#MCU needs to slow down

[em1i2a3]

Hole in the Earth

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Mutant!Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, Angst, Smut, Panic Attacks, Mentions of Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Loss and Death, Age Gap (not mentioned but there are assumptions of an age gap if you squint a bit, there’s no full acknowledgment ), Mentions of Blood/Bleeding. The warnings for smut specifically; p in v sex (unprotected, wrap it before you tap it though!), fingering, oral (fem receiving), Praise kink if you squint, light choking (nothing too serious though), Bucky talks you through it (wink wink nudge nudge)

Author's Note: I wanted to do an actual series for this original character, but I didn’t feel like committing to something so big with my job, so I thought I’d stick to a one-shot format for this one. I know some things may not be totally accurate (this is my first time actually putting something out there that is based off of the MCU, I changed things up a bit, but not extremely, at least I hope lol.) Hopefully y’all enjoy though :) .

Word Count: 13,347 (Talk about slow burn eh? Seeing this word count made my jaw drop when I checked it at the end. What an extravaganza lol)

Some people filled silence with noise—small talk, jokes, distractions, awkward anecdotes, laughter even.

But you and Bucky?

You never needed words.

Your partnership had formed without much thought, an unspoken decision, a quiet inevitability. No one ever sat down and said, "You two should work together," but after everything—after the turmoil from the snap, all the loss, all the grief, and the way neither of you truly fit into what remained of the team anymore—it just happened naturally.

You had both come back to a world that had existed without you for five years. It was like a blur to you. It felt like nothing had happened until you saw the people you loved had aged significantly since the last time you had seen them, or you had lost them by that point.

To deviate from you Bucky had spent decades as a ghost, lost in time, fighting to take back something that had been stripped from him, and the five-year disappearance from the world felt like an eternity. You had heard him mention in passing that it was as if he was in a room with nothing but white around him, and he was all alone. Not only that but when he returned it took him a long time to adjust to the new normal.

Steve was gone.

Natasha was gone.

Tony was gone.

And you?

You were still here, stuck in a limbo between mourning and moving forward, existing in a place that didn’t feel like home anymore. Sam tried to make things easier, tried to be a stand-in for Tony, but it was no use, you told him to stop early on in his attempts, and he respected the request.

Bucky somehow understood your loss better than most of the team, even though he had returned to the same ruins you did. He didn’t bother you with the questions everyone else had when you came back to the compound, he gave you a nod of acknowledgement and tiptoed around you like you were a bomb that was going to explode at any moment, which was something that you ended up preferring.

So when the missions started up again, when the world needed something resembling the Avengers to step forward, it was an unspoken agreement—you and him, always paired together. You knew you wouldn’t be able to handle anyone else other than him.

It worked though.

The both of you kept things mission-focused and ignored whatever was happening outside of that. He never brought up your past, and you never brought up his, and even when there was downtime during the mission you stayed quiet, waiting in silence until you needed to step in.

But now?

Now the most recent mission had gone to hell, and you were stuck alone with him in a safe house, forced into a kind of closeness you had never prepared for.

The mission was supposed to be simple.

A HYDRA facility hidden beneath an abandoned city block, data that needed to be extracted, an easy exfiltration plan. When Sam had explained it you felt like you were having Deja Vu because of how many missions had been like this.

The plan had been clear—

Infiltrate.

Extract the data.

Get out.

You never made it past step two.

The power core in the lower level ruptured, sending a shockwave through the entire structure.

The explosion came too fast, too strong, it wasn’t something you prepared for at all.

You had barely made it to cover before the heat ripped through the walls, short-circuiting everything electronic based in the area—including the Neural Stabilizer locked around your throat.

You had felt it immediately.

The pulse of static in your bones, the electricity surging through your limbs with nowhere to go, the sensation of drowning in yourself. You laid on the cold metal, breathing in through the pain that echoed through your entire body, attempting to calm your nervous system down before things got out of your control.

"You alright?" Bucky called from the level above you.

You had forced yourself to swallow the panic as you raised your head to look up to where he was, only seeing his shadow at that point.

"I’m fine." You replied.

A lie.

Because you could feel the stabilizer glitching, flickering between control and chaos, the red warning light at your throat blinking erratically. It didn’t go unnoticed by Bucky though, even though you wished it had.

“Are you sure?” He asked, watching you struggle to push yourself up from the metal, seeing a pulse of faint blue static running across the floor. You closed your eyes tightly.

”Yes. I’m positive. Just cover me so I can get to you, then we can get the hell out of here.”

You had to push forward.

Because you had no choice.

Because if you didn’t keep moving, neither of you were getting out alive. But if you had a choice you would’ve stayed right where you were.

By the time you had escaped the facility, hot-wired a car, and driven two hours through the backroads to the nearest safe house—your entire body was on fire with unstable currents flowing through your blood. You were in such agony holding everything in that you had almost collapsed onto the ground when you exited the car.

Bucky had watched you run towards the cabin, observed the way you almost broke the doorknob and locked him out all within seconds. By the time he had entered the cabin you were out of his sight, and barricaded inside the washroom.

When you slammed the door closed you immediately turned on the dim light of the enclosed space, stripping off your tactical gear with shaking hands, leaving you in just a pair of shorts and a white tank top. You threw your utility belt onto the counter beside the sink, trying your best to catch your breath, feeling a burning sensation building inside your chest, clawing at the bones. You braced yourself against the porcelain sink, bringing your eyes up to your reflection, looking at the red glow of the Neural Stabilizer flashing on your neck, each pulse more erratic than the last.

Tony had promised it would always work.

Now it was failing as you stood there.

You reached up to touch the fried titanium of the neck plate, feeling the warmth radiating off it, as the light above you glowed brighter for a brief moment before returning to its normal state. That was the only warning sign you needed to kick yourself into high gear. You opened up your gear pouch, fumbling through the various tools you had, until you found what you needed. The tiny utility screwdriver, the one Tony had told you to keep on you at all times. You thanked your past self that they actually listened to him for once.

“It’s just for backup, kid, but if you ever need it, don’t panic. You got this.” You could hear his voice in your head, you could picture the moment he gave it to you and you reluctantly threw it into the gear pouch, making sure he witnessed you do it.

You pushed the memory out of your head and forced yourself to focus, returning your gaze back to your reflection, stretching your neck out so there was enough lighting. Your eyes trailed over the grooves of the metal, finding the space where the first latch would be. You shifted again, turning your head to the side before bringing the screwdriver to the first screw that secured the panel—

———

"Hold still, Sparkplug," Tony muttered, adjusting the metal band around your neck so that it was fitting snugly against your skin, "You fidget more than Peter, and that’s saying something."

You sighed, tilting your chin up, watching him work in the reflection of the mirror.

"Feels like a shock collar." You commented, digging your nails into the palm of your hand.

"Yeah, well, better than the alternative." He replied, looking at you out of the corner of his eye, before returning his gaze to the stabilizer. "Unless you like turning every elevator ride into a death trap." He added.

You scowled.

"It’s not that bad."

"Tell that to the toasters and light bulbs you murdered last week. You know I think I stepped on some of the broken glass you forgot to sweep up." You felt your lips tilt slightly at the joking tone he took.

"That was an accident."

"Yeah, and I’m accidentally a millionaire genius." He tightened the clasp on the metal, sliding his stool back to examine his work. "Alright. Try not to electrocute me when you test it out."

You hesitated, looking at the stabilizer in the mirror, seeing the signature blue glow that Tony had in his chest piece now reflecting off of your very own Stark Industries creation.

"You’re sure this will work?"

Tony’s smirk faded slightly, his expression softening at the worry that laced your voice. You had come a long way since he had taken you under his wing, but he knew you still struggled with keeping the power under wraps, it was evident by the way everything would short circuit even when you were feeling happy, it trapped you. When he designed the stabilizer all he wanted was for you to feel normal, and this was the one thing that he was confident in providing.

"Yeah, kid." His hand rested lightly on your shoulder. "I’m sure.”

“And what if it malfunctions?” You questioned, your hand now tracing the ridges of the titanium.

”I’ll be there to fix it…I promise Y/N. I wouldn’t let it get to that point anyways. Routine maintenance will prevent that I’m sure.”

Back then, you had believed him.

Because Tony always kept his promises.

———

Your hands trembled as you worked on the stabilizer, the screwdriver slipping between your fingers while you twisted it into the second latch. The sharp edge of the tool had sliced against the sensitive skin on your neck three times at this point, and the droplets of blood began to stain your hands. The faint pain began to curl into itself, causing the lights to brighten once again, only this time it remained that way. The tips of your fingers began to veil themselves in the mesh-like glow that slowly stretched along your skin, another bad sign that you needed to get yourself under control.

Your breath came in shallow, panicked gasps, watching the red light blinking faster and faster with each mistake you made, almost as if it was in sync with your pulse.

You couldn’t do this, and there was no doubt that by the end of this, you would have a hazardous explosion waiting to happen. You wouldn’t be surprised if you’d take out the whole town.

You were going to—

"Breathe, kid." Tony’s voice warned.

You couldn’t help but remember the video he had left in your inbox, dated the day before his death. You hadn’t looked at it for three weeks, you weren’t ready to see him at that point, you were grieving, but the day that you decided to click on it to listen, and to watch…You knew it was going to be seared into your memory.

———

Tony sat at his workbench, rubbing a hand over his face, scratching at the stubble on his chin almost in frustration. His hair was a little longer, a little messier, and the exhaustion on his face was worse than you’d ever seen it.

"Alright, kid. If you’re watching this, then congratulations. You survived. You came back. And I…Well…I didn’t, unless you are watching this for fun, which is absolutely weird, but whatever.”

A pause, he sighs, licking his dry lips, trying to search for what he was going to say.

"Not that I’d know, obviously, because I made this before all the very bad, end-of-the-world war type stuff went down, but I’d like to think I got to go out in a blaze of glory."

His lips tugged up, but there was no humor behind it.

"Which, by the way, is something I told you not to do a thousand times, so let’s not make this a trend, okay?"

You had let out a choked laugh, tears already stinging at your eyes. He took another pause, shaking his head.

"Five years." He exhaled hard, tapping his fingers against the desk. "You’ve been gone for five whole years, and I gotta tell you, kid, it’s sucked. Like, really sucked. We have this whole ‘Save the World’ initiative going on, and I keep looking around thinking, ‘Where the hell is my electric gremlin when I need her?’ But no. You were gone. Taken just like that."

He snapped his fingers, inhaling deeply through his nose, trying to control his voice.

"And that?" His tone dropped lower, something raw scraping at the edges. "That was a real bitch."

You pressed a hand against your mouth, trying not to break down, trying to keep yourself as composed as you could.

"You left, and everything was just… quieter. Too quiet. No more blowing out the lab’s power grid on purpose because you got pissed at me. No more stealing my coffee and blaming it on Rhodey. No more dumb science debates about whether or not your powers count as a renewable energy source. Just… nothing."

His fingers curled into a fist, hitting his knuckles lightly against the workbench.

"I miss you, kid. And I know I didn’t say it enough when I had the chance, so I’m saying it now."

A sharp inhale. There was a cut in the footage. Now his position had changed, and he was standing.

"You’re back though. And I need you to listen, alright?"

You sat up nodding, even though he couldn’t see you.

"This thing?" He said, tapping a Neural Stabilizer on his own throat.

"Yeah, I made one for myself. No, I don’t need it. But you’re a visual learner—or maybe you just don’t trust me unless I put myself in your shoes. Either way, I made one so I could show you how easy this is to fix."

He sighed.

"Anyways, let’s be real. If this thing is flickering red, that means something bad happened. Maybe you got hit by an EMP. Maybe you took too many hits in a fight, and someone broke it. Maybe the universe just hates us both equally, who knows. But if it’s failing, that means you’re going to short-circuit because your body won’t know what to do with all the excess energy. And when you short-circuit, so does everything else around you. That means streetlights, security systems, Wi-Fi—" he gestures around him with his hands "—you know, everything people actually need to function."

You sniffled, pressing your fingers against your lips.

"So. Let’s fix it before you blackout an entire city block, huh?"

His eyes softened, something warm but worn behind them.

"You got this, kid. You always have."

A pause.

"Alright. First step—pop the latch. Gently put the screwdriver into the large metal coil, it should be bright orange if the stabilizer is malfunctioning due to the overheating. Twist it counterclockwise. And whatever you do, do not—"

——-

You pressed too hard.

The screwdriver slipped, and another sharp sting burned across your neck, the blood now dripping down your neck and soaking into the tank top you wore.

"Shit." You muttered, your fingers flying to your throat, wiping off the blood as much as you could, your pulse hammering throughout your entire body, as the crimson liquid smeared across your skin.

Before you could even process the impending pain, the Neural Stabilizer’s light turned off completely.

Without missing a beat a violent pulse of static erupted outward, a crackling, jagged burst of energy tearing free from your body.

The lightbulbs overhead shattered, raining sparks and broken glass onto the tiles, lightly cutting up some of your exposed flesh. The mirror fractured down the middle, sharp cracks splintering outward, but not fully falling off the surface.

The entire safe house went dark, the fridge cut out, the security system fried, the cell towers blinked offline. In the kitchen, Bucky sat at the rickety dining table, thinking about whether or not it would be a good idea to try to come in and help. Even after the power surge, he was still on the fence about going and intruding on what was happening in there, not out of fear, but out of what he might have to do to get everything under control.

Inside the bathroom, the only light left was coming from you, and now the soapy smell that had once filled the room had been taken over by the crisp smell of ozone, as if a rain storm just occurred.

Your reflection in the mirror flickered, illuminated by the uneven, stuttering glow of electricity crawling over your skin. Tiny spiderweb cracks of raw current slithered up your arms, twisting beneath the surface, licking along your fingertips, wrapping around your body, almost like it was a reunion. The stabilizer narrowed the current down significantly when it was on, without it there was no regulation.

The charge had nowhere to go. It buzzed, and coiled, desperate for an escape, trying to find something to attach to. Your body felt too full, like a live wire wound too tight, ready to snap apart, and now the pain was truly starting to settle in, deep inside your bones, causing your blood to curl.

"No, no, no—"

You repeated, slamming your hand against the countertop. A sharp crack of static arced outward, splitting the porcelain, hairline fractures splintering in front of you.

Your breath hitched in your throat, as every muscle in your body seized.Your heart pounded painfully against your chest, erratic, frantic—

Then the doorknob rattled.

"Hey."

It was Bucky.

"You okay?"

The words barely registered with you, it sounded muffled, drowned beneath the buzzing that rang through your ears. You could feel your pulse spike violently, as panic slammed through your ribs like a live wire.

You couldn’t answer the simple question.

Couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t stop the charge from rising once again.

The electricity under your skin wouldn’t settle, wouldn’t stop expanding, the raw static skittered along your body, flaring out in thin veins of uncontrolled current.

"I—" you croaked, holding onto your chest, trying to stabilize your voice from shaking.

The door creaked open.

And before you could even react, the barricade was removed from between the both of you.

Bucky stood in the dim blue glow, still dressed in the majority of his tactical gear, minus the weapons. The glass crunched under his boots as he stepped into the washroom, his sharp and guarded expression softening when his eyes locked onto the scene in front of him.

His gaze flickered over the shattered bulbs, and the fractured mirror, and when he breathed in the smell of static tickled his nose, almost like someone had taken chlorine and mixed it with metal.

Then his eyes landed on you. Your trembling hands, your shaking shoulders, the way your body twitched with the electric currents still pulsing beneath your skin, his eyes watched the glowing cracks spread along your arms. He could see in the lighting that your neck was bleeding, and that your stabilizer was practically fried. At this point, he concluded that he in fact didn’t know where to start.

”Y/N…” His voice was dripping with concern, trying to piece together what he could do.

You tried to speak, tried to tell him to go away but all that came out was a gut-wrenching sob, the panic and fear sinking its claws deeper into your ribs.

"Hey, you need to breathe," Bucky instructed his voice low, calm, and even. But you couldn’t. Couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t pull yourself back from the static buzzing inside your skull, it was mind-numbing. The only thing that snapped you out of your haze was the crunching of glass beneath Bucky’s boots, as he stepped towards you.

"Don't—" You snapped, desperate to keep him away. "I can’t— I can’t shut it off…Just stay…Stay back Bucky." Your hands trembled, as your arms locked up, the muscles tightening, like a cord was wrapping around them. The crunching noise stopped, but the buzzing in your ears didn’t, as you leaned your body on the sink, moaning through the stinging pain that ran up your spine.

”Listen I can’t just leave you in here like this, what can I do to help?” You could feel your knees go numb while you were trying to contain whatever was building up to release next. You braced yourself against the counter, cushioning the drop to the ground as much as possible. Your bare knees felt the impact of the glass as the sharp edges dug into the thin flesh, a grunt escaping your throat, while you were attempting to shift slightly to the side before putting all your weight on the front portion of the counter.

”Just go away.” Was all you could muster to say through your short sobs of pain, “Please just go.” You begged, tears now streaming down your cheeks, as you put your forehead onto the edge of the porcelain sink, letting the cold temperature even out the heat that was radiating off your skin.

Bucky didn’t move, didn’t heed your request to leave, instead he crouched down, and sat on the glass-covered floor, with his arms resting on his knees. He watched you closely, noting how your body would tremble every couple of seconds, or how the static that covered every exposed area of your skin buzzed lightly at any sign of movement.

”Please leave.” You choked out again, barely above a whisper. Bucky sighed, his jaw clenching at the rawness in your voice. The last-ditch effort to push him away before anything worse happened, before you hurt him.

”I’m not going anywhere Y/N…It would go against my better judgment.” He replied, clenching and unclenching his vibranium hand, contemplating. He knew what he needed to do, but had no clue how he would execute the plan without you possibly lashing out at him.

He glanced back up at you, watching as your grip tightened on the edge of the sink, another strangled whimper escaping into the room. You were already so far gone at this point that there was no way you were going to come back without additional help, at least that’s what Bucky was starting to conclude from what was transpiring in front of him.

Another burst of static snapped out from you, slashing against the mirror, fully breaking the reflective pieces, hearing the shattering as it fell into the sink, splintering, leaving small superficial wounds on the tips of your fingers, lines of red blooming across your knuckles. You didn’t even register the pain.

Bucky barely flinched, because at this point he wasn’t going to wait anymore, and now that you were distracted he took the opportunity. Quickly he brought himself forward and wrapped his vibranium arm around your waist, pulling you against him with more force than he intended. Your back collided against his chest, and immediately you could feel your body locking up in his grip as his other arm wrapped around your waist to try to stabilize you so you weren’t thrashing on the glass-covered ground. You could feel your lungs seize up.

”Let me go!” You twisted violently in his hold, as you dug your nails into his right arm, trying to loosen the restraint he formed around your body. You slammed your back into his chest, attempting to wind him, but it was no use, Bucky was a solid unmoving force at this point, and he remained locked around you. Another fresh stream of tears ran down your cheeks. He could feel your body heating up against his as he adjusted, trying to get you to stop thrashing.

”Bucky, please…” Your voice cracked, a sob tearing from your throat, feeling another burst of static snapping around you, at whatever was near, it was lashing out until it found Bucky’s arm, as the blue static slipped into the limb causing the vibranium to light up. A crackling wave of electricity ran up each plate, filling the thin gaps between each one. This realization only made you thrash against him even harder.

”Y/N I’m fine! Stop it, you’re not hurting me.” He insisted, tightening his arms around you once again as you began to shake against him. “Look,” He murmured. Through the haze of your panic, you forced yourself to focus, your gaze trailing down to the arm that was clenched around you. The shock and static wasn’t building, or lashing outward, it was being absorbed. Bucky could almost feel your body relax at the sight, even though you were still wheezing and breathing too fast.

”It’s not hurting me.” He repeated again, but all you could hear was the buzzing inside your skull, it was deafening. Your vision blurred as you made small attempts to push him away, even though it was of no use, he didn’t budge. He was steady, controlled, and unfazed, as his ears tuned into the way you were breathing, the panicked wheezing.

“Y/N, you have to breathe…Can you feel me breathing?” He asked, trying to hide the urgency behind his voice, adjusting again so now he was able to see the side of your face, and the way your pupils were blown out. His damp hair tickled the side of your face, as he leaned forward trying to make sure you were practically cocooned in him, almost mimicking an emergency blanket in a way. You could feel yourself trembling in his arms, as his right hand came up to intertwine with yours, guiding your palm to rest flat against your chest, right over your heart.

“Y/N, focus on me…If you can hear me, focus on my breathing.” He instructed, holding you closer to him so your back was directly pressed into his chest. You could feel his body rise and fall against you, even, measured…A slow inhale, a gentle exhale.

”Match me.” He whispered, his warm breath sticking to the exposed skin of your shoulder. You attempted to breathe in as deeply as he did, feeling a burning sensation creep up along the sides of your ribs. The exhale came out fast and uneven from you, but Bucky didn’t rush the process, as he took in another breath, his chest expanding against your back. You attempted to take in another breath, but this time it came a little easier, even though it still felt like every bone in your body had its own personal vice grip around it. Black dots began to pebble into your sight, feeling a numbness washing over you.

“Good…Now let it out.” Was the last thing you heard before your vision went dark.

------

The first thing you heard when you regained consciousness was music.

Soft and slow, floating through the air in a smooth jazz melody, rich with nostalgia. The mellow voice of the crooner was claiming he would never smile again, as the lyrics gently carried over the hum of the muted trumpets, the backup singers harmonized the man's sorrow while the serenade continued. It felt like a lullaby that was meant for another time.

Then everything else began to settle in; the bed beneath you, the rough comforter scratching against the backs of your legs. The blanket on top of you pulled up to your neck, enveloping you in its warmth. A dull ache lingered in every area of your body, your hands were sore, your face felt swollen from the crying that you had done, and it felt like if you attempted to move you would throw up. But at least your breathing was finally stable. No longer ragged or filled with panic. It was a relief in a way.

The music continued as your ears caught the sound of a soft tapping in rhythm with the song. A gentle exhale released into the room. Bucky. Slowly, you forced your heavy eyelids open, as the stucco ceiling came into your sight, the dimmed emergency lights providing a soft hue to the space. You tilted your head up so your chin was settled on your chest, noticing that you were still wearing the white tank top that was now stained with your blood. The way you were able to move your neck with such ease also made you realize that you didn’t have your stabilizer on, which brought on another concern, as you laid your eyes on the sight before you.

Bucky sat at the kitchen table, illuminated by his cell phone, which was leaning against one of the salt shakers, the light casting shadows along his jaw and cheeks. His hair looked damp and curled in on itself like he was fresh out of the shower, and you had noticed he wasn’t in his regular combat gear. Instead, he had on a black, form-fitting long-sleeved shirt, and a pair of matching cargo pants. He was so lost in what he was doing that his gaze was practically glued to the table, and you could tell he was fiddling with something that you couldn’t particularly see. You tried to lean up onto your elbows to try and catch a glimpse of what he was doing, only to have your knees scream out in pain when you accidentally bent them. A hiss escaped your throat, automatically breaking Bucky’s concentration on what he was working on, as his head snapped in your direction, putting down whatever he was working on to pay attention to you.

“Take it easy. You still have glass in your knees.” He informed, hesitating to tell you that he hadn’t pulled out the shards when you were passed out. You groaned at the sentence, your body dropping back against the pillow, as you reached up to massage your head, trying to mend an impending migraine.

“I feel like I’ve been through a few rounds with a freight train.” You said, closing your eyes tightly at the sound of the rawness of your voice.

“Well…That’s kind of what happens when you go nuclear on yourself.” He muttered, leaning back in his seat, his gaze locking on you as you dragged your hands down your face. He nervously tapped his fingers on the table, biting the inside of his lip, “You scared me y’know.” The words fell from his mouth before he could even stop himself, the admission causing you to let out a ragged sigh.

“It wasn’t my intention to do that.” He shook his head.

“Intentions don’t mean much when you’re screaming for me to go away and you’ve caused every light bulb in the place to explode.” You could hear the control he had on his voice, the way he took his breaths so that his words didn’t waver. He was bothered by what you had done, there was no doubting that, but you had never heard him speak like this before.

“Are you honestly going to pick a fight with me right now? Could this not wait until the glass gets taken out of my knees?” You snapped, as your body began to slowly heat up. He scoffed at your suggestion, shaking his head in disbelief.

“No. It can’t wait, because the second I come to help you’re going to avoid the conversation.” You rolled your eyes.

“Jesus Christ Bucky. I get it.”

“Do you?” He questioned. You clenched your jaw as you pushed yourself up so you were able to look at him, to hash this out before it killed your partnership. Your knees seared at the quick movement while you settled on the bed, but you shoved the pain aside, keeping the tensity in your eyes.

“I don’t know what the fuck you want me to say. Do you want me to say sorry I didn’t tell you about the stabilizer breaking as I was attempting to not fucking explode around you?!” You shot back, squeezing your hand into a fist, trying to hold in the static that began to line your skin again.

“I want you to say you trust me. Because right now it doesn’t feel like it, and if we’re going to continue working together, I need that reassurance.” You looked up from your hands, catching his hardened gaze, seeing the betrayal in his eyes.

“You know I trust you.” You stated, watching as he shook his head, and stood up from his seat.

“Do I? Because you don’t act like it. Do you remember what just happened an hour and a half ago? You had plenty of opportunity to tell me what the hell was going on and you refused. I had to come in and see you in absolute shambles, do you understand how that felt?” Your eyes followed him as he paced.

“I didn’t want you to see me like that, you made a choi-.”

“I chose to take care of you!” He snapped, his voice raising in volume, the reaction making you flinch, not because you were scared, but because he had never yelled at you like that. “That’s what any teammate would do. But you make it impossible unless it’s forced on you, which is what I had to resort to. Do you think that made me feel good?” He asked, looking over at you, his eyes shimmering in the light. The guilt hit you harder than any punch you had taken, truly realizing how much pain you had put him in. You could see the way his hands twitched at his sides, remembering the way he was holding you and restraining your movements, reliving the moment over and over again as you fought against him.

“I-I was afraid I was going to hurt you Bucky, that’s why I was fighting you. I didn’t want to hurt you, or even worse kill you…” The words were heavy when they left your lips, “You may think you’re invincible, but you could’ve died…And then what? I lose another person I care about?” You could immediately see his eyes soften at your words and the way that your voice was shaking and cracking as you attempted to keep it steady. He held your gaze, keeping his spot at the side of the table, but now he was holding the edge of it, leaning on it for support. You could see the frustration in his eyes draining away with every moment that passed as he connected the dots.

“So that’s what this is about?” He asked softly, the sharpness from earlier being replaced with something gentler, caring. He ran his hand through his hair,“...You do know I’m 106 years old and have gone through way worse than a little bit of electricity right?” You were surprised by the sudden change in his tone, detecting the trail of humour that laced his words.

“And that this new arm…” He lifted his vibranium hand into your line of sight, flexing his fingers, letting the dim light catch against the matte black material “Doesn’t allow you to hurt me correct? The material just absorbs it. You saw it when I showed you in the washroom, you even stopped fighting me when you saw it. It doesn’t have a voltage limit or anything so…I don’t think it would’ve been possible for you to kill me. Does that help cure your worries?” He asked, letting the question hang in the air, leaning against the table again. You let out a slow breath and nodded, but you didn’t reply, you just let the intensity of the argument die down. The jazz music faded in again now, filling the silence for a few beats until you absentmindedly replied to him.

“You’re 106?” His lips pressed into a firm line, thrown off by the abrupt shift in conversation.

“That’s all you got from that speech I just gave you? Really?” You shrugged.

“I mean…You carry yourself pretty well, you don’t look a day over 100.” You said, tilting your head to the side to feign consideration “Mmm, actually maybe I would even go as far as saying you could pass for 90.” He shook his head at you, but you could see he was fighting a smile from appearing on his lips, as he reached up to rub the stubble on his face.

“Absolutely ridiculous.” He wasn’t annoyed, nor frustrated, it sounded like he was relieved, because neither of you wanted to admit it, but you didn’t like where the conversation was going, the both of you didn’t want to fight over something like that, you were supposed to be partners. The weight of the argument was settled, and you both were thankful for that. You let some time pass, just to allow each other to come down from the adrenaline until you cleared your throat.

“I’m sorry by the way.” You said quietly, earning a soft sigh from him, he opened his mouth to interrupt, but you held up your hand to stop him, “I didn’t mean to shut you out. You had every right to be angry with me, and I shouldn’t have fought you, I should’ve just allowed you to help me.” Bucky nodded, his blue eyes locking onto yours again.

“I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to yell at you, I lost my temper…And I didn’t mean to scare you. I wasn’t mad, I was just-.” He paused for a moment, inhaling deeply “I just didn’t like seeing you like that.” Your fingers tightened around the blanket at his admission, but you nodded as well to acknowledge you heard him. You let the moment breathe, still feeling the lingering guilt of how angry he had been just a few minutes prior, but what sat in your chest was how bothered he was by your pain because it wasn’t about the outburst itself, it was about what it meant. The way he snapped was his way of trying to convey that your well-being was important to him, and even the thought of that made something in you seize up. So much for keeping the partnership strictly mission-based I guess, you thought as you shifted on the mattress, only to be reminded of the searing pain coming from your legs.

“Now that we’re done arguing…Do you mind taking the glass out of my knees now?” You asked, cringing at the sharp burning sensation that radiated throughout your kneecaps with each slight movement you made to try and get yourself in a better position to attempt to ease the pain, to no avail.

“Oh Jesus, yeah of course. Sorry.” He replied sheepishly as if he had forgotten about what he had said at the beginning of the argument. Bucky worked with a quiet urgency, collecting the first aid kit, and a basin to put the shards of glass in, stopping for a moment at the table to pause the music on his phone before picking up your stabilizer from where he had been sitting. When he had turned back to you he could see the look of surprise on your face, as your eyes trailed over it, seeing the familiar blue glow that indicated it was fixed.

“I figured it wouldn’t hurt to attempt to work on it while you were passed out,” He explained, looking down at the curved titanium while he made his way over to the bed, “Don’t really know if I actually fixed the thing, but it’s not glowing red or anything so I’m assuming I made a bit of progress.” He shrugged, as he sat down in front of you, settling the first aid kit down before handing the stabilizer over to you, feeling your fingers brush against his gently, watching you take it from him with a small smile on your face. You looked at it closely, your fingertips buzzing in anticipation, the cool weight of the titanium almost bringing you a wave of relief. You felt around for the familiar latch at the back of the stabilizer, clicking it open with a gentle hiss, your eyes glancing up to meet Bucky’s blue irises.

“It’s looking promising.” You joked, seeing his lips turn up slightly, before tilting your head back to expose your neck, brushing your hair aside. Carefully you aligned the stabilizer against your throat, settling it into place as the soft hum of the hydraulics pulled the device together, allowing it to lock around your neck. You rested your hands against the edges of it, waiting for a moment, allowing it to calibrate. Bucky watched you, trying to see if there was any sign that he had messed up somehow, thinking about the wires he cut and shifted when he began his attempt on fixing the thing, hoping to god it wasn’t something important. A beat of silence passed over the both of you quickly, being quenched with a soft exhale.

“Seems like you actually did it.” You informed, turning your head from side to side to ensure everything was properly secured.

“You sound surprised,” Bucky replied, feigning offence.

“Hmm. Tony made this thing idiot-proof, so I’m a bit taken aback by your…Skills.” His eyebrows raised at you, shaking his head as he flipped open the first aid kit.

“It’s not like I have an arm that’s state-of-the-art technology or something like that.” He shot back, sarcasm dripping from every word he spoke while he collected a few alcohol pads, tweezers, and gauze from the inside of the container. “Now…Ready to play Operation?” He asked jokingly.

“Just what I need, Bucky Barnes playing surgeon.” You replied, adjusting your position so that your knees were bent between the both of you, pulling the blanket off carefully just in case any of the glass had accidentally caught on any of the fibres. When the damage came into your line of sight you could practically feel your stomach twist and turn into knots. The blood was dry and streaked in the crevices of your knees. Tiny shards of glass embedded themselves like fractured stars in the thin flesh that lined the bone, glinting under the soft light. Some pieces were deep, surrounded by angry red welts where your body had begun trying to reject them. Others sat more superficially, barely hanging on but all of it looked raw, swollen, and painful. You could feel yourself get lightheaded just by looking at it.

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” You announced, throwing yourself down onto the mattress, the back of your head hitting the pillow, “I can’t look at it.”

“You’re telling me out of all the things you’ve seen, this is the thing that does you in?” He commented, “Now that’s disappointing.” You groaned, putting your arm over your face.

“It’s different when it’s my blood.” He let out a small laugh, the bed shifting under his weight as he adjusted, positioning his vibranium hand between the bend of your left knee to keep it still, the coolness causing you to tense up.

“Alright, I’ll go slow. Ready?” You nodded, keeping your face covered, attempting to hide the blush that began to rise on your cheeks, feeling him pull out one of the smaller pieces of glass, starting easy. He dropped it into the steel bowl, dabbing the blood off your skin with gauze, as he continued his feat, getting close enough that his breath fanned over the wound. You shut your eyes tightly, another sharp jolt of pain shooting up your leg, your other hand digging into the comforter beneath you.

“God damn it Bucky.” You hissed, your knee jerking involuntarily, his grip keeping you steady.

“Almost got it, just hold still.” His voice was soft, focused on grabbing onto the tip of the glass that he had been pulling out seconds before, the slow meticulous movements bringing you to the brink of screaming

“Okay. I need you to talk or something. Distract me before I start destroying the place please.”

“What do you want to talk about?” Bucky asked with hesitation, another piece of glass clanging against the steel bowl.

“Tell me something you liked…Before everything. Something you miss maybe.” He hummed, going for another shard of glass.

“Music…And dancing too I guess.” You took your arm away from your face, pushing yourself up onto your elbows, looking at him with your eyebrows raised.

“You? Dancing?” For a brief moment, he glanced up at you with a smirk plastered on his lips.

“What? You don’t believe me?” You shrugged.

“I just can’t picture Bucky Barnes on the dance floor, were you like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever?” His brow furrowed for a moment, confused at what you were referring to.

“Saturday Night what?” You let out a breathy laugh.

“You’ve never seen that movie?” He gave you a flat look, returning his eyes to your knees, taking out another piece of glass and wiping the droplets of blood that slid down your skin.

“I’ve been frozen in ice, brainwashed, and playing assassin for half a century. You think I’ve had time to watch movies?” You leaned back a little, resting your weight on your elbows.

“Fair point, but it’s a classic Bucky. The disco music, the bell bottoms, the gyrating.” You reminisced, watching as his lips pressed tightly together.

“Pretty sure I was not gyrating on the dancefloor.” He commented back, another piece of glass joining the pile as he moved to your other knee, his hand leaving your skin briefly before mirroring the same position with the other leg.

“So what kind of dancing did you do then?” A smirk appeared on his lips, his eyes crinkling, showing off what little wrinkles he had.

“Ballroom, Swing if I was feeling fancy.” You grinned.

“Very nice.” You could see his cheeks dusting red slightly, as he dropped another piece of glass into the bowl, wiping your knee.

“What can I say…I had the moves.”

“Had?” He glanced up at you, his teeth showing slightly now, a genuine smile appearing on his face, something you had not seen before from him.

“Careful, it sounds like you want to find out.” The way his voice dropped made a satisfying shiver shoot up your spine, but you kept your expression neutral, lifting an eyebrow at him.

“Oh yeah? You offering to take me out dancing Bucky?” He shrugged, shifting in his spot to get a bit more comfortable, latching onto another piece of glass.

“Maybe.” Glancing up to see your reaction, noticing that you were blushing as well. You shook your head at him.

“Please, if we ever went out dancing you’d throw me around like a ragdoll and I’d end up concussed.” He laughed deeply, returning his eyes to your knees.

“Nah...You’d be good, I can tell.” You squinted at him.

”Oh yeah? And how exactly did you come to that conclusion?” Bucky smirked, his hand shifting to adjust your leg, the tweezers grabbing on to another glass shard.

”You move well. Quick on your feet, and you can keep up with me.” You scoffed at his comment, your body tensing as the pain from your knee was slowly building up again.

”You make it sound like fighting and dancing are the same thing.” He hummed, distracted from the conversation for a brief moment. You glanced at him, noticing that he was holding his breath as he pulled the large shard of glass out, bringing the cracked and bloodied piece up to your sight, a satisfied smile on his face.

“Well, they’re not all that different. Both are about timing. About knowing your partner.” Bucky replied, his voice low and smooth. Another clang echoed throughout the room while he grabbed a fresh gauze pad to press down onto the weeping wound. You swallowed, shifting against the mattress, trying to ignore the warmth that crept up your back.

”So what, you’re saying we’d make a good dancing pair?” You could feel the way his fingers flexed at the question, his cold vibranium thumb running over the bottom of your knee. He didn’t look up right away, still applying pressure on the wound that continued to slowly bleed.

”I think we already do.” He murmured, lifting his gaze to meet yours. You could see the way his eyes scanned over yours, the way that his jaw clenched just for a split second. An unwavering heat crept up the back of your neck, flushing your chest and the surrounding area of skin red.

“Yeah? What makes you so sure?” His eyes never left yours as he adjusted his grip again, letting his fingers freely brush against your skin, as if he didn’t realize what he was doing.

”I know how you move, and you never have problems following instructions when you’re given them.” Your fingers twitched against the sheets, the words sinking into you. He wasn’t wrong, not one bit, but it was the way he said it, and the way his breath hit your skin, the sensations were crowding you at that point that it was starting to become increasingly difficult to keep yourself cool.

”Sounds a bit cocky if you’d ask me.” He dropped the tweezers into the bowl, throwing the saturated gauze on top of it, as he wet his bottom lip with his tongue.

”Not cocky, just observant, that's all.” His voice was low, sultry, you didn’t know if he meant for it to come out so soft, but it still made you feel motion sickness. Before you could even stop to think about what you were going to do, you reached down, your fingers holding the back of his bicep, gripping onto the cool vibranium through the sleeve of his shirt as you pulled yourself up.

The second you entered his space, his eyes were locked onto yours, wide and searching, like he was surprised you decided to pull that little move. You could feel the warmth radiating off of him now, and you were hyper-aware of how his chest rose and fell now that you were closer to him, the shallowness of his breaths coming to your attention almost immediately.

“What are you doing?” He asked, looking over at your hand sliding up, gliding over the curve of his shoulder. His hand remained behind your knee, as the other one gripped the mattress beside him, unsure if he should reach out to bring you closer. You tilted your head forward, your lips dangerously close to his, as the both of you exchanged breaths.

”Getting comfortable.” You whispered, watching his jaw tense at your words, his fingers twitching against your skin. He tilted his head back slightly, letting out a sigh.

”You don’t want this, Y/N.” Your brows furrowed at the hesitancy in his voice, but before you could protest he continued, “It’s been a long time…Since I’ve…” He paused, looking back at you, “I just don’t want to disappoint you.” You could hear the vulnerability in his voice mixing with embarrassment, as he avoided your eyes still. Slowly, you slid your hands down the front of his shirt, feeling his chest tense up beneath your touch as your fingers gripped the fabric gently.

“You won’t disappoint me Bucky,” His hands flexed at your words like he was battling with himself as he returned his eyes to yours, allowing the both of you to really look at each other. You had never noticed the way his eyes glistened in the light or the way his pupils ate away at the blueness of his irises.

You shifted onto your knees, being mindful of the ache, but ignoring it in favour of attempting to bring yourself closer to him, as you slid your fingers upward, tracing the outline of his collarbone. Carefully, you moved, sliding yourself into his lap, feeling his body stiffen beneath you, his hands coming up to hold your waist out of instinct. Your fingers curled around the chain of his dog tags, feeling the cool metal in your hands, as you leaned in, letting your lips ghost over the rough stubble along his jaw.

”It’s been a long time for me too.” You admitted softly, your breath warm against his skin, his fingers gripping you just a little tighter, feeling your lips press a gentle kiss on his neck. His breath left him slowly, his vibranium hand coming up to cup the side of your face.

”Yeah?” His voice filled with uncertainty, as you pulled back to look down at him, nodding, threading your fingers into his damp hair.

”I also don’t know what I’m doing half the time either,” You replied, tilting yourself forward, bringing your lips close to his, “But I know I want this…And I know I want you.” You admitted, closing the space between the both of you, your lips meeting his. Bucky let out a sound that was a cross between a sharp inhale and a groan, as his arm slid around your waist wrapping around you so your body was flush against his chest. His thumb traced along your cheek as he leaned up, trying to basically crawl into you.

The kiss was tentative at first, slow and meticulous, like he was memorizing the feeling of your lips against his, the way you pulled on his hair, and the small moans that escaped into the air as he kept you pressed against his chest. A soft hum vibrated from your throat when his lips parted just enough to deepen the kiss, your tongue meeting his in a battle for dominance.

Bucky was the first one to break the kiss, overwhelmed by all the sensations that were hitting him at the same time. He rested his forehead against yours, catching his breath, as his arm tightened around you, trying to steady himself. You opened your eyes, your hands coming up to hold his face, pulling back to look at him, seeing the softness in his stare, like he was in a daze.

”You sure it’s been a while since you’ve done this?” He let out a laugh, shaking his head.

”Yeah, I’m positive.” He replied, his eyes scanning over your swollen lips, “It’s muscle memory I guess.” You smirked at him, your thumbs dragging over the stubble on his face.

“I think you just know what you’re doing.” You whispered, your compliment causing him to blush.

”You flatter me…” Before you could respond, Bucky shifted, his arm tightening around your waist as he moved forward. In one fluid motion, he eased you down onto the mattress, his body following closely behind, blanketing you in his warmth, anticipation thrumming beneath your skin, your legs wrapping around his hips. He braced his weight against his vibranium hand, as his eyes traced over every detail of your face. Your fingers curled over the neckline of his shirt, pulling him closer to you so that he could capture your lips with his again, his body pressing against yours in a way that sent a pool of heat into your lower stomach. He savoured every moment, feeling the way your legs tightened around him, pulling him even closer to you, the heat of your body surrounding him like a shield of sorts. It was intoxicating to the point where it made his head spin. You arched into him instinctively, dragging your hands down to the hem of his shirt, slipping them beneath the covering so that your fingers could dance across the muscles of his stomach, feeling them twitch against your touch. He let out a stuttered breath as he broke the kiss, leaning back so that he could pull his shirt off for you, throwing it to the side in one smooth motion.

The dim lighting of the room casted shadows over the hard planes of his chest, accentuating every defined ridge of muscle he had. Your eyes drifted to where flesh met metal, to the seam where his vibranium arm connected to his shoulder. The skin around it was littered with thick scarred tissue, jagged and slightly raised. You couldn’t imagine how many procedures he had been put through to get him to this point, but all you could think about was the pain he must’ve gone through. You continued to look him over, his dog tags catching your eyes for a moment, your hand reaching up to grab it gently.

”You’re staring,” He commented, his hand wrapping around your wrist, feeling your pulse bounding against his fingertips.

”It’s the first time I’m seeing you like this…Give me a little grace.” You joked, running your thumb over his name on the dog tag. He allowed you to take your time with him, knowing that he would probably do something similar when the roles became reversed.

“I didn’t take you for the sentimental type.” He murmured, his voice quieter than before, reserved for such an intimate moment.

”I’m just trying to memorize all of it.” You replied, letting your hand fan out over his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart pulsing against your palm. His lips parted for a moment, almost in disbelief that you liked what you were seeing, as he brought your hand up to his mouth, gently kissing the back of it, keeping his eyes on yours. His vibranium fingers raced absentminded circles along the skin of your exposed hip, his thumb brushing along the hem of your tank top, hesitating to make his next move. You sat up slightly, giving him the go-ahead to pull the shirt off of you, feeling the cool metal graze against the sensitive flesh of your ribs, as you raised your arms above your head allowing him to remove the top with ease, watching him throw it off the side of the bed. His gaze dropped to your body, roaming over every expanse of skin he could see, as you laid back down on the mattress, putting yourself under the spotlight this time.

Just like Bucky, you had your own set of war wounds, only they were caused by your own hands. The marks on your skin were not ordinary bruises, Bucky had never seen anything like them before, and the level of concern behind his eyes made you speak up.

“They’re Lichtenberg figures…People get them when they’re struck by lightning, and well…You can connect the dots as to why I have them of course.” They branched across your torso in breathtaking patterns, thin fractals of darkened reds stretching from the center of your chest and curling down your ribs, sprawling out like frozen lightning, captured in the canvas of your body. Some of the marks ran deeper, more defined, where the energy had burned through your skin with more force. Others faded into the natural warmth of your body, barely there but still visible under the dim light of the room. His eyes roamed over them, committing the patterns to memory, as he reached out with his right hand, hesitating for a moment.

“Do they hurt?” You looked up at him, shaking your head.

“No. There’s so much scarred tissue at this point that the area is pretty much numb.” You explained, feeling his calloused fingers trailing over the patterns on your torso while his vibranium hand remained on your hip, holding you still. He hummed, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss against your collarbone.

“They’re beautiful.” He whispered, his breath hitting the shell of your ear, your heart immediately swelling at his words, feeling his lips pecking along your shoulder, as his hand continued to trace along the etched fractals, moving up towards your breasts. He pulled back for a moment, breathing against the little wet marks he had left on your skin, cooling them down before returning to his exploration, kissing over the swell of your breast, his lips parting against the sensitive flesh, sucking just enough to leave faint red marks behind. You tensed beneath his touch, arching your back towards him, his fingers digging into your hip, pushing you back down against the mattress, his lips turning up into a smile against your skin.

“Stay still.” His voice vibrated against you, feeling his fingers trailing down the side of your rib cage, his lips gently making their descent down your sternum, his teeth grazing down the pathway, sending a shiver up your spine, your fingers finding their way to his hair, carding them through the damp strands.

“You’re making this hard Bucky.” He glanced up at you, his blue eyes darkened with lust.

“That’s the whole point.” He replied, continuing to trail down your stomach, his stubble scraping down your skin, before kissing right above your navel, “I want to take my time with you.” He whispered, bringing his right hand down to hold onto your thigh against him, the rough callouses causing goosebumps to rise beneath his touch. You tugged on his hair, feeling him move even lower so his lips were right just above the waistband of your shorts, his head tilting up to look at you. You held his gaze, your chest rising and falling with each uneven breath you took. A smirk played on his lips, and without breaking eye contact, he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss just above the fabric, his stubble scraping against your skin in a way that sent a delicious ache spreading through you.

“Can I take these off?” He asked gently, his fingers playing lightly with the waistband, teasing you when his thumb dipped below it for a fraction of a second before returning to its spot.

“Yes…Please.” Your voice sounded so desperate, choked up with tension, feeling him hook his fingers around the fabric before slowly pulling them down your hips, then down your thighs, only moving away from you to remove the shorts from your body completely, letting it join the increasing pile of clothes that began to form on the floor. His jaw clenched at the sight of you in front of him, your body laid out beneath his, completely bare except for your underwear. His hands moved slowly, as he grasped the back of your thighs, his thumbs pressing gently into your skin. You reached for him, your fingers tracing up his forearms, craving for him to return to where he had been just moments ago, the anticipation winding tight in your stomach. He leaned back down towards you, bringing your legs up over his broad shoulders, pulling you closer to him as he settled between your thighs, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your knee, the warmth of his breath sending a shudder through you. His grip on your thighs was firm but careful, as his mouth moved up towards your underwear, his stubble scraping lightly against your skin, leaving a whisper of friction that only added to the tension that coiled deep in the core of your stomach. Your fingers tangled into his hair again, pulling gently, wordlessly begging him to continue. You could feel him smile against the skin of your inner thighs, enjoying how desperate you were becoming.

“Bucky.” You whispered, your voice breaking with such need that it almost burned through your body. He looked up at you, his darkened eyes gazing into your soul, reading you like you were an open book. His lips parted slightly as his right hand left the top of your thigh, skimming his fingers over the damped fabric of your underwear.

“So impatient.” He murmured, trying to keep his voice from wavering, attempting to keep the dominance in his tone, even though it was becoming harder and harder with every shaky breath you took. His lips brushed over the fabric, breathing out against your arousal as your thighs tightened on his neck, a soft moan escaping your throat.

“Bucky, please…” You begged, your fingers pulling on his hair, the teasing pushing you over the edge. A smirk ghosted across his lips at your pleas, and then with an agonizing slowness he hooked his fingers into the fabric of your underwear, dragging it gently to the side, baring you to him completely. His eyes flicked up to yours, his pupils blown out enough to where you were almost unable to see the ring of blue that surrounded it, and in that moment, you could see that he was as desperate as you were. Then finally, he pressed his mouth against you.

The first touch was barely there, a soft kiss placed deliberately beside where you needed him the most, to tease you, before his lips parted and his tongue dragged up your slit, not wanting to hinder himself any longer. Your head fell back against the pillow, a choked gasp escaping your lips at the sensation and warmth of his mouth wrapping around your clit, humming at the way your thighs flexed against his face, rubbing against his stubble. His tongue continued to circle against the bundle of nerves, his eyes burning into your skin, watching as you arched your back, grinding yourself on his mouth, wordlessly begging that you wanted more. His right hand slid up to your core, coating his fingers in your arousal before slipping two of them in with ease, looking at the way your mouth dropped open as he curled them inside you, finding a pace that matched the way his tongue worked against your clit.

Your fingers continued to tangle deeper into his hair, but before you could pull, his vibranium hand wrapped around one of your wrists, pulling it away gently, feeling him pin your arm down against the mattress beside you, sliding his fingers down to intertwine with yours. The contrast of the heat that was pooling in your stomach and the cold of his hand sent a shiver through you, heightening every moment, every touch, and every movement he made against you, unraveling you piece by piece.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, the pressure in your lower stomach growing unbearable, his increasing pace pushing you closer and closer to the edge. He could feel the way you clenched around his fingers, and how you trembled beneath him, rocking against his mouth.

”Bucky-“ His name left your lips in a strangled breath, your gaze returning to his, realizing that he had been watching you this entire time, enamoured by your body and the way it reacted to him. His grip on your hand tightened, grounding you to the moment, your legs clenching around his head again just as his tongue flattened against you and his fingers curled a little more inside you, picking up the pace. For a split second he took his mouth off you.

“Let go for me sweetheart.” He instructed, his voice laced with such need and devotion that you could feel your entire body tense up, feeling his mouth returning to your clit once again, his tongue working against you with such purpose that all the air in your lungs ceased to exist. Your thighs twitched against the sides of his head, his lips wrapping around your clit with a slow and deliberate pull, which caused the tension in your stomach to snap.

A sharp moan tore through you, as he pressed his face against you even more, allowing himself to feel the way you shuddered beneath him. The air crackled faintly, as static danced along your skin, noticing the way Bucky’s arm plates flickered a light blue for a brief moment. His grip on your hand tightened, and his movements didn’t falter, allowing himself to slow down just enough to guide you through the aftershocks of your orgasm, until your body finally relaxed against the mattress, utterly spent.

Gently he pulled away from your soaked core, pressing a wet kiss to the inside of your thigh, before removing his glistening fingers from you and sitting up slightly. His lips were slick with your arousal, and the expression on his face was something between pride and awe, as he crawled back on top of you, caging your body in his warmth.

“You were incredible.” He whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, the sweet reminance of you being tasted on his tongue, “You did so good.” He added, bringing his fingers to your mouth, watching as you sucked the rest of your arousal off of them, your tongue carefully flicking against them.

“Christ.” Was all he could manage to say, as he slowly pulled his fingers from your mouth, letting them drag down your swollen lower lip, watching the saliva glisten over the reddened skin where you had been biting. The hard outline of him pressed against your thigh as he shifted above you, bringing his mouth to yours again, wanting to savour every kiss you gave him. His dog tags grazed the middle of your chest, cooling your overheated skin which now had a faint film of sweat forming on it, as you let out a soft moan when he rolled his hips against your aching heat, pressing hard so you could feel him. Bucky pulled away from the kiss, almost with a disappointed look on his face, a moment of realization shining in his eyes.

”Shit…Y/N I don’t have condoms.” He whispered, putting his forehead onto your collarbone, breathing heavily, trying to steady himself. You smirked at his despair, as you laced your fingers into his hair and tugged it so he could look at you.

”I have an implant, Bucky.” You informed, watching the relief wash over his face, a long sigh escaping his lips.

”Thank god.” Was all he could say before sitting back onto his knees, moving quickly to rid you of your underwear and himself of his cargo pants and boxers. You couldn’t help but giggle at his eagerness as he shifted his weight to take everything off all at once, and also just enough to knock the first aid kit and the metal bowl of glass right off the bed.

The sharp clang causes the both of you to freeze, as Bucky’s eyes flicker over to the mess before returning to you, waiting for your reaction, watching your hand come up to cover your mouth to stop a laugh from escaping it.

“Real smooth.” You teased, hearing him let out a breathless chuckle.

”Not my best moment.” He admitted with a crooked grin, rubbing the back of his neck, bringing his hand over to touch your thigh. You reached up to wrap your hand around his forearm, before pulling him towards you.

”I find it kind of endearing that you’re all nervous and flustered.” He let out a quiet laugh, as he settled between your legs once again.

“You make it hard to keep my composure.” Your fingers skimmed up his arm, feeling his bicep twitching beneath your touch, while he adjusted himself against you, bringing his vibranium hand up to your throat to hold it gently, tilting your head up to meet his eyes before his mouth captured yours again in a hunger filled kiss, feeling your hips raising to meet his, in a silent plea. A low groan escaped him as his length grinded against your wet heat, attempting to hold himself back for just a few moments before he got lost in you. He pulls away from your lips again, leaning back so he can line himself up with you. Your eyes trail down to his cock, seeing that it’s already glistening with precum, the tip a light red, practically begging to be seated inside you. He’s way above average, and the way he pumps himself in his hand almost makes you come right then and there. He could see the lust in your eyes, the way your mouth opened just a little at the sight in front of you.

“You sure you can take me sweetheart? You’re already shaking.” He pointed out, a teasing smile coming up on his wet lips.

“I need you Bucky…Please…” The words fell from you in a whimper, as his vibranium hand slid from your throat to cup the side of your face.

“Okay, okay, I won’t tease you anymore…Relax for me.” He whispered, as he aligned himself with your entrance, coating himself in your arousal. You could feel yourself clench around nothing in anticipation for him, feeling as he gently pushed into you, the delicious stretch was just enough to make you gasp, and tighten around him, your eyes closing to take all the sensations in at once. Bucky leaned onto you, his lips brushing against yours.

”Look at me,” He ordered softly, “I want to see those pretty eyes while I’m inside you.” You moaned at his comment, bringing your half-lidded, pleasure hazed gaze up to meet his, as your jaw went slack, feeling him pushing deeper, inch by inch.

“That’s it,” He praised, “You’re taking me in so well, and you’re so fucking tight…All for me.” He was breathless, continuing to move slowly, his pelvis finally meeting yours when he bottomed out. He gave you a gentle kiss, like he was rewarding you for listening to him, a soft moan escaping your throat. Your walls fluttered around him as he drew back a bit before thrusting forward, hitting a spot inside you that made your vision blur.

”Oh my god Bucky…” You whimpered, his hand coming up to hold just above your stabilizer, a smile coming up on his lips as he repeated the same motion, pulling the same reaction from you.

“There you go,” He coaxed, “That’s the spot, isn’t it?” You could only nod, your nails digging into his shoulders, dragging them down his back.

”Say it, sweetheart…Tell me how good it feels.” He whispers, his breath hitting your lips as he continues to move, pulling out just a little more, bringing his hips to yours again just a little harder, eliciting another gasp from throat.

”You feel s-so good.” Your words caught on the sheer pleasure of the way he filled you, your fingers digging into the muscles of his back.

”That’s my girl…You were made for this weren’t you?” He asked, grinning from ear to ear, savouring the way you writhed beneath him, reacting to his movements and words. He pressed another kiss to your lips, pulling his hand from your neck, and sliding it down between the both of you to press just above your pubic bone. The added pressure made every movement of his hips feel like explosions throughout your body.

“You feel that hmm? How deep I am inside of you?” Your walls clenched around him, as your eyes closed again, another strangled moan escaping into the room, your nails dragging across his skin again.

”Bucky, o-oh my god.” Was all you could manage to say, your legs locking around his waist, your abdomen tensing beneath his touch. He began to pick up the pace, the both of you exchanging breaths and gasps into each other's mouths, as he nipped at your bottom lip gently.

”You’re so fucking perfect.” He praised, feeling your fingers curl into his hair, trying to ground yourself against the overwhelming heat of his body grinding into yours. His lips traveled along your jawline, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat, sucking the sensitive skin, putting a mark on a spot that would be visible to everyone, snapping his hips against yours, earning another cry from your lips.

“I love fucking hearing you.” He whispered, devouring every reaction you gave him, your walls clenching around him, throwing off his rhythm for a moment as he brought his face back up to yours. “You’re so fucking close, aren’t you?” He asked, watching you nod frantically, unable to focus on the task at forming words. He removed the pressure he was placing above your pubic bone, only to bring his fingers to your swollen clit, pressing against it. Your body arched against his, as he began to draw tight, slow circles around the bundle of nerves.

”Come for me Y/N…Let me feel it.” His voice cracked, his breath ragged. Before your brain could even register his words the pleasure ripped through you, as your body shook beneath his, your nails now digging into his flesh, causing him to gasp at the sharp sting. Your vision was blurred, and you could’ve sworn you felt a few tears fall out of the corners of your eyes as you clenched down harder on his cock, another static pulse igniting from you, wrapping around Bucky’s arm and fading out quickly. He kissed you again, consuming you completely, bringing his hand back up to your neck just to hold it, feeling your pulse beneath his fingertips, picking up the speed of his thrusts, the pace becoming rougher and more desperate. You grabbed onto his vibranium hand, gasping for air.

”I’m gonna fill you up so much that I’m gonna be dripping out of you for days.” He growled, tightening his grip on your hand, as the burning tension in him finally snapped, the hand on your neck tightening for a brief moment, his body stiffening above you. He let out a long groan against your lips as he spilled into you, bucking his hips towards yours to push the warmth of him deeper inside, fulfilling his promise. The weight of him sank against you as his head dropped to the crook of your neck, kissing any portion of skin that he could reach.

A minute passed, maybe more, as the both of you laid there, catching your breath, while he softened inside you. He kept his hand at your neck, his thumb idly tracing over your pulse, while his vibranium fingers remained intertwined with yours, not wanting to pull away just yet. You tilted your head back against the pillow, as you let out a breathless laugh, breaking the silence that had settled between you. Bucky lifted his head slightly, eyebrows raised, his lips twitching at the corners.

”What’s funny?” He asked, as you turned your head to look at him, amusement dancing within your tired eyes.

”That tone you were using was so fucking hot.” You could see he was amused by your admission.

”Really?” He asked, his smirk growing wider and wider.

”Yeah…I mean I knew you could be confident, but that? Holy shit Bucky.” He laughed at the way you were rambling.

”I didn’t know you liked being talked through it like that, I was just kind of filling the silence.” He responded, watching as your eyebrows raised.

”THAT was filling the silence?!” He shrugged.

”Just got creative. It was really easy too, cause you looked so pretty under me.” He complimented, pressing a kiss against your lips, you hummed.

”Well consider me very appreciative of your sudden creativity.” You murmured.

”I guess I’ll have to add it to my sex repertoire for next time.” You raised your eyebrows at him.

”You want there to be a next time?” He laughed at your shock, as his hand tightened around yours.

”Oh Y/N, if you give me a few minutes to recover that next time will come really quickly.” He commented, earning a loud laugh from you.

[planetallure]

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ dark!fic recs

CW: once again, these works contain dark and explicit themes that may be upsetting or triggering to some. please use your discretion and discernment.

@cherienymphe : when i first seriously got back on tumblr and got into dark!fanfic, cherie's was one of the first blogs i found. her writing was essentially my indoctrination. it was terrifying how much i loved it/her writing. truly phenomenal. i've read quite of few of her stories (mainly for rafe cameron, jj maybank, steve rogers, and peter parker) but i'll list my faves.

"when the party's over" - its something about this series...i think about it often. if you're into forced pregnancy or corruption tropes, tap in.

"wicked games" - i actually first read this one on ao3 before i discovered her tumblr and was absolutely gagged. another one i think of often.

"amnesiac" - the first series of hers that i ever read. absolutely traumatized me and i sobbed reading it. amazing storytelling.

"the hills" - another bangerrr. a one night stand ends in complete and total blackmail and entrapment. he just wanted to give her a better life *clown face emoji*.

"his father's son" - after ward death, rafe takes over the reins in more ways than one.

"teenage dirtbag" - this series single handedly made me a jj girl. the tension??? yup yup mhm.

"the less i know the better" - ironically my favorite part of this story is readers relationship with rafe but seeing jj slowly and then rapidly descend into madness? yeah.

"claimed" - a/b/o dynamics. brought me back to my wattpad days. still eat it up.

"daddy dearest" - steve meets a single mom and decides to be not the stepdad, but the dad who stepped up.

i'll be honest, i was a non believer in dark!peter but: "she's with me", "one last time." "suburbia" and "basic training" made a believer outta me. hands. down.

@lambtotheslaughterr : it absolutely amazes me the things that come from her mind. the level of creativity and originality needs to be studied. oona, you are criminally underrated.

“rise” - the first series of hers that i read. arguably the best series i’ve read on here thus far. this is the first part to her “the day the world ended” universe and it completely blew me away. i couldn’t believe that something like it had come from some silly little boat show. just brilliant.

“when the bough breaks” - the first work of hers i read. this one for me was a heartbreaking slow burn story, but the smut…makes up for it. yes yes.

“i burn” - sex!addict reader x rafe cameron. need i say more? actually, i will. the smut and tension in this one towards the end? it was shameful how turned on i was.

“one way or another” - buckle up, grab a snack, and prepare for the ride of a lifetime. that’s it.

“something wicked this way comes” - a single mom trying to escape her past, except her past is rafe cameron. this was one very spooky scary la la.

"summit" - the second part to the tdtwe universe. its still brand new but its already feeling like another banger, i mean it's oona. tap in.

@harryspet : rae was also apart of my indoctrination and boy did she do what needed to be done. her perfectly curated moodboards alone did it for me. very mindful, very demure.

"homestead" - what can i say...i'm a sucker for pregnancy stories :( and this series was no exception. absolutely delectable. enjoy.

"well kept" - classic millionaire ceo x reader, my younger wp reading self cheered gleefully. my love language is acts of service and boyy was this one speaking my language. had me at "scheduled braiding appointment."

"bambi eyes" - this one was one of those that made me want to take a good long look in the mirror and ask myself, "is this who we are...is this what we represent?"

@sherrybaby14 : this one is for the mcu girlies. more fics than you could ever ask for. everyone say "thank you, mother!"

"the distraction" - i'm starting to notice a kidnapping/stockholm syndrome pattern here...ANYWAY! work is realllyy stressful for steve and you just happen to be the perfect distraction.

@straywords : she's no longer active but her incredible writings remain so please, peruse. its like a beautiful museum over there.

"a break" - *gasp* another pregnancy story! stucky edition.

@darkficsyouneveraskedfor : an icon, a legend, she is the moment! another infinite library for my mcu girls. roo has all you could ever want or ask for.

@perlelune

"all too well" - yes, yes, another one, its who i am. rafe cameron proving once again that you can't escape him.

"lucky" - best friend!rafe x reader. he didn't know what he had until it was almost gone

"tag, you're it" - never read a scream fanfic before this one but boy did i have fun! chad is so pookie in this too :(

@honestsycrets : back when i was in my miguel era, sy single handedly kept me fed.

"starved | mio" - "mio", in which you babysit mayday and it gives miguel baby fever and "starved", in which he made you a mom...but its left less time for other activities.

"stung" - sex pollen/abo. reader gets bitten by an anomaly causing a reaction that only miguel can cure

"amor y respeto" - he just can't love you the way you need to be. so you and miguel break up...at the worst possible time.

"exclusive" - you and miguel are fuckbuddies. you want more, but miguel can't bring himself to give it to you. so you find company in hobie, who's there for you in all the ways that you need. miguel's not happy about that.

"canary" - you're a singer in the 1920s who's fallen in with the dangerous o'hara brothers.

"grande" - sex!worker miguel x assistant!reader. think...a pepper x tony kinda dynamic. except, miguel doesn't take kindly to certain slights. :)

@starfxkrinc : last but certainly not least! moony is a ridiculously talented writer and a mutal of mine. i found her early on during my resurgence on here. this is her new side blog (rip lovesickbrat and starfxkr!!) luckily she was able to salvage a lot of her past works and is back like she never left. i recommend her "western nights" series (really just the trailer park!jj tag in general) and her "ode to eaters" au. a queen of all things taboo. she does it for the girls who are drawn to the dark and scary. the gross and weird. <3

[neptunecaptains]

Homecoming

Pairing: Commander!Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve's back home after a mission.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Explicit sexual content (18+), oral (f receiving), face-sitting, mild dirty talk, repressed feelings (slight angst), established relationship.

A/N: I haven't written fic in a long time and it probably reads like it. I haven't seen anything MCU since Dr. Strange 2/Spidey until Thunderbolts yesterday so not caught up on the lore. This popped up in my brain after a nap on Wednesday. Let me know what you think!

♡♡♡♡

It’s quiet when he comes in.

Sometime between your drifting off and the quiet snick of the bedroom door shutting, you’re aware of the time. The numbers on your bedside read 3:07AM.

A late arrival, then.

A firm, broad chest pressed up against your back, heavy arm slung low over your waist. The smell of cinnamon and vanilla and the slow sigh of relief once he’s pulled you back into him just a little.

“Hi,” Steve says.

You hum, one hand patting his own over your belly. “Hi.”

Slow, measured breaths tickle your skin, the quiet of the room only disrupted by a soft kiss to your shoulder, the nape of your neck. It’s a little while before either of you speak again.

You know Steve needs it, the comedown after a big mission.

It always starts off predictable enough— get to the Avengers compound, debrief, chew someone out if they were being stupid and reckless on the job or gently bring them back down if there were any losses, shower, return his suit and weapons, a brief psych evaluation and physical check for injuries, then get on the road back to the city.

Once he’s walking through your front door, though, it’s not until you get a good look at him that you can know how things went. Still, it’s always Steve.

“You’re back,” you murmur, voice barely there.

Steve’s arm around your waist tightens, warmth of his skin seeping into your own over the fabric of your sleep shirt. It’s one of his, an old, worn thing he bought in Jersey back when he’d first woken up. There’s a couple of loose threads coming from the left sleeve and an old stain at the hem that you swear is blood — Steve refuses to confirm or deny it — but it’s and it’s yours and you wear it to bed more times than not. 

“I am,” Steve’s mouth brushes your skin where the shirt’s slipped a little, goosebumps following their trace. His beard’s gotten a little longer, a testament to how much time he’s been away from the comforts of home and his electric trimmer. “Debrief ended about an hour ago, but I stayed for a bit to plan my agenda for tomorrow.”

Huffing a quiet laugh, you turn in his embrace. “You have an assistant for that, Commander.”

Steve chuckles, a soft, sleepy sound settling warm in your heart. He turns on his back, bringing you up into his chest, willing you closer, sighing into your hair.

His breathing’s slowed enough that you briefly wonder if he’s fallen asleep, though after almost a year of sharing a bed means you’ve caught to his tells that he has yet to drift off— the tension in his arms, the quiet, intermittent sniffles he gets before he knocks out, the fact that he’s barely really said a word about the mission at all.

“Good trip?” you murmur.

You feel him shrug, sheets rustling beneath him and that just—

Pushing off his chest, you sit up to turn on the bedside lamp. Soft, warm light fills the room, dim enough to not make your eyes hurt.

Something else does, though.

“Steve…”

A cut over his eyebrow and a bruise already turning yellow on his left temple. Red-rimmed eyes and a swollen lip. Somewhere beneath the collar of his shirt, a thin, red line extends up the side of his neck, already healing. You watch him wince when you lie a hand on his stomach, feeling the taut muscles there contract.

Your words fail, throat closing up. One of his hands wraps around your wrist, big and warm and comforting, even though you should be the one comforting him right now.

“Looks worse than it is,” Steve shrugs again. This time, you catch the way his lips thin out just a little, the slight twitch in his eye at the movement. “Y’know I’ll be fine in the morning.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m used to it.”

At that, Steve’s fingers squeeze your wrist. He knows it’s hard for you, keeping up with what he does for a living. Technically, he could’ve retired years ago, but there’s something to be said about his insatiable need to do something to feel useful.

You know he’s talked about it with his therapist, and even Bucky and Natasha had tried to talk some sense into him about taking things easy, slowing down, moving into a less-exposed role once he’d handed the shield to Sam. But Steve Rogers is nothing if not stubborn, so he’d been made Commander and only deploys to missions that really need him. But he still deploys.

Steve’s thumb brushes over your skin, eyes on yours in the dim light, a quiet apology for now. You can’t help but let it go, leaning in to finally kiss him.

It’s a soft, sweet thing, the kiss. Mouths slotted perfectly over each other, Steve’s tongue only slightly running over your bottom lip until you open up for him, let yourself slide back down on the bed with him.

“I missed you,” you murmur, lips brushing his own. “A lot.”

“Missed you too, honey,” Steve sighs into the kiss. “A lot.”

He guides you to sit on his lap, the cradle of his hips warm and strong beneath your thighs. You can feel him through the thin fabric of your underwear and his sweatpants, can’t help but settle fully onto him as you stretch over his torso.

Steve tastes like mint and iron, undoubtedly from the injury to his lip, but you’ll have him like this and any other way you can get him as long as he gets to come back home. He sighs into the kiss, reaching a hand to cup your neck and angle your head the way he wants, the other slowly making its way down your back to rest above your ass. He swallows your resulting sound, making one of his own when you break the kiss.

You pull back, eyeing him suspiciously. “Steve.”

His hand doesn’t move, fingertips slipping under the waistband of your underwear. They rest there while he looks at you, a question in his eyes. The bruise on his temple will be gone in the morning, same as the cut on his brow, but you can’t help but wonder how he got them, who he had to fight this time around.

He can tell you’re distracted, hand on your nape squeezing briefly as if to bring you back to him.

“Honey,” he says and you sigh.

Steve lets you sit up again, hands slipping from your body to rest on your thigh as you sit cross-legged next to him. His half-lidded gaze meets yours, thumb brushing slowly over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He watches you for a minute, assessing, waiting for you to answer.

In the end, it’s only right to try to be the sensible one in this situation. “You’re still in pain, Steve.”

He shakes his head, squeezing your thigh softly. “Not that much. Just— I need to think about something else right now. Can’t sleep yet.”

This has happened before, a few times.

It didn’t when you’d first started dating. Being one of Steve’s only relationships since he came out of the ice meant he’d had time to work through some stuff on his own before he tried to be with someone else, so when he’d had difficult missions at the beginning of your courtship, he’d always been upfront about needing some time before he could talk to you about them.

Lately, though, something’s been happening. Every other mission seems to be more taxing than the last.

You’re sure you’re wholly unclassified to know any of the information Steve eventually divulges, even if unspecific, but it’s specific enough to worry you. He never tells you exactly what happens, but the mornings and days after he’s managed to work through whatever he needs by working you, he makes it clear that whatever they’re fighting isn’t just the universe’s bad guy of the month.

You’re not totally complaining, but you are concerned that your boyfriend needs to blow off steam in such a way before he even considers facing his feelings.

Steve’s hands on your skin bring you back to reality once more. He’s still there, in your bed, gaze questioning, wondering where you went.

You’re sure he has an idea, but it’s not something he’s willing to address tonight.

“Please, honey,” he says. “C’n sit on my face, I won’t have to put in much effort that way.”

Steve adds the last bit as if it’s nothing, but the thought of it alone sends a flash of heat down your spine.

“You always put in effort,” you concede a little, laying a hand on his stomach where his shirt’s ridden up, thumb brushing beneath his navel.

Steve smiles at that, slowly reaching for your hand and helping you rest back on his lap. He holds your hand on his stomach, the other resting on your hip once more.

“‘S that a yes? Gonna let me taste you, baby?” He asks and your resolve is slipping by the second.

You try one last time, though. Need to make it clear where you’ve gone the past few times in as many minutes. “Promise to talk to me in the morning?”

“Promise.” Steve’s answer is emphatic, the hand laced with yours squeezing sure and strong. “Just need to focus on something else right now.”

And so you nod, leaning back a little when Steve sits up to capture your lips once again. He winces as he does so, but smooths a hand down your side while he shushes you, tries to ease your worries.

His hands reach beneath your shirt, cupping your breasts, pressing you into him, roaming over your ass and your thighs as he takes your breath away. Breaking the kiss after a while, he takes a good look at you, lips a little red and swollen beneath his beard.

“Gorgeous,” Steve murmurs, lying back down. He looks so broad like this, laid out only for you. “Love seeing you in my clothes.”

Heat blooms low in your belly at the praise, flashes even hotter when you feel the faint line of Steve’s cock pressing into you.

“Yeah?” you ask, brow raised and a teasing grin upon your lips. “Gonna be you for Halloween this year, wear your stealth suit.”

Given Steve’s resulting blush, he didn’t expect that as an answer. He goes silent for a minute, gaze heavy on you, thumbs slipping beneath your waistband once more, stroking over your hip bones.

Laughing, you let yourself fall forward onto his chest, careful not to rest too heavily on him. “Oh my god.”

“It’s not my fault you look good in everything,” Steve says, sheepish. He helps you sit back up on his lap, big hands back on your thighs. “Maybe the techs can make a version just for you. We could use it.”

“For what purposes, sir?” You snort, shaking your head when Steve gives you a slow onceover. “You’re incorrigible.”

He shrugs, smirking and pretty, brief embarrassment gone. “I’m a paragon of duty and righteousness, I’ll have you know.”

You shake your head at him again, unable to help the smile that comes on.

“Up, baby.”

He helps you get your underwear off, first through one leg then the other, then helps you scoot up his torso and towards his face. Fingers laced with yours next to your legs, he helps you settle above him, the prickly brush of his beard on your inner thighs as he brushes kisses there making you shiver.

“Already, honey?” Steve murmurs into your skin, heavy-lidded gaze locked on yours. “Barely even touched you yet.”

You feel yourself flush, only made worse by Steve softly blowing on your cunt before he gives you one long, teasing lick. Then a second, and a third. He pulls you fully down on his tongue, holding tight onto your hips so you have nowhere to go.

“Steve,” you gasp, tugging on his hair.

Steve growls low in his chest at the feeling, beginning to lap at you in short strokes, sucking at your folds, making it so wet and messy you’re sure it’s dripping down his chin.

“Want you to come on my tongue,” Steve murmurs.

He places a loud kiss to your folds, gaze locking on yours just to make sure you heard him, only going back to task once he gets a shaky nod from you.

Grinding on his tongue, sounds wet and loud in the otherwise quiet room. Steve’s hands settle on your ass, helping you move on him as he fully flattens his tongue. He switches up his rhythm, slow broad licks all over your cunt making you shiver.

“You’re so good at this, fuck.”

You feel rather than hear him chuckle at that, teeth nipping at your inner thigh. He dives right back in, eyelashes fluttering closed, mouth closing softly around your clit. You shiver, tugging on his hair again as your thighs close around his head.

“Fuck, Steve,” you moan, the coil low in your belly dissolving into warm static spreading through your limbs.

It’s a minute before you fully come to, shaking a little through Steve cleaning you up with his tongue and soft kisses to your thighs. He lies you back onto the bed, gathering you up in his arms again all while murmuring soft and sweet. Pressing chaste kisses to your lips, he answers your quiet noises with his own, nosing at you as your eyes open once more.

“Back with me?” he says, face brightening at your soft sound. “There she is.”

You hum, burying your face in his neck. “My ears are ringing.”

Steve lets out an actual belly laugh at that, his entire body shaking with it, your own heart glowing from it. “That good, huh?”

“Shut up,” you groan, weakly pushing at his chest. Placing a soft kiss on his jaw at his half-hearted ow, you let yourself fully sink into him, sighing softly when you feel him do the same. Finally ready to sleep now, then. “I’m really glad you’re home.”

Steve brushes a kiss along your forehead. “Me too, honey,” he says, words coming slow and sleepy now. “Me too.”

[krirebr]

All Things Go 1

Pairing: Alpha Steve Rogers x Omega Female Reader

Word Count: ~2.9k

Summary: It's been a few months since Steve was pulled out of the ice and immediately had to fight aliens with the newly formed Avengers. He is doing fine with all that, all things considered. Which is why he's so upset when he's suddenly benched from missions and forced to welcome a support omega into his home. He's fine!

Warnings: Angst (with an eventual happy ending), panic attack, disassociation flashback, Steve actually having to deal with the PTSD and depression and anxiety he would so clearly have if he'd been through everything in the MCU, alpha/beta/omega dynamics, possible slow burn - we'll see All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by me

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Oh boy. Here I am. Back on my angsty bullshit. This story was kickstarted by this ask. It's an inverse of the program at the center of Still Life, but not in the same universe.

This idea was helped along a ton by @stellar-solar-flare who helped me overcome my fear of writing a mostly canon compliant Steve and dipping my toes into an Avengers AU.

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. And if you need to come scream at me, that's ok too!

As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

Steve checked his watch for a third time as he paced around his apartment. It was bad enough that he had to indulge this ridiculous idea, but she was late on top of it. Four minutes, now. He’d been pacing for the last fifteen. He’d tried to sit down while he waited, but the buzz of the adrenaline just under his skin had been too strong. 

It was the disrespect, that’s what it was, that really bothered him in her tardiness. That was going around lately. A whole team that refused to listen to him. And then had the gall to go to Fury behind his back after what happened during the last mission. And yes, of course, it was all couched in concern. But he saw it for what it was: a mutiny. And he’d been benched because of it. From all missions for the foreseeable future. So what was he supposed to do now? Thawed out 70 years in the future just to be stranded without a purpose.

But that wasn’t the worst of it. No, the worst part was now six minutes late. A support omega. He’d scoffed right in Fury’s face when he’d “suggested” it. Of all the stupid, 21st-century things he’d encountered, this took the cake. Like there could possibly be some base alpha part of him that was so broken it could only be soothed by an omega with a degree in psychology. Ridiculous. He was fine!

But it’d been the kind of suggestion that didn’t come with the option to say no. Not if he ever wanted to get back on the team. So fine. He’d play nice, show her there was nothing wrong, and get her to sign off on him going back into the field. He’d be back in action in just a few days. And then he might be able to breathe again.

As he was about to start another lap of his living room, the doorbell finally chimed. He took a moment, so as not to seem like he’d been standing right next to it. Then he took a deep breath, pasted on that Captain America smile, and opened the door. “Hi,” he said, immediately stepping aside to give you room. “Come on in.”

“Captain Rogers,” you said with your own big smile as you introduced yourself, then picked up your valise from the ground beside you and stepped into his apartment. You were sharply dressed, professional. In how you held yourself, too. But your eyes were warm. And you were beautiful. It reminded him of some of the nicer omegas Buck used to go out with. There was a sharp pang in his chest. Like always, he ignored it. 

“Thank you for welcoming me into your home.” you continued. As if he’d had any sort of choice. “I’m so sorry I’m late. The security checks took longer than I’d expected.”

“No problem at all,” he said. Ten whole minutes. “I hadn’t even noticed. Here, let me put your bag in the room I set aside for you.”

“Oh, a guest room?” you asked. He stopped at your question, a little confused. Where else would you sleep? “That’s very thoughtful of you. I’ll definitely appreciate having my own space. But, sleeping arrangements are something we can discuss and customize to fit our goals. Sharing a bed can be really helpful if sleep is something you’re struggling with.”

Absolutely not. No. Definitely not. “Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary,” he demurred. “With the serum, I really don’t require much sleep,” he called down to you as he quickly took your bag to the small guest room he’d finally furnished because he had to have somewhere to put you. It’d never occurred to him you’d want to share his bed. Did people really do that?

When he came back into the living room, you were still hovering by the door, your messenger bag slung over your shoulder and your hands clasped in front of you. You were looking around, taking in the blank walls, spartan furniture. Judging him probably. Well, it’s not like he’d had much time to decorate in between saving the world. What did any of that matter? “Can I get you anything to drink? Eat?” he asked.

“No, I’m fine,” you said, with a benign smile that seemed aggressively professional. “If you don’t mind, I’d love if we could sit and chat for a few minutes before we move on to anything else.” 

“Of course,” he said, with his own benign smile, as he gestured to the two couches that had come with the apartment. He waited for you to sit in one and then took a seat in the other, a mass-produced coffee table covering the chasm between you.

“First,” you said, your hands resting neatly in your lap, “I just wanted to make sure that my scent is one you’re comfortable having in your home on a long-term basis. I know that the real thing can sometimes be a little different than the sample you based your choice off of.”

Steve had just randomly grabbed one from the box he’d been presented with. He’d thrown it at Fury with a grumbled, “That one’s fine,” as he left the small room they’d given him to make his choice. He’d never even opened it.

He only got a vague hint of it now, sitting across the room from you. Floral maybe. He didn’t bother to take a deep breath, to catalogue it. You’d only be here for a few days max. Not enough time for your scent to permeate. So, it didn’t really matter what he thought about it.

“Yes, it’s fine,” he nodded at you.

“Good,” you said, your smile becoming slightly more genuine. “Well, first I can take a few minutes to talk through what it is we’re going to be doing here. I'm sure you've already gotten the whole spiel, but it might be helpful to hear it from my perspective. Get a feel for how I do things.”

You paused like you were waiting for a response so he nodded along. “Sure, sounds great.” He already knew what the program was. He already knew he didn’t need it. This was a waste of time.

“Mostly, I’m just here to help you as an alpha get back to feeling like your most grounded, best self. Stability and comfort are mainly what I’m here to provide. Listening and guidance too, if that’s what you want. This is fully customizable, very collaborative. I’m not a therapist, but I do have my masters in behavioral psychology. And I’ve been doing this for a while now. So whatever you throw at me, I can handle it. Basically, this arrangement can look like whatever the two of us want it to look like. The biggest requirement, on both sides, is honesty.”

He leaned forward. This was the in he’d been waiting for. “I really appreciate that. And I do want to be completely honest with you. I don’t want to waste your time. The truth is, this is unnecessary. I think people expect me not to adjust well, so they’re treating me like I’m not. But really, I’m fine. I’m doing fine. And I just don’t think I’m going to get much from this.” 

You didn’t say anything for a long moment, just looked at him curiously with your lips pursed. At one point, your eyes flicked down to where his hand was resting on his knee. Could you see the way it shook? His hands hadn’t stopped shaking since he’d come out of the ice. He straightened it out so it laid flat on the denim of his jeans, willing it to be still. That didn’t mean anything.

Finally, your eyes left him as you turned to your messenger bag, pulling out a thin file. “Do you mind,” you asked, “if we talk about some of the concerns your team has for you?”

Steve’s jaw ticked. Not for. About. Fury had already done this. “I know their concerns. I don’t think that’s necessary.”

You shrugged casually, like it didn’t much matter to you either way. “I think it could be instructive to what we’re trying to do here.”

“Fine,” he ground out, but you didn’t react to his tone. You just opened the file. Before you had a chance to say anything, he leaned forward and spat out, “Listen, I know what’s in there. They think I don’t listen to anyone. That I’m a bad leader. That my plans are too risky. That I can’t keep anyone safe. Did I get everything?”

You bobbed your head a little, your expression impassive, your voice soft. “Not exactly. They did say that you refuse to listen to people. But they never said anything about you being a bad leader. Or not keeping them safe. They said the thing you’re most likely to risk on these missions is yourself. They’re worried about you.” He couldn’t hold in his scoff and you paused to look him in the eye. “Do you really jump out of planes without a parachute?”

He felt his eyes go a little wide like he’d been caught, doing what exactly, he wasn’t quite sure. He shook his head. “No, that’s not– You know what’s in my veins. If I were a normal man, sure, that’d be suicidal. But I have more strength, better reflexes, I heal faster. It’s not a big deal. It’s fine.”

Your brow furrowed as you leaned forward too. “But, you still get injured, don’t you? Even if it doesn’t last as long. You still feel all that pain. Steve,” and the way you said his name, for the first time, different somehow than the way any omega had ever said it before, he felt it like a knife to the heart, “why would you want to put yourself through feeling all that if you didn’t have to?”

He was up off the couch before he even realized it. The room was suddenly smaller than it’d been a minute ago. His mind was racing and he didn’t know why or how to make it stop.

“Captain Rogers.” You were standing right in front of him, holding your hands up at your chest, your palms out. “I’m sorry Captain, I didn’t mean to push. Are you alright?” All he could do for the moment was blink at you. “Hey, how ‘bout you take a deep breath with me, ok? A slow breath in through your nose.” 

He followed your lead and took a deep breath in. And, oh. He was struck by the scent of you. Lilacs and oranges. You smelled like spring.

“And out through your mouth,” you said quietly and he realized he’d been holding his breath. He exhaled slowly and you smiled. “Do you want to take a break?” you asked softly. “I have a few more questions, but I don’t need to ask them right now.”

He shook himself out of whatever daze he’d been in. “No,” he said, standing up straighter. “I’m fine. Let’s keep going.” 

He sat back down on the couch, but you hadn’t moved yet. “Are you sure?” you asked.

“Yes. I’m fine. Let’s go.” It was only at the look on your face, that he realized how short he’d been. He took a breath. “Sorry,” he said, forcing some calm into his tone. “I’d like to keep going.”

“Okay,” you nodded and finally sat back down across from him. You opened your folder again. “You were a little… vague in your intake questionnaire. So, if you're able, I’d appreciate it if you could just tell me a little about what you’ve been going through, how you’ve been feeling.”

He fidgeted a little in his seat and he saw you clock it. He stilled himself, then said, with as casual an air as he could muster, “If I was vague, it’s only because there really isn’t much to report. I’ve been fine.” He was using that word too much. He knew it. But he didn’t know how else to say it.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry.” You shook your head. “It’s just, on paper? You’ve been through a lot in what must feel like a very short amount of time. And that’s just the widely reported stuff. What’s in the history books and on the news. It would be understandable if you were struggling. Anyone would be.”

“Well, I’m not anyone, am I?” he snapped. 

“No, you’re not,” you said slowly, calmly, and he hated how unflappable you were. “You’re a hero.” He just barely stopped his lip from curling up into a snarl at that. He’d had enough. “But–”

“Listen, I just need to get back in the field, okay? I just need another mission. That’s all I need. We don’t have to– None of this will be necessary if I can just get back out there. I understand that you’re a professional and you’ll want to seem thorough, so we can wait a few days. But I’m fine and that’s what I need you to tell Fury. If the team doesn’t want to work with me right now, that’s– that’s okay. I’ll do solo missions. Whatever they want. I just need to get back out there.” He was pleading by the end of it. He could hear it in his voice. But this was important. He needed you to understand.

You just sat there for a moment, staring at him, your brow furrowed. “I–” you started. “I think there may have been a misunderstanding, Captain Rogers.”

“Steve,” he corrected, “please.”

“Steve, I–” you paused, your lips pursed. “I’m sorry, whether or not you eventually get back on the team, that doesn’t have anything to do with me. I don’t work for SHIELD. I can’t make that decision.”

“What? No. Yes, you do. You can tell Fury that I’m fit for duty.”

“Steve. I work for a support omega agency. I’ve helped a few agents before, but I don’t know Commander Fury. I’m not here to report back to anyone. I’m just here to help you.”

All he could do was shake his head. No, this wasn’t right. There had to be a way to get back to work. You had to be the key.

“I’ve been contracted for a three month period, with the option to extend as needed. I thought this had all been explained to you. I–” You looked at him, pained, like you were willing him to understand 

  ‘Three months to start’ had been said to him at some point in this whole process, but he hadn’t thought that’d been serious. He’d been sure there was a way around it. Sure that you were the way.

He wouldn’t be able to survive three months. That he was sure of. Not without something to do. Not without a purpose. Not without something to fight. The room was getting smaller again. Closing in on him. All of that time stretching out ahead of him, without any purpose, without any point to him. It was all closing in on him.

He tried to take a deep breath, but it didn’t do any good. It didn’t do anything. Didn’t get him any air. There wasn’t any air. He was pinned down. Under all the water. Under all that ice. He was so cold and he couldn’t breathe.

“Steve!”

He was distantly aware of someone calling his name, but no one would be able to get to him. He was too far under. There was too much ice. He’d done too much.

“Steve. Hey, Steve! I’m here with you. I’m right here, okay? I’m right here.”

No, that couldn’t be right. He was alone. All alone and–

Lilacs. How was he smelling lilacs? And oranges. Fresh and bright. Spring.

He blinked his eyes open. He didn’t know when he’d shut them. He was huddled on the floor in front of the couch. In the living room. You were kneeling in front of him, your hands held out in front of you, not making contact, but one of your wrists was extended. Right under his nose. 

When he made eye contact with you, you exhaled, like maybe you’d been holding your breath. “Hi,” you said, relieved. “You back with me?”

All he could do was blink at you, at first. Then he looked around. The blank walls. The prefab furniture. The apartment. He hated this place. He looked back at you. “Yeah.” It came out in a croak. “I– Yeah.”

“Is it alright if I touch you?” you asked, inching closer. “You can say no.”

He shook his head without even thinking. “Please.”

As you reached out to touch him, hug him, maybe, he collapsed into you. You let out a little “oof” but didn’t pull away. You just wrapped your arms around him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been touched, really touched, like this. Not just in passing. Not in battle. Before the ice. Decades. Everything had been decades. 

His eyes were wet and he was so so tired. He felt wrenched open. Emptied out like there was nothing left. He exhaled in your arms and with it came a whisper, completely out of his control. “I just want to go home.”

You didn't say anything, but your grip on him tightened.

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[dem-obscure-imagines]

Midnight Rain

Bob Reynolds x Reader

Fandom: MCU

Note: We are so back babey.

Warnings: Allusions to Bob’s past as a drug user (light withdrawal symptoms). Otherwise, just fluff.

Word Count: 1.3k

Reader Is: A healer. Gender-neutral, I believe.

It was pouring outside. Rain trickled down the windows of the tower you now called home. It was…interesting living there. By the time you joined the team, the original team, they were all broken up already, so you’d never gotten the pleasure. Sam had found you around the time he found Scott. You were a healer.

Healer was a loose term, actually. You had healing powers, yes, could use energy to patch nearly any wound, but you had soothing powers, too. Like a living heating pad. That was why Sam found you. To calm the Winter Soldier when he’d been set off, just in case he and Steve needed one last ace in their back pocket.

It was why Bucky had called you now. And why you were sitting in the Tower where you now lived, watching the midnight rain, nursing a mug of Chamomile.

You could feel him walking down the hallway before you heard or saw him. It had only been a week since the Void Incident. You’d been in the Tower for a grand total of three days. You had only seen him in passing, as he’d been keeping mostly to himself. For obvious reasons.

Bob Reynolds aka Sentry aka the Void.

He stood in the doorway in a pair of pajama pants and an oversized sweatshirt, trembling. You scanned over him like a doctor, noting his symptoms, but it was clear from the very start, based on the file you’d been given. He was in withdrawal. Apparently the super-soldier cocktail they’d given him hadn’t fixed everything.

“Um h-hi. I’m Bob.” He waved, hand swallowed up by his sleeve, messy brown curls falling in his face.

You smiled warmly. “Hi, Bob. I’m (Y/N).”

“I knew that. I, uh…Yelena said you’d be in here. Bucky said to find you if I ever felt…uh…like this, I guess.” He motioned down to his trembling form. “But if you’re busy, I…”

“I’m not busy. What’s going on?”

“Just cold. Really cold. I…can’t sleep. Can’t stop shaking.”

You sat up a little straighter. “Did they tell you how my powers work?”

He nodded, fiddling with the ends of his sleeves.

“Do you want me to come to your room with you? Or we can do it out here?”

“Here is fine. I don’t think the others would ever let me live it down if I took you to my room…”

“John’s an asshole, but he’s getting better. I’m sure they’d understand if you want the privacy.”

He shook his head. “Here is fine.”

You adjusted the pillows in the crook of the large gray sectional couch, grabbing the thick blanket you’d crocheted back in college from the back of it. Bob hovered at the armrest, waiting for instruction.

“So, when I’d calm Bucky, and heal his headaches and stuff, I would stand behind him and just kinda…touch his head. Scalp massage, that kinda thing. But you’ve got other stuff going on, huh?”

“Muscle aches.” Bob added. “And the tremors and stuff…”

“I don’t bite.” You promised, in an attempt to relieve the tension.

He gave a tentative little smile at that, taking a step closer. “So I just…get on top of you? Well, not like that. I just meant…”

“We’re gonna cuddle, Bob. Simple as that. Come here.”

It didn’t take more convincing. He swung a leg over awkwardly, arms settling in unsure positions on either side of you, face ever so close to yours, deep blue eyes counting the pores on your cheeks. He was shaking, heart hammering against your chest. You tangled one hand in his hair, the other tugging the thick blanket down over the two of you before finding a steady rhythm on his back.

A deep breath in. When you breathed out, you began to emit your healing energy, glowing faintly, your whole body warm like a heating pad.

Immediately, his body went slack and heavy atop yours, head heavy on your shoulder, a slow breath drawn out from his open lips. His eyes fluttered shut, the shaking stopped, and for the first time in a long time, there was no pain, just peace.

“You still with me, big guy?” You asked, unsure if he was still conscious or not.

“Mmmmm…”

“Feel better?”

He nodded, but it took him a while to find his words. “Yeah. Y-yes. Thank you. Feels…really good.”

“No problem.”

“I haven’t slept in days.” He confessed quietly. “I knew eventually I’d need to…come find you, but…you just got here and I didn’t want to crowd you. Or make you think that this was all they called you here for or…?”

“Oh I’m fully aware of that, Bob. That’s okay. It’s my power. Sam found me to help Bucky, back when he was weaning off of his mental conditioning. And whatever it is you’re going through, I’m going to help you, too. It’ll get easier eventually. Not right away, but…”

He nodded. “I know. I kind of…thought the serum they gave me would, uh…speedrun that process. I don’t think it did. Might have made it worse, really. My body is expecting another hit. Patterns and all that…”

“Mmm.” You toyed with his curls, gently petting his head in a way that was habit for sessions like these. Not that you did them often. Special occasions only. You studied the way his hair caught in your light, the patterns that struck the ceiling through the stitches in the blanket. Like a disco ball.

“How long can you…glow like this for?”

“At this frequency? All night. This kind of energy I can literally put out in my sleep. It’s why I don’t get invited to sleepovers.”

He laughed at that. “Would you? Tonight?”

You nodded. “Get some rest, buddy. You need it.”

“’M not crushing you?” He adjusted a little. As much as he could with your energy kneading his muscles into Jell-O.

You chuckled, shaking your head. He was a little heavy, but he wasn’t doing any serious damage. “No, this is fine.”

He was quiet for a long moment. So long, you wondered if he really had drifted off. But then he asked, “How long are you staying?”

“Probably a while. Since the big breakup, I’ve just kind of been…wandering. Trying to pick up the pieces. It’d be nice to have something stable. You?”

“Forever, I think.” Bob replied, sounding fairly sure of it. “I mean, as long as they’ll have me, I guess. I’m not much use without…the other guy around, but…I can do the dishes.”

“Trust me, in a place like this, someone has to do the dishes. They’d appreciate it.”

Another long patch of silence stretched. You anticipated a snore. Instead, you could almost feel him spiraling.

“You’re not scared? Of me? Did they tell you who I am?”

“If I was scared of you, you would not be on top of me right now.” You said with a chuckle. “I wasn’t afraid of the Winter Soldier or the Hulk. I’m not afraid of you. But yes. I know who you are. I’m not worried about the other guy. My only concern is Bob. And making sure Bob gets sleep.”

“Okay.” He exhaled a sigh. “Thank you. For this. I, uh…I owe you one.”

You felt his eyes on you for a long moment before his eyelids started to get heavy. His anxiety and the adrenaline that came with it weren’t strong enough to overpower you for long. But even so, his gaze was soft, curious, until the very moment it was gone.

Rain continued to pour on Manhattan, the wind blowing the droplets onto the glass every so often. Thunder rumbled softly in the distance. You wondered if Thor was out there somewhere still, causing it. And in your arms was a new breed of supersoldier, his body heavy with sleep, slow, deep breaths entering and leaving his lungs for the first time in what you knew was forever.

You were sure when he woke up the next morning, you’d figure all of this out. A routine for healing sessions until his symptoms stopped and whatnot. You’d get him a sleep mask so you weren’t glowing right in his eyes. Of course, right now, that wasn’t a problem, since he was so sleep deprived you could have knocked him out standing up. But it would be nice for him to have, nonetheless. All of these factors were familiar to you; you’d get them worked out.

But it might take longer, however, for you to figure out the new warmth that was swirling around your heart.

[delicatebarness]

You Need Me Now? | Prologue

Summary: Three years after her father's death, the eldest Stark daughter was finally starting to get her life back. But now, everything is about to change when the last man her father would have approved of asks for a favour.

Warning: This series will be 18+, Minors DNI | MCU Spoilers | Mentions of Greif & Parent Death | Alcohol Use | Smut | Political Tension | Subtle PTSD Themes | Friends-With-Benefits Relationship | Secret Relationship

Word Count: 1297

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

A/N: I've been thinking about this since Brave New World, and I'm glad I finally feel like writing here again! - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue; this is just as much yours as it is mine. - B

You Need Me Now: @carrotlove | @seenthroughmia | @stell404 | @imaginecrushes | @lilulo-12 | @sebbymybaby21 | @rattyfishrock | @danzer8705 | Let me know if you want to be tagged for this series. However, I can't guarantee how often it'll be updated.

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @lanabuckybarnes

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Spring 2027–Manhattan, N.Y.C.

New York hummed beneath you—somewhat quiet, for once.  From your apartment, the city looked almost peaceful. Rare. But peace was never built for you. Or him.

Bucky’s chest was warm against your back, bare skin pressed together and covered by silk sheets. Your chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. You could hear the soft click of his vibranium arm settling as he raised it, resting it behind his head. 

“You’re thinking too loud,” Bucky murmured, voice gravelly from your shared lack of sleep. Neither of you got any of that when together. 

You turned over, pulling the sheet higher over your chest. Not that there was any modesty left between you. “It’s my apartment. I’m allowed to think as loud as I want.” 

He chuckled. A smile spread over his lips. One of the rare, real smiles. It reached his eyes. “Typical Stark,” he said, his fondness and exasperation blending together in a perfect balance. 

Propping yourself up on an elbow, your eyes scanned his face. Your fingers traced gently along the faint bruising on his collarbone. The tension in his shoulders from a recent fight still lay dormant in his muscles. 

Yet, somehow, he was here. With you. Again.

“I thought you were in D.C.,” you whispered.

“Campaign’s in full swing,” he replied, curling his right arm around you, letting his fingers trail along your neck and shoulder. “But I needed a night away. Somewhere quiet.”

You arched an eyebrow at him. “So naturally, you came to a Stark?”

The ghost of a grin tugged at his lips, leaning up on one elbow to match you. “Well, I wouldn’t say I was here for the quiet, exactly.” 

A low, tired laugh fell from your lips. “Of course not.”

This thing between you started a couple of years ago—the night of your father’s funeral. Too much grief. Too much whiskey. Too much Asgardian mead for Bucky. Years of unresolved tensions, avoidance, and a very complicated history were forgotten about that night. A night neither of you spoke about, but never stopped repeating. 

And no one knew. 

Not Pepper, not Sam, not even F.R.I.D.A.Y.

That was the agreement. No strings. No press. No fallout. But you were never very good at following orders. Even ones you set yourself.

Bucky was quiet at that moment. Then, his fingers moved down, tracing the curve of your arm. Slow and deliberate. “I need something.” 

Your hand stilled on his chest. Your breath hitched in your throat, and you locked your gaze with his. “Let me guess—is this where you say ‘from you’ and ruin the night?”

His expression gave you nothing. “I need your endorsement.” 

Silence.

You sat up, the silk sheet falling from your body. Your back was now turned to him as you reached for the glass of water on your nightstand.

“You’re serious.” 

“I wouldn’t bring it up if I weren’t, Stark.”

“You know what that would mean,” you said with a sigh. “The eldest daughter of Tony Stark publicly backing the Winter Soldier for Congress? The country would lose its mind.” 

“I’m not running as the Winter Soldier,” he retorted. “I’m running as James Barnes. And I’m trying—I’m trying to do something good.” 

“You already are doing something good,” you replied as you finally turned to face him again. “This isn’t a mission. It’s politics, Bucky. If you want my name on your campaign, you’d better be ready for your safe place to no longer be safe.” 

He held your gaze, steady. “I don’t want your name. I want your support.” 

This shouldn’t matter. The two of you weren’t real, not like that. This was supposed to be uncomplicated.

But at some point in time, Bucky had stopped calling before showing up. And you stopped caring.

You sighed, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.” 

“I’m serious.” 

“I know.” 

For a moment longer, you studied him. Then, leaned forward, swinging your leg over his body to straddle his waist. Your lips brushed against his. “I’ll think about it.” 

Bucky’s hand reached for your cheek, pulling you even closer, pressing his lips hard against yours.

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Three Weeks Later—Washington, D.C.

You shouldn’t have worn black. The dress clung to your body—cinched at the waist, sleeveless, and elegant. Pepper had referred to it as ‘Power Dressing’. Bucky, however, muttered, “A distraction,” into your neck the night before.

Now, you were standing at the Stark Industries podium. It was sleek and modern. Unmistakable Stark. Glass and steel glowed with the subtle golden accents. The company’s logo is etched on the front. 

You stood centre-stage. Half the country was watching you. Flanked by banners, journalists, and cameras already trained on you. Your curled fingers gripped tighter around the edge of the podium. 

Your heart hammered against your chest.

Your eyes flickered briefly toward the crowd.

Bucky was standing just to the left of the pavilion. Dressed in a pressed navy suit, hair pulled back neatly. And his jaw set tight. He looked every inch the part of a reformed soldier and future congressman hopeful. He was composed. Polished.

“Thank you all for being here. I’ll try and keep this brief,” you said, your voice steady, smooth. Cameras clicked. Murmurs rippled through the press. “I’ve spent the past few years trying to honor my father and his name.” 

The words rolled off your tongue like you spent hours rehearsing them. You didn’t. Not really. You practiced with Bucky’s head between your thighs, his hands on your hips. Your hands in his hair, and his half-wrecked voice mumbling: “You don’t have to do this. But if you do—I’ll owe you.” against you.

“My father believed in progress. In pushing forward, even when the world pushed back. Since his passing,” your gaze flickered to Pepper, watching with Morgan by her side. She gave you a supportive nod.

You took a breath, continuing. “Stark Industries has grown, shifted, and adapted. Just like the world we call home. But, we’re not done yet.” 

You paused, your eyes now locking with Bucky’s, and your mouth curved. Not into a smile, but something close enough. 

“I believe in redemption, second chances. I believe in making the world better, not just with innovation, but also with integrity. Which is why today, I’m not here to announce a product. I’m here to endorse a person.” 

You let the words hang in the air, taking a moment for yourself. The crowd was quiet, like the hum of an arc reactor. Powerful. 

“A man who has rebuilt himself, little by little. He knows the weight of his history, and carries it anyway.” Your throat tightened, and you let it. “I trust him. Not just with a vote. But with his second chance. With a future. With the city of New York and Brooklyn.” 

Another pause. Only this time, it wasn’t for you. Or the press. Pepper, or Morgan. It was for Bucky. 

Because he needed to hear you. 

“I am proud to be officially endorsing James Buchanan Barnes for Congress.” 

The crowd erupted in front of you. Cameras flashing, journalists shouting questions, Americans surprised. Somewhere, you could already hear someone announcing: “The Iron Princess sides with Reformed Assassin.” 

You didn’t flinch.

No matter how much you loathed being called ‘The Iron Princess’.

Behind the crowd, Bucky’s gaze never left yours. Giving nothing to the cameras. No smile. No smirk. He stayed quiet. 

You hadn’t just given him your name.

You gave him a chance. 

“You know they’re going to twist it all, right? You back me, and they’ll come for you.” More of his words from the previous night echoed in your mind as you watched the public reaction.

You didn’t care then, and you don’t care now.

You chose him.

★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

Remember, I have a praise kink; I need validation and attention to survive. Please leave feedback. ♡

[prickly-paprikash]

Castlevania Nocturne really stepped up its game in the second season.

I had two major complaints for the premiere season of CN:

The pacing was erratic. From episode 2 onwards, it seems as if the story is obsessed with giving us nonstop climactic battles, at the cost of letting the characters and pacing breathe. I understand that a central theme of the first season was loss—not just loss of loved ones and the grief that comes with it, but simply losing at every turn. They make the Vampire Messiah feel more like an inevitability, and it works to some extent. But one thing that the original Castlevania series did well was how it handled the flow of conversation and combat.

Seasons 1-3 were all mostly slow, deliberate episodes centered on talking. Characters would simply converse. The very first scene of Castlevania literally embodies this.

Lisa and Dracula, having an organic yet expertly crafted conversation that feels sharp, poignant, and immediately tells us everything we need to know about these two characters. We get one Lisa scene, and then she dies and yet it hits so hard because of how one conversation was written.

Nocturne's first season, many times, felt more like a quip-fest. Castlevania's humor was dry and morbid, to better fit the sarcastic and dark tone of the series. When characters like Trevor or Sypha or even Isaac cracked a joke, it never felt out of place. They had a cold, callous sense to them. Like their humor was a coping mechanism for the dreary and bleak reality they lived in.

Richter on the other hand felt like a Phase IV MCU lead, being unbearably sarcastic and "witty". Watching Nocturne again, I struggled to like Richter in the first half but he really came into his own after he meets Juste.

In the second season, however, the pacing really knuckles down. It becomes deliberate. And when a fight scene happens pre-episode 7, it feels more like OG Castlevania again. It isn't being treated with extreme weight, but it feels more like a part of every day life for Belmonts and their peers. Whenever Trevor, Sypha and Alucard get into a scrap with Night creatures, it actually had a sense of levity to them. This was a job. An occupational hazard. A logical result of living in Wallachia. In Nocturne season 1, fights were treated with more weight than they should have, while character work felt secondary, barring someone like Annette.

Here, it really allows me to fall for these characters more. Being an OG Drolta stan was so rewarding this season. I really also liked Maria and Tera more here, with Tera becoming a vampire creating a really interesting dynamic between the two and pushing their characters into directions that I didn't expect to enjoy as much as I did.

Mizrak, Olrox, and Richter were sidelined a bit more here, but it makes sense. These three dominated the first season, so it made sense to shift the focus on others and let their characters grow and shine. But just because they didn't take up most of the spotlight doesn't mean their characters were ignored.

Mizrak and Olrox's romance was developed in more subtle ways this time, which I appreciated. The writers let the unspoken heat and budding romance speak for themselves here, and I really enjoyed Olrox's sadness and Mizrak's regret and grief here, though of course the best scene between them was at the end. The way the writers made that finale, weaving feelings of heartbreak, lust, love, and fear into that one sentence was so, so good. Mizrak's fear of death and torment. Olrox simply saying that the devil was easy to cheat.

Ugh. That's the good shit.

And Richter? They still let him be the dry, sarcastic quipster, but I appreciate the restraint here. He doesn't crack jokes as much. Instead, they really focus on his feelings with Annette, to the point that he feels more like the love interest rather than the MC for a good chunk of the season.

And I'm not complaining. I enjoyed the budding romance between them in the first season, but with the deliberate pacing here, the writers really sold me on this soft, chaste, tender love story. Richter and Annette feel like young adults falling for the first time and I really fucked with it.

I'll talk about Annette in a separate post, but sufficed to say, she was the best character of this season. Hands down.

My second complaint was Erzsebet Báthory. She felt so... she felt like she paled in comparison to the three other villains of the season.

Drolta was exquisite. She oozed charisma and charm, and she stole every single scene she was in. The animators loved her and I could tell. She had the most costume changes. She had the sharpest lines. She was gorgeous. And even her death felt euphoric because she got to introduce Alucard into the mix. Like, seriously, they used her perfectly in the first season and she was easily the best character by far.

Olrox? Sexy. Gay. Kill me. Him and Mizrak? Perfection. His voice was so smooth and seductive. His dialogue? Smartly written. Every scene he's in, he feels like he's always holding back something.

Rage. Pain. Lust. Desire. Grief. Hatred. Remorse. It is always there, an undercurrent of emotions so thick you could feel it in every scene they placed him in.

Abbott? Worthless. Pathetic. Hypocrite. I hated him every single time he was onscreen, and that was exactly what he needed to be. A counterrevolutionary bible thumper that would elicit powerful memories of unlikable relatives at a reunion. No notes. Perfectly utilized villain, and I fucking cheered when he got burnt to a crisp by his daughter.

But Báthory felt so underwhelming.

So either the writers knew this specific complaint from the fans, or more likely wrote her this way to purposefully hide the true final boss of the series.

Drolta.

See, Báthory doesn't hold a candle to any previous villains of the Castlevania story. Not as complex as Isaac. Not as iconic and important as Dracula. Not as enjoyable to both hate and love as Carmilla. Not as hilarious and memorable as Death. She was just there. I thought it was a waste, and that I wanted to see more of her shine in season 2.

So when the only bit of character work she got was her mourning Drolta and her small flashback, I was disappointed.

Make no mistake, she made a great physical threat. But that was it. She felt more like one of Death's elite guards from season 4 than her own true brand of evil.

Not as hate-worthy as the Abbott. Not as conflicted as Olrox. Not as charismatic as Drolta.

So imagine my surprise and subsequent glee as to when Drolta takes the power for herself. Killing her in the sky. That was perfect.

Drolta, who served Sekhmet. Who broke down at the loss of her goddess, her fellow priestesses, and the people she cared for. Who, blinded by grief, sought to resurrect her goddess by becoming a vampire herself and searching high and low for a worthy vessel.

Drolta became even more interesting. Thinking herself as only a follower, never seeking to gain the goddesses' power for herself. Becoming the first Vampire/Night Creature that gave Alucard, the son of Dracula himself who was leagues above Báthory before she became the goddess, quite a lot of trouble.

The way every villain was handled in this season was excellent. From Abbott's death, to Richter proclaiming his desire to avenge his mother to Olrox's face right after they worked together to beat Drolta, but still letting him go afterwards as thanks—I'm sorry, but that was some raw ass writing right there.

The only thing I have to complain about? Nothing from the writers or animators or directors. It's the production that I hate.

Streaming services fucked everything up. 8-10 episodes for every single show is such a dumb move, and making us wait 2-3 years for every single one of them is horrible.

On top of the fact that they will cancel something on a whim.

Nocturne would be unquestionably a masterpiece had it been allowed to have 24 fucking episodes each season. We could explore France more. See deeper into the revolutionary setting of the show. Really see the world of Castlevania, but no. And now there's still a threat of cancellation when animation has been carrying Netflix's worthless ass for years? Especially through the pandemic?

Watch Castlevania Nocturne. Support the studio. Show Netflix that this is where their energies and money should be going towards.

Their live actions, barring something like the big names of Stranger Things and Squid Game, have been flops. They fumbled the Witcher series. They killed Kaos. They ended Shadow and Bone. They fuck up every single time and it has been animation that has pulled through.

Arcane. Castlevania. Blue Eye Samurai. She-Ra.

Support this show, please. I would love to keep this series going, but it needs the attention it so rightfully deserves.

Please. I need to see Old Man Coyote. I need to see Tera go further into the darkness. I want to believe in the possible Maria x Alucard romance that was in the games that could be written really well here. I want to see more of these characters. I want to dive deeper into this world. But most importantly, I want every single person who worked on this show to keep having a job. To be able to do what they do best and get better at it.

This show is great. It deserves more seasons. More sequel series to explore other Belmonts. Other countries. More sexy vampires. More sexy hunters.

Support animation.

[urdreamydoodles]

KILLING ME SOFTLY — A Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter One Shot

Pairing: Benjamin Poindexter (MCU) x Fem!Reader

Description: Your twisted relationship with Bullseye.

Theme: Dark, Smut(ish)

Words: 1810

The first time you saw him, he was watching you.

Not in the way men at bars watch women, sizing them up like something to be consumed. Not in the way strangers glance at beauty before their eyes slip away.

No, he watched you.

Unblinking. Calculated. Predatory.

You had been walking home alone, the cold air biting at your skin, the neon lights of the city painting your path in fractured colors. Something told you to look over your shoulder.

And there he was.

Standing at the edge of the sidewalk, just under the hum of a flickering streetlamp, dressed in black, eyes pale and cutting as a razor’s edge.

A man who did not look away when you caught him staring.

A man who wanted you to know.

And you did.

You knew, instinctively, that this was not a stranger you could ignore.

This was something else entirely.

—

Benjamin Poindexter was not a man known for restraint.

He was a weapon in human form—something sharp and precise, something built for ruin.

But with you, he took his time.

He followed first.

Letting you feel him at the edges of your world, making you wonder if you were imagining things.

A shadow in the crowd. A presence just behind you. A feeling on your skin that you could not shake.

Then he got closer.

You would turn down a quiet street and see a man leaning against the alley wall, tapping something metallic against his thigh.

A coin. A blade. A bullet.

You could never tell which.

But always, when your eyes found him, his lips would curve in a slow, amused smile.

Like he was playing.

Like he was hungry.

And you—against all reason, against all logic—felt something dark and shivering unfurl in your ribs.

Because this man was dangerous.

And danger had always tasted like wine on your tongue.

—

You met properly on the fifth night.

Not in the street, not in passing—

But in your apartment.

You came home, locked the door, turned on the light—

And there he was, sitting on your couch, as if he belonged there.

Relaxed. At ease.

Turning a knife between his fingers like it was a toy.

You should have screamed.

Should have reached for something sharp, something heavy, something that could fight.

But instead, you exhaled slowly, tilted your head—

And smiled.

"A knife?" Your voice was smooth, unimpressed, barely above a murmur. "Are you flirting with me?"

His lips parted slightly, his head tilting, as if he hadn’t expected that.

Then, the grin.

Wide and wolfish, something carved from bone and sin.

"Doll," he murmured, voice low, fond, "I’ve been flirting with you for weeks."

—

Bullseye had never wanted anything the way he wanted you.

At first, it was simple. A game. A curiosity.

He saw something in you, something rare—something untouchable and unafraid.

You did not fear him.

You should have.

But instead, you met his gaze with a slow smile. Instead, you let him in. Instead, you looked at the monster and did not flinch.

And that—fuck—that ruined him.

Because he wasn’t playing anymore.

This wasn’t a job.

This wasn’t a kill.

This was you.

And he needed you like he needed air.

—

He started pushing.

Seeing how far he could go before you broke.

A knife at your throat, cold steel kissing warm skin—your pulse steady beneath it, unshaken.

A hand around your wrist, pulling you flush against him—your breath hitching, but your eyes alight with something dangerous.

He grabbed you, cornered you, toyed with you—

And you laughed.

You—who should have been running, who should have been trembling, who should have feared him—

Only smiled.

"You don’t scare me, Benjamin."

His fingers curled tight in your hair, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Give me time, doll," he murmured, voice dripping with promise. "You will."

—

But you didn’t.

And worse, you started pushing back.

Testing him the way he tested you.

Late nights with him pressed against you, the heat of his breath on your skin, your fingers teasing the knife from his belt.

Spinning it in your hand, mirroring his movements—

Smirking up at him as you flirted with his weapon.

It drove him insane.

No one had ever met him like this.

No one had ever dared.

And it made him want to ruin you.

—

When he kissed you, it wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t sweet.

It wasn’t careful.

It was consumption.

Teeth and breath and the sharp edge of his control fraying into something wild.

His hands held you like he might never let go, like he was claiming something that had already been his from the moment he set eyes on you.

And you—God, you—

You moaned against his mouth, kissed him back with that same hunger, gripped his shirt like you wanted to tear him apart.

And fuck.

He had never been a religious man, but in that moment, he swore he had found something close to god.

—

You became his.

Not in words. Not in titles.

But in the way he looked at you.

The way he hovered near you, always watching, always waiting.

The way his fingers traced absent patterns against your bare skin when he thought you were asleep.

The way he whispered your name like a curse, like a prayer, like something he could never afford to lose.

—

But you were never his the way he wanted.

Because you didn’t belong to anyone.

And that—

That was the tragedy of it all.

Because Bullseye didn’t share.

And one day—one day soon—he would have to decide.

Let you go.

Or make sure no one else could ever have you.

Ever.

—

It wasn’t just an obsession anymore.

Not some passing fixation, not just the high of the chase, not just the thrill of knowing he could break you if he wanted to.

No, this was addiction.

And Benjamin Poindexter was a man who had never known how to handle his addictions.

—

It started with the nights.

At first, they were occasional.

He would slip into your apartment like a shadow, his presence a silent promise in the dark. You’d wake to find him already there, already touching you, already needing.

And fuck, you let him.

Let him take you, let him push you, let him ruin you.

Because this wasn’t love.

It was something filthier. Something darker.

It was teeth and nails and heat and violence.

It was his body pressed against yours, the weight of him keeping you there, caging you beneath the force of his want.

It was the way he held you down, the way he whispered filth in your ear, the way he smirked when you gasped, when you whimpered, when you shuddered against him like you hated how much you wanted it.

And he—fuck—he lived for it.

For the way you clawed at him, for the way you trembled, for the way you choked his name between gasping breaths.

For the way you took every filthy, twisted thing he gave you and still—still—didn’t run.

That was what sealed it.

That was what fucking broke him.

Because no one had ever stayed.

Not like this.

Not after seeing what he was.

But you—you—

You didn’t just stay.

You smiled.

—

So the nights became routine.

His body covering yours, his hands gripping your thighs, his breath hot against your skin as he fucked you like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

And maybe it was.

Because with every night, with every time he touched you, with every moment he spent inside you, he felt it digging deeper—this need, this hunger, this thing that turned his thoughts into something dangerous.

And soon, it wasn’t just the nights.

It was the days.

The hours between.

The moments where you weren’t beneath him, weren’t gasping against his mouth, weren’t his—

Those were the moments that made him feel like an animal.

Because if he wasn’t with you, then who was?

—

That was how it started.

With the man at the bar.

Some nameless asshole who thought he could touch what wasn’t his.

Who leaned in too close, who smiled too wide, who looked at you like he could.

And maybe—maybe in another life, maybe if things were different, maybe if Dex weren’t Dex—

Maybe you could have.

But things weren’t different.

And Dex was Dex.

So the man never made it home.

And the next time you passed that bar, you didn’t see him there.

And you knew.

Even if he never said a word.

Even if he only smirked when your eyes met his in the neon light.

Even if, that night, when he shoved you up against the alley wall and fucked you hard enough to make your head spin, he only murmured—

"Mine."

—

But it wasn’t just one man.

It was every man.

The ones who looked too long. The ones who smiled too soft.

The ones who thought you were beautiful.

Because you were.

And that was the fucking problem.

Because beauty made men stupid.

Made them forget that some things weren’t theirs to touch.

And Bullseye—

Bullseye never forgot.

So the bodies kept piling up.

A man you barely remembered would brush your hand in passing—three days later, his body was found in the river.

Someone would compliment your dress—two nights after, they’d disappear.

You would catch a stranger looking at you across a crowded room—by the end of the week, there would be an accident.

And Dex—Dex—

Would never mention it.

Would never bring it up.

Would never say a word.

But then, later, when he had you pressed up against some grimy bathroom sink, when his hands were fisted in your hair, when he was panting against your throat and groaning into your skin, he would bite out—

"No one else. You fucking get that?"

And you would only smirk.

And he would growl—grip you tighter, thrust into you harder, make you feel it.

Make sure you knew.

Because you were his.

Whether you fucking liked it or not.

—

And maybe—maybe in the beginning, it had been a game.

Maybe at first, it had just been about the thrill, about the chase, about the way you smiled at the danger.

But not anymore.

Not now.

Because now, when he touched you, it wasn’t just want.

It was need.

And now, when you looked at him, it wasn’t just defiance.

It was understanding.

Because you knew what he was.

You knew what he did.

You knew he was ruining you.

And you—

You let him.

And fuck.

That was what made it worse.

That was what broke him.

Because if you had fought him, if you had run, if you had been afraid—

Then maybe he could have let you go.

But you didn’t.

You stayed.

You smiled.

You laughed.

And that meant you belonged to him.

And Dex—

Well, Dex never let go of what was his.

[librababe99]

In the Quiet Hours

A/N: First off, thank y’all so much for showing so much love to the work I’ve posted so far! It’s great to see all the interactions and makes me happy people are sticking around to see more🥹

In honor of hitting 30 followers I decided to write a quick one shot with Scott Summers. Please let me know if there are other X-men OR MCU characters you would like me to write for!  - Libra ✧ : *✧･ﾟ:*

Word Count: 566 CW: Suggestive themes, friends to lovers 

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨

The dim glow of the X-Mansion hallway lights barely illuminated your path as you made your way to the kitchen for a late-night snack. You weren’t expecting to run into anyone—especially not Scott.

He was leaning against the counter, shirtless, his body bathed in the soft light filtering through the windows. You paused in the doorway, your breath catching at the sight of him. Scott was always disciplined, composed, but here, in the quiet of the night, he seemed… different. His usual intensity softened, a rare vulnerability on display.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper. His ruby quartz glasses reflected the faint light, concealing his eyes, but you could feel his gaze on you, heavy and assessing.

“Yeah,” you replied, stepping into the kitchen, suddenly hyper-aware of the space between you. “You?”

He gave a small shrug, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “Something like that.”

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, from the way his muscles tensed and relaxed as he shifted his stance, from the way his skin glowed under the faint light. There was an unspoken tension between you, something that had been simmering for weeks, maybe longer. It was there in the way his fingers brushed yours as he handed you a glass of water, in the way your breath hitched at the accidental touch.

“Scott…” You hesitated, your voice barely audible. The air between you felt charged, every second stretching into something more.

He didn’t say anything, just took a step closer, his proximity making your pulse quicken. His hand reached out, gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin in a way that made your heart race. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the intoxicating scent of him filling your senses.

The tension between you was palpable, electric. His thumb traced the curve of your jaw, sending shivers down your spine. You could sense the restraint in him, the careful control he always maintained, but there was something more now—something raw, something hungry.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he admitted, his voice hushed, as if afraid to break the spell. “More than I should.”

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest. “Me too.”

The admission hung in the air, charged with a need that neither of you could ignore any longer. Scott leaned in, his lips hovering just above yours, giving you every chance to pull away. But you didn’t.

When his lips finally met yours, it was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every moment. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss with a fervor that made your knees weak. You melted into him, the world fading away until there was nothing but the feel of his mouth on yours, the way his hands gripped you like he never wanted to let go.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathless, foreheads resting against each other. Scott’s fingers lingered on your waist, his touch firm, possessive.

“This… this can’t be just once,” he whispered, his voice rough, filled with need.

You smiled, your fingers tracing the contours of his chest. “I wouldn’t want it to be.”

The promise lingered between you, a quiet acknowledgment of what had been building for so long. You knew this was just the beginning, that whatever this was between you, it was far from over.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨

[sunshine-lux]

Yay! So excited to see someone with requests open for my current fixation!

Could I ask for a fic where The Avengers find out about Peters Girlfriend? They walk in on them being lovey together and that’s how they find out?

Thank you 💗💗

I know Places

summary: no one even suspects peter parker has a girlfriend. they have no reason to! that is, until bucky sees something suspicious. how long can peter hide from the team before he gets caught redhanded?

pairings: reader x MCU!peter parker

warnings: slightly suggestive lol, lowkey sub!peter lol, f!reader

word count: 3.4k

It started with a giggle.

Bucky had been walking past the lab, intending to sneak a few snacks from the tower’s food court without anyone noticing, when he heard it. soft laughter, light and breathy. Not the usual Peter mumbling nervously at some piece of tech, not his rambling about nanotech upgrades or web fluid formulas— this was different. It was... flirtatious?

Bucky slowed his pace.

Through the glass walls of the lab, he caught sight of Peter, sitting close—very close—to a girl. She had a Stark intern badge clipped to her labcoat, and Peter was brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, smiling like an idiot.

Bucky blinked. “…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Then turned around and bolted for the team’s common room.

He made it to the common room, where Sam and Steve were in the middle of their weekly “how do we fix the new TV without Tony finding out” discussion.

“I think Parker’s flirting with the new intern,” Bucky said, dead serious.

Steve didn’t even look up. “Leave the kid alone.”

“No, I’m serious.”

“You’re always serious.”

Sam glanced up, curious. “Flirting, like how?”

“Brushing her hair behind her ear. Blushing. Giggling.”

Sam blinked. “Peter?”

“Exactly. That’s why I’m bringing it to you.”

Steve sighed. “Maybe he was just being friendly. He’s awkward like that.”

“No,” Bucky said, pointing a metal finger for emphasis. “This was intentional flirting. Trust me, I know the signs. I used to do the same thing in 1943.”

Sam burst out laughing. “Do we need to help her?”

Steve just rolled his eyes. “He’s too shy to even look girls in the eye.”

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

It was early morning, and the team was gathered in the living room, half-caffeinated and discussing the day’s schedule. Steve had a mission debrief to lead, Sam and Bucky were running recon drills, and Tony was trying to pawn off a tech test on Clint.

Peter was sitting on the edge of the couch, nodding vaguely, but he wasn’t paying attention. His eyes kept darting down to his phone every fifteen seconds. His knee was bouncing like crazy, and he kept biting his thumb nail.

“—so we’ll have to meet them again soon,” Steve was saying.

Nat turned to Peter with a raised eyebrow. “Are you even listening?”

Peter startled like she’d thrown a knife. “What? Yes! Of course. I’m—totally listening. Recon. Reports. Cool.”

“Then what’s your assignment for the day?” she asked pointedly.

Peter opened his mouth, absolutely blank.

That’s when his phone buzzed.

He looked at it, eyes lighting up like fireworks. “Gotta go! Uhhh, yeah! Bye!”

And just like that, he was gone, bolting for the elevator like his life depended on it.

The rest of the team stared after him.

“…Suspicious,” Bucky muttered.

Sam leaned back with a grin. “Y’all, we are absolutely getting to the bottom of this.”

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Y/N was waiting in the lab, leaning against the counter with her tablet, casually scrolling through security protocols she technically wasn’t cleared for.

Peter strolled in a minute later, hair tousled, backpack lopsided, the picture of frantic chaos.

“You’re late,” she said without looking up.

“We had a team meeting!” Peter defended, rushing over. “Steve was going over last week's mission and handing out new assignments and I couldn’t just leave—”

Y/N grabbed him by the collar and tugged him in for a kiss. Peter melted immediately.

“Hi,” she said against his mouth.

He smiled stupidly. “Hi.”

An hour later, they ended up surrounded by spare tech and blueprints, laughing as Peter balanced a prototype on his head and Y/N stole his notes.

“No, give it back! You’ll ruin the equations!”

“You doodled all over the margins—”

“It’s code!”

“It’s nonsense!”

“You’re nonsense!”

He kissed her mid-laugh, effectively ending the debate. Quick at first, and then again, slower, longer. Her laughter softened into a hum as her fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie. The teasing shifted into something warmer, more magnetic, like two magnets trying to fight their pull.

Peter pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers.

“Not here,” he murmured, voice low, a little breathless. “Too many glass walls.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You mean the lab full of security cameras isn’t ideal for making out?”

He rolled his eyes. “We were doing science, technically.”

“Until you got distracted.”

“Until you stole my notes and made fun of them.”

Another kiss. Y/N’s hands moved to hold the back of his neck, fingers reaching to slightly pull at his hair, and Peter melted all over again.

“Okay,” he whispered. “We’re definitely not finishing this project.”

“Nope.”

“Come on,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her toward the exit. “No one’s upstairs right now — they’re all at some debriefing or mission planning thing.”

“You said that last time,” she warned.

“And it was mostly true,” he replied, tugging her into the elevator. “We’ll be quick.”

“You always say that too.”

They kissed again in the elevator — because of course they did.

Peter had Y/N pinned gently to the wall, her hands tangled in his curls, and his slowly creeping underneath the bottom of her shirt, brushing her skin. Her shirt slightly askew from where he’d tugged her closer. He didn’t even notice when the elevator chimed, not until the doors slid open and FRIDAY politely informed them they reached the Residential floor.

Peter pulled back, dazed. “Oh. Right.”

Y/N wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb, then smirked and tapped his cheek. “You’ve got lipstick on your face, Romeo.”

Peter panicked, swiping at his cheek with his sleeve. “Where?! Is it bad?!”

She leaned in like she was inspecting something. “Hmm… little higher—yep. There.”

“You’re messing with me,” he said flatly.

“I am,” she grinned, kissing the tip of his nose. “But you do look a little ruffled.”

Peter’s hair was a mess, curls sticking out in every direction, and her shirt had one sleeve halfway off her shoulder. Y/N looked almost smug about it.

As they tiptoed down the hallway, Y/N couldn’t stop giggling.

“Shhh!” Peter hissed. “You’ll get us caught.”

“I thought you said no one was here,” she whispered dramatically.

“That was the intel I had at the time,” he shot back.

They rounded the corner and came face to face with Natasha and Thor.

Peter immediately dropped Y/N’s hand like it was radioactive.

Nat blinked. Y/N blinked. Peter’s soul left his body.

“Oh,” Thor said cheerfully, munching on something. “Is this a secret rendezvous? It looks like a secret rendezvous.”

Nat slowly crossed her arms. “Peter.”

“H-Hey, Natasha! Thor. Fancy seeing you guys here!”

“We live here,” Nat said flatly.

Thor squinted between the two of them. “Is this the Stark intern?.”

Y/N raised a hand. “Hi.”

Peter cleared his throat. “She’s, uh… helping me. With my suit! Very important. Also delicate. Very... technical.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific, kid,” Nat said, expression unreadable.

Peter floundered. “She’s really good with her hands!”

Y/N looked up at him with a look that said really?

Natasha cringed.

Thor nodded solemnly. “Then give her the suit.”

Peter froze. “What?”

“The suit, young spider. The one she is helping you with.”

“Right! Yep! The suit. Gonna go get that—right now.”

He awkwardly shuffled backward, grabbing Y/N by the wrist and dragging her along.

“Pleasure to meet you!” Y/N called, only slightly breathless. “Love your hair!”

Thor beamed. “Thank you! I wasn’t sure about the haircut .”

Nat just watched them disappear around the corner.

“…They think we’re idiots,” she muttered.

Thor popped the rest of his snack in his mouth. “I find it delightful. Young love, though I’m not sure why they have to sneak around.”

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Down in the training floor, Sam was mid-spar with Bucky, the two of them circling each other while Steve monitored from the side with a stopwatch and water bottle.

Sam ducked a punch then jabbed Bucky’s ribs, and said, “I just don't think the kid has any game”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Well, you saw him sprint out of the room like it was on fire. That wasn’t normal behavior.”

“He’s awkward. That is normal for him.”

Steve spoke up. “Can we focus—”

The doors slid open and Natasha strolled in, tossing a towel over her shoulder. 

Steve looked up first. “You’re early.”

“I have some information I think you guys would appreciate.” Nat said, smirking. 

Sam paused, brows raising. “What kind of information?”

Nat leaned against the wall, totally unfazed, arms crossed. “Guess who I just caught trying to sneak a girl upstairs.”

Bucky dropped his sparring stance immediately. “NO.”

“Oh yes.”

Steve furrowed his brow. “Was she… an intruder? Do we need to alert security?”

Nat laughed once, sharp and amused. “No, Cap. She’s an intern. Stark division. Pretty, smart, apparently good with her hands—according to Peter.”

Sam choked. “He said that? Out loud?”

“To me,” Nat confirmed. “While Thor stood there and asked if he was giving her the suit. I’ve never seen Peter go that pale in my life. Not even the time he accidentally broke Tony’s espresso machine.”

Bucky spun in a slow circle like he needed to ground himself. “I. TOLD. YOU.”

Sam was already cackling. “You called it. I give you full credit.”

Steve just blinked. “So it’s real. He has a girlfriend.”

“Seems like it,” Nat said, amused. “They were walking down the hallway holding hands until they saw me and Thor. Then Parker dropped her hand like she was on fire and made some weak excuse about ‘tech stuff’.”

“Kid’s in deep,” Sam muttered.

Bucky flopped dramatically onto the bench, arms out. “I knew it. I knew something was going on. And no one believed me.”

“Okay, easy there, Buck,” Steve said, chuckling. “Let’s not throw a parade.”

“Let me have this!” Bucky groaned.

Sam nudged Steve. “You owe me twenty. I said he was hiding something.”

Steve sighed and reached into his pocket.

“Please tell me you’re going to confront him,” Nat said dryly.

“Oh, absolutely,” Sam grinned. “But not yet. We need to see it for ourselves.”

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

The next morning, Peter wandered into the kitchen with all the grace of a man trying very hard to act like nothing had happened.

He was in an oversized hoodie, mismatched socks, curls still slightly messy from sleep—or possibly from being manhandled the night before. 

The kitchen was quiet.

Except for Natasha, already seated at the island with a mug of coffee and a piece of toast, scrolling through mission reports.

Peter stopped short. “…Morning.”

Nat glanced up. “Morning.”

Peter shuffled to the fridge, pretending to be super focused on locating the oatmilk.

“You’re up early,” Nat said, sipping her coffee.

Peter nodded, back still turned. “Y’know. New sleep schedule. Trying to be more responsible. Early bird gets the, uh… worm.”

Nat quirked an eyebrow. “Sure.”

“Yep. Very important.”

He poured cereal into a bowl way too fast and definitely spilled some.

Nat watched him without blinking. “You’re weird, kid.”

Peter froze mid-pour. “Huh?”

“Just… in general. But especially today.” She took another sip. “Something happen last night?”

Peter swallowed audibly. “Nope. Nothing at all. Why?”

“Mm. No reason.” Nat smirked, going back to her tablet. “Have a fun morning with your ‘important stuff’.”

Peter grabbed his cereal and sprinted out of the kitchen.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

“I’m just saying,” Peter muttered, holding the door open for Y/N as they stepped out of the car. “We couldn’t stay in the Tower. Not after yesterday.”

Y/N laughed, adjusting her sunglasses. “They probably forgot about it by now.”

“No chance,” Peter said grimly. “Nat was borderline interrogating me this morning.”

She grinned. “So instead of hiding me in your room, you’re taking me on a date?”

“Yes,” Peter said. “Like a normal person. In public. With no teammates watching.”

“…Unless they followed us.”

Peter froze mid-step. “Don’t even say that.”

 Y/N grinned and kept walking.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Back at the tower, Sam and Bucky were posted up in the lounge, huddled as they talked.

“Okay,” Sam said. “He left early. Hoodie, backpack, no eye contact. He’s up to something.”

“He took the intern somewhere,” Bucky confirmed. “Bet they’re on a date.”

Steve walked in with a book and a cup of tea, watching them, slightly annoyed. “Don’t you think he’s hiding her for a reason? Maybe because he knows the moment you two get wind of it, you’ll never let him live it down?”

Sam scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “We’re just trying to confirm it.”

Steve sighed. “You’re literally stalking the kid.”

“We prefer the term ‘investigative observation,’” Sam replied.

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Where’s Tony?” Bucky asked suddenly.

“Why?” Steve asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Because Tony knows everything,” Sam said. “And if Peter told anyone where he was going today, it’d be him.”

Steve groaned. “You guys…”

But Sam and Bucky were already out the door.

Tony barely glanced up when Sam and Bucky walked in.

“If you two are here to ask me to build another upgrade for Redwing, I swear—”

“We have a question,” Bucky said.

“A very important one,” Sam added.

Tony finally looked up. “No, I’m not renting out an amusement park again—”

“It’s about Peter,” Bucky cut in.

Tony blinked. “Oh God, is he hurt?”

“No,” Sam said. “We think he’s dating someone.”

Tony stared. “...Okay, I’m sorry, what?”

“He’s been acting weird,” Bucky said. “Secretive. Jumping up and running away whenever he gets text messages. Wearing shirts with lipstick smudges on the collar.”

“Messy hair,” Sam added.

Tony held up a hand. “Okay, okay. Stop. You think the kid has a girlfriend?”

Sam and Bucky both nodded.

Tony leaned back in his chair, thoughtful.

“Well... a few months ago he came to me,” he admitted slowly. “Asked for advice on how to ask someone out. All awkward, wouldn’t tell me who. Just ‘hypothetically, if you were trying to ask a girl out without sounding like a total loser’ type questions.”

“And then?” Bucky asked, leaning in.

“And then he ghosted the topic,” Tony said. “I figured it went terribly and he didn’t want to talk about it.”

“So you didn’t know?” Sam asked.

“I assumed he was too shy to follow through. You’ve met the kid, right? He stammers when you compliment his shoes.”

Sam and Bucky shared a look.

“Okay, now we have to catch him,” Bucky said.

Tony rolled his eyes. “You guys are like middle schoolers on a gossip rampage.”

But he was already typing into the system to check where Peter had last logged out.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Peter and Y/N were tucked into a tiny café in Brooklyn, tucked away from the main road, just quiet enough to feel like their own little corner of the world.

They sat on the same side of the booth, legs brushing, Peter’s fingers loosely laced with hers under the table. Y/N had stolen a bite of his chocolate croissant without asking, and Peter had only pretended to be outraged.

“So,” Y/N said between sips of her drink. “How’s it feel? Your secret relationship is now… semi-known.”

Peter groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

“They’re going to tease you forever.”

“I know.”

“They’ll probably try to interrogate you.”

“That already started.”

Y/N grinned and leaned into him. “So why’d you bring me out here today, Spider-Boy?”

Peter rested his head lightly against hers. “Because I wanted to be somewhere where no one was watching my every move. And also because I really wanted to kiss you again without the threat of getting caught.”

“Ah,” she nodded. “The romance.”

Peter smiled and kissed her —soft, gentle, with both hands cradling her face like she was something fragile.

When they broke apart, Y/N whispered, “You still have a little lipstick on you.”

Peter wiped at his mouth.

“Still messing with me?”

“Always.”

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Bucky leaned across the front desk, his brows furrowed. “You’re telling me you haven’t seen him all day?”

The poor receptionist blinked. “Mr. Parker? Um… no, sorry. He left early.”

Sam frowned. “He didn’t tell you where he was heading?”

She shrugged. “No. He didn’t say anything to me.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose. “Great. So we’ve got nothing.”

Just then, the glass entrance doors slid open behind them with a soft hiss.

Peter and Y/N stepped inside, laughing softly, a little too synced up in their body language. Y/N was wearing Peter’s jacket, sleeves pulled over her hands. Peter definitely had the faintest trace of pink flushing his face.

Bucky’s eyes widened. “Parker.”

Peter flinched. “Hey! Hi! Great day, right? Love the… lighting in here. So warm. So… lobby.”

Sam turned just in time to catch the two of them mid-guilty-shuffle. “Well, well, well.”

Bucky’s gaze narrowed. “Intern.”

Y/N blinked, bright-eyed and sweet. “Mr. Barnes! Are you okay? You look kind of tense.”

Peter audibly choked. Bucky looked personally attacked.

“You were just—he was just—you two walked in together!” He accused.

Y/N tilted her head, all sunshine and confusion. “We did?”

Peter was holding it together by threads.

Sam crossed his arms. “What’s happening?”

“She’s gaslighting me,” Bucky said instantly, pointing at Y/N.

“Gaslighting?” Y/N repeated, scandalized. “Mr. Wilson, is he okay? Has he been sleeping enough?”

Peter had to turn away and cover his mouth to hide his laugh.

“She’s playing dumb,” Bucky insisted, eyes wide. “She’s too innocent. It’s a trap!”

Sam looked between Y/N’s polite little smile and Bucky’s spiraling. “…Okay, maybe relax, Buck. This is a lobby.”

“I have no idea what you two are talking about,” Y/N said sweetly. “But I should get back to the labs. Let me know if you need help with your suits or anything!”

She gave them a cheery wave and disappeared down the hallway like nothing had happened.

Peter, face still slightly red, gave a helpless little shrug and muttered, “Bye,” before scurrying after her.

Sam and Bucky stared after them.

“…She’s good,” Sam said finally.

“She’s terrifying,” Bucky muttered.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Peter and Y/N had kept a suspiciously low profile.

No elevator makeouts. No mysterious exits. No lipstick marks or hoodie-sharing. The chaos energy had simmered down just enough to make Bucky nervous.

“I don’t like it,” he whispered to Sam the day before. “They’re too quiet.” 

Sam rolled his eyes. “You’re losing it, man.”

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Now it was late afternoon, and the lab was empty—except for Peter and Y/N.

They weren’t working.

Well, technically, they were. There was a report open on the tablet, a hologram projection hovering. But mostly?

Peter had Y/N backed up gently against the workstation, grinning, hands braced on either side of her.

“So we’re officially not in hiding,” he said, voice low.

“Mm,” Y/N hummed. “You sure it’s safe?”

“No,” Peter replied. “But I’m going insane.”

And then he kissed her.

This one wasn’t flustered or stolen. This one was confident, just a little bit smug. He kissed her like he’d been fiending to, like they had all the time in the world now and he wasn’t letting anyone interrupt him—

—but of course, the couple isn’t that lucky.

It was Sam who stopped first.

Then Bucky, Steve, Tony, and Clint in rapid succession.

The lab door slammed open.

“I KNEW IT!” Bucky yelled, hands in the air like he’d just won the lottery. “None of you believed me!”

Steve groaned and pulled out his wallet, already handing a twenty to Sam. Clint followed suit with a crumpled ten.

Sam pocketed the cash and grinned. “Called it. Day one.”

Peter and Y/N turned in shock.

Tony crossed his arms. “Okay, A. don’t break anything expensive, and B. stop making out in my lab.”

He paused, then shot Peter a wink. “But also… good job, kid.”

Peter flushed immediately. “Mr. Stark—”

Steve stepped forward, ever the team dad. “So… you’re really dating?”

Y/N smiled brightly. “Yes, we are.”

Bucky pointed an accusatory finger. “You tried to gaslight me.”

“You made it so easy,” Y/N said sweetly, completely unbothered.

Sam gently took her hands, looking deeply into her eyes with mock concern. “You’re too good for him. Run.”

Peter blinked. “Hey—”

“That’s enough,” Y/N said, pushing Sam toward the door. “Out. All of you. This is a lab. Go punch something.”

They slowly shuffled out, still muttering, Bucky yelling something about buying a chalkboard to track this stuff next time.

Y/N turned to Peter, tucking herself against his chest with a satisfied sigh.

“Well,” she said, “at least we don’t have to hide from them again.”

Peter kissed the top of her head and smiled. “Yeah. But I’ll kind of miss the adrenaline rush from it.”

“I’m sure we can think of something.”

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

author's note: ahhhh my first request!! i'm sorry it took me a bit to get it out, i've been sooo insanely locked in on clueless. I do really hope you enjoyed though! this is giving me crazy 2015-2020 tower fic nostalgia omg

[chaaistained]

hi chaai! do you have any ideas on where to shift to?

ideas on where to shift .*+

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.

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we’ll get the obvious out of the way, there are many different locations you can shift to anon !! and i personally don’t know what your interests and hyperfixations are :( but ! i still want to help in any way i can ≈ so here are a list of general ideas and suggestions and maybe some inspo into different realities to which you (any of you!) can shift !! and ofcs you can tweak it all to your liking xx

sink into self indulgence …

—» shifting at its core is self indulgent and the first example i can think of is your favourite childhood books, movies and shows — the kind of self indulgence where you go back to what made your life sparkle as a child, what made you believe in the impossible, what made you wish the impossible was real, whether it’s fairies, dragons, mermaids, or monsters going to high school, you should take a trip down memory lane and figure out what had you rushing to finish your meal to go watch the latest episode, or work hard at your homework so you could buy the next edition of the game. there’s also the media consumed in your teenage years, the kinds of media that helps you feel like you were escaping and yet at the same time like you were understood

examples include : hogwarts , narnia , my little pony , monster high , ever after high , how to train your dragon , percy jackson and the olympians , h2o , pixie hollow , barbie fairytopia/mermaidia , hilda , bridge to terabithia , wizards of waverley place , minecraft , power rangers , tmnt , disney princesses , little women , gilmore girls , studio ghibli , etc.

—» there are also the realities where you play a part in the bigger picture, you are a significant piece in a vast and intricate puzzle, you stand among your peers, your friends, as someone to be recognised, maybe you’re looking for some thrill? some excitement? some sort of battle or mystery or revolution where you can fight for the underdog or reclaim some form of power — be careful if you do choose to explore these places, but i’m sure you’ll handle it just fine

examples include : marvel/mcu/the avengers/spiderverse , dc/justice league/the arrowverse/smallville , the hunger games , the walking dead , arcane , supernatural , teen wolf , the maze runner , the vampire diaries , pretty little liars , gossip girl , mean girls , outer banks , criminal minds , brooklyn nine nine , the rookie , dune , star wars , avatar: the last airbender , james cameron’s avatar , jurassic park/world , pirates of the caribbean , twilight , etc.

—» conversely, your dr doesn’t even need to be fantastical, sometimes, the things that bring us comfort are in fact the most relaxing, they slow our lives down for whatever time we spend engaging in them, they let us unwind and unravel any burden we’ve unknowingly put on ourselves, the dr doesn’t even need to be based on some form of media, it could be your dream life and/or career

examples include : better cr (HIGHLY RECOMMEND) , cafe/barista , librarian , farmer , florist , artist , museum curator , boarding school , summer camp , bookstore owner , writer , painter , photographer , chef , designer , animator , game developer , director , etc.

—» but maybe you would like a career in the spotlight, where you can finally show the world what you’re capable of, the talent and skills that you know are innate to your being and you just need the opportunity to showcase it

examples include : actor , pop star , band member , kpop idol , youtuber , broadway singer , talk show host , dancer , professional athlete , model , travel vlogger , socialite , royalty , etc.

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when all is said and done, shifting is inherently a form of self love, you’re picking yourself and you’re choosing to shift and experience a reality that will fulfil you in some way !! the ideas in this post are not the limit, there is no limit, [cue mean girls’ “the limit does not exist” scene] so let your creativity take control and let yourself indulge in what makes you happy

cuppa queries; order in — ask responses

2025 © chaaistained

[pastafossa]

I NEED TO KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS ON OUR SAINT MATTHEW SAYING FUCK

WHEN I TELL YOU I FUCKING SCREAMED, THIS WAS THE PERFECT TIME FOR OUR SAINT MATTHEW TO FINALLY, FINALLY DROP THE F BOMB.

THREE SEASONS OF OG DD AND 1 OF DEFENDERS. 2 MCU SHOW CAMEOS. 1 MCU MOVIE CAMEO. THEY SLOW BURNED IT. UNTIL???

"Fuck it."

Me, howling loud enough to wake the neighbors: FUCK YES LET'S GOOOOOOOO

Going down as one of the top ten moments that made me SCREAM in the Daredevil series.

[terrimisu]

Just Bob

Prologue

Fandom: MCU | Thunderbolts (Sentry)

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader (Y/N), ensemble cast

Warnings: blood, mental health themes, soft horror, therapy avoidance, surveillance, implied addiction/relapse

Word Count: ~2.1k

⸻

Summary:

Bob says he’s fine. The team wants to believe him. But when strange malfunctions ripple through the Tower and therapy logs show silence instead of progress, Yelena begins to worry. As doubts grow, Valentina reaches out to someone from Bob’s past—someone who might be able to reach him before it’s too late.

Note: Y/N comes in the next chapter.

⸻

Bob was folding laundry—doing the minimal domestic tasks around the tower, as he had been for the last few months.

His eyes softened as he lifted a sheet fresh from the dryer. Ivory-colored. Still warm.

He held it to his nose, catching a whiff of the lavender dryer sheets he’d tossed in on autopilot.

A faint smile pulled at his lips. Then he moved to fold it, tucking the corners under his chin.

But something caught his eye.

A drop of crimson, clear as day, bloomed after the first fold.

He rubbed it with his thumb. It smeared instead—fresh.

His chest tightened.

Not again.

He brought a hand up to his nose.

Wet.

“A-Ah, shit…” he muttered, tossing the sheet into the dirty pile and stumbling toward the elevator.

“F—fuck,” he whispered, weaving down the hallway, head tilted back. The lights above flickered as he passed. Somewhere in the tower, the lab beeping repeated in uneven pulses—like a heartbeat, off-rhythm.

“So Amsterdam was—Bob?” Yelena’s voice cut off mid-sentence as she turned in time to see him stumble past, disappearing into a bathroom.

Bob stared at himself in the mirror. Blood trailed from his nostril, slow and steady. His hands shook as he washed his face and stuffed tissue into both nostrils.

His reflection blinked back at him. Eyes glowing.

Not gold—something colder. Too bright. Too awake.

He didn’t say anything. Just pressed his palms to the sink and lowered his head.

“Bob?” Yelena’s voice came from the doorway.

He didn’t turn. Just groaned as he wiped the rest of the blood from his face.

Yelena’s brow creased.

“Your nose have a period?”

“I—I think it’s stress,” he muttered, barely audible.

She looked at him through the mirror, unmoving.

“I’m fine,” he added, voice flat.

“Promise.”

⸻

The debriefing room sat in heavy silence. Each of them watching Valentina, who stood at the center console, arms crossed, jaw set.

Ava phased through the vault door, moving to sit beside Walker. His boots were propped up on the edge, eyes flicking to the monitor.

“There was another shift last night,” Valentina said, her voice clipped. She turned to the Tower’s power and energy readouts on the screen.

“Are we talking about—” Walker started.

“Bob,” the others said at once.

Valentina sighed as the feed updated. Everything in line—except for a few flagged anomalies: energy grid failure, containment center malfunction, water levels dropping.

Ava stood.

“The energy grid has shorted before. That wing’s overdue for recalibration.”

She moved closer, hands bracing the console.

“Doesn’t mean it has to be him.”

Valentina didn’t look up.

“What else could it be?”

Bucky stepped forward, tapping the console. A camera feed loaded, filling the screen with a hallway outside Bob’s dorm. Mostly quiet. Logs stacked over months.

Then: footage from last week.

Dark shapes blurred across the screen, unrecognizable.

“Is that static?” Ava asked, narrowing her eyes.

Bucky shook his head.

“Too clear.”

The feed cut. Switched to live.

Bob’s door stayed closed. But along the edge of the frame, something slithered into view—jet black, for half a second—then gone.

Bucky rewound, slowing the frame. A dark, humanoid shape. Crawling. Then smoke.

“Great. Ghosts. Just what we needed,” Walker muttered.

Yelena snapped her gaze to him.

“That’s not funny.”

Walker raised both arms, defensive.

“Just saying—it’s tense in here.”

Ava didn’t look away from the screen.

“Whatever it is, it’s not mechanical. The systems are fine.”

Valentina straightened, hands pressing against the console.

“If Bob’s instability grows, we’re not just risking another power surge. Think about what this place holds. Think about what the Void touched last time.”

Yelena stood, shaking her head.

“It can’t be him. He’s been doing therapy. I take him every week.”

Valentina’s stare sharpened.

“And? Have you ever seen him stay?”

Yelena blinked. Slowly. Her mouth parted, but no sound came.

Silence pressed in like static. Her thoughts flickered through—like skipping scenes from an old tape.

She saw herself walking him to the elevator. That morning last week. Bob chewing the inside of his lip. Then his nails. The way the elevator hummed and neither of them said much.

“Bob?” she’d asked, her voice low.

His hands had stilled. He looked at her—startled. Like he’d just remembered where he was. His eyes were the same blue as always.

Just… foggy.

“Y-Yeah?” he’d said.

“You okay?”

Elevator dinged.

“I’m fine,” he replied, walking out. Not glancing back.

She always let him go from there. Sometimes with a coffee. Or a Frappuccino if he looked tired. Something to hold while someone poked around in his head.

But she never watched him go all the way in.

Not once.

“I…” her voice cracked slightly.

“I just walk him in.”

Her face went tight. Her eyes darted toward nothing in particular, scanning for something invisible.

“What do we do?” she asked, looking between the team.

No one answered. The hum of the tower echoed again, louder this time. The lights flickered above them, faint but sharp.

Barnes broke the silence.

“So we don’t even know if he’s seeing anyone?”

Valentina shook her head.

“He goes. That’s logged. But he’s not staying long or really talking. Not anymore.”

She pulled up a series of screens. One feed, one list.

Therapy logs. Nearly a year’s worth. Notes filed under Bob’s sessions, paired with muted security footage from the tower’s clinic.

Ava squinted.

“Isn’t that—kind of an invasion of privacy?”

“No audio,” Valentina said.

“Cameras are for the psychiatrist. Bob’s case is… complicated.”

One file caught her attention. She opened it. Minimal notes:

Session cut short. Subject nonverbal.

She scrolled. Note after note. Jargon-heavy, terse. Scribbled handwriting. You could almost feel the psychiatrist’s frustration in how jagged the pen had moved.

Then: a blank screen. The last week had no entry.

“I can talk to him,” Yelena said quickly.

Alexei spoke up.

“What about missions?”

Valentina nodded once.

“He’s right. You’re still a critical asset. But this—this is something else. This is groundwork.”

She crossed her arms.

“It won’t be easy.”

Bucky leaned forward.

“So if therapy isn’t working—what’s next?”

Valentina hesitated. Then tapped into another file.

“I dug into his rehab history. North Carolina. In and out before Malaysia. One contact stood out.”

She pulled up a card.

Y/N.

“She was in treatment with him,” Valentina said.

“There were notes. Shared housing. Intake overlap.”

Yelena stared at the name.

“There’s something he’s not telling us,” Valentina continued.

“And if he’s not even telling you—”

She looked directly at Yelena.

“Then maybe this is the next best option.”

She paused, voice lowering.

“Because if we don’t get ahead of this, and the Void returns, we’re looking at a PR nightmare. Or worse.”

The team exchanged uneasy glances. Like they all knew she was right—but didn’t like what that meant.

Yelena’s stomach turned.

“Only if it helps Bob,” she said.

⸻

[TBC – Chapter 1 coming soon]

Taglist:

@werewolfgirl1995

@naushtheaspiringauthor

@sapphirest0nes

Taglist open. DM to be added.

A/N: This is my first in-depth fan fiction in about maybe 10 years — I’ve written others but dropped them due to writers block and workload. I’m open to feedback or suggestions!

This fic is also a deep dive into who Bob could have been pre-Malaysia. Talking about his struggles and recovery is just as important as his power.

Hope you guys stick around for more!

⸻

[kingofthewilderwest]

We need to start questioning the conflation of "maturity" with "increased stakes."

It's not to say higher stakes is always a bad choice. The first half of the How to Train Your Dragon book series has an endearingly whimsical, child-like feel. Hiccup's issues in the first half of book one are an obnoxious, cat-sized Toothless pooping in his helmet. The movie adaptation might have made the book and its counterpart distant cousins, but it was a thoughtful move to alter concepts to the appropriately theatrical: books and movies aren't the same medium. Hiccup riding alone on Toothless, exchanging fire blasts with a mountain-sized dragon, and losing his leg came off as well-done storytelling.

Hiccup staring at a prosthetic never happened in the book. He didn't lose his leg in his encounter with the Green Death. It was, as the creative powers behind the movie said, a result of the increased stakes. They didn't do this just to be more dramatic; they did it because it seemed that, based on how their narrative was going, this made sense. And this was a soft, quiet, shocking, breath-taking scene that instilled how good the movie handled its stakes. It gave us a reflective reaction to consequences that audiences might not have expected. This movie understood timing, pauses, quietness, narrative arc, poignance, reflection, emotion, love, and heart.

We know about the conflation of live action as "more mature" than animation. But a medium doesn't change maturity levels. We all know that's bogus, and many analyses have been given on that. Disney live actions add extraneous gunk, down to Gaston having a past relationship with war (so I've heard, from the people who actually watched the movie), and Disney giving us the sad scoop on why Belle's mom isn't around. Furthermore, lots of times, when I see the conversion of animation to live action, I notice creators feel a need to "raise the stakes" -- in line with the erroneous view of "giving maturity."

But "higher stakes" often means inserting action in place of mindful interaction. I feel today's Hollywood movies, in their treatment of "action," don't let movies pause and breathe anymore - ergo, they don't let us think. Isn't it more juvenile to actively avoid thought in favor of "hey look I made the building go boom"? There may be less "stakes" in introspection and mindful dialogue, but that's what gives it its maturity. That's how we went from Iron Man 1, with its grounded treatment of war and abuse, to the mindless high spectacle MCU is today.

Snappy one-liners or moments that clap at contemporary issues don't substitute for maturity. What can make a story mature is characters grappling with issues in a natural narrative through-line. A snappy one-liner is its own form of speedy spectacle.

We know about the conflation of "gore and sex" with "mature audiences." I believe they're right that graphic sex and gore is designed for adults. But that doesn't make it mature, and that doesn't make it the only way to target a medium for adults.

"Realisticness" isn't maturity. Per above regarding animation: realistic visuals are nothing. And if you think that putting more Debbie Downer material into your adaptation makes it more adult, you have to ask yourself why the themes that spoke to people's souls got muddled in its midst. We weren't mature enough to interact with the most subtle, nuanced, and impacting voice of the story. But hey! Look! There's more corpses, I guess!

It's not the visuals, it's not the events. It's not the "things." It's not the basic insertion of the external. Get past the superficial, get past the top layer of presentation. It's the mind. It's the ability to think. It's the ability to be still. It's the ability to be interested and attentive when something is slow or quotidian, because we can understand why that is important for narrative growth or arcs or themes or commentary on the human condition. It's the ability to know when and when not to include something. It's the ability to make resonant impact. It's the ability to be deep with your emotions or your themes. It's the ability to take what you have and grow it in a way by which we can derive something deeper.

Maturity is critical thought and well-conducted, appropriate responses to content of any kind.

As DeBlois tells Empire, the move to live-action brings a different emphasis to How To Train Your Dragon; a new heft, both physically and emotionally. “It’s so dialed-up in terms of stakes — having a fully credible, photo-real dragon stomping around trying to kill him,” the director says.

And maybe that DeBlois quote is taken out of context. Maybe there's more going on than that one sentence conveys. Maybe Empire is making their own erroneous assumptions. But "so dialed-up in terms of stakes," isn't, on its own, a good appeal. The animated movie already dialed things up - and knew when to include or not include something. A live-action that imitates the visuals of the animated movie exactly, as if no independent thought has been done to its unique adaptation, to the pros and cons of the medium, to what a independently-presented story needs and doesn't need... It has to make you wonder: how many conflations of "maturity" are going on?

How long are we going to keep making our own conflations?

[delicatebarness]

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑵𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝑴𝒆 𝑵𝒐𝒘? | 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑭𝒊𝒗𝒆𓂃🖊

Summary: There is one last stop Miss Stark must take before she leaves Washington, D.C.

Warnings: This series will be 18+, Minors DNI | MCU Spoilers | Thunderbolts* Spoilers | Implied Smut | Mentions of Greif | Mentions of Parent Death | Miss Stark's Survivor's Guilt

Word Count: 1838

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A/N: Cameo number two is in progress. I've been waiting to write this one ♡ . Remember, I have a praise kink; I need validation and attention to survive. Reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated. ♡

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Bucky’s Apartment—Washington, D.C.

About twenty, maybe thirty minutes had passed. You both lay in silence, your body sprawled half atop him. Skin to skin. Chest to chest. Your chin rested against him so you could look up at him, fingers tracing over the numbers of his dog tags. 

His fingers gently circled patterns over your bare shoulder and back. Over and over again. It was the softest he’d ever been with you. Especially tonight. 

“Can I ask you something?” You asked, keeping your voice hushed, soft, and delicate. Like the sound could break something. 

He didn’t pause his hand movements. Trailing his fingers up your neck, stroking through your hair. “Anything.” 

You swallowed. “What did she want?” 

The muscle in Bucky’s jaw tightened before he spoke. “She sounded scared,” he said finally. “She asked if I could track her phone.” 

You nodded. “Do you think she could be trying to lead you to evidence?” 

“She’ll never testify.” His thumb brushed over the shell of your ear. “Even if she agrees. It’s like she’s trying to leave breadcrumbs, in case she gets cold feet.” 

You stared at him for a moment. 

Then, you leaned up onto your knees slightly. Your hand sprawled across his chest, and his hand fell to your hip. His eyes met yours. You stayed quiet for a beat before leaning forward. Your hand slid further over his chest, over his heart, pressing your forehead to his. 

“Go.” 

His breath hitched. “What?” 

Your fingers trailed over your skin, up his neck until you cupped his jaw. “Track her phone. Follow Gretel. If she’s handing you the weapon that will take Valentina down… take the shot.” 

The way Bucky looked at you, it was like you just handed him something sacred. A lost belonging from his childhood.

His throat bobbed. “Are you sure?” 

You nodded. “I’m not mad at you, Bucky. I’m mad at myself, and my insecurities,” you gestured toward yourself. “But I’m not about to sit here and let them be the reason you don’t get her.” 

His pupils dilated as he stared at you—searching your eyes, your face. One of his hands rested at the nape of your neck, the other gripping your hip, keeping you steady as he sat up. He leaned in, kissing you. Slow. Soft.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he whispered, lips brushing against yours.

You place another gentle kiss on his lips before pulling back slightly, and smiling. “Go, Barnes. Before I change my mind.”

He smirked faintly, eyes flickering over your bare body before him. You grabbed the nearest pillow, whacking his arm with it. Bucky laughed, shaking his head as he stood, watching toward his wardrobe. 

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Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum—Washington, D.C.

The morning light filtered through the glass panes of the Smithsonian, long golden beams painting across polished floors and displays. You made it there just after opening—barely any tourists. There was only the quiet echo of gentle footsteps through the exhibit hall.

You stood in front of a familiar photograph mounted on the wall, in the center of the Captain America exhibit. Steve Rogers. Standing tall, his shield proudly raised to his chest like it didn’t carry the weight of multiple eras. That boyish grin was wide on his face.

You grew up with this photo—seeing it a hundred times used in news footage, history books, and Avengers files.

But now, it feels different. Standing there alone, in front of it, you couldn’t help but wonder what he would think of everything happening right now. How would he handle it?

You sighed a soft breath. 

Then, you felt it.

A presence behind you.

It wasn’t a tourist, simply admiring the same sharp jaw. Or, a tour guide. No, it was quiet and familiar. 

You scoffed and refused to turn. You didn’t need to.

“How did you know I’d be here?” you asked, gaze still fixed on the photo of Steve.

A pause. 

“I heard you were in the city,” the warm, grounded voice said. “And I guessed you’d come at some point.” 

You turned, and he was there. Casual jacket over his shoulders, dark jeans with his hands tucked into the pockets. He looked at you the way someone would an old friend they hadn’t seen since childhood. 

It had been less than three months.

You offered him a small smile before turning back to the exhibit. “Nice guess, Flight Risk.” 

Sam stepped beside you, glancing at Steve’s photo. A silence settled between you for a beat.

“I miss him,” you said quietly, barely above a whisper. 

“Me too, kid.” 

You folded your arms across your chest, shifting your weight. “It’s weird. I always come here, and think… I don’t know. I think it’s going to bring me some sort of peace. But, it just makes it louder, heavier.”

“That was Steve,” Sam said. “He always knew how to make silence feel important.” 

You swallowed the lump that began to form in your throat. “He’d hate to see how things were now.” 

“Probably,” he nodded. “He’d still be out here, doing whatever he could—”

“Even if it broke him,” you continued. 

Soft ambient music piped through the museum, you let out a shaky breath, recognising the slow melody in an instant. Memories of the night before flashing in your mind. Until, the distant voice of a docent ushering a family down the hall broke your thought.

“You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about family lately,” Sam said, your head whipping up to look at him. “Not blood, Kid,” he clarified. “The kind the Avengers were, the kind you build.” 

You stared ahead, expression unreadable. “The Avengers weren’t a family. You were co-workers at best, Sam.” 

Sam furrowed his brow, raising a hand to his heart. “Ouch.” 

“It’s true,” you replied, a lack of sorrow in your voice, tone sharper than you intended. “Steve tried, my dad tried, and for a minute it worked. But it was never real. And then, everything came crashing down.” You inhaled sharply through your nose, closing your eyes. “When the dust began to settle, we didn’t show up for each other.” 

He let your words hang in the air. 

“Fewer people would've died if we-the Avengers-were actually what we claimed to be.” 

“Kid—” 

“She-She was my only f-friend, Sam,” you interrupted, your voice breaking the words. “She was grieving. And I did—I did nothing. I let her spiral. The world called her a monster, and I. Let. Them. I didn’t try—”

“You were grieving too, Kid,” Sam gently said, like he was being careful with his words. “You lost Vision, too. You lost Natasha, too. You lost your dad. And where was she?”

You didn’t answer. 

His voice lowered, turning to face you fully. “She made her choices. You made yours. Unfortunately, you both made awful ones—hers being to imprison a town full of civilians, and yours being crawling into bed with a hundred-year-old ex-assassin who murdered your grandparents.”  

Your jaw tightened. “Jesus, Sam—wait, you know?” 

He held up his hand. “Not judging. Grief makes us do crazy things—you just took that literally.” He paused, leaving room for a sarcastic Stark comment. It never came. “You don’t have to pretend like you didn’t break either.” 

You nodded, looking back up at Steve. “He wouldn’t even recognise me now.” 

Sam turned again, studying the photograph in front of you. “He’d recognise the parts that matter. The rest—your anger, the mistakes—he’d understand. So would Tony.”

You scoffed under your breath.

“He would. The number of times he broke something trying to fix something else?”

A beat passed.

Then, your phone buzzed in your coat pocket.

You blinked hard. One hand reached inside your pocket, the other wiping under your nose. 

Sam saw your expression shift as you glanced down, swiping a thumb across the screen. “What is it?” 

Your stomach dropped.

ARMED AND DANGEROUS: I need you now. 

You didn’t answer right away.

Just locked your screen and looked up at Sam.

“I have to go,” you said, your voice steadier now.

He didn’t stop you. Just gave you a nod. “You know where to find me.” 

“Thanks, Cap,” you said quietly.

You turned on your heel, boots echoing as you walked away. But you felt a pull. Turning back, you gave Steve one last glance. 

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Remember, I have a praise kink; I need validation and attention to survive. Reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated. ♡

[swanimagines]

MCU: Imagine Thor and Loki both falling in love with you, a stable girl in Asgard who looks after their horses.

requested by anon

Note: nowadays all requests are done straight to asks, this is my old template of posting and I no longer have their asks!

Note 2: Please remember that this is the closest to poly relationships I'm comfortable to go, I know this isn't actually poly but it's still a romantic-ish fic where two men are in love with you, even when it's left ambigious whether you feel the same way for either of them.

Note 3: I used a Valkyrie name generator for the horse names (except for Sleipnir, which is the actual horse of Odin), as it was the only one with old Norse names that sound mythical.

TWO PRINCES AND A STABLEGIRL

When you were first assigned to look after the horses of Asgard’s elite, nobody really expected anything truly special. But you ended up proving yourself and more, quickly becoming known as a natural horse whisperer, even getting Sleipnir to calm down, lean to your touch, trust you. It was near a miracle really, and you were truly a gift to the stables.

And, you managed to catch the attention of the two princes of Asgard, without even trying or catching on at first why they suddenly started to come to the stables so much more often, competing for your attention.

“Good morning, my fair stablemaid,” Thor’s voice broke the silence, and you glanced at him with a soft smile. “May I help you today with one of your tasks?”

Before you could answer, Loki snorted from behind him. “Oh, by the Nine, that flirt was painful to hear.”

Thor’s cheeks turned pink. “I didn’t try to flirt, I was being a gentleman,” he growled and nodded. “Loki.”

Loki clicked his tongue. “Brother,” he greeted with a slight scowl, and bowed to you slightly, his scowl turning into a smile, a charming one — at least in his mind. “You really would earn a title in the palace, rather than here, surrounded by manure.”

You just continued brushing Frialna without answering, you knew what answering would lead to and you did not have patience for that. You could upkeep a discussion with one of them, but trying to participate in a conversation with them both would be a doomed mission.

“She’s taken the role of Goddess of Silent Treatment again,” Loki sighed dramatically.

Thor scoffed. “She has no time to listen to your silver-tongued nonsense.”

Loki glared at him. “Nor she has time for your bull-headed courtship either. You behave like an ox in a rut.”

You still remained quiet, moving to pick up a feed sack.

“Tell me,” Loki started, taking a step towards you. “Do you prefer stallions or fools who pretend to be stallions?”

“I am right here,” Thor muttered.

Loki snorted. “I know, everyone does within five miles around us.”

“I came here to help her,” Thor retorted, stepping next to Loki again. “And you came here to distract her and slowing her down.”

Loki laughed. “You came to help? No, you came here like a rooster with all of his feathers puffed out, trying to look big and intimidating with your muscles.”

“I did not—”

“Cut it off!” you suddenly interrupted them, your voice booming around the stable yard. “You’re making the horses nervous. If you want to bicker about me, you can go do it somewhere else. Royal gardens are a good place at least, right that way. Or, you can help me and let out that steam you clearly have bottled up. There’s plenty of stalls needing shovelling manure and change of fresh hay, I will deal with the horses themselves.”

Loki looked disgusted at the idea, while Thor looked a little too into it and exclaimed, “I will do all the heavy lifting for you, my lady.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “Fine. But I draw the line on muck.”

You didn’t look at them when you laid the feed sack down. “Nope, you will sign up to all of it or none of it.”

Loki muttered something under his breath, but you heard the creak of the pitchfork being picked up from the rack.

Thor leaned towards his brother with a smirk. “She likes me more.”

“She told you to shut up.”

“She told you to shut up.”

“I wasn’t called an ox in a rut.”

“I— that was your line, not hers!”

You sighed loudly, making them both freeze and turn to you. “The stalls won’t clean themselves. Chop chop, or you get a one-way ticket to royal gardens.”

“Yes, my lady,” they both said in unison, and disappeared into two different stalls.

Peace. For a moment, at least.

But then Loki muttered, “I’d say she likes me more.”

Thor grumbled. “If you won’t shut up, I will throw you head first into that muck you’re so disgusted about.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t hold back a small smile anyway and let yourself feel your ears secretly burning. Not every Asgardian girl could say she had both of Odin’s sons head over heels herself.

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