I'm trying to say."

You open your mouth, then close it.

"You think I want that?" he asks softly.

"No." You suddenly feel very small. "Of course not, I just...just..."

"Just what?"

"I don't know," you admit with a sigh. "It's just that you are...people need you, you know? And you have a life, people who care about you, but I'm just..."

A nobody. A girl with no past, who can barely make sense of her present.

"...it would be better if it was me. That's all."

"It would never be better if you were hurt."

"Bucky—"

"You don't get it, do you?" he asks in a low voice. "People need you too."

You roll your eyes. "Please. You mean the team?"

"Me," Bucky says pointedly. "You think it's easy for me? When you get hurt? It kills me."

The sandwich lays forgotten on the table, squashed flat under your clasped hands. "It...kills you?"

He just looks at you for a long moment.

Your heart flutters in your chest. You have a sudden, intense urge to break the silence with a terrible joke, a quip, something light and witty to dispel the heaviness in the air and make this moment go away. But before you can open your mouth, Bucky shakes his head.

"You kill me."

Okay, that's not where you thought this was going. "What?"

"When you say stuff like that. When you make it sound like you don't matter, like it's okay for you to get hurt. Or worse. It's not."

Oh.

"Bucky," you try again, with a more serious tone. "I don't—"

"Stop saying that," he cuts you off.

You realize your mouth is still hanging open and snap it shut.

"You want to know what I think?" Bucky is so close now you could reach out and touch him, if you were brave enough. "I think that you got this...thing in your head, that you're not good enough, or strong enough, or that you're broken somehow. I think that you forget that it's okay to want things. I think that maybe you think nobody needs you. That no one wants you."

You swallow. You're afraid to say anything, to move, because your heart is hammering against your ribs and Bucky is looking at you like he can see straight into your soul.

"But I do."

"Do...what?" you whisper.

"Want you."

It's the last thing you expect to hear. "Bucky, you don't mean that."

His voice drops an octave. "Don't tell me what I mean."

Your cheeks are burning. You feel pinned under his gaze. Your side is throbbing again and you have a mouthful of butterflies and it's all just too much.

You move to get up but only make it halfway before the wound pulls again and you wince. "Shit."

"Where do you think you're going?" Bucky reaches out to help you, one hand braced against your shoulder as you sink back down into the chair. His expression has softened. "You need to rest."

You really want to kiss him right now.

It's the closest he's ever been to you, perhaps. You can feel his breath on your face.

"I need to...? You really confuse me, Barnes."

"How so?"

"Well, first you tell me that I kill you, and then you say you want me. It's kind of a mixed message—"

"I'm not interested in being just friends with you," Bucky cuts you off abruptly. "Is that clear enough?"

Your lips part but nothing comes out. There's a warm, tingling sensation in your chest and you suddenly can't breathe properly. "That's—you—"

Bucky smirks, just a little. He looks almost...proud of himself? Like he's happy he's rendered you speechless for once.

You decide to take a page from his book and put him on the spot. "And what do you think I want?"

"I don't know," he murmurs, leaning even closer. "But I hope it's the same thing."

His lips brush against yours, soft and gentle. He pulls away and you want to chase after him but then he's back again and kissing you harder this time, all teeth and tongue and ragged breathing and heat.

You close your eyes. Your head is spinning and you can't get enough air but you're kissing him back now, both hands coming up to fist in his shirt, holding on for dear life.

His mouth trails down your neck, leaving hot kisses along your jawline. You let out a breathy sigh.

"Is that...supposed to help me heal faster, mhm?"

Bucky just smiles against your skin.

[queen-of-the-avengers]

An Enigma

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.4k

Warnings: angst, blood, threat of violence, unwanted touching, harassment

Summary: You and Bucky are in an arranged marriage set up by both your parents. It’s a way to keep the peace between your two families. You thought Bucky didn’t care for you, but when someone from your past comes back into your life, Bucky makes it known that all he ever thinks about is you.

Square Filled: au: no powers (2024) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

You step into the kitchen but keep to the wall in intimidation. Your husband is standing there with his back to you. He’s shirtless with only a pair of slacks on. You’re not sure what is more hot. Him being shirtless or dressed in a three-piece suit. He has his phone to his ear so you don’t dare interrupt him, scared of what he might do or say to you. It’s not that you’re scared he’ll beat you, it’s just that he’s always so stoic and rarely shows his emotions.

There’s something you want to ask him but you’re scared of what he’ll do when you ask it. He’s your husband for god sake. Just go up to him and ask him! Your inner personality isn’t as scared of him as you are. You wouldn’t be this way if you had married him out of love. No, this marriage was arranged by yours and his parents. You were forced to be his wife, so you’re not even sure he loves you much less likes you.

Still, your marriage meant a truce between your family and his, but that doesn’t mean he stopped hating your family.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to come in and say something?”

You snap out of your own thoughts and look at Bucky who is now facing you. His shirtless back is almost as delicious as his shirtless front, but you’re too nervous to appreciate the sight in front of you.

“I just wanted to ask you something.”

Bucky looks you up and down, studying your behavior and body language. You’re jumpy, your hands are sweaty and shaky, and you can barely meet his eyes for more than five seconds.

“Why do you look so scared?” He smirks. “I won’t bite.”

“My dad called.” His smirk is lost. “He’s having a family dinner next week. He wants both of us there.”

“I see.”

“I’d be really happy if you came. He won’t try anything, I promise. They’ll be on their best behavior.”

“Okay,” Bucky says after a moment.

“Wait, really?”

“You’re my wife. If my father-in-law is asking for dinner, then so be it.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you. It’s next Friday.” You take out your phone. “I’ll let him know you’re coming.”

You turn to leave but Bucky’s voice stops you. “One move.”

“What?”

“If he tries one move, my knife will be lodged in his throat.”

Your eyes widen but you hear the threat loud and clear. You nod and scurry off before he can make any more conditions. Your father is part of one of the biggest crime families New York has ever seen. He has power in every single corner of his jurisdiction. No one can do anything without him knowing about it. Bucky’s family is the other family that has ties to mafia dealings, making them just as powerful as your family.

Both families split New York in half, but they’re constantly fighting over drugs, property, clubs, money, etc. If it can be used to manipulate and exert power over people, both your families are greedy for the taking, especially if those businesses live on the border of both jurisdictions.

One day, your father met with Bucky’s father about a truce, something they both will want to agree to. This was when your mother was pregnant with you, but he loves to tell the story so you feel like you were practically there. If you were to marry Bucky, then both families would be able to come to agreement on those petty fights.

A truce would be made. The cost? Your freedom. Any children that you may will bear will be part of the biggest crime family this country has ever seen.

When you were old enough, you met Bucky through a family dinner. He came off as stoic, cold, and calculating. He didn’t let anything get under his skin. Then, his nieces and nephews joined the party and he became a different person. His hard resolve started melting, giving you a show of who the real Bucky was. It’s different when he’s in front of business partners and your family, but you have a good idea of who the real Bucky is.

He’s a mystery, something you’re desperate to solve.

To prepare for the dinner, you decide to go to the gym and hopefully shed a few pounds. You’ve always loved doing cardio, so the treadmill became your best friend. You go so often that the front desk lady knows you by name.

“Welcome, Y/N. Have a good workout.”

“Thank you, Betty. I will.”

You walk over to the treadmill and start with a walk to get your blood pumping. You put your headphones in and listen to your favorite podcast. You listen to all sorts of things when you work out but lately, it’s been about the podcasts. You’re an hour into your workout when someone touches your shoulder. You take out your headphones and look back to see someone you never thought you’d see again.

“Vince. What are you doing here?”

“It’s a gym. I’m working out.”

You look him over and notice he’s not sweaty or red. If he’s been here as long as you have, he hasn’t been working out.

“Right. I’ll let you get back to it.”

You’re about to put your headphones back in when he steps onto the treadmill next to yours. He leans over and rests his elbows on your handlebars, and you immediately stop your machine. It’s a good time to call it a day.

“I came over here to say hi.”

“I should get going.”

You step off the treadmill and walk over to the cleaning station to grab some paper towels when you feel him standing behind you. You used to feel so safe with him but that all changed when your father discovered a hole in your wall that came from his room which was right next door. He was your bodyguard, supposed to protect you from creeps, and ended up being one. He was truly a pervert.

The only reason why your father didn’t kill him was because you didn’t want to deal with it. You convinced him to just fire him, so he did. Now he’s back but you’re not sure why. Your father made it very clear that if he tried to come near you again, he would do more than fire him. You turn and find him standing closer than he should be.

“What do you want, Vince?”

“Just to talk. I’ve become better. I’ve worked on myself. I’m ready to go back to work.”

“Excuse me?”

“I want to be your bodyguard again.”

“Like hell, that’s going to happen. You shouldn’t even be here. This isn’t even your gym. Just go home.” You step around him to clean your machine but he grabs your upper hard harder than normal. “Ow, you’re hurting me.”

“Oh, sweetie, you have no idea what pain is. I’ll do more than hurt you if you don’t give me my job back. I’m a good bodyguard. I kept all the creeps away from you.”

“Yeah, except for you. Let me go.”

He does but he doesn’t move away from you. You have sensitive skin so you know you’ll have bruises on your arm from his grip.

“Don’t be so shocked if one day you find me inside your house. I know you don’t have a bodyguard now.”

You don’t need one. You have Bucky. He’s very possessive and protective over you. You’re not sure what he’s going to do when he finds out about this, but you can imagine it’s not going to be kind. Crew cleaning your machine. You drop your supplies and rush out of the gym in a panic. During the ride home, you think of ways to lie to Bucky. He’s going to take one look at your face and know something is wrong.

You’re a terrible liar, but you can’t think of anything because you’re too scared. Scared to the point of tears. Maybe if you sneak inside and run to your room, you’ll be able to calm yourself down enough to come up with a convincing lie.

You park in the garage and rush inside knowing Bucky has cameras and sensors for when someone enters the garage. You’re about to book it up the stairs when you run smack into Bucky’s chest.

“Where’s the fire?” He sees the panicked look in your eyes and immediately becomes on alert. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Just an intense workout. I’m going to take a shower.”

You go to leave but Bucky grabs your arm in the same place as Vince did. You wince and he lets you go immediately thinking he hurt you. His eyes narrow on the bruises Vince let, and the fire in his eyes tells you he’s not going to believe anything but the truth.

“What. Happened.”

You have no choice but to tell him the truth before you get in trouble for lying.

“Before you, I had a bodyguard. He was caught spying on me through a hole he created in my bedroom. He was fired and my father made it clear never to bother me again. Well, he was at the gym. He… threatened me… saying I shouldn’t be surprised if I find him in this house because I don’t have a bodyguard now. He… wants his job back.”

“Okay.”

Bucky moves around you to go to the garage but you jump in front of him and put your hands on his chest. He looks calm but you know he is fucking pissed. It’s taking all of your strength to keep him from entering the garage.

“Bucky, stop.”

“If you think I won’t pick you up and move you out of the way, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Bucky, please. I will bring this up to my father tomorrow at dinner. Please let my family handle this. He worked for my dad. He should deal with it.”

Bucky looks down and he sees the desperation in your eyes. It doesn't do shit to calm him down but he backs away knowing this is what you want.

“Fine.”

Bucky retreats to his office for the rest of the day. Before you know it, Friday has come and you’re walking up the steps to your father’s mansion. You’ve been dreading this moment since the gym but you know you have to tell your father about this. Bucky was supposed to ride with you but you hadn’t seen him all day.

“Oh, sweetheart! I’m glad you’re here!” your mother says when you walk into the house.

“Hi, mom.” She pulls you in for a crushing hug. “You just saw me last week.”

“I know, but it feels like a lifetime. Where is Bucky?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure he’ll be here. He said he would.” Your father walks in and you smile when you see him. “Daddy!”

“Princess,” he smiles.

You bounce over to him and hug him tightly. He’s a very tall and muscular man but he has always been gentle with you. You’re his princess. You’re his only daughter, so he takes your health and well-being very seriously. You have six brothers but he’s not the same with them as he’s with you. They’re just as scary as your father. You’re not sure why you ever needed a bodyguard when you had six living at home with you.

You join your family in the dining room and greet your brothers. The family butler brings out the food until there is a plate in front of everyone. You look beside you at the empty chair and wonder where Bucky is. He’s supposed to be here. He said he would. If he had to work, he would have told you.

“So, Y/N, when am I getting grandbabies?”

“Mom!”

“I’m not getting any younger over here.”

“You have grandbabies. Tony and Luke both have children. Gio has one on the way.”

“None from you, though.”

“Okay, well, when I get pregnant, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Where is Bucky?” Stefan asks, shoveling food into his mouth as he speaks.

“Stefan!” your mother scolds. “Don’t eat like an animal.”

“Sorry, mom,” he says with his mouth full.

“I don’t know. He said he’d be here. He’s probably caught up with work.”

Once your brothers are finished with their meals, they eagerly go for seconds. The dining room is filled with chatter about people’s plans, kids, and trips they have coming up. You never talk about work while you’re eating. That’s reserved for after dinner and always over a glass of top-shelf whiskey.

Suddenly, all chatter ceases when someone walks into the dining room. Bucky. Only he’s covered in blood. Blood stains his nice suit and spatters his smooth skin, but he acts as if he has nothing on him. His hands are clean though. He sits next to you and accepts the food the butler brings. He takes a bite of the meat and moans at how good it is.

“Is it taken care of?” your father asks.

“Yes, sir.”

Chatter returns as normal as if Bucky isn’t covered in fucking blood. Even your brothers don’t seem to care that blood is now on the table. Your mother doesn’t care that blood is getting on her nice white dining chair. You lean closer to him and grab your napkin. You grab his chin and start wiping the blood from his cheek.

“What the hell is the matter with you? Where were you? Why are you covered in blood? Whose is it?”

“Vince.”

Now everything makes sense. He must have called your father to tell him what you told him who then told your mother who then told your brothers.

“I told you I’d handle it.”

“He touched what’s mine.”

“Excuse me?”

“He touched my wife.”

You throw the napkin down knowing it’s useless. “Last I checked, Bucky, you don’t own me.”

“No, you but own me.” Your eyes widen in surprise. “I’d do it again and again to protect you.” He grabs your chin with his clean hand and kisses you. He pulls away from you and wipes away the drop of blood he got on your skin. “Eat.”

It takes you several seconds to wrap your brain around what just fucking happened. You grab your fork and take a bite slowly. Maybe there is some warmth to that cold heart.

x

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[multiversediaries]

at last

bucky barnes x reader

summary: after months apart, bucky finally came home.

warnings: soft!!!!!! soft buck!

masterlist

“y/n? i’m back." you heard someone say loudly. you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. you lived alone, well, sometimes. you were james barnes' wife. you had met him a long time ago, you were always there for him, and he was deadly in love with you. he cared so deeply about you. if something were to happen to you, he'd lose his mind. which is why he decided to hide your marriage, to keep you out of danger's way. you walked towards your front door, wondering who it was. your eyes light up as you saw your husband standing in front of you.

"hey, doll." bucky said smiling, genuinely smiling, as he took you into his strong arms. behind him, were the avengers, all of them. they were currently in a mission, that was supposed to take a while, which was the reason you were so surprised to see your husband back at your shared house.

"what's happening?" you heard tony say, confused at the sight of you two. you giggled a bit, pulling away from your hug. bucky smiled at you, taking in how gorgeous you looked. he wrapped his hand around your waist.

"i'm sorry i didn't let you know in advance, but we needed a place where we couldn't be tracked." bucky said, his voice as soft as always. you noticed the confused faces whilst your husband spoke to you as he has always done, soft and incredibly sweetly. you nodded, softly humming in response, a big smile planted on your lips, understanding him.

"alright, robocop, spill. where are we and who's the lovely woman?" tony asked, making your cheeks flush softly. you heard bucky sigh. you rubbed his back gently.

"she's bucky's wife, tony." steve said, gaining your attention. you smiled at him, he chuckled at you. "it's nice to see you again, y/n." he said, leaning over to hug you. you instantly hugged him back, squeezing him gently. steve was present at your wedding. you couldn't help but smile at tony's reaction. everyone always reacted the same way about your marriage to james. it sometimes made your heart ache. because how could so many people think that he's unloveable?

"wife?" natasha spoke in surprise, as you looked at her. you knew nat. you were a widow. you escaped a few years after she did. you gave her a hug as well, glad to see she was doing well. "you didn't tell me you got married. i must admit, my feelings are hurt." she sad, pouting, you laughed.

"it was my idea. i just- i didn't want her in any danger." bucky said, as you looked back up at your husband. you smiled at him, his hand tracing circles on your skin. natasha nodded.

"well, come inside." you said softly, walking into your living room, everyone following behind you. they all took seats around your couch. you walked up to your bathroom, grabbing your first aid kit, as you saw some of them were injured.

"everything alright?" you said gently, as you sat across from tony, who had a few cuts on his face. bucky stood by the door frame, as he watched you.

"it just got complicated." steve said, sighing. you nodded, not wanting to intrude. you began cleaning tony's wounds, earning a few hisses from him. you tried to be as gentle as possible.

"i'm sorry, i just don't get it." tony said, breaking the silence, looking at you. you tilted your head in confusion, as you applied a band aid on his small cut. "how can someone like you be married to him?" he asked cockily. you laughed a bit at his words. you knew tony and bucky were not in a good place, after all, the winter soldier was responsible for his parents' deaths. but that wasn't bucky's fault.

"because you only know the winter soldier, but i know james barnes." you simply said, moving onto clint's injuries. bucky couldn't help but smile at your words. that was something he loved about you, how unashamed you were to love him. even after everything he had done, you wouldn't leave his side. he felt so undeserving of you.

after cleaning all of their wounds, you prepared some food for them. you wanted to help as much as you could, and it just felt so nice to have people around. you didn't have many friends apart from bucky, steve and natasha. you smiled as you watched the avengers dine, talking over their mission as you cleaned the dishes. you felt someone's hand wrap around you. you smiled, almost instantly.

"i missed you, darling." bucky said, planting a sweet kiss to your neck. you smiled widely, turning around to face him. you wrapped your arms around his torso, hugging his body close to yours.

"i missed you even more, barnes. have you been doing alright?" you asked softly, your hands now laying in his cheeks, caressing his gorgeous features. you had spent so much time apart from him. almost three months apart. you felt empty without your other half. he nodded, kissing your forehead.

"i'm okay. i just want to be here with you." he said softly. your hands ran to now caress his back, as you looked up at bucky.

"i know, baby. but they need you. and honestly, you need them too." you said, leaning up to kiss his jaw. he nodded, before planting a sweet peck to your lips. he walked back towards your dining table, and continued the conversation about their mission.

it was very late at night already. all of the guys were resting. you had a lot of empty rooms, so you were able to offer a room to every single one of them. you wanted them to be comfortable, after everything they had gone through lately. you yawned softly as you waited for bucky on your shared bed. he walked out of the bathroom, drying his wet hair on a towel. you smiled at him, you couldn't believe he was back. he sat by the end on the bed and just looked at you. you smiled at him, before standing up, to help him off his prosthetic arm.

"it's alright, doll. maybe i should keep it on." he said, staring up at you as you stood right in front of him. you placed both your hands on his face.

"you're home, buck. you're safe." you said lightly, earning a shaky breath to leave his mouth. he wrapped his arms around your hips, hugging you. your hands ran to his soft hair, before planting a sweet kiss on his head.

"for the first time in a while, i was scared, y/n." you heard bucky say, you listened to his every word, as you played with his hair. "i was terrified of not coming back to you." he said, his arms tightening around you, earning a frown from you.

"james.." you said softly, trying your hardest to find his eyes. he was scared, you could tell. you wonder what had happened to have him this shaken up.

"it's just so much worse than we thought.. i'm not sure we'll be able to do something about it." he said, now looking up to meet your gorgeous eyes. you sighed softly.

"you'll be okay, my love. you will all be okay." you said, as you felt his hands pulling you even closer to him, as if he needed to feel you close. "i don't know the extent of what's happening, but i do know one thing. you guys are the earth's mightest heroes. it's alright to have doubts, but don't let them control you. you may not know what to do right now, but you will soon enough." you said, one of your hands running to his check to caress his beautiful face. "we all need a break sometimes. take this time to rest, and reflect. and a solution will come to you. but for now, rest, baby." you finished. he sighed and nodded. you always knew what to say.

"gosh, doll. i have missed you so much. being apart from you is torture." he said, now letting go of your waist. you smiled widely, kissing him lovingly, before helping him take off his arm. you placed it on the case and walked back to him, you placed a kiss to his shoulder, climbing back to bed once again.

bucky followed you to bed, laying his head on your chest. your hand ran to his hair, your fingers getting lost into his brown hair. bucky’s arms wrapped around your waist, hugging you as close as he possible could. you placed small kisses to his head and forehead, as your gentle giant fell asleep peacefully in your arms.

at last. he was home.

[mmywanda]

Forbidden Pleasure — W.M

—

Paring: CEO!WandaMaximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: When you decided to join your family’s business, you had no idea the ceo of the rival company would be so.. alluring.

Warnings: Forbidden romance, seduction, corruption, age gap, future d/s dynamics, a lot of sexual tension, smut, Wanda in a suit needs its own warning, and more to be added in each chapter. men & minors dni.

Inspired by the brilliant song ‘Dandelion’ by Jesse Jo Stark. I highly recommend listening to it as the chapter names will be from the lyrics.

—

Chapter One: Dandelion

Chapter Two: ….

Chapter Three: ….

[sacredsorceress]

Meet Cute with Logan Would Include... || Wolverine Headcanons

pairing: logan howlett (wolverine) x mutant!f!reader summary: you're a new teacher at the school and logan is interested in you from your first meeting a/n: i'm admittedly projecting with the fact that reader teaches history but just a little blurb because logan's been on my mind and i need to get work done <33 lmk if you want me to make this into an actual fic!! warnings: none, all fluff

masterlist | inbox | tip jar (ko-fi)

when you first arrive at the school as a teacher (and late blooming mutant) charles introduces you to logan

logan has a typical scowl on his face and glances at you up and down

so you begin to worry that you've worn the wrong outfit or presented yourself poorly and now an infamous wolverine dig is about to be thrown your way

but instead, he takes a puff of his cigar, and looks back at charles

"you have a rule about only recruiting good-looking teachers or something?"

and what an array of relief (and butterflies) do you get from that

"yes, very funny, logan. however, y/n here has a phd. I've brought her on to teach the students"

"yeah? and what's your "gift"?" (mutation)

he has a coy look on his face

"oh logan, that's a bit personal..." you said with faux seriousness. "buy me a drink first."

for the first time, you saw him smile. a chuckle reverberated in his chest.

"fair enough."

after that interaction charles escorted you out of the room but as you went, logan's eyes were trained on you.

intrigued, he took another puff of his cigar and smiled to himself.

on your first night there, once all the children have gone to sleep and all the adults have gone to their own rooms for the night you hear a knock on your door.

and guess who it is?

you hate to admit it but god, does he look so hot and suave standing in your doorway.

logan's hair is in a typical mess and his flannel has a few more buttons undone than it did this morning,

and although he's rough around the edges and not as necessarily openly friendly as the others, he exudes confidence- especially as he leans against your doorframe.

"you said i owed you a drink."

although he takes you to the diviest dive bar in town, you have such a good time.

after a little bit of awkwardness, the two of you found your footing and you end up talking (flirting) for hours

well, in actuality, you do most of the talking but boy does he like listening to you talk and watching your eyes light up while you laugh at some of your own stories

on the way back to the mansion, he opens the car door for you

"thank you."

"don't mention it" (he's blushing a little)

on the ride back he tries to be as smooth as possible, one arm draped over the passenger seat while the other rests on the steering wheel

he keeps taking quick glances at you as you hum along to the song on the radio and even though you just met he's already thinking about how he could get used to this

he walks you back to your room and as much as he wants to make another move (and you do too) he doesn't want to mess up your relationship before its even started

i mean, you're living in the same place?? what happens if you don't like it?? and you end up hating him?? now his suave demeanor has crumbled under the weight of realising this is actually real and not a game

"I'll.. uh... be down the hall if you need me."

"thanks, logan" you smile softly and he thinks its the first time anyone's done that in over a decade and meant it

when he starts walking down the hall, you call out in a whisper

"oh and logan!" you pause. "sweet dreams."

before he can say anything the door of your bedroom shuts

a stupid, silly grin coats his face so big that he rubs his hand across his cheeks in fear anyone would catch the big bad wolverine becoming a softie for the teacher he's got the hots for

although you've just met, you've got him wrapped around your finger and he can barely believe it

shoving his hands in his pocket, logan shakes his head and laughs on the way to his own bedroom

"fuck."

[d3v1ls4dvocat3]

Doomed

James “Bucky” Barnes x Fem! Reader Smut

Summary: When Bucky notices the new neighbor, he can’t seem to get her out of his head! Whatever will he do?

W.C: 1600

Tags: Smut!, pervert! Bucky, panty thief! bucky, guilty bucky?, mentions of lingerie, AFAB! Reader, age gap but it’s not specified, male masturbation, breast fixation, nipple fixation, p in v? kinda? it doesn’t actually happen, Bucky POV, mentions of steve, mentions of war and Buck being the Winter Solider

MDNI!! Let me know if I missed anything!!

He remembers the exact day you moved into the apartment across the hall.

It was only a few days before the new year. Everyone on the floor had seemingly left to be with family, not that he bothered to keep track of his neighbors whereabouts, but he had noticed the overall lack of people when he made the unfortunate trip out of his apartment to see his therapist every other day.

That made your appearance even more noticeable.

Bucky liked to keep track of everyone he saw day-to-day anyway, it helped calm his nerves (rather he told himself it calmed his nerves) and luckily enough for him, you didn’t want to stop and introduce yourself.

Over the next few weeks, he only saw you a handful of times. You both never said anything, barely even looked at each other. It was nice.

Of course, nothing lasts forever. His therapist was sure to tell him that, much to his distain. Strangely enough, it was on one of his trips coming back from another session with Dr. Raynor that he found you cursing to yourself standing outside your apartment.

A part of him wanted to just walk by, and avoid the headache altogether. But he could hear a quiet voice in his mind that sounded a lot like Steve telling him to man up and help a poor lady in need. He sighed mentally and cleared his throat to grab your attention.

You looked up with slight shock and embarrassment. “Oh.. uhm, I’m not in your way am I?” You asked.

He frowned. “No, sorry. You look like you’re having some trouble there?”

Your eyes seemed to light up. “Is it that obvious?”

Bucky chuckled lightly and stepped closer to you, offering a hand of assistance. You gladly handed him your key.

“This building is old. These keys get stuck all the time. You’ve gotta know how to turn it to get it to unlock,” Bucky said as he fidgeted with your lock.

You watched him with unwavering eyes. Unknowingly to you, he was watching you out of the corner of his eye. This was the first time he’d really gotten a good look at your face. You were young, way younger than anyone he’d talked to recently. Most likely a college student. You held yourself with confidence but not in a way that made you seem cocky. You just had a sense of determination he hadn’t seen in a long time.

It was refreshing. Reminded him of sunlight.

He immediately frowned at that thought and focused his attention on your lock. Within a moment a quiet ‘click’ sounded through the small hallway. Your face lit up with a smile so bright he almost had to look away.

“Oh my god, thank you! I seriously thought I was fucked there,” You exclaimed.

He nodded and stepped back. “No problem. You can come get me if it does it again. I’m pretty much always home.”

You smiled again, gentler this time. “I will. Seriously, thank you. I really appreciate it.”

He watched you escape into the comfort of your home. He smiled, unbeknownst to himself and turned to his own apartment.

Cute.

_____

The next time he saw you was only a few weeks later.

Since the door fiasco, Bucky couldn’t get you out of his head. He wasn’t sure why, but something about you was like a breath of fresh air. He felt almost addicted to it, to how he felt at that moment.

So when he opened the door to the laundry room he was understandably surprised to see you. He was also even more surprised to see you in nothing but pajama pants and a very very small tank top.

And no bra.

He was going to turn around. Laundry could wait. Just as soon as his hand hit the door knob, he heard an intake of breath.

“It’s you!”

He sighed.

Bucky turned back around and smiled. “It’s me.”

You were smiling that same damn smile. He felt weak in his knees.

“I haven’t seen you in forever!” You said happily.

He nodded. “I don’t get out much.”

You hummed in understanding. “I get that. I’m still getting used to the city myself.”

It was quiet for only a moment, before you noticed Bucky’s small basket of laundry. You quietly moved over and motioned to the washing machine.

“I’m almost done with the dryer,” You said. Bucky muttered a quiet ‘thanks’ and began throwing his clothes into the washer. Once he was finished you both sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes.

“I don’t think I ever got your name…?”

Bucky himself was surprised at the question that came from his mouth. You also seemed surprised for a second before grinning.

As you said your name, he watched your lips form the word. Your name fit you, he thought. He whispered it to himself, trying to commit it to memory. Although, he was sure just like everything else about you, he wouldn’t forget it.

“James,” He said in return.

“Nice to officially meet you, James,” You practically purred. He felt his knees go weak again. He feared that might be a common occurrence around you.

As the silence fell over you again, Bucky began to struggle with his most recent thoughts. He questioned why he was acting like a teenager with a crush again?

Bucky had been through more than twenty men combined. He’d done things so horrible he couldn’t even speak about it. He’d seen things that would make anyone want to commit suicide. So why, out of all things, was a girl making him feel so weak?

He quietly looked over at you again. He traced the outline of your figure. Your hair down to your eyelashes. His eyes moved to your lips, plump and wet from where you’d licked them while talking.

He continued trailing down until his eyes stopped on your breasts. He felt guilt wash over him immediately at the practically sinful sight before him. He could perfectly make out your tits. The cold air in the room had made your nipples perk up just enough to poke through the already thin tank top.

Bucky glanced away quickly as the buzzer from the dryer sounded. He turned slightly to hide his tightening pants. You bent over to grab your clothes and he practically called out to god to strike him dead right there before he made a fool of himself.

It felt like years before you were up again and leaving the room. Before you closed the door, you waved bye to him. Bucky had to force every once of what he’d learned as an assassin just to seem normal enough to wave back.

Once the door closed behind you, he groaned and put his face in his hands. He tried to calm his breathing, using some of the techniques Dr. Raynor had taught him in one of their very first sessions. It was probably close to ten minutes before he felt okay enough to remove his hands from his face.

Bucky needed to calm down. You were just a girl. There was absolutely no reason to be feeling like this.

He repeated that to himself as he took his clothes out of the washing machine. As he went to throw them into the dryer, a small bright red thing caught his eye.

He grabbed it before he could even process what it was. He held up the laced piece of clothing he wasn’t sure would cover anything and knew he was doomed.

“Fucking dirty girl…”

_________

He was a pervert.

He knew he was a pervert. He felt guilty and ashamed and terrible.

However,

The thought of you wearing nothing but those red laced panties and a matching bra had been plaguing Buck’s mind. He couldn’t stop. He’d tried. He’d done everything he could think of.

He’d taken a cold shower.

He’d gone for a run.

He even tried to watch some of the movies that Steve had written down in his journal of things he “absolutely needs to watch and listen to” or whatever the blond had said.

Nothing could get that image out of his head.

It was three in the morning when he was fed up and aching and he needed release. He hadn’t meant to grab them. He was simply caught up in the moment. His hand stroking up and down his cock. He moaned and stroked faster.

Once the soft fabric touched his tip, he had to stop himself from instantly cumming.

“Oh fuck…” He moaned. Bucky wrapped the thong tightly around his hand. In his mind, he imagined your hips rubbing up and down his hard on. Teasing him in every way you knew would rile him up.

“Something wrong, Barnes?”

He groaned. He was fucking up into his fist now. He imagined flipping you over, grabbing your hands with his metal one and using his other one to squeeze your breasts.

He imagined kissing down your stomach until he got to those red panties and slowly, sensually kissing down them until you were begging to feel him. Begging him to touch you.

“Say my fucking name, doll,” He moaned.

He imagined your hands wrapped around his back and he mercilessly pounded into you. He imagined your soft lips wrapped around his full length, with your bright eyes filled with tears as you looked up at him.

He cursed.

“Nice to officially meet you, James.”

Suddenly he was cumming into his fist. He continued to stroke his cock until he was spent. As he calmed down, he looked down to see the mess he’d made with your undergarments.

“Fuck.”

He was seriously doomed.

[thefairywithboots]

And The Gods Made Love (Thor 1!Loki x Fem!Reader)

As requested by @mischiefmaker615, I present to you And The Gods Made Love!

Summary: Reader gets tired of the rowdiness of the feast, and slips off to the library for some peace and quiet. Loki has the same idea, but things don't go as planned.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: Smut, sex, oral sex (female receiving), body worship.

Rating: Explicit (minors please DNI)

I hope you all enjoy this fic. I spent several days on it because I wanted it to be better than my last one. Comments and thoughts are always appreciated. :)

I tag @oswildin @mischieffae @bitchy-bi-trash @merakifreedom @kathren1sky-blog

@groovy-lady @trash-panda-kitty @mischief-dream @simone818283 @soulpiercing

@lokisgoodgirl @buttercupcookies-blog @stilleobjection @wolfsmom1 @firedrakegirl

If you would like to be tagged for future Loki fics, just let me know. 👍

~~

The sound of the merriment from the feast faded into the background as I stepped out into the corridor. It was far too loud for me to handle Thor and his friends loudly shouting over each other, smashing their goblets... They had always teased me about not caring much for parties and festivities, about always having such a low social battery. But it wasn't something I could help. I longed for the quiet and solitude of the palace library, preferably with Loki's company.

I quickly but quietly made my way down the corridors of the palace in case Sif came to look for me to drag me back to the feast to try and get me to drink more mead. I would fall on my face after two goblets. Me being a lightweight was another thing they liked to tease me about. 

I made it to the doors of the library, hoping to slip in there without making too much noise, but the familiar sound of a silken voice caused me to nearly jump out of my skin.

"Tired of the festivities already, are we?"

I turned to find Loki leaning against the wall of the corridor, so still and casual, that I didn't know how long he had been standing there, watching me. I placed a hand over my heart, trying to calm myself. 

We had been meeting each other in secret for the past couple of months, stealing kisses when meeting up in the woods and empty corridors. He never failed to make my heart race when he stood before me, appraising me with those smoldering green eyes.

"I wish you wouldn't sneak up on me like that."

"Sorry, love. I saw you leaving the feast and knew I couldn't leave you alone in such a big palace, and let you get lost..." he said while moving closer to me.

I rolled my eyes. "You were tired of the loudness of it all too, weren't you?"

"Of course. I don't like loud gatherings anyway... I can only handle so much of my brother's idiocy." He smirked, his gaze never leaving me. 

I felt my cheeks heat up as my hands fidgeted. "I plan to spend the rest of the feast in the library... would you care to join me, my prince?"

A soft chuckle escaped Loki's lips as he stepped forward to practically tower over me. He never failed to make my knees weak with his height, when I was not even short myself. He brought one hand up to gently caress my chin as he lifted my eyes to meet his.

"Nothing would make me happier, love." 

We snuck into the library together, the silence of the room during nighttime pressing down on us as we walked through the shelves of books together. The moonlight softly illuminated the large tomes on the towering shelves as it poured in from the tall stained glass windows. The absence of the librarian and other patrons browsing the books made the place feel like a desolate land, filled with forgotten stories. 

Being in here alone at night always felt strange to me. It carried a serene peacefulness but at the same time, it felt eerie. Sometimes I could see the shadows dancing in the corners of the room as if the characters from the stories were trying to get free, but when I looked closer, nothing was there. But having Loki with me felt like we had an entire kingdom to ourselves.

I quietly made my way to my favorite armchair near the fireplace, picking up the novel I had been reading. I turned to the fireplace to light it with some flint, but Loki was already using his magic to instantly cause the hearth to burst to life, illuminating that area in a soft orange glow.

Footsteps echoed behind me as he made his way around my chair to peer over my shoulder. I blushed when I felt his warm breath on my neck as his lips ghosted over the shell of my ear. "Loki..."

"Yes, love?"

"What are you doing?"

I could feel him chuckle softly as he brought his arms around me and rested his chin on my shoulder. "I can't help myself, love. You look simply ravishing."

His voice seemed to go straight through me to the pit of my stomach. I sighed and closed my book, turning to face him. He didn't waste any time and crushed his lips into mine.

I brought my hands up to wound through his silken raven-black hair, kissing him back passionately. Despite our many meetings, his kisses never failed to make my heart race and my thighs tremble.

When I felt his tongue slither its way into my mouth, I couldn't hold back a soft moan. He made a soft sound between a moan and a sigh as his lips trailed down to my neck, leaving small bites there.

"Oh, how I love that sound..."

I shivered slightly. "Loki, don't..."

"Hmm? Don't what?"

"If you leave a mark on my neck, Thor, Sif, and the others are not going to let me hear the end of it."

Loki didn't relent with his kisses. "Mmm... maybe I want to leave my mark on you... let the others know who you belong to."

I couldn't resist him when he talked to me in that voice. It sounded like velvet to my ears, and I felt myself tilting my head to give him easier access to my neck. 

"I want you," he whispered against my ear, his teeth gently tugging at my earlobe. The sensation caused a strange sensation in my loins.

I sighed, turning my head. Embarrassment filled me as I felt him leave more intoxicating kisses over my neck and up my face. He noticed my hesitation and looked at me, a frown creasing his handsome face. "Am I hurting you, love?"

I shook my head. "No... I want you too, Loki... but... I-I've never... I don't have any experience with..." 

Loki smiled softly and pressed his lips to my cheek gently. "Such an innocent little princess... I know you don't, love... but I can teach you. But only if you want me to." 

I closed my eyes and kissed him again, breathing in his scent, trying to memorize every little detail of him. I had always found comfort in his scent; warm and earthy, like the woods on a warm day, but also with sweet floral undertones. It was something no cologne or perfume could ever replicate.

"Yes..." I whispered against his lips. "I want you to show me..."

He smiled against my lips, his breath hot against my skin. "I can give you pleasure that you've never felt before..."

He took my hand and led me over to the sofa, pulling me into his lap. I gasped, wrapping my arms around his neck, trying to keep myself steady. When our lips met again, his hands gently stroked up my sides, as if feeling me up through the fabric of my dress. 

When I felt his hands start to unfasten the back of my dress, I froze. He stopped.

"Do you not want to go through with it?"

I could feel my cheeks flame with embarrassment. "I-I do... but... here? What if someone walks in...?"

"No one is crazy enough to be in the library this time of night. No one except for us..." His smile made me melt like putty in his hands. He leaned forward to press his lips to my neck, and the feel of his lips made me shudder. "And if anyone does happen to walk in on us, I can use my magic to make us both invisible."

I closed my eyes, letting him kiss me again. I didn't want to admit that I was scared, but it all felt so strange to me. We'd never done anything more than kissing. But I wanted him, I truly did. Every fiber of my being craved him.

"You don't have to be afraid," he whispered while running his fingers through my hair before pulling me closer by the nap of my neck. "I'll take care of you. I'll guide you through the entire thing. You can trust me."

I nodded, resting my forehead against his. "I trust you..."

Loki's hands unfastened my dress, causing the snug fabric to loosen on me. He gently pulled the dress off my shoulders, pressing kisses to my skin as it was exposed. The warmth from the fireplace kept me from shivering, illuminating my skin with a warm glow.

A wave of self-consciousness came over me at the idea of being exposed to him, and my arms tightened around my midriff. He pressed gentle kisses to my exposed shoulders, his breath teasing my skin.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered against my shoulder as he trailed kisses up my neck. "You are truly the most beautiful woman in all of the Nine Realms. You are befitting for worship, like the goddess you are..."

His voice made me melt against him, my arms loosening from around me. He used this as an opportunity to pull my dress the rest of the way off my shoulders. "Says the god..." I whispered as he kissed down my back and he slid the sleeves off my arms, exposing my breasts. 

My dress was now around my hips, and he pulled back to appraise me like he might a fine sculpture. My heart raced in my chest as I brought my arms up to cover my chest, but he shook his head, gently taking my hands into his to stop me.

"My love... if I had my way, you'd rule alongside me as my queen for all eternity. To me, you are a goddess." His lips pressed to my neck, and I felt like I could melt right into his hands. "Don't cover yourself. You're too beautiful. Allow me to worship you instead."

I couldn't speak, I was breathing too heavily, my heart racing erratically in my chest. Loki knelt before me like a devoted worshipper would to his goddess. It was such a strange sight to see him like this. He gently tugged the rest of my dress off my hips, causing it to fall into a pool around my feet. 

My face was burning now, my hands covering my face so that I did not have to see his reaction to my naked body. 

"My love... look at me," he said gently while taking my hands in his and kissing them gently. I looked down at him, my hair spilling over my shoulders and curtaining my face. He pushed a strand of hair behind my ears. "We can stop any time you want to."

I swallowed thickly. "I want you..."

"Then why do you hide from me? Why do you attempt to cover yourself?" 

I bit my lip, bringing my eyes down to our joined hands. "I'm sorry, I just... I've never done this before... I don't... know how..."

He shushed me and gently kissed my neck, sending every nerve of mine on fire. "I'll show you how... but only if you trust me."

I tried to hold back my moan as he nibbled softly on my neck. "I trust you..." I whispered breathlessly as my hands wound through his raven locks. 

His arms wrapped around both of my legs as he kissed down my neck until his mouth reached my breasts. I flinched when he took one nipple into his mouth, his green eyes glaring up at me as he gauged my reaction. My cheeks were aflame, and I knew it wasn't because of the fireplace. I leaned my head back, closing my eyes as I tried to focus on the feelings and sensations he was bringing me.

He spent time using his mouth on both of my breasts; kissing them and tugging the nipples into taut points with his teeth. The sensation was overwhelming for me, and I could do nothing but gasp and mewl, and then bite my lip in case someone might walk into the library and hear us.

"Please..." I whined, my hands fisting in his hair, unable to decide if I wanted to push his head away or pull him closer.

Loki brought one of his hands out from underneath my legs and pressed firmly on my clit. My eyes widened as an unbelievable amount of pleasure shot through me. When he started rubbing firm, slow circles, I thought I could see the Nine Realms behind my eyes. I couldn't hold my moans back this time. It wasn't as if I was foreign to this kind of pleasure. I had touched myself before; oftentimes when thinking about him. But the skill and pace at which he did this caused me to writhe and squirm in his arms.

"Does that feel good?" he whispered gently.

I nodded quickly, keeping my eyes screwed shut.

"And how many times have you touched yourself in this exact same way? While thinking about me...?"

I felt the color drain from my face. "S-Stay out of my head!" I snapped. I couldn't believe he was going to use his magic on me here.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he pressed kisses down my chest, traveling down between my thighs. "I apologize, my goddess. Will you forgive me for my transgressions?" 

The moment I felt his mouth on my core, I gasped. I could feel his tongue probing at my folds, licking a stripe up my slit before settling on kissing and sucking on my clitoris. 

I let out a sultry moan that I had no idea I was capable of making. "O-oh my gods..."

"Does this mean I am forgiven?"

It seemed like such a stupid question in a moment such as this. But he wanted an answer. When he pulled away briefly, I whimpered in frustration. "Loki... don't you dare stop..." My voice then softened. "Please..."

"You didn't answer my question. Am I forgiven?"

I gasped, my head falling on the couch. "Y-yes... just please... keep going..."

He hummed softly before bringing his mouth back to me, his tongue skillfully manipulating my clit. The pleasure I felt was nearly unbearable. My hands fisted back into his hair, and I pulled harder than I had intended. Instead of expressing pain, however, Loki moaned into my core, the sounds muffled by lewd slurping noises. I felt a tightening in my stomach as if I were a spring being tightly wound around the very being that was him. I didn't realize my legs were wrapped so tightly around his neck until I felt my heels dig into his back.

He continued to go down on me, glaring up at me occasionally as he watched my reaction. I let out a few soft moans, despite trying to hold back as much as possible. 

I felt like the soft sounds that I was making would echo throughout the library, down the corridors, and into the feasting hall. I could just imagine Thor, Sif, and the warriors three overhearing us and coming to investigate, giggling and jeering like a group of drunken teenagers. If they caught me and Loki in here like this, they'd never let us hear the end of it. 

I tried to shove those thoughts out of my head as Loki used both his tongue and his fingers to stimulate my clitoris, rubbing and licking faster. He used his fingers on my clit while alternating between giving my slit thorough licks and my clit firm sucks. He continued these ministrations until the tightening that had formed in my stomach unraveled, causing a wave of pleasure so strong to shoot through me, it felt like I had been taken under by a giant tidal wave, the ocean of ecstasy I was in throwing me around as I was completely powerless to stop it.

I heard an aria of moaning and mewling, and it took me a moment to realize that they were coming from my own mouth. I could feel Loki licking up every drop of my release as my hands convulsed in his hair, pulling hard. 

The aftermath of my first orgasm left me dazed. I didn't realize how tightly my legs were wrapped around him until he had to pull them off his shoulders to pull away from me.

He wiped his mouth as he looked down at me, drinking in the sight of me lying on the couch. "Look at you... so limp and satisfied. You look so... exquisite spread out like that. Your breasts and cunt are swollen because of my attention. Your cheeks flushed and lips parted... your hair around you like a halo." He started undoing the buttons of his shirt. "You look every bit of a goddess as I am a god." He slid his shirt off his shoulders, revealing his lithe yet toned chest. I was still so dazed, all I could do was stare at him. "And now tonight, we will witness what happens when the gods make love."

He unfastened his belt, shimmying out of his trousers, the warm glow of the fireplace illuminating his divine figure. He was larger than what I had expected, and for a moment, I wondered how he was going to fit inside me. I wanted to get up off the couch and go to him, but my legs were so weak, I knew I would fall straight on my face. 

Loki kicked his trousers to the side, getting down on all fours as he crawled towards me. The idea of what else he might have planned for us made my thighs clench in anticipation. He was soon kneeling in front of me, but instead of burying his face between my thighs again, he grabbed me by the hips and pulled me onto the floor on top of him, adjusting my legs to straddle his waist.

I clutched his shoulders to steady myself as he lifted my hips slightly off his lap to align his cock with my soaked slit. He pushed into me slowly, the feeling of him stretching me causing me to gasp, burying my face in his neck.

"Gods..." I moaned.

"Am I hurting you?" his silken voice whispered in my ear, warming my heart...and my loins. 

I shook my head quickly, breathing in sharply, his warm scent filling my senses. He had stilled inside me, giving me time to adjust to his size. "No... I just feel... full."

He wrapped his arms around me, cradling my head like a child's. "I love you. Have I ever told you that before?"

I felt my heart skip a beat at this confession. "No. You haven't."

"Well, now you know. I've looked forward to this moment for so long... I've wanted to be tied to you in every way possible... both in mind... body... soul."

I gasped when I felt him thrust sharply into me, my hands gripping his shoulders. "L-Loki...!"

He groaned as his hands went down to grip my hips, lifting me only to push back into me again. "I love when you moan my name, love..."

I dug my nails into his shoulders, my breathing becoming more labored as his pace gradually increased, his hands controlling the rhythm even though I was on top of him.

Gathering my courage, I rolled my hips against his, a sharp sting of pleasure shooting through me as his cock pushed deeper inside me. 

Loki stared up at me, his eyes glazed and his mouth open. "Gods... yes, love... roll your hips against mine... just... like... that..."

I gripped onto him, moving in time with his thrusts. All sense of insecurity or uncertainty had been peeled away from me, awakening a raw, primal need for him, and him alone. 

Loki wound one hand through my hair before pressing his forehead against mine. Our breaths mingled together as our moans and heavy breaths made a symphony throughout the library. 

My hips continued to bounce on top of his as if they were acting on their own accord. He was so deep inside me, I could feel the tip of his cock brush against my cervix. 

I felt that familiar tightening in my stomach again, and the idea of having another powerful orgasm both scared and thrilled me. Loki's breath came faster, and his movements were more hurried as he must have been approaching the edge as well.

"Loki... I-I love you..." I broke out in a hushed whisper as I moved so fast, that my breasts were bouncing wildly.

He grunted, thrusting his hips forward at such a fast pace, my walls clamped hard around his cock while my back arched. I couldn't stop myself from screaming right in his ear during my second climax. One hand convulsed in his hair while the other clawed down his back. 

He waited until I was in the throes of ecstasy before taking my nipple back into his mouth and biting down on it. He pumped his hips, allowing me to ride out my orgasm. He finally came, shooting his seed into me as he let the warm release seep through me. He groaned loudly, burying his face in my neck as he rode out his own climax.

When we finally stilled, I felt boneless and limp in his arms. We both lay there on the floor of the library, catching our breaths as we stared up at the ceiling that was adorned with intricate imagery during the daytime but was immersed in darkness with nothing but the dying fire in the hearth dimly illuminating our exhausted bodies.

"You were incredible, darling," he finally told me with his arms wrapped around me tightly. "A natural..."

I breathed in his scent deeply, burying my face in his chest. "Thank you... for showing me..."

His chuckle reverberated through his chest, vibrating against my ear. "You know once is never going to be enough, don't you?"

My eyes widened slightly. Loki took my hips and pulled out of me slowly before setting me gently down on the floor. "Not tonight, obviously. I don't want to render you unable to walk."

He lay down beside me on the floor of the library, using his magic to conjure a thin green blanket to cover both of us with. I was still dazed and exhausted from the evening's activities, but I used what little strength I had left to drape my arm around his waist and cuddle into him. I felt his strong arms encircle around me, pulling me against his chest.

I let out a breathless sound, too drained to laugh. "You're unbelievable."

"Oh? And why is that?" he asked while massaging my scalp idly.

"I had always thought my first time was going to be... painful. And you made me... feel things I never imagined I'd feel."

I barely registered his lips pressing against my forehead. "I guess your body is just made for mine, love... our souls were tailored for one another. And it does get even better than this... that I can promise you."

I tried to fight the sleep, but the steadiness of his heartbeat along with the blaze of the fireplace lulled me into a sated doze. I tried to tell myself that if we stayed here when dawn came, we'd be caught by the librarian, or even more embarrassing, his mother. The mere idea of the situation mortified me.

Loki must have been listening to my thoughts because he pushed a strand of hair over my shoulder. "Rest, little one. The feast is still ongoing, and I will have us out of here before dawn. You don't have to worry about us being caught."

I was too exhausted to snap at him and tell him to stay out of my head. I instead gave into the lull of his heartbeat against my ear as it started to slow, and the slow dimming of the fireplace as I gave in to my exhaustion and slipped into the comfort of sleep in his arms.