#classic avengers fic

[k-she-rambles]

Have an outline for a fic I may never write:

some background: the year is 2012, and everything is Avengers. People still write these (❤️ u), but it's the golden age of avengers tower fics. Everyone is friends in messy dramatic ways, overpowered oc's abound and it's fabulous.

This is also the golden age of Loki drama. It started with Thor, but ramped up with Avengers. The discourse was usually "Loki is entirely Evil mcEvil" vs "Loki is my perfect shmoopy-poo, and Thor is a Murderous Meanie"

I'd settled (& found others too) on "Loki DEFINITELY killed people but he was also obviously under duress." I'd recently read some early Diana Wynn Jones (Dogsbody and Eight Days of Luke), I was listening to a lot of Florence and the Machine (Heartlines) and somehow all of that blended to create...this tropey monstrosity. I just didn't have the skill to sit down and bang it out, and I still don't really

(tw for...well Loki's mental state at the end of Thor did not exactly get better by Avengers.)

This is part one|

We start out directly after Avengers, with Thor bringing Loki home to Asgard to face judgement.

Imagine Loki, before the dias in the throne room of the palace of Asgard. It's fall, there is an occasional chill breeze.

Odin, Frigga, and Thor are on the dias above him. The rest of the court behind him. Loki himself in chains.

Odin has described the charges against Loki, and has asked, each time, if Loki had anything to say.

Each time, Loki has remained silent.

He has nothing to say for himself. He's not sorry for trying to conquer Earth. Thanos is coming for them all, and they don't deserve a warning.

In the jumble of grief over losing the approval of the man he once called his father (if he ever had it in the first place), his madness inducing fall through multidimensional space, capture and manipulation by Thanos, and use of an infinity stone, his "crimes" are small potatoes to him. He can't muster the energy to care.

Finally, Odin asks if there is anyone willing to speak in Loki's defense, or on his behalf in regards to his character or extenuating circumstances.

Thor, grief stricken and angry, looks away.

But from the crowd, someone does volunteer: Baldur. Not the wet blanket of the comics, but the closest thing Asgard has to a real lawyer, and someone who grew up with Loki. They have similar fighting styles, and spent a lot of time together as kids.

We get an inside look at Loki's head and discover that this (for reasons that will be revealed later) is, in Loki's opinion, the WORST turn of events. Loki despises Baldur. Baldur obviously does not share Loki's antipathy, and Loki hates him even more because he should.

Despite Loki being uncooperative, Baldur and Frigga argue for leniency.

The closest Loki comes to breaking his silence is when Frigga kneels before Odin to beg for her son's life.

It's granted. Loki is free within the realm of Asgard, but his magic is dampened by what's basically a magic handcuff.

And, because he refused to speak at his trial, he is forbidden by magic to speak within the realm of Asgard.

After this opening, we get into Loki's new life. He's shiftless, depressed, and doesn't want to be here.

He stays in his rooms for the most part. Frigga visits. Thor does not.

Eventually Loki's habits of wanting to get into everything slowly resurface. He's persona non grata in the court. People don't trust him, and mostly ignore him. The exception is Hodur, Baldur's brother, who really does hate Loki, and makes Loki's life miserable whenever possible.

It's not like Loki can say anything.

There is some recovery as Loki goes back to something he used to do as a boy --helping in the stables.

It's hard work that he's no longer used to. And the enchantments binding his words and his magic are affecting his health: he gets dizzy sometimes. A tremor in his hands.

It is a reason to haul himself out of bed at the same time every day.

It is a long winter caring for the horses. One of the mares has a difficult pregnancy, but under Loki's care, Ashes and Ember are born healthy, and spring comes.

Slowly, in small ways, Loki and the Warriors Three make amends, mostly through visits to the stables.

Loki and Thor's old friend and tutor Amora the Enchantress visits. She asks some very interesting questions about Loki's magic handcuffs. Namely, WTF --they are, apparently, pretty overkill --but also, eventually, about Loki's health.

Loki hasn't put much thought into it because his mental health has improved tremendously by not being in Thanos' direct thrall + regular work + a dose of silence being good medicine, but over spring, as people who were once prince Loki's friends become familiar with Loki the very good groom, it gets confirmed: he looks like shit. Is he sick?

It's not the handcuffs --they're only designed to suppress the wearer's magic. He could probably still shape-shift, Amora explains, but that wouldn't affect the cuffs.

Loki gives her a look. He never could shape-shift anyway.

Shape-shifting requires you to pass through your true shape each time, Amora explains. Loki the Asgardian can't shape shift. He already is shapeshifted. Loki the Jotunn could.

Loki's not too keen on this, to put it mildly. His head may be clearer but he still harbors a deep self hatred for being Jotunn. He was raised Asgardian, and the Aesir consider the Jotunn lesser at best, savage monsters at worst. Every day Loki lives he lives a lie, and it's not one of his choosing.

The symptoms Loki displays look more like...well they look like a blood curse of some kind, but that can't be right because if it's a blood curse it's older than Loki is and...blocked somehow, as if someone else is suffering part of it, or part of it has already been fulfilled.

Meanwhile, Thor is sick with guilt over having turned away from Loki --symbolically giving up on him during the trial. Especially now that he sees, from a distance, Loki's progress.

It drives home once again how thoughtless and self centered Thor has been over the ages, that it was Thor himself who was, directly and indirectly, telling Loki that his only value came from being prince and heir, that Loki the person wasn’t worth anything. So that when Loki realized he would inherit nothing and that he wasn't a prince of Asgard he lost his sense of self, and started scrabbling for things to make him worthy...much like Thor himself had

Sometime in this time, Thor finally puts together something that he noticed but didn't comprehend during Loki's trial: Baldur carries Mistilteinn.

When Mjolnir was made, a companion weapon was made for Loki: Mistilteinn, a dagger as well suited for Loki as Mjolnir was for Thor. Only Thor received a ceremony, but he'd never really noticed that Loki didn't carry the princely weapon he deserved. How did Baldur have it?

When Thor goes to find out, he catches Hodur harassing Loki. It's escalated, and Thor intervenes, bodily dragging Loki to the healers afterwards.

Why didn't he say anything? Thor wants to know.

Loki only gives him an ironic look. It's not like Loki could have. It's not like Thor would have cared.

Thor does. At one time it was Loki who rejected Thor. But what recent evidence does Loki have that Thor wouldn't reject him?

This is also where Thor realizes that Loki was acting under threat of torture just as much as willingly conquering Earth. Those burn marks weren't there before.

The story of Mistilteinn is this: the drinking at the ceremony celebrating Thor as crown prince got a little out of hand. Loki, pleased for Thor but still struggling with resentment and the blow at being...pretty much ignored even though part of the royal family, had reacted badly when his childhood companion Baldur had thought to console him.

Baldur asked for Mistilteinn, the weapon that had almost killed him, instead of publicly humiliating his friend, and never revealed what happened except to Odin and to his brother, who found him injured, alone, with Loki nowhere to be found. Loki took this as in deference to Thor's special day, and deeply resented it. Hodur held a grudge for Loki almost killing his brother.

Loki has a vision and comes to realize that Thanos can and probably will track him down for his failures, realizes that he does in fact care if Asgard gets flattened, shapeshifts into his Jotunn form and leaves Asgard for Jotunheim.

Loki reveals that the spell keeping him silent has worn off by whispering a goodbye before he slips through a gate in the world-tree's branches

Baldur reveals that he enchanted Mistilteinn in much the same way Mjolnir was: if Loki should voluntary bear the consequences of harm that he caused another and make amends, the dagger will return to it's rightful owner.

[silverdragonreads]

Chapters: 13/13 Fandom: Marvel 616 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark Characters: Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Sharon Carter (Marvel), James "Bucky" Barnes, Peter Parker Additional Tags: Fix-It, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Civil War (Marvel) Series: Part 1 of Resurrection-verse Summary:

Doom brings Steve back from the dead. Hijinks ensue, some of which might vaugely be considered plot.

[antidotetogo]

Searched your blog for “Stucky” after I read the a/n of the when the lights go out epilogue. You said “Hmm something poetic about how I got into Stucky after Larry because I read a Larry fic that was inspired by Captain America” what was the fic? :o

The way I still know exactly what fic it was off the top of my head... but it was Dead of July

[humofnight]

tbh good Star Trek fusions/setting AUs are my lifeblood the way I am GIDDY rn finding one I MISSED and it’s SO GOOD

[raven-dor]

tell me you love me

in which bucky barnes is told some startling news on the phone…

PAIRING: bucky barnes x reader, bucky barnes x avenger!reader

WARNINGS: miscommunication, nosy roommates, sass, sam wilson teasing peter parker, fluff ending

WORD COUNT: 2.6k

🎶 : two hands - tate mcrae

AN: literally one of my favorite fics i've ever written!! also, this is a Avengers live in the tower AU, no civil war ever occurred, so yay!! ALSO - let me know if you want to be on my taglist!! i'd love to have you!!

It had been out of nowhere. You hadn’t even realized the gravity of the situation until you were met with silence from the other line. 

“What’s for dinner?” His gruff voice had shivers running down your spine.

“I don’t know.” You hummed, the phone tucked between your shoulder and ear as you walked down the grocery store aisles. “What are you craving?” 

“Burgers?” It was more of a question, he was waiting for you to confirm you were also craving said meal. He always did this, waiting for you to decide before he made his decision. It was not missed by you that earlier that week, you’d talked about how badly you craved a classic cheeseburger.

You laughed, the others in the aisle giving you annoyed looks, not that you minded. “You’re not as subtle as you think you are, Barnes.” 

“Oh?” You could tell he was holding back laughter. “You would think after all that time in HYRDA...” 

“Bucky!” You yelled, this time noticing the looks your fellow shoppers gave you. Whispering, you chuckled to yourself. “Don’t joke about that.” 

“Why not?” He was most certainly frowning. 

“If that’s how you want to cope…” You trailed off, looking at the price tag on the buns, eyes widening at the amount and quickly setting them back down. “You sleep well?” 

“Next to you? Always.” He sounded spirited, much more spirited than he’d been when you left him to go shopping. Good, you told yourself, he was too often found brooding alone, it was nice to hear him so… so mischievous. “You know I do, Doll.” 

Your cheeks felt like they were on fire, biting your bottom lip to keep from grinning too widely. “I know. Just wanted to hear you say it.” 

Grabbing the meat from the deli counter, you walked toward the checkout, frowning when you saw that the self-checkout kiosks were out of order. “Babe?” 

He hummed. 

“I’m gonna have to let you go, okay? The kiosks are out of order.” 

He groaned. “Again?”

You nodded as if he could see you. “Unfortunately.” 

“I’ll see you soon, then.” 

“See you soon. I love you.” The peace before the realization had been fleeting, reality hitting you like a truck. Almost instantly, your heart flipped, and your eyes widened.

Bucky had been dead silent, and you secretly hoped your voice had cut out, that the service had saved you, and he hadn’t heard it. 

Not that you didn’t mean it. You’d loved him for longer than you cared to admit, but with his past, you hadn’t wanted to rush anything. You didn’t want him to feel forced. Like right now.

“Buck?” You whispered, eyes welling at his lack of response. “Are you there?” Again, no response. You pushed the red button, hands shaking as the call disconnected.

Shit. 

Which led you to now, racing home without the food you’d promised. When the team had decided to all live in the tower together, they made a pact. If you asked anyone else, it had been more of a forced pact, thanks to Steve. 

Each Avenger would make dinner, alternating every night. Today had been your day, and now not only were you coming home empty-handed, but you were also planning to drop off the face of the Earth, which completely defeated the purpose of your job and its responsibilities. 

It was a wonder, you told yourself as you waited for the elevator doors to open, that Bucky hadn’t been there to meet you in the lobby, waiting for an explanation. Or worse, disgust on his perfect face. 

You kept your head down as you landed on the top floor, all but running to your room. Slamming the door behind you, you ordered Friday to bar everyone from entering.

The computer system spoke back, voice as posh as ever. “Does that include Mr. Barnes?” 

“Yes.” You huffed, heart thumping. “Especially Mr. Barnes.” 

“Has something happened?”

“You could say that.” Checking under your bed, the balcony, the closet, and the bathroom, a sigh of relief left you knowing that Bucky wasn’t already there, hiding.

Everything had been perfect, up until your slip. He asked to take it slow, mainly due to ‘not wanting to disrupt the team dynamic.’ You’d understood, and you’d also understood that he had another reason, one that he wouldn’t speak aloud, but that you both knew. 

He wanted to take it slow and slow did not contain saying ‘I love you’ four months after you started dating. 

A knock rang through your room, breaking you from your thoughts. Looking at the door with fear pumping through your veins, you waited for him to speak. 

“Y/N?” 

You’d almost sighed with relief. Almost. “Yeah?” 

“What’d you end up getting for dinner?” Nat called out. “Wilson’s asking.” 

“I-” Grabbing your wallet, you slid your credit card under the door. “Order whatever you want.” 

“Okay.” Nat sounded curious. “So, what happened?” 

“Why- why would you ask that?” 

“Other than the fact you won’t show your face, and Friday is barricading me from entering?” The super-spy sounded fed up. “What did he do?” 

“He?” Your voice was a mere squeak. 

“Yes, he. Everyone knows you two are dating, don’t act so surprised. It’s my job to know these sorts of things.” 

You glared at the door. “That’s not at all your job, Natasha.” 

“What’s going on?” 

You groaned, shoving your face into your pillow. At this point, the whole team would know your business by dinner. “Go away, Wanda.” 

“What’s happened?” The Sokovian whispered.

“Barnes did something,” Nat muttered. “Won’t say what exactly, but-” 

“Nat!” You yelled, lifting your head. “I can hear you, you know.” 

“Let us in, Y/N.” Wanda sounded as if she was frowning. “What did he do that was so bad-” 

“It wasn’t him.” You sighed. “It- it was me.” 

“What happened?” Wanda’s voice was gentle. “You can tell us.” 

“I really can’t.” You whined. “One second.” Grabbing a piece of paper from your desk, you scribbled down the infamous three words, slipping it under the door. “Shit, Y/L/N. Isn’t that a little soon?” 

Your eyes widened. “What the hell, you two? Why is Sam there?” 

Wanda sounded deeply apologetic. “It’s not just Sam.” 

“I’m here too.” Peter squeaked. 

“Me too.” Tony’s voice sounded much too entertained, and you glared at the door.

“Yeah!” Clint sounded suspiciously high like he was in the vents again. You reminded yourself to reprimand him when the dust cleared. 

“Y/N! Why are you hiding in your room?” Thor’s thunderous voice rang clear over the rest of the supposed crowd that had formed. 

“Thor.” Bruce sounded extremely annoyed. “We’re inside, you don’t need to shout.” 

“Yeah, what the green guy said.” Rhodey’s voice echoed. 

“Go away!” You yelled, sitting against the door. “I-” 

“What’s going on here?” Steve’s voice sounded distant, like he was walking down the hall. You squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for him to do what everyone else had done. 

But it never came. 

“Have any of you seen Buck? Last time I saw him, he was on the phone. Haven’t seen him since.” 

You were certain Nat and Tony were smirking. “Why don’t you ask Y/N.” 

“Why? Are they together?” 

Tony sounded like he was holding back tears, not from sadness, but from laughter. “After this? Questionable.” 

“Tony!” You yelled, smacking the door. “Shut up!” 

“Give me that.” Getting off the floor, you looked through the peephole, watching in horror as he read the paper. “Break it up, all of you.” Protests broke out, all of them yelling at Steve. “We’re not talking about this any longer. It’s not our business.” 

“C’mon-” 

Steve glared at the billionaire, and he instantly shut up. “Tony.” 

He raised his hands in defeat. “Fine, fine. What’s for dinner then?” 

“Whatever you want.” You yelled out. “Just use my card.”

Tony shook his head. “After the day you’ve had, it’s my treat.” 

You nodded, a faint smile gracing your lips. “Just leave the food at my door when it gets here.” 

“No.” Steve’s hands were on his hips, and you could see Peter and Wanda holding back laughter. He looked like a concerned father. “You will leave your room and have dinner with the rest of us.” 

“Yeah, Y/N.” Tony echoed, not even trying to hide his laughter. “C’mon out.” 

“Steve, please.” You begged. “I can’t see him right now.” 

��He’s not even here, дорогой (sweetheart),” Wanda yelled out. “Please come out, we’re worried about you.” 

“I am not leaving.” You shook your head. “You can’t make me.” 

The dinner table was quiet, the entirety of the Avengers (minus Bucky) staring at you with utter fascination. Well, more like a mix of pity, worry, and fascination. 

Peter cleared his throat, smiling kindly. “Don’t worry, Y/N. I did the same thing, and it all turned out fine.” 

That brought you some inkling of hope. “Really?” 

The teenager nodded. “She was very nice about it. We’re still friends.” 

Your face fell, dropping your head into your hands. The table erupted with laughter, and Peter’s cheeks grew bright red in record time. 

“Not exactly the smartest thing you could’ve said there, kid.” Tony snickered.

“Ease up, Tony,” Steve interjected. “He’s trying, unlike all of you.” 

“He meant well.” Vision finally spoke, much to everyone’s surprise. “There was no malice in his tone.” 

Clint smirked. “Yeah, Y/N. No malice. Does that bring you comfort?”

You raised your right hand, flipping him off.  

Sam shook his head. “I just want to eat, man. Eat, and see Bucky’s reaction.” 

Sitting up, you glared at the Falcon. “You’re excited for my demise, you psychopath.” 

“Not exactly.” 

“What’s-” The table turned around, dead silent as they stared at the Winter Soldier, who looked perfectly fine, content even. He stood in front of them with a bright smile, food in hand. “What’s going on?” 

“What’s going on?” Tony raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you tell us?” You wished your superpower was invisibility. Unfortunately, it was not, so you opted for sinking further into your seat. “Nothing happened recently you want to share?” 

His smile fell. “No?”

Sam groaned, standing up and pulling the food from the super soldier’s hands. “Please. I’m starving.” 

Nat laughed. “I thought you wanted to see his reaction.” 

“Reaction?” Bucky sounded confused. “Reaction to what, exactly?” 

Thor was the final push. “I love you!” 

“I love you too?” Bucky sat down, eyes brightening when he met yours. You quickly stared at your hands, which were placed in tight balls in your lap. 

“Not me. Y/N. The words Y/N-” 

Clint slapped a hand over Thor’s mouth, glaring. “That’s enough out of you, big guy.” 

“What?” Bucky tilted his head, staring at you, with what seemed to be a glimpse of hope in his gaze. “When did you-” 

“On the phone?” Nat interjected. “You were on the phone, and Y/N said-” 

“Nat.” You hissed. “Stop, please.” 

“Y/N?” Bucky looked at you. “What’s going on?” 

So the phone had cut out. The phone had cut out, meaning if you had just kept your big mouth shut, everything would have been fine. 

And if Thor hadn’t opened his mouth, maybe you could have made it out with your dignity. “Nothing, James.” Reaching out, you grabbed your order from the pile, the rest of the Avengers following suit. Bucky stayed still, staring at you intently. 

You tried to focus on your dinner, on the conversation that started after, but every time you looked up, he was staring at you with his ice-blue eyes. “Doll?” The table quieted, staring at the pair. “Can we talk?” 

You swallowed the food that you’d been chewing, nodding slowly. You felt like you were being marched to your death as you followed him out of the dining room. Sparing one last look at the dinner table, Wanda and Peter gave you a half-hearted thumbs up. 

The hall was dim, Bucky’s eyes bore into your soul as he waited for an explanation. “Tell me what happened.” 

“Nothing-” You grew small when he sighed, crossing his arms. “It’s really not that big of a deal.” 

“Yeah?” He smirked, but you could tell he was panicking. You told each other everything, you were sure he was breaking a sweat from your lack of transparency. “Then tell me.” You stayed silent, and he took a step forward, practically backing you up against the wall. “Please, Doll.” 

You were sure this was a nightmare. A horrible horrible nightmare. “We were on the phone… and I um… I may or may not have said that I love you.” He did not react, continuing to stare at you. That’d made you even more nervous, and you began to ramble as a result. “And you didn’t reply, so I panicked, and then I hung up. I came home and hid in my room and then everyone found out and then I found out you didn’t even hear it, and-” You took a shallow breath. “I don’t want you to feel rushed or forced because I want you to feel comfortable, because I really do-” You stopped, looking up at him hesitantly. “I really do love you.” He was fully grinning now, and you frowned. “Are you about to laugh at me?” 

He shook his head placing his hand on the wall above you as he leaned down. “No.” 

“No?” You scoffed, ignoring the way his eyes had darkened. “You’re smirking, and I’m being vulnerable and you’re- you-” You huffed, walking away from him. “Maybe we should just-” Escape had almost been achieved when his metal hand wrapped around your wrist, spinning you around. “Stop.” You felt trapped in a spell, a horrifyingly beautiful spell. He stared at you so intensely that your knees buckled. “Buck-” 

He was still grinning. “I love you too.” 

“I-” You smiled. “You do?” 

“C’mon Doll.” He teased, brushing his nose against yours as he reached for your lips. “Of course I do.”

“Yeah?” You whispered, still not believing this was real life. “You-” His lips were rushed; like he needed to kiss you to live. Placing his other arm around your waist, he pulled you impossibly close, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. He could have gone on kissing you senseless for hours, but you pulled away, gasping for air. “Buck-” 

“You are so considerate, too considerate even.” He whispered. “I did want to take things slow, you’re right.” 

You nodded. “If you-” 

“Did I-” He kissed you before you could finish your sentence. “Or did I not,” He kissed you so gently, so longingly. “Just tell you that I love you too?” 

You were positively weak in the knees. “You did.” 

“I did want to take things slow, but you…” He almost growled. “You happened.” 

“Oh?” You were grinning now, actually grinning. “I’m assuming I happened in a good way.” 

“In a perfect way.” He corrected, pushing a hair out of your face and tucking it behind your ear. “You’re too good for me, Doll. Don’t deserve you.” 

“I don’t know, Barnes.” You shook your head, kissing the corner of his mouth so lightly he could have sworn it never happened. “You’re pretty swell.” 

He rolled his eyes, pushing you away teasingly. “Never mind then.” 

You gasped, stalking back into the dining room, the Avengers observing from the safe distance the table provided. “In that case-” 

His hand wrapped around your wrist once more, pulling your lips to his instantly. Wolf whistles erupted, all of them laughing at the couple in front of them. Your hands rested on his chest, smiling as he pulled away, lips still touching. “Did you really have to do that?” 

He shrugged. “Just wanted another reason to kiss you.” 

“So sappy.” You teased. “What a charmer you are.” 

“Well,” He leaned toward your ear, whispering. “I aim to please.” 

“Break it up!” Sam yelled, mouth full of food. “I’m trying to eat here. Plus…” He pointed to Peter, laughing. “There’s kids present.” 

“I’m eighteen, Sam.” 

“Still a kid, Parker.” 

taglist:

[ramp-it-up]

Sweet Fantasy

Summary: You meet one of the "Big Three" at NY Fantasy Con. As Crewman Number Six, you should know how this will end. But you don't.

Word count: 5 K

Pairing: CATWS Bucky x Reader

A/N: This is a inspired by @avengers-assemble-bingo. #KinkyBingo. This fulfills the square: Praises. This is also part of @yenzys-lucky-charm Cranky, Grabby, Stabby, Oh My Challenge. Prompt: “Shut up and take your pants off.” This fic spiraled out of control and I-- well I needed a shower. And so do Bucky and Reader. If you haven't seen Galaxy Quest, well you really should. 😬 Please reblog, comment, and like!

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. All mistakes my own. Smut! Cosplay. Conventions, lots of LOTR and Galaxy Quest jokes, Grumpy Bucky in disguise, flirting, teasing, use of "old man," "Soldier" kink, a teeny tiny glimpse of subby Bucky if you squint (let me know if you see it), then he turns dominant and feral, praise kink, bulge kink, marathon man Bucky, intense sex, overstimulation, raw p in v, copious amounts of cum, possessive Bucky, begging. This is plot with porn at the end.

I do not have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

------

You decided to go to New York Fantasy Con alone. New city, new start, and the perfect place to meet fellow nerds who shared your love for all things sci-fi and fantasy.

You weren’t looking for anything more than a fun day of geeking out, debating space battles, and admiring top-tier cosplay.

One moment, you were adjusting your belt as Crewman Number Six, your uniform pristine, your perpetually wary I-know-exactly-how-this-ends expression firmly in place, and the next, you were nearly toppling over a very solid, very well-dressed Gandalf.

——

The day was filled with the unexpected.

The con was the perfect place to disappear, everyone in costume, no one staring, no one whispering. He was just another guy in robes and a fake beard.

Who’d walked in feeling lighter than he had in months.

And then you barreled into his life. Literally.

His staff clattered to the floor as he reached out with lighting fast reflexes, strong hands gripping your arms to steady you.

“My apologies,” he said, fully in character, though amusement danced behind the accent.

“I should know better than to block the path of a brave and noble…” His sharp blue eyes flicked over your uniform. “…expendable crew member?”

Galaxy Quest. Classic. His favorite.

“I prefer unsung hero, but sure.”

Your quick wit made him grin, and then you laughed a warm and genuine laugh. Something about the sound made him feel warm inside.

From there, it was easy. You two clicked. Effortlessly. 

Hours passed in a blur of banter, debates, and sly glances. You argued about the physics of warp drive, whispered snark about questionable cosplay choices, and shared his soft pretzel without hesitation,even if he definitely hadn’t offered it at first. 

Gandalf, as it turned out, was oddly possessive of his snacks. But once you stole the first piece, he started handing them over willingly, eyes on you every time you took a bite.

He just couldn’t stop staring because you were stunning, and not just in the obvious way. 

It was the way you moved,like you belonged there. Like you knew exactly who you were and weren’t afraid to take up space. 

And in way your uniform hugged your body, tailored just right to fit every curve, walking the line between adorable and dangerously distracting.

He was stupidly attracted to you. Cosplay or not.

You in that uniform, beaming and fearless, practically walking through the con so unassuming yet confident?

Yeah, that was doing things to him.

He noticed the way your eyes flicked toward him when you thought he wasn’t looking. And also the way your smile deepened when you caught him watching. The way you leaned in a little closer every time he spoke was magnetic. 

You were flirting. Hard.

And he liked it. Too much.

And that was the problem.

Because you didn’t know who he was.

You thought he was just some guy in a good Gandalf cosplay. You were flirting with that guy. Not Bucky Barnes.

Not the name, or the past, or the weight that came with it.

He should’ve kept his distance.

But he didn’t.

And on your side?

You had no idea what this man looked like.

Tall, yes.

Broad, clearly.

That voice, a warm tenor, and with a hint of rasp, was borderline unfair.

And those eyes. Icy blue, too intelligent to be just cosplay.

But still. Long grey beard. Hat. Layers of wizard robes. His entire being was a mystery.

And yet you were attracted to him. Nonsensically so.

When the crowd got thick, he let his hand find the small of your back and guided you through. 

He could’ve let go when the aisle cleared, but he didn’t. Not right away. Not when you felt that warm and solid against him. Not when his brain was full of you and your goddamn perfect laugh.

The electricity was ridiculous.

And maybe you let yourself lean back into his touch just a little.

You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal. You flirted all the time, right? It didn’t mean anything.

Except you wanted it to mean something. The connection felt too easy. Too real. And that scared you more than the mystery.

Who was this guy?

You didn’t know his name, didn’t know what he looked like under the layers, and still… you were into him.

Really into him.

Which was why, when the con ended and you stepped out into the fading light of Manhattan, neither of you were ready for it to be over.

“Well, Gandalf,” you teased, “it’s been fun. Remember: Never Give Up, Never Surrender!”

He let out a sexy chuckle, but he hesitated, glancing toward the subway entrance, weighing something in his mind. Then, before he could second-guess himself, he spoke.

“You wanna grab dinner after this?”

You smiled up at him. 

“But we had such a good time today. I don’t wanna mess it up.”

His lips curved upwards. 

“There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind.”

You snorted. 

“Smooth for a 2,000-year-old wizard.” 

You narrowed your eyes playfully. 

“Are you asking me out, Gandalf?”

He hesitated. That was the moment. He could’ve kept the beard on. Could’ve let you keep thinking he was just another guy with decent taste in pretzels and fantasy quotes. It was refreshing, getting to be just a guy, instead of a name, a history, a headline. 

But if this was going anywhere, you deserved to know.

“I’m only 108,” he said dryly, then added. “And yeah. I think I know when I’m asking someone on a date.”

You choked on air. 

“I’m sorry. What?”

He sighed, reaching up to hook his fingers into the fake beard. Slowly, he peeled it away, along with the expertly applied wrinkles.

Your eyes widened. Holy. Shit.

What remained wasn’t just some random guy in a killer cosplay.

It was Bucky Barnes.

Bucky saw the realization hit you. He braced himself, waiting for the change. The flicker of recognition and wariness, the oh, the backpedaling. It always happened.

“You probably figured it out before, but… yeah. When people recognize me, they, uh… sometimes change their minds. About me.”

For a long second, you just stared. Then, your lips curved.

“I didn’t know. And my mind is… not changed.”

You grinned, shaking your head. 

“You’re alright, Barnes. I mean, I’ve spent all afternoon with you, and you’ve been kind, funny, and genuinely one of the best parts of today. That doesn’t just disappear because you’re also kind of a big deal.”

You looked around, lowering your voice.

“To be honest. I was in it for the beard.”

Bucky blinked, then laughed quietly. He looked surprised, like he didn’t expect you to still be standing there.

“Well, if that’s what did it, I could’ve just kept it on.”

You were still here. Still flirting.

Your eyes swept over him. The mystery was gone, but the pull remained.

Stronger now.

“Yeah,” you said. “But you’re not so bad without it.”

His gaze flicked to your mouth, then back to your eyes. He was still cautious, and still wondering if this was real.

But you weren’t pulling away.

“Well,” he murmured, voice lower now, “guess I better make sure our date’s as good as the con, huh?”

You bumped his shoulder.

“You better. No pressure, though.”

No pressure.

Except for the fact that for the first time in a long time he actually wanted this to go right.

And you kept thinking: Damn. I think I actually really like this guy.

—-

The restaurant was small and warm, just cozy enough to forget you were in the middle of Manhattan. Bucky picked a booth near the back, the kind of spot with a clear view of the door.

Classic.

You didn’t call him on it. Just leaned on your elbows and watched him over the rim of your drink. That fucking uniform of your was getting him hard.

“So you didn’t wanna be recognized,” you mused. “Cool.”

You sipped slowly, licking a drop from your lip with deliberate nonchalance. Bucky’s eyes dropped. And didn’t stop at your mouth. He snapped his gaze back up quickly however, jaw tight.

Oh yeah. He was so fucked. He wanted to fuck.

You tilted your head, smiling like you knew exactly what you were doing.

“But Gandalf isn't just any old man,” you said, voice light. “He’s wise, powerful...”

You traced a finger around your glass. His eyes followed the motion, slow and unblinking. Bucky clenched his jaw, visibly struggling.

“…respected. Worshipped, even.”

Bucky swallowed hard. His fingers flexed around his glass, then curled into a fist.

You leaned in. 

“Bucky, you’ve been staring at me for the past twenty minutes.” 

You tapped the side of your glass. 

“Is this a wizard thing, or are you always like this?”

He cleared his throat again. He was always like this.

But you…were different.

“I…” 

He cut himself off, jaw clenching. He knew that you knew that he was struggling, and what he was struggling with. And that made him even weaker for you. 

You enjoyed making him squirm. And he liked it. Too much. Way too much.

Jesus, what were you doing to him?

Bucky huffed a weak laugh, shaking his head. His eyes flicked to your lips again and this time, he didn’t look away as fast.

“I didn’t mean to.” He paused. 

You’re just so fucking hot.

You grinned. Wicked.

“And here I thought it was some kind of kink.”

Bucky choked on his drink.

Your smile turned gleeful as you sat up straighter, pressing forward just enough to make him very aware of what was beneath your uniform. He was staring. Again.

“Oh my God,” you lit up, delighted. “Was I right?”

He coughed, his ears pink, and glared at you over his glass. 

He was so cute when he was flustered.

“No.”

You arched an eyebrow. 

“You sure? You did say you’re an old man.”

Bucky’s jaw ticked. Your grin only widened

You were having too much fun. It was like a game of cat and mouse, and dammit, he was the fucking mouse.

Then, just to test something, you dragged your fingers up and down the stem of your wine glass. 

He shifted, breath hitching. And you knew.

Oh, you knew. You knew what was happening under that table. You imagined, correctly, that he was hard as a rock.

“Oh,” you whispered, delighted. “You like this.”

His metal fingers gripped the table edge.

“Doll,” he said, low and warning.

But that just made you smile.

“You’ve been looking at me all day like you want to do something,” you murmured, watching his throat bob as he swallowed hard.

“So why are you holding back?”

Bucky rubbed his jaw. Discipline. Control. You could see him straining for it.

“Because I like you,” he admitted, voice gruff. 

Oh.

oh

Something in your chest tightened. Because that was real.

You stared at him for a beat, the energy arcing between you, but now it wasn’t just pure physical attraction.

“Bucky,” you said, voice softer now.

He lifted his gaze to you, blue eyes dark and hungry.

“I like that you’re holding back,” you said slowly. 

“Because it means that when you don’t…” 

You leaned in just a fraction. 

“...it’s gonna be worth it.”

Bucky let out a breath like he’d been punched.

And then he smiled slowly,a new knowledge coming into his eyes now that he knew where your head was at. He stood, tossing a few bills on the table.

“We better get outta here, Doll.”

And you didn’t hesitate. You followed.

—-----

The night air should’ve cooled the heat simmering between you and Bucky, but it didn’t. Not even close.

The restaurant had been one thing, but now it was just the two of you, walking side by side down the New York street, the hum of the city around you.

Bucky hadn’t touched you, not once.

But you’d felt him all over you nonetheless. You felt him in the way his shoulder brushed yours when you walked too close. In the twitch of his fingers, like he was one second from grabbing your hand. 

Or your waist. 

Or your throat. 

“Y’know,” you murmured, breaking the silence, “you don’t have to be so disciplined.”

Bucky laughed quietly.

“Doll.”

“What?”

“You know what.”

You peered up at him innocently. 

“I really don’t.”

Bucky stopped walking.

You did too, turning to face him. He was really looking at you now, his jaw tight, eyes dark.

“You think I don’t wanna touch you?”

His voice had some longing in it. 

“That I don’t wanna pin you against that wall right now and see how many ways I can make you say my name?”

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

“But,” he continued, voice still measured, still controlled, 

“I don’t wanna do this wrong.” His metal hand flexed. “Not with you.”

Something in your chest fluttered at that, a warmth different from the heat between your legs.

“You wouldn’t be,” you murmured.

He shook his head, staring down at the sidewalk.

“I want you too much, Doll.” 

Then he looked back up at you, hitting you with those baby blues.

“And that’s dangerous for me.”

“Well,” you murmured, stepping closer, “maybe I like a little danger.”

His hand twitched. The struggle was written all over him. So you tipped the scale. You reached out and brushed your fingers over his metal wrist gently. Cool vibranium met warm skin.

Bucky inhaled sharply.

Then, slowly, his fingers curled around yours. Testing. Then gripping.

You bit your lip.

“Doll,” he warned.

You looked up at him, so alluring.  

“Soldier.”

His breath caught. Then he stepped into you. Still not touching, but so close. The heat of him soaked through your skin.

You licked your lips, and Bucky’s gaze dropped.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

Then he kissed you. Barely. Just a brush. Light enough to make you chase it.

The spark could’ve lit up Manhattan.

He pulled back an inch, staring into your eyes like he was trying to memorize you.

You could barely breathe. You wanted his hands. His mouth. His weight. You wanted him unleashed.

But Bucky was still trying to be good.

He lifted his flesh hand, skimming your jaw.

“I’m trying to be a gentleman,” he rasped.

You tilted your chin, pressing into his palm.

“What if I don’t want you to be?”

His eyes turned molten blue.

And then,his phone buzzed.

He just stood there, breathing hard, before letting out a rough, frustrated laugh.

“Guess the universe wants me to behave.”

You smirked. “For now.”

Bucky met your gaze, lust flashing behind his eyes.

------

Somehow you made it to your place and the tension hadn’t lessened. It had evolved. 

When you closed the front door behind you, Bucky snapped.

You turned to face him and he was there, pinning you to the door before you could even inhale. His metal arm slammed against the wood beside your head with a soft thud, and the other cradled your jaw, rough and tender all at once as his mouth crashed into yours.

No hesitation. No restraint. Just need.

You gasped, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongue sliding against yours, slow but demanding. He kissed like a man who’d been starved for years and finally got his first bite.

And God, you tasted so good.

When he pulled back, his pupils were blown wide, chest heaving.

“You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me,” he rasped.

You smirked, breathless as your fingers found the hardness in his jeans. 

“I have some idea.”

His eyes darkened.

“You think this is a game?” 

His voice dropped, low and dangerous. His thumb brushed your bottom lip, slow and firm, pressing just enough to make your breath catch.

You looked up at him through your lashes, heart hammering. 

“Is it not?”

“That’s it,” Bucky growled.

One second you were against the door, the next you were being lifted, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you like you weighed nothing. Your back hit the wall, his mouth finding the column of your throat. He kissed, licked, and bit, not enough to leave marks, not yet, but enough to make you whimper.

“Still wanna play?” he murmured against your skin.

“Yes,” you breathed, because you were nothing if not committed.

Bucky’s mouth crashed back to yours and his hand found the underside of your thigh and squeezed. His metal hand skimmed your waist, the cold kiss of it against your hot skin making you gasp.

“You want me to lose control?” he asked, lips trailing down your jaw, across your collarbone.  You moaned, arching into him.

“Yes, Soldier. Bedroom is over there,” you pointed weakly, then your hands returned to his shoulders.

Bucky grinned against you, cocky now. 

“Good girl.”

He walked you to the bedroom, never breaking contact. You were clawing at his jacket, his shirt. You needed to feel skin, metal, him. You didn’t care about slow or gentle anymore. You just wanted him.

He dropped you onto the bed and stood over you for a beat, chest rising and falling like he’d run a marathon. His hair was a mess, lips kiss-bitten, eyes blazing.

You sat up slightly, supported on your elbows, and tilted your head.

“Well?”

Bucky reached for his shirt, peeled it off in one smooth motion, and let it drop to the floor.

You swallowed hard. Good lord. Scars. Muscle. Metal. History. He was so hot.

Bucky climbed onto the bed until he was hovering over you, mouth brushing your ear.

“You’re not ready for what I wanna do to you,” he whispered.

“Shut up and take your pants off,” you whispered back.

When he did, your eyes went wide.

"Is that Grabthar's Hammer?"

He laughed softly. Then he kissed you again.  This time, there was no more teasing.

You were laid out naked beneath Bucky like something sacred, flushed and panting, the room thick with your scent.

Buckhy knelt between your legs, jaw tight, fists clenched like he was still holding himself back even now. His chest rose and fell, a man at war with his self-control. You shifted, your naked cunt calling to him and his eyes dropped instantly.

And then he broke.

Bucky dragged you closer like he’d been starving for this. He kissed your stomach slowly first, before biting just beneath your ribs, then moved lower. You gasped, your fingers threading into his hair.

“You still sure you want this?” he rasped against your skin, voice barely human.

You laughed breathlessly, tugging his face up so you could look him dead in the eye.

“If you don’t wreck me, old man, I’m gonna be pissed.”

That did it.

Bucky smirked, and then placed a kiss on your bare mound. Then, his mouth trailed lower, and gently kissed your clit as your eyes rolled and your nipples became even stiffer mountain peaks. Those ice blue eyes held yours captive as he flattened his tongue and licked a disrespectful stripe up the split of you. 

When Bucky finally tasted you, he moaned. A low, guttural sound that made your toes curl.

And he didn’t stop. He devoured. He licked into you, fucking you with his tongue, and pulling on your clit like it was saltwater taffy.

His hands pinned your hips down, metal unforgiving, flesh impossibly warm, like he was trying to memorize the exact shape of you against his palms.

You were already close, embarrassingly close, because this wasn’t just sex; it was a seal to your connection. This was the shit.

Bucky touched you like you were precious and filthy. And he looked at you like he wanted to worship and destroy you in the same breath.

When he slipped two fingers inside you, metal, cold and smooth, your back arched and a broken moan escaped your lips. His mouth didn’t stop. His rhythm didn’t falter. He was focused, like this was a mission, and your pleasure was the only thing on the damn agenda.

“Bucky,” you gasped, hand clutching at his hair, “I’m—”

“I know, I can taste it. Smell it,” he said, voice gravel and heat between your thighs. 

“Be good. Let me feel you come on my face.”

You did. Oh god you did.

You shattered, mouth open in a silent scream, thighs trembling around his head. Bucky didn’t stop, even as your body shook, even as it sounded like you’d forgotten how to breathe. He slowed, sure, but only just enough to guide you down from the edge.

He looked up, chin slick, eyes feral. Then he crawled up your body and kissed you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“You okay?” he whispered, brushing your curls back from your damp forehead, voice suddenly soft again.

“I think I saw Sauron," you blinked up at him, dazed.

"What about you?"

He chuckled darkly.

"A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he cums precisely when he means to."

"I don't think that's the quote... oh fuccckkkk!"

Bucky moved with no warning, just a low, “Fuck, Doll,” before he lined himself up and slid in.

Your breath caught like a prayer.

He was big. Thick. Harder than steel and twice as punishing. He bottomed out slow, but deep, like he needed you to feel every inch of him.

And you could.

Your hands flew to his back, nails digging into muscle as he held still, forehead pressed to yours, breathing heavy.

“You okay?” he asked again, but his voice was strained now, like he wasn’t.

“Better than okay,” you breathed, clenching around him on purpose.

His control cracked.

He snapped his hips forward.

And that was it. 

The end of the gentleman. 

The death of restraint. 

All that carefully held discipline gone, replaced with something primal.

Something desperate.

He fucked you.

Slow at first. Deep. Every stroke angled just right, like he’d mapped you out in his mind and memorized exactly what made you tremble.

Then faster. Harder. Hips slamming into yours, head buried in your neck, one hand gripping your thigh to keep you exactly where he wanted you.

“Jesus,” Bucky growled, “You feel like fuckin’ heaven.”

You moaned something back, maybe his name, maybe nonsense, and he grinned, all teeth and hunger and male pride.

“Say it again.”

“Bucky…”

“No,” he rasped, grabbing your chin, making you look at him.

“Say what I am.”

You whimpered, broken and breathless.

“Soldier.”

His rhythm stuttered. And then he wrecked you. No finesse now. Just power. 

Just pure, relentless, possessive need. Skin slapping, bed shaking, your name falling from his lips like a litany.

You clawed at his back. Bit his shoulder. He loved it. Ate it up. Drove deeper, harder, until your legs were numb and your voice was hoarse from screaming his name.

And when you came again, a fucking detonation, he followed you with a moan that sounded like it could crack the walls. You felt him pulse spray inside you, hot and endless, as he collapsed against you with a groan.

Silence. Except for breathing. His, ragged and heavy. Yours, shaky and stunned.

He didn’t move right away. Just kissed your shoulder. Your collarbone. The corner of your mouth.

“Still with me?” he murmured.

You blinked up at him, eyes glassy.

“I never want you be a gentleman again.”

Bucky laughed, low and pleased.

“You haven’t even seen me misbehave yet.”

You barely had time to breathe.

Bucky didn’t even pull out. Still buried to the hilt, somehow still hard and already rolling his hips again, slower this time, more deliberate. Testing.

Your overstimulated body jerked at the sensation, a whimper escaping your lips.

He grinned against your throat.

“Oh, look at that,” he murmured, voice dark silk. “Sensitive.”

You tried to answer, tried to say something, but then he drew back just enough to thrust again, deep and slow, and your brain short-circuited. Your back arched off the bed, hands scrambling for anything to anchor yourself.

Bucky just watched you hungrily. He was fascinated.

He held himself up on one arm, the other drifting slowly down your body, metal fingers grazing your throat, your chest, down to your belly, resting right where the head of his cock pushed up from the inside.

“Right here,” he whispered, pressing just enough to make you feel it. 

“You feel that, sweetheart?”

You nodded, dazed, lips parted.

He moved again.  A slow grind,  a deep roll. And the pressure made you gasp.

“God,” you breathed.

Bucky smirked, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth. 

“Nah. Not God.”

He shifted his weight, grabbed your thigh, and flipped you without warning.

You let out a shocked cry as he pulled your hips up, chest pressed into the mattress, and entered you from behind in one smooth thrust that had you biting the pillow.

The new angle was devastating.

He set a punishing rhythm, hands gripping your hips. His hands, one warm and flesh, the other cold and unrelenting vibranium, held you in place like you were his to claim.

“You said no more gentleman,” he rasped, panting as he fucked into you harder. 

“You sure you can handle that, Doll?”

You sobbed out something that sounded like yes.

He chuckled wickedly.

Then one hand slid up your spine, between your shoulder blades, curling into your hair to tug your head back just enough to hear him growl in your ear.

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like this, ruined.”

You clenched around him, and he groaned, hips stuttering.

“Oh, you like that, huh?” 

His teeth scraped your neck. 

“Like it when I talk to you like this? Like you’re mine?”

You were beyond answering now, every nerve ending lit up, your body already climbing again. How was this possible?

As he fucked you through the aftermath of the last orgasm straight into the next.

Then you felt it.

His metal hand slipped between your legs, finding your clit with devastating precision.

“Gonna come for me again, sweetheart?” he whispered.

“Gonna soak my cock like a good girl?”

You screamed when you did, your entire body locking up, shaking under him, pulsing around him so hard that he nearly lost control.

He held on just long enough to groan your name, slamming into you one final time before coming with a shudder so intense it nearly brought him to his knees.

After, he collapsed beside you, dragging you back against his chest with an arm wrapped tight around your waist, breathing hot against your skin.

“Still don’t want me to be a gentleman?” he murmured, smug and breathless.

You couldn’t even speak, hadn’t even caught your breath.

You were still trembling, your thighs slick and shaking, your mind floating somewhere between pleasure-drunk and completely wrecked.

And Bucky?

Bucky hadn’t moved far. Still pressed against your back, one arm locked tight around your waist, chest rising and falling against your shoulder blades. But his hard cock was nudging against your inner thigh again. 

You were realizing what the term supersoldier meant. You were wrecked but he wasn’t even tired.

“You’re insatiable,” you managed to rasp, voice half-muffled by the sheets.

He nuzzled into your neck, chuckling low. 

“Says the one who begged for it.”

You turned your head, just enough to meet his eyes, and smirked. 

“I didn’t beg.”

Bucky raised a brow. “No?”

Then he rolled his hips, sliding his cock between your thighs again without fully entering, just letting you feel the weight of him.

Heavy. Christ, his cock was so deliciously heavy.

Your breath caught.

“No,” you repeated, but this time it wasn’t convincing.

“Mmm,” he murmured, kissing your shoulder. 

“I think you did beg. Might’ve even said please, if I remember right.”

“Lies,” you whispered, but the way you arched back into him gave you away.

And Bucky grinned.

“Alright then, Doll,” he breathed, shifting to grip your hips again, “if you’re not gonna beg…”

Then he slid inside again, slow and torturous into your abused hole.

“…guess I’ll just fuck it out of you.”

You moaned, your back arching, and Bucky didn’t even give you time to adjust. He just started moving, deep and slow at first, rolling his hips so that every stroke dragged perfectly against your walls. 

You were oversensitive, your body already spent, but somehow this was worse.

Or better.

You couldn’t tell. You felt everything.

Bucky leaned over you, chest to your back again, the heat of him covering you completely. One hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head to the side so he could mouth at your throat.

The other slipped under you and of course he found your clit again.

“Let’s see if I can make you beg now,” he murmured, thumb pressing just right.

You cried out.

“Still not beggin’, huh?” he rasped.

“Not even a little?”

You whimpered, thighs trembling.

“Baby,” he growled in your ear, “you’re fuckin’ soaked. I can feel you dripping down my balls. And you’re gonna lie to me?”

You tried. You tried to sass him. But then he hit that angle and rubbed just right and —

“Fuck! Please! Bucky!”

There it was.

He smiled against your skin, triumphant.

“There’s my good girl.”

Then he flipped you again, barely pulling out before he was slamming back in with enough force to shake the headboard. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your nails raked down his back, and Bucky groaned, burying his face against your neck.

His voice was ragged now.

“You feel so fuckin’ good, goddamn can’t get enough of you, can’t let you go…this is not just one night…”

You were gone. Spiraling. You didn’t even know what number this was anymore.

Orgasm or round, you’d lost count.

But Bucky knew.

He always knew.

“Come for me again,” he ordered, hand cupping the back of your neck as his hips pounded into yours.

“I want you to fall apart while I’m still inside you.”

And you did.

You shattered around him, one last scream torn from your throat, and that was what finally dragged Bucky over the edge. He came with a groan, deep and raw, spilling inside you as he gripped you like he never wanted to let go.

—-

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. Time stopped meaning anything.

Eventually, you blinked up at him, hair askew cheeks flushed, throat hoarse.

“…You’re an evil wizard,” you croaked.

Bucky just smirked, brushing your hair back and blowing cool air on you. You closed your eyes and smiled at the tender gesture.

“You started it, crewman.”

You laughed weakly, burying your face in his chest.

“…Worth it.”

Bucky kissed the top of your head and held you closer.

“Damn right it was.”

——-

How’d you like it? 😇

[risingmoonyue]

Star Wars AU where the council time travels back to when Obi-Wan was still an itty-bitty baby initiate. Including, you know. Council Member Obi-Wan Kenobi. So they’re all in their younger bodies and talking with the current non-time traveling members of the council, and they’re like “hold on, we got one more coming in”

And in walks in like. Nine year old Initiate Obi-Wan, all chubby-cheeked with fluffy bright red hair, and giant blue eyes.

Just. Their faces, okay?

Now keep in mind I want the council to always be Up To Shenanigans. I’m talking like 2015 Avengers tower found family era fics okay, they’re one big family and Obi-Wan is now super officially The Baby and literally nothing he does will ever stop that again. And despite everything, every single council member is, at heart, incredibly petty in that special Jedi family way and are so ready to not be dealing with a war Right This Very Minute.

What I keep picturing is Baby-Wan wiggling his way into a chair, situating himself Very Regally, then clasping his hands in classic Negotiator style, then speaking up with the Most Serious Of Tiny Baby Voices as the main spokesperson on the Council Of Petty Time Travelers

I just want to see people not in the know

I want Jedi of all ages witnessing Jedi masters, councilmen and women, long lived and wisest of the Jedi, coming to the crèche to visit tiny lil Baby-Wan about his opinions on current events and how they should handle this treaty and also when are you free I want to test my soresu

I just think it’d be funny

[darsynia]

Adversarial 1/? (Bucky/Mechanic!Reader)

MCU MASTERLIST | RO ROLL MASTERLIST | gif by @dailybuckybarnes

Summary: The textbooks all say that finding your soulmate feels like figuring out your place in the world, something you’ve always thought was utter bullshit, but--

…but your soulmate has a mechanical arm

Word Count/Warnings: 4,000 | explicit sex

As 2/7 of my birthday fics for @ronearoundblindly, adVERsarial is a Soulmate AU 'enemies to lovers' with a brash, outspoken f!reader. Stay tuned for more, and feel free to drop a comment if you'd like to be on the tag list!

Excerpt:

“Are you the lead mechanic? Stark said I could find them here.”

“I am, and I’ll be honest, I’m more than a little bummed out that those aren’t the words written all over my mitt, here,” you tell Captain America, holding up your (grime-covered, unreadable) left hand.

A ripple of… something tugs his eyebrow upward for a few seconds, and he smiles politely. “I get that a lot.”

You feel the burn of triumph in your chest and move in for the killing blow. “Oh really? I wish you’d kept a list, Rogers, because I’d love to meet more female mechanics.”

Adversarial

Your soulmate can go straight to hell.

First of all, your Words are written on your fucking hand, and it almost takes up the whole thing! Who the fuck thought that was okay?

Schools don’t let you cover your hands, did your jerkface soulmate ever think of that? No? Classic.

Oh, and then there are the bullies. So. Many. Bullies. Telling the new kids to come up and say the words to greet you was predictable, but exploiting teachers’ inherent laziness-- ‘but Mrs. DoNothing, I was just reading the words off her hand!’ --was icing on the shit sundae.

You graduated from that hellhole, moved as far away as possible, and got a job that would cover you in gunk so you wouldn’t have to think about your Words every single day.

Now it’s seven years later and your boss asks you to come along on his fancy-ass job at the Avenger Hideout in upstate New York. You’re sure you’ll be kicked to the curb when you meet Stark himself, though. The man is snark incarnate, and you can rarely pass up an opportunity to mouth off.

“‘Sit down and shut up if you want to stay alive,’” he quotes, right after the handshake. The smug look on his face is warranted, because working with the Avengers is one of the few times your soulmate words apply to regular life.

“Yeah I’ll stay standing if it’s all the same to you,” you smile, with too many teeth and everything. You usually choose something more spicy, but you really want this job. Besides, Stark’s soulmark words are well known, so you don’t have to speak to history here.

“As long as you keep your death wish to yourself like everyone else in the asylum, we’re cool. Welcome aboard.”

The Avengers Compound is pretty sweet, actually, and your coworkers don’t seem like the typical stooges. It takes almost a month to persuade them that you really do enjoy the dirtiest, toughest jobs, and after that everything is smooth, filthy sailing. It’s always a good day if you end it needing a long, hot shower and half a bottle of degreasing soap.

There’s an iPad mounted within floor-view for people to text you if they need something. It doubles as your personal DJ, so when the sound cuts out, you slide your ass out from underneath the Quinjet you were servicing to find a pair of boots standing next to it. As you rise gracefully (read: clamber) to your feet, their owner speaks.

“Are you the lead mechanic? Stark said I could find them here.”

“I am, and I’ll be honest, I’m more than a little bummed out that those aren’t the words written all over my mitt, here,” you tell Captain America, holding up your (grime-covered, unreadable) left hand.

A ripple of… something tugs his eyebrow upward for a few seconds, and he smiles politely. “I get that a lot.”

You feel the burn of triumph in your chest and move in for the killing blow. “Oh really? I wish you’d kept a list, Rogers, because I’d love to meet more female mechanics.”

Until this point, he’d been holding himself like the soldier that he is, with the same stiff courtesy you’d seen from his rare television appearances. That all falls away, now. Rogers clears his throat, hitting his fisted hand on his chest as though knocking loose his initial impression of you, then extends that hand out for you to shake.

Your eyebrows skyrocket at just how much grease he’ll end up with if he goes through it, but Captain America’s outstretched hand doesn’t waver.

It’s time for you to knock loose your first impression. You give him a respectful nod and grasp his hand firmly. The grip slips as you shake, but you don’t offer any apology, and Rogers doesn’t seem to need one, not even when there’s a squishing sound as you both disengage. You take pity on the man and snag him a blue towel from your workbench.

“So, what do you need that Stark couldn’t Lord it down here and ask for himself?”

The towel is doing nothing. “We’ve got a mission coming up that will involve some repair work mid-way. Refugee camp in the middle of a regional conflict, with aggressors who like to send self-destructive drones to ruin our day. Army thinks it’s cheaper if it’s us, and not them.” He gestures towards your large tool bag. “We’d like to get in, get fixed back up, and get out in a hurry, and Stark says you’re the…” he pauses.

“Say it.”

“‘Gremlin’ for the job,” he says, apologetically offering back the newly-soiled towel with his still-soiled hand.

“Sounds about right. Have his Jeeves give me the details, yeah?” You start whistling as you scooch back down to finish up the job you’d been working on when Rogers had come in. It takes a not-inconsiderable amount of time for him to walk back out, and you count that as a win.

They were… not kidding about the danger of the mission.

The trip out had been unpleasant as hell, gaining you some unwanted on-the-job experience with what it’s like being motion-sick under fire. As expected, the vehicle is hit by two diligent little destructo-bots, but you take care of the first one handily. Getting the second off and its damage mitigated is made more difficult by the urgency in the comms.

The team is on the way with the refugees in tow, and they want to take off as soon as they get back. Doing that with unknown damage is a terrible idea.

“All right, you heat-seeking little bot-barnacle, you ARE coming off, even if I have to pry off a panel of the ship to do it!” you snap, five minutes later. You're bluffing, since can’t even tell if the damned thing’s done any damage or if the sum total of its effect is ‘skewering the hull and sitting there smug as hell about it.’ The team is getting closer and closer, and the pounding of your heart is so loud you can hear it like a drumbeat in your ears.

They turn out to be footfalls, not your heartbeat.

A metal hand appears out of utterly nowhere and grabs the attack drone, ripping it out of the hull and throwing it with enough force to send it a half mile away. You’re left with your mouth hanging open as the owner of the hand (the arm. It’s an arm, and it’s the most gorgeous piece of machinery you’ve ever, ever seen) turns to face you. He’s wearing tactical gear and a sour expression, and every one of your blood vessels have converted themselves to gasoline at the very sight of him.

“That’s quite an arm you’ve got, soldier,” you quip.

His face twists into fierce fury as he points to the ramp leading into the Quinjet. “Sit down and shut up if you want to stay alive.”

For once in your life, you do what you’re told without complaint or combativeness. The phrase ‘internal combustion’ has never been so apt. The textbooks all say that finding your soulmate feels like figuring out your place in the world, something you’ve always thought was utter bullshit, but--

…but your soulmate has a mechanical arm.

The rest of the team shows up mere seconds later, and from there you’re caught up in the whirlwind of weight balancing, choosing what to ditch to fit every last person in the vehicle. For a few crazy minutes, it seems your grouchy soulmate might be left behind to fend for himself (you have no idea who he is, but you’re completely certain this man could wipe out the entire platoon that Rogers says is heading their way), but you and Stark figure out an overspeed hack that can work for just long enough to get somewhere safe.

You’re too busy keeping your ride in the air to think about anything else, and once you’re all back on solid ground, disembarking is a madhouse. You and Stark are the last two off the thing. He flips up his helmet and gives you one of his thousand-watt smiles.

“Great job today. Forgot to tell you Barnes was with us for this one.”

“Barnes?” you ask, distractedly running your calloused fingers over the rift where the perfect man had pulled out the drone. It looks like a patch might work, rather than having to get a piece machined. 

“James 'Bucky' Barnes. The Vodka Popsicle?” Stark comes over and makes a show of frowning at the way you’re just shrugging. “See, if you were fun, you’d be pretending you have no idea so you can milk me of all the good nicknames.”

The soulmate thing is burning a fuse in the back of your mind, and you don’t have enough left in your tank to banter. “I really don’t know, Motor Mouth. I just kept my head down and did my job.”

You smack the hull of the Quinjet and start toward the elevator bank, secretly pleased with your own stupid nickname. ‘Barnes’ sounds familiar, but you can’t place the name.

“Come on, CS, you had to have seen his arm!”

This stops you in your tracks so quickly you can almost hear the record scratch sound. Right at that moment, you realize where you heard the name Bucky Barnes: in your high school history class! This has to be fake, some stupid Superhero hazing or something.

You spin on your heel, about to accuse Stark of only remembering the name because he had a hot teacher that day, but at the very last minute you remember his father was a WWII war hero. Fine, you can go with 'snark overload' instead. “Friend of your dad’s, then? What happened? Time machine?”

“Fascist Russian trauma, actually,” he says, herding you into the elevator. “JARVIS, can you take over? I need to fly home to the Missus.”

“Wait, Stark--” He’s in the air before you can finish objecting.

One enlightening elevator ride later, you make your way to your workshop in a trance. This whole thing is a coincidence. It has to be. The man has gone through hell, vanquished hell, joined its army only to claw his way out... and his reward is what?

You?

“Took you long enough,” a voice says from the darkest corner of the space. You don’t have to guess who it is. There’s only one person it could be.

“That’s funny as hell in context, you know that?” Shit. Even to your own ears, you sound defensive. “Look,” you rush to add. “I picked this job to keep my Words to myself as much as possible, and I’ll keep doing that. I don’t want anything from you.”

You’re lying. You want a look at his arm like you want coffee in the morning, like you want air in your lungs after a brutal run. If he were anyone else you’d be planning a charm offensive, and you’re not what most people would describe as charming.

“One problem,” Barnes says, stepping out of the shadows with his flesh hand outstretched toward you. It’s so cinematic you forget he’s basically danger incarnate-- and then he makes contact.

Pleasure sizzles up from his grip on your wrist, skin to skin, soul to soul. It’s mind-numbing in the same way as the aftermath of an orgasm, so similar that you stumble a little bit when he lets go only seconds later. You’ve only read about Sensitivity or seen it depicted in movies, and neither did the full glory of it justice.

“Holy fuck,” you whisper. 

He doesn’t look affected at all. “Yeah. One hell of a weakness.” 

You go from shaken to pissed faster than the Quinjet hits cruise speed. “Get the fuck out, then! My workshop is invite only.”

“Is that right?” Barnes asks, insultingly unphased. Your arms are crossed, and he just glares right into your eyes and taps one perfectly articulated metal finger on the newly silver Words on your hand. “Stark’s AI updated our medical files. If you’re unconscious, this gets me into your hospital room. That’s invitation enough.”

Fucking great. “Well, either knock me out or fuck off, then, Barnes. I have work left to do.” Your gut is twisted metal right now, jagged and raw from disappointment and desperation. This man is a legend, a warrior with a marvel of machinery for an arm and a past that would make the devil blush. He doesn't want you, and he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t. With misery staining your heart black as old oil, you stalk over to the nearest workbench before he can tell how upset you are. 

“It’s not personal,” he says flatly.

Soulmate words are as personal as it gets, which means he’s saying it to fire you up. You won’t rise to the bait. Most people are uncomfortable with silence, but you use it as a weapon. The minutes tick by as you clean off the work table, with no other sound than the clink of metal on metal and the slide of heavy tools on the hard, solid surface. 

Soon, all that’s left is a bucket half full of sand. At least this is simple and easy to understand; a cheap, abundant material used for friction, stability, and sometimes even a mold to pour hot metal into. As you burn away your fury with your impossible soulmate staring silent holes into your back, you wonder whether you’re half as valuable to him as this.

“Look. I don’t want or need--”

You shove the bucket off the side of the work table and spin around, your next words practically exploding out of your chest. “You think I don’t know that? I get it. I’m nobody. Neither of us want--” He’s advancing on you and you hop up onto the surface of the workbench, primed to kick, scratch, and scream if he tries to melt your brain again with your goddamned soulmate connection. 

“Jesus. Just-- stay inside, will you?”

With those cryptic words, Bucky Barnes walks out.

You’re speechless, and the worst part is how much your body is craving the glorious, drugging feeling of his touch on your skin.

JARVIS calls out your name just as you force yourself to assess the sand mess you’ve tantrumed everywhere. Your ‘what?’ is as short and annoyed as you can make it.

I thought you ought to know that Sergeant Barnes spent his time after leaving the Quinjet checking on your safety. He requested I adjust the camera angle to more fully catch the doorway to your room, requested the visitor logs--

“Which you denied, yes? Yes?” you snap, gripping the broom handle like it’s your soulmate’s neck.

Of course. Despite his assertion, mutual consent is required for such things, barring a formal, legal relationship.

“For the record, it’s bullshit that it took until 1973 for that.”

I heartily agree. As I was saying, Sgt. Barnes took it upon himself to--

“Blah blah safety, you win the award for meddling, JARVIS, but what I really need from you is a magical ability to clean up this mess.”

Deepest apologies, but there is a purpose to this endeavor. The door to your suite did not meet Sgt. Barnes expectations, regarding your safety on-site.

“What the hell are you-- Wait.” You drop the broom and head out, speaking angrily up at the ceiling as you stalk down the hallway. “Tell me there’s still a door there, JARVIS.”

I’m afraid I cannot.

“Yeah, you should be afraid!” you hiss. “Tell me where he is or I’ll take a blowtorch to the wiring in the server room.”

Stark’s damned AI doesn’t even have the grace to sound concerned. 

I see why some say you have a fiery temper. Sgt. Barnes is in one of the basement sparring rooms. Shall I arrange for an elevator?

“I’ll walk, thanks.”

The bank of exercise rooms is open to everyone on campus, and the doors only close when there’s someone in there. That makes it easy to figure out where to knock.

The door swings open, and your mouth runs dry.

Barnes is sweaty, wearing only a black tank and tight pants, and the harsh hallway light glistens on the metal of his arm. You’re completely certain that touching it will feel just as good as the skin-to-skin contact earlier. You drift forward, captivated, and the door shuts behind you. The clicking sound brings you back to furious reality.

Through gritted teeth, you say, “You. Owe. Me. A. Door.”

He scoffs silently, looking you up and down as if gauging how little effort he’d have to expend against you in a fight. “Stark owes you a door. I just proved that.”

“What the fuck gives you the right--”

Barnes interrupts not with words, but with quick, jerky movements at his waist, unbuckling, unzipping, and shoving. He slaps the flat of his palm against the Words on his bare thigh and says, “This. Every single woman I came in contact with was in danger. You’re not secure here.” He strips the pants off completely and throws them into the corner of the room before advancing on you, somehow just as menacing in briefs and a tank. “Not until we get this out of our systems.”

He’s lithe as a cat, and you’re only able to stumble back a few inches and scrunch your eyes shut before he encircles your wrist with one hand. 

The cool metal is soothing despite being inexorable. You suck in a surprised breath and open your eyes just in time to watch the clever shit that is your soulmate dip his head to kiss you.

The pleasure is sudden and devastating. Your heart seizes up, stutters, and starts sending napalm through your veins as he walks you back against the wall and presses the full length of his body against yours. If each touch is a contact high, these kisses are full-throttle erotic warfare, with your brain offline and your hindbrain keening. You 'fight back' with everything you have, fingernails scratching at the back of his neck, teeth grazing his inner lip, all with your Words pulsing encouragement on the back of your hand.

If you’re not careful, this soulmate bond will acid-etch the narcotic joy of this moment right into your heart.

As if he can hear your thoughts, Barnes lets out a deep groan and pulls back to look you directly in the eyes. “This is a strategy, not a relationship.”

You’re touch-drunk, but you’re not in love. “Look, Deathsquad, I only want you for your arm.”

Barnes’ smile is like the sun coming up, damn him. “Fuck me enough to get past Sensitivity and I’ll let you have a whole afternoon with it.” As if to emphasize how much you’d both enjoy that plan, he slides his flesh hand past your waistband and grabs your ass, holding you steady for the twist of his hips.

Your smarts are offline, your lungs are at half capacity, your cunt is criminally empty, and you fully understand how people end up falling for stranger soulmates, if this is what Sensitivity does to a person. 

“Fine,” you snap, hoping to hell you sound less needy than you feel.

The two of you glare at each other for a charged second, and then there’s a race to strip the rest of your clothes off. Not even sixty whole seconds later you’re kneeling on a thick floor mat, more nervous and excited than you’ve ever been in your life, damn him. Barnes comes up behind to set a warm, drugging hand on your hip, and then it’s bliss, sexual rapture from the very first thrust.

“Fuck, that’s insane,” he rasps into your ear, his right hand coming down hard on the mat beside you as he curls over and into you. “Perfect,” Barnes breathes, the word almost a whine, like he’d tried to hold it back and couldn’t. 

You’re almost at white-out, already seconds away from the kind of orgasm that rearranges a girl’s blood chemistry, but you can’t let this one go. Arching your back and leaning to the side, you rock your hips in a cadence that unbalances the two of you just enough to force him to brace with his left, instead. You’re moaning insult-adjacent nonsense syllables now, but you gather enough willpower to clutch his metal hand with your marked one.

“Now it’s perfect,” you grit out.

Barnes’ sexy chuckle in your ear sends you into a black-out orgasm for the ages.

You wake up alone, which feels like a statement, but you notice when you roll over that you’re not sticky. The clothes you’d torn off and thrown in wild abandon are folded next to you, too. You scramble to put them on, stepping curiously into the shared adjoining bathroom to find a wet washcloth draped over the towel rack and a sticky note marked with a large B on the mirror.

“Don’t get sentimental on me, asshole,” you mutter as you snatch it off.

Crankshaft:  Don’t get sentimental on me.  Wednesday at 4? B

The words are printed, even the B, meaning that while you laid there naked and insensate, he’d gone and printed something out instead of just waking you up. On top of that outrage, someone’s told him your nickname, which for some stupid reason feels more intimate than anything that just happened. It’s something that’s just yours, not influenced by stupid-ass destiny genetics, and if he tries to use it verbally, you’ll… you’ll… You sigh. There’s not one thing you can do to influence this guy, except possibly make him angry that you exist at all.

One big Sensitivity-struck security risk, that’s what you are.

You’re about to crumple up the note when you see it’s got something else hand drawn on the back, a sequence of numbers and letters in a jagged sort of rectangle. The shape looks familiar, but you’re sated and stupid after however long without caffeine. You gather up your things and make the walk of shame back to your apartment, realizing when you’re almost there that the fucking door is probably still missing.

It’s not. There’s already a brand-new door there, and on it is another sticky note. This one’s just the hand drawn shape and accompanying symbols. You snatch it up and go inside, vindictively locking the door with both locks until you remember Barnes’ whole thing about safety.

With a sour feeling in your stomach from doing exactly what he’d want you to, you lay both notes down to examine the shapes, finally sketching them out on a third piece of paper.

The numbers and letters work out to be a room and floor number, probably for his rooms here at the compound

Combined, the shapes look just like the plating for his metal arm

You refuse to be taken in by this, even if it is right up your alley.

“JARVIS?”

At your service, Miss.

“Will you locate a small, neutral space for a… meeting between myself and Sgt. Barnes tomorrow at four, and let both of us know the location once you’re finished?” There’s no way in hell you’re doing anything that even hints at girlfriend behavior with this guy, so no bedrooms. What’s between you is literally just biology, nothing more.

If you insist.

“I do. And don’t use my nickname with him. He doesn’t deserve it.”

The singing in your veins makes a good opposing argument, but that’s just biology again, and you won’t be swayed by it. The only thing you’ll be swayed by is his marvel of arm engineering. Everything else is just window dressing to help get you through the absurd pleasure-bond shit that comes with soulmate biology.

You skip dinner and go to bed early, dreaming all night of the purr of Barnes’ muscles over and against you, the gravel-drag of his stubble on your skin, and the hum of an engine starting to rev.

to be continued...

[matt-murdockk]

Killshot 0.1 | Welcome to New York

it's been waiting for you

series masterlist | full masterlist

matt murdock x black widow! reader | fluff | words: 2.7k | fic from reader's pov

summary: Killshot, meet Nelson, Murdock, and Page (ft. a very special appearance from Yelena Belova— we'll be seeing a lot of her).

I don't think there was ever a place I could call home. Be it the constant torture, shit ton of missions and moving around or whatever, I either never stuck around at one place long enough to call it home, or when I did, it didn't exactly go well. The closest thing I had to a home was my family. Not my mom and dad or whatever, never met them, don't care. My family, as in, the people who made even hell feel okay. The Avengers.

New York chewed me up and spat me out more times than I can count. I’ve bled in these streets. I’ve fought aliens, assassins, war criminals, gods. I’ve lost friends. I've lost Natasha. I've lost Tony. I've lost... a version of myself I don't think I’ll ever get back.

And still— here I am.

You’d think I’d run far away from this place. Most people would. But there’s something about this city. Something about the way it doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t care what you’ve done or who you were before. As long as you keep your head down and pay rent on time, New York minds its own damn business.

It’s loud. It’s grimy. It smells weird. But it’s honest. And after everything, I think that’s what I wanted most— something that didn’t pretend to be something it’s not.

So I found a shoebox apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. It’s not much. Leaky ceiling, noisy neighbors, the usual city soundtrack of sirens and someone yelling outside at 2 a.m. But it’s mine. My furniture. My mugs. My books. My life.

And now— my bookstore.

Yeah. A fucking bookstore. Can you believe it?

Turns out peace and quiet isn't a myth. It's just extremely underrated and criminally underfunded. But I saved up. I fought for it. And now, every morning, I unlock the door to a space that smells like coffee and paper and safety. It's quaint, it's cozy, it's so goddamn peaceful.

It’s the first thing I’ve done for myself in a long, long time.

And for once, I think I’m okay.

——————————————————————————————————

It was just past nine when I got to the bookstore— keys in one hand, half-spilled coffee in the other, hoodie sleeves still damp from where I accidentally elbowed the sink while washing my hands. So yeah, a normal morning. I almost tripped over a cracked bit of sidewalk again— mental note: report that or, I don’t know, start lifting your feet when you walk, I guess.

The shutters were halfway up, like always. I kept forgetting to pull them all the way down before I left. It wasn’t like anyone was dying to break into a place full of paperback classics and dusty murder mysteries, anyway.

I was halfway through unlocking the front door when I heard someone clear their throat behind me.

“Hey— bookstore?”

I turned around and found myself facing a woman with a leather satchel slung across her body and a smile that was… genuine. Not that fake retail smile. Not the “I’m-being-polite” one either. Just— nice. Blonde hair, neatly styled. Sharp eyes, a little tired. She looked like someone who saw everything and didn’t let it startle her.

“That’s what the sign says,” I said, glancing over my shoulder at the window decal I painted myself in a fit of DIY confidence and three cups of coffee. In retrospect, that looks awful. What the fuck was I thinking? Remind me to get one professionally made, yikes.

She smiled, holding out a hand. “Karen Page. I work next door.”

I shook her hand and followed her nod toward the office just to the right of my shop. Nelson, Murdock & Page. Huh. I’d seen the name a few times, but I hadn’t stopped by yet.

“Lawyers,” I said, accepting her handshake. “Brave of you to admit that before ten a.m.”

She laughed, warm and easy. “We try to keep a low profile.”

“I’m (Y/N),” I said. “Owner-slash-cashier-slash-bookshelf-assembler. Opened the place last month. Still figuring out if I need a real receipt printer or if handwritten notes give it a rustic vibe.”

“Well, it already looks amazing,” Karen said, peering through the window at the front table. “You’ve got ‘Little Women’ sitting next to a hitman memoir. Bold move.”

I shrugged. “I like balance.”

“Hell’s Kitchen could use more of that,” she said, and something about the way she said it made me pause. Like she knew.

Karen shifted her bag higher on her shoulder. “We’re next door— Nelson, Murdock, and Page. If you need anything, or just decent coffee, come by.” A pause. Then, more casual, “Or if you just wanna talk. No pressure.”

I blinked. “Thanks. That’s… actually really kind. Seriously, everyone here’s been so nice. I didn’t expect that.”

Karen raised an eyebrow. “In Hell’s Kitchen? Seriously?” Then she laughed, shaking her head. “Man, you must’ve moved in on a good week.” I did not want to explore what that meant. Nope. Only peace in my life starting now. Hell's kitchen better become my happy place or else.

And with that, she turned and headed into the law office, leaving me alone in front of my shop, coffee gone cold in my hand and a faint, weird smile pulling at my mouth.

For a second, I just stood there.

This place… it was starting to feel like something.

Not home. Not yet.

But something. And I liked it.

As my train of thought arrived at a halt, I went in and let myself glance around the shop.

Stacks of books waiting to be shelved. The soft creak of the wooden floor. The faint smell of cinnamon from the candle I left burning yesterday. It was quiet— still. That kind of still that sits on your chest but doesn’t press down. The kind you could almost mistake for peace if you weren’t paying too much attention.

And then the door burst open.

I mean burst.

The bell above it didn’t jingle— it screamed for its dear life.

“HELLOOOO, LITTLE BOOKSTORE!”

I nearly dropped my coffee.

There she was. Sunglasses. Combat boots. Too much attitude for 9:00 a.m. And a wide, shit-eating grin like she was about to punch me or hug me and hadn’t decided which.

“Yelena,” I said flatly, setting my cup down before it could tremble out of my hand. “Jesus Christ.”

She threw her arms out like I should be applauding. “I heard my favorite little assassin opened a bookstore, and I had to see it with my own two judgmental eyes.”

“You mean the bookstore I told you about four months ago?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t believe you,” she said, striding in like she owned the place. “I thought you were definitely joking, but this? You? This is… cute.”

“You’re cute,” I muttered under my breath.

“I know,” she said immediately, already wandering toward the front table. “Wow. You really did it. You actually retired.”

“Don’t say it like that,” I said, watching her poke at the table display like she was searching for hidden weapons. “It makes me sound old and boring.”

“You are old and boring,” she said sweetly. “But this is adorable. Like— look at this. Aw, paperbacks. So soft. So non-lethal.”

I rolled my eyes. “Alright. Why are you here?”

Yelena blinked, all faux innocence. “What, I can’t drop in just to say hi?”

“You don’t do anything ‘just’ to say hi.”

She plopped onto the arm of one of the reading chairs. “Okay, fine. I’m genuinely here just to hang out. No weapons. No missions. No ulterior motives. Okay, maybe like one weapon. Two tops. Three if we're being technical.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Missed me, huh?”

“I’m not going to say yes and let you gloat.”

A slow smile crept up my face. “You know you love me.”

She shrugged, picking up a book like it hadn’t just gotten incredibly obvious in here. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head.”

I leaned against the counter, watching her pretend to read the blurb on the back cover upside down.

Peace and quiet, my ass.

But honestly?

I’d missed this too.

——————————————————————————————————

Cut to: greasy takeout containers, chopsticks in hand, legs kicked up on mismatched stools in the back room of the store.

Yelena slurped a noodle and pointed at me with her chopsticks like she’d just remembered something important. “Wait. Have you met the hot lawyer next door yet?”

I blinked. “Karen?”

“No, the hot one.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Karen is hot.”

Yelena rolled her eyes. “Not that one. The other hot one. The tall one. Broody. Looks like he hasn’t slept since 2004. That one.”

“I haven’t met anyone else,” I said. “Just Karen. She was really sweet.”

“You need to meet the lawyer,” she said, like it was an emergency. “How have you not met the lawyer?”

“I don’t know, maybe because I’m running a bookstore and not casing the neighbors for eligible brooding bachelors?”

She popped another dumpling in her mouth. “I’m just saying. You’re doing your whole normal civilian thing now. He fits your aesthetic. Tortured, morally conflicted, probably has a tragic backstory— he’s perfect for you.”

I gave her a look. “Why do you know this? And how do you know this?”

Yelena pointed at herself, smug. “Baby girl, this is what I do.”

I groaned. “You are unbelievable.”

She grinned. “You’re welcome.”

I shoved a takeout box at her. “Eat your food and shut up.”

She did. But she was still smiling like she knew something I didn’t. And I fucking hate that look because that means she already knows she's right.

——————————————————————————————————

I was rearranging the front table display— again— because apparently, that was my new favourite hobby when I didn’t want to deal with actual work. My knee hit the corner of the shelf and I cursed under my breath, just as the bell over the door jingled.

I didn’t even look up. “Yelena, if that’s you again, I swear to God—”

“It is,” came her unapologetic voice. “But this time, I brought friends.”

That got my attention.

I looked up and, sure enough, there she was. Standing just inside the door like she owned the place, grinning like a menace, flanked by two men I definitely hadn’t seen before. One looked like he'd be someone’s favourite lawyer— pressed suit, hair barely out of place. The other stood slightly behind, cane in hand, expression unreadable. Curious, but guarded.

“Friends?” I repeated, squinting. “That’s new.”

“They’re real,” Yelena said, completely unbothered. “I checked.”

“You check everyone.”

“Exactly. That’s why I’m here.”

She turned like she was introducing royalty. “This is Foggy. He talks a lot but somehow it works. And this,” she gestured to the man with the cane, “is Matt. Doesn’t talk a lot, but when he does, you should listen.”

I looked between them. “Lawyers?”

“Unfortunately,” Foggy said, smiling like this wasn’t his first time deflecting that. “We work next door. Karen told us you opened up shop, figured we’d stop by before she shamed us into it.”

I tilted my head. “Ah. So this is a guilt visit.”

“Strong coffee and guilt,” Matt said. His voice was low— smooth in a way that made it hard to read. “Two things we run on.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. “Fair enough. I’m (Y/N). I own the place. Unless Yelena somehow tricked me out of it and this is an intervention.”

Yelena held up both hands. “Hey, I only scam warlords now. Relax.”

Foggy was already halfway to a display table. “This is cool. Real cozy. I didn’t even know this was here.”

“Yeah, it’s new,” I said, sliding behind the counter like it would ground me. “Still figuring things out.”

Matt trailed his fingers along the shelf edge. It was subtle, but it felt… intentional. Like he was reading more than the titles.

“Quiet in here,” he said.

“Don’t jinx it.”

Yelena dropped into the chair by the window like it was hers. “I told you this place was legit.”

“You also told me there’d be pastries,” Foggy said, eyeing the plate beside the register.

“There were!” she said, pointing at the two sad, leftover cookies. “You’re just late.”

I caught Matt’s hand hover over a spine before he let it drop.

Foggy glanced over. “He does that in every bookstore, by the way. It’s freaky.”

Matt turned slightly toward me. “It’s relaxing.”

I glanced at his hand tracing the edge of the shelf. “What is? The books?”

“The quiet,” he said. “The way everything’s… still.”

I nodded. “Yeah, well. Kind of the point. Some of us open bookstores instead of going to therapy.”

He smiled — soft, but real. “You might be onto something.”

“You say that like it’s the first time I’ve been right today.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, just under his breath. “I’m reserving judgment.”

“Careful,” I said, tilting my head. “You come back too often, I’m gonna start charging you rent.”

Matt turned toward me slightly more, something curious behind his expression. “Is that your way of asking me to come back?”

I shrugged, meeting his gaze. “Is that your way of dodging the question?”

His smile widened, and just for a second, it felt like the rest of the room went quiet for real.

Yelena, of course, ruined it.

“Okay, wow. Should I leave? Or are we all just pretending this isn’t happening?”

I didn’t look away from Matt. “You could pretend harder.”

He grinned. “I think I’ll take that as an invitation.”

I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling too.

He smiled— just slightly. Not the kind that asked for attention. The kind that slipped past your guard before you realized it. I caught it anyway. The curse of being observant— you catch everything.

"Wait so, how is it that you've already met Yelena?"

“He represented me once,” she said lightly, walking to the counter like she owned the place. “Long story. There were knives involved. And some yelling. Matt’s very good at not looking surprised in a courtroom.”

I raised my eyebrows. That feels like something she should've told me earlier, but I let it slide cause I was in a forgiving mood.

Matt smiled faintly. “It was… a unique case.”

“I was innocent,” Yelena added. “Mostly.”

Foggy sighed. “She was technically not guilty.”

“See?”

“So how do you know her?” Matt asked, nodding toward Yelena.

I blinked. “Yelena?”

“Please don't say prison,” Foggy added.

“Classified,” Yelena chimed.

I deadpanned. “She showed up in my life one day and never left.”

Matt nodded like he wasn’t sure if I was serious. Which was fair.

“She’s the clingy one,” Yelena added helpfully.

“I’m literally not.”

She gave me a look from behind Foggy’s back. One of those looks. Eyebrows up, lips twitching. She might as well have yelled "He’s cute" across the room. I stared at her. She winked.

Foggy looked between the group of us, grinning. “God, I missed normal human interaction.”

“This is your idea of normal?” I asked.

Matt smiled again, a little more noticeable this time. “You get used to it.”

We didn’t talk about anything important, but it didn’t feel awkward either. Just easy. No pressure. No masks, surprisingly. Just enough banter to feel human.

They didn’t stay long— lawyer things to do, apparently— but as Matt reached the door, he turned back.

“Nice meeting you,” he said.

“Likewise,” I replied.

He gave a small nod— one of those subtle ones that meant something even if you weren’t sure what.

The door closed behind them.

Yelena immediately turned to me, arms crossed and smug.

“Well?”

I shrugged. “They seem alright.”

“You think Matt’s hot.”

“I think you should get out.”

“I think I’m gonna hang out by the window in case he comes back.”

I sighed and threw a cookie at her.

She caught it without blinking. “You know you love me.”

God help me— she wasn’t wrong.

I watched her kick her boots up and settle in like she planned on moving in. And yeah, it wasn’t quiet anymore. Not the kind I thought I wanted. But when I glanced back at the door— just for a second— I didn’t mind it so much.

Not anymore.

Mental note: Get some books in braille.

[tacobacoyeet]

operation: just kiss already | jake peralta x reader

a/n: thank you for the request @glennussy! did you know that not only are you responsible for my first suits fic, you're also resposible for my first brooklyn nine-nine fic? how cool is that?! here's a short, silly little thing.

warnings: nothing really, but i tried to capture the cadence of an episode of brooklyn nine-nine with this, so it's not my usual writing style.

The bullpen was quiet.

Suspiciously quiet.

Which should’ve tipped you off, but you were too busy arguing with Jake over the objectively superior Die Hard sequel. (It was the third one. Obviously.)

“No way,” Jake was saying, leaning so far back in his chair that it teetered on two legs. “Die Hard 2 has snow. Explosions. A villain who looks like the guy who sells hot tubs at the mall. It’s festive and explosive.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s derivative and soulless. John McClane deserves better. Die Hard with a Vengeance has buddy cop magic. It has riddles. It has Samuel L. Jackson.”

Jake gasped. “You only like that one because of the riddles.”

“Correct. And also because it’s better in every possible way.”

He grinned at you, all teeth and ridiculous enthusiasm. “You’re so wrong, and it’s adorable.”

Unbeknownst to either of you, Rosa had entered the bullpen mid-debate. She stood frozen for a second, eyes narrowed as she watched Jake scoot his chair closer to yours under the guise of making a point. You were both laughing now—loudly, obnoxiously, obliviously.

She turned on her heel, marched into the briefing room, and slammed the door open. Amy looked up from her planner.

“They’re flirting again,” Rosa said. “Loudly. About Die Hard.”

Amy let out a strangled noise and flung her highlighter across the room. “That’s the third time this week!”

“I can’t take it anymore,” Boyle said, his voice cracking with emotion. “It’s like watching two golden retrievers discover love but never actually go for the tennis ball.”

Terry looked up from his yogurt. “They need a push.”

“No,” Holt said firmly from the doorway. “What they need is therapy. But I’ll settle for a strategic intervention.”

Rosa raised an eyebrow. “Sir?”

He sighed. “Mandatory team-building. Effective immediately.”

Amy clapped her hands. “I’ll make the schedule.”

“Operation: Just Kiss Already is a go,” Terry muttered.

Boyle was already crying.

-----

The next morning, you walked into the precinct, coffee in hand and zero suspicion in your heart. Jake appeared beside you like a particularly handsome ghost.

"Morning, partner," he said, stealing a sip of your drink without asking. You let him, as always.

“Morning, parasite.”

“Aw. You say the sweetest things.”

You were halfway through bickering over who would win in a fight between Bruce Willis and a sentient vending machine when Amy called out: “Everyone to the briefing room!”

Jake perked up. “Ooh, emergency? Murder? Vending machine uprising?”

“Worse,” Rosa muttered, brushing past. “Icebreakers.”

You shot Jake a look. “Should we run?”

“Too late.”

Inside the briefing room, Holt stood with a large poster behind him that read: TEAM-BUILDING WEEK: PRECINCT UNITY AND COHESION.

Boyle had decorated it with glitter pens.

Jake leaned toward you and whispered, “That poster feels like a trap.”

“You feel like a trap,” you muttered back.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Welcome,” Holt said, deadpan. “This week will consist of a series of exercises meant to bolster teamwork and deepen interpersonal bonds. Participation is mandatory. Complaining is futile.”

Terry stepped forward, clapping once. “We’re starting with a classic: Trust Falls.”

Jake groaned audibly. “Oh no. No, no, no. I have very little trust and a lot of fall-related trauma.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Amy chirped, already pairing everyone up. “You’re with Y/N.”

Jake turned to you, giving a mock-solemn nod. “If I die, avenge me.”

“Noted.”

You stood behind him, arms out. He looked over his shoulder suspiciously.

“You’re not gonna let me hit the ground just to prove a point, right?”

“Depends. Do you admit Die Hard 3 is superior?”

He gasped. “You would let me die.”

But he let himself fall anyway—and you caught him.

Jake blinked up at you from your arms. “Huh. I didn’t die. That’s kind of romantic.”

You laughed. “Don’t push it, Peralta.”

Across the room, Amy wrote something down in her binder and underlined it three times.

Boyle wiped away a tear. “They’re so beautiful.”

-----

The next activity was announced during lunch.

“Desert Island Scenarios,” Terry declared, holding up a laminated packet. “Each pair will be given a list of items and a survival scenario. Work together to decide what to keep, what to ditch, and how you’d make it off the island. It’s about problem-solving and cooperation.”

Jake immediately raised his hand. “Are we allowed to weaponize coconuts?”

“No,” Amy said flatly.

“Fine. Then I call dibs on building our shelter.” He nudged you. “You good with palm fronds?”

You smirked. “As long as I’m not the one weaving them.”

The two of you were given a scenario card that read: Shipwrecked on an uninhabited island. No rescue expected for two weeks.

Jake read aloud: “You may choose only five of the following ten items: a hatchet, a tarp, a fishing net, waterproof matches, a flare gun, a pot, a deck of cards, duct tape, a mirror, or a radio with no batteries.”

You both immediately said, “Matches.”

Jake beamed. “We’re so in sync.”

You rolled your eyes. “Calm down, coconut buddy.”

By the end of the exercise, you had drawn a map of your imaginary island, built a fantasy hut, and decided you’d survive by fishing, drinking boiled rainwater, and arguing over who got the hammock.

Jake looked disturbingly pleased with himself.

“Honestly?” he said, stretching his arms over his head. “I think we’d make a pretty great apocalypse duo.”

You didn’t say anything.

But you didn’t look away either.

Across the room, Rosa whispered, “They’re doomed.”

Boyle sobbed quietly into his lunch.

-----

“Next up,” Amy announced the following day, with barely restrained glee, “is the Compliment Gauntlet!”

Jake looked alarmed. “That sounds suspiciously emotional.”

“That’s because it is,” Amy said. “Each person will be tethered wrist-to-wrist to a partner while offering increasingly specific compliments. The rope only comes off when both people have given a compliment that makes the other physically blush.”

You stared at her. “What kind of twisted Hallmark-bootcamp is this?”

“Justice,” Rosa muttered. “Sweet, calculated justice.”

Jake grinned. “Well, looks like we’re stuck with each other. Again.”

“I’m starting to think that’s intentional.”

“You think?” he said, already extending his wrist toward you. “I’m shocked, truly.”

The rope was tied. Amy set a timer. “Begin.”

Jake smirked. “You have the best taste in snacks and the most expressive eye rolls I’ve ever seen.”

You blinked. “You remembered my snack order?”

“Down to the exact number of gummy bears.”

Your cheeks warmed. Damn it.

“Your hair looks really good today,” you said quickly, deflecting.

He tilted his head. “That’s cute, but not enough. We both know it.”

You exhaled. “You’re the most annoyingly observant, big-hearted disaster of a detective I’ve ever met, and it drives me insane in a way that’s... weirdly endearing.”

Jake blinked.

The tips of his ears turned red.

The rope fell to the ground with a dramatic snap.

Boyle audibly gasped.

Amy fist-pumped. “YES!"

Rosa nodded, satisfied. “Finally.”

Jake looked down at the rope, then at you. “So… we blushed.”

You stared back. “We did.”

His grin grew slow and dumb. “That means we’re... great at this.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Yet here you are.”

-----

The final activity arrived with all the subtlety of a bombshell.

“Tonight’s exercise,” Amy announced, trying not to visibly vibrate with excitement, “is called ‘The Trust Maze.’”

Jake squinted. “Is this about corn mazes? Because I got lost in one as a kid and accidentally joined another family.”

“No,” Amy said. “This is a communication challenge. One person wears a blindfold. The other gives verbal directions to guide them through an obstacle course set up in the evidence room. Minimal lighting. Maximum confusion. The only way out is teamwork.”

Jake turned to you, grinning. “So basically, I stumble around in the dark while you yell at me?”

“Pretty much,” you replied. “Sounds like a Tuesday.”

Boyle handed Jake a blindfold. “Godspeed, buddy.”

Moments later, Jake was standing at the starting line of a makeshift maze made of overturned chairs, file boxes, and caution tape, blindfold secured. The lights were dimmed.

“You ready, Y/N?” Terry called from the corner, stopwatch in hand.

“As I’ll ever be,” you muttered, stepping beside the tape.

“Go!”

“Okay,” you called. “Take two steps forward. No—your other forward. Right.”

Jake flailed and corrected himself. “You need to define directions better!”

“Maybe if you didn’t walk like a baby deer on ice!”

Laughter echoed from the bullpen.

“Turn left! Now duck—DUCK!”

Jake dropped to a crouch as a mop handle swung above his head.

“Holy crap,” he breathed. “You’re actually trying to kill me.”

“Only if you keep making Die Hard 2 references.”

He stumbled forward again, miraculously avoiding a stack of boxes. “You know, this would be a lot more romantic if I weren’t sweating profusely and fearing death.”

You hesitated for half a second, voice quieter now. “Romantic?”

Jake stopped. “Wait, did I say that out loud?”

You didn’t answer. He tugged the blindfold up just enough to peek at you.

The room fell quiet.

“I mean,” he started, his voice suddenly more genuine than it had been all week, “this whole thing’s kind of ridiculous, right? Everyone trying to make us figure out what we apparently can’t?”

You looked at him, soft and stunned. “You think we’re that oblivious?”

Jake smiled sheepishly. “I don’t know. Maybe. But I also know I like arguing with you. I like drinking your coffee. I like... the way you always catch me.”

Your heart was hammering.

“I like you,” he said. “A lot.”

You took a slow step forward until you were right in front of him. “Then maybe,” you murmured, reaching up to pull the blindfold fully off, “you should stop letting everyone else tell you when to do something about it.”

Jake’s breath hitched.

And then you kissed him.

The entire bullpen erupted.

“FINALLY!” Boyle screamed.

Amy high-fived Rosa. Holt closed his office door with a muttered, “About time.”

Terry just grinned and marked something off on a clipboard.

Jake pulled back slightly, dazed. “So... uh... do we win team-building week?”

You grinned. “We just might’ve broken the scoreboard.”

[cece693]

No (Steve Rogers x GN! Reader)

I haven't been focusing on my asks (and I know I should) but this was just something I had to write about. Most Steve fics have a romantic plot, but what if I want to change that? No, I'm not killing anybody but saying no to marriage might be in Steve's book.

Summary: You loved Steve, but you weren't ready to make the big step in marrying him. Others don't understand or merely refuse to accept your reasoning.

tags: marriage proposal gone wrong, reader has their reasons, hurt Steve, Avengers meddling in things

The cozy glow of the living room bathed everything in warm hues, as if the universe itself cradled this moment. Steve Rogers stood before me, larger than life yet heartbreakingly human in the way he looked at me—with unyielding love that made my chest tighten. My heart thundered as he sank to one knee, his golden hair catching the light like a halo. His hand trembled slightly as he produced a small black box.

His smile was tender, adoring—the kind of smile you’d only see in fairy tales and classic romances.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he began, his voice steady but soft. “These past three years have been the best of my life, and that’s saying something for someone who’s lived as long as I have. You’ve given me a reason to keep going when everything else had faded. I love you. Will you do me the honor of becoming mine?”

The room fell silent. Too silent.

I didn’t need to turn around to know the Avengers were crowded against the door, holding their breath. My eyes dropped to the ring—a delicate, beautiful thing. So perfectly Steve. I could imagine him painstakingly choosing it, probably consulting Nat or Sam for advice. It was perfect. He was perfect.

And yet…

“Steve,” I whispered, my voice trembling as I struggled to form words. “I…I can’t.”

The silence turned suffocating. His smile faltered, and his bright blue eyes searched mine as though I’d just spoken a foreign language. “What?”

“I can’t say yes,” I said softly, my throat tightening around the words.

Before I could even attempt to explain, the door burst open, and the Avengers stormed in like a tidal wave of disbelief and judgment.

“Are you kidding me?” Tony’s voice was sharp, incredulous. “You rejected Steve Rogers? Captain America? What is wrong with you?”

“It’s not—” I tried, but Natasha’s icy glare stopped me in my tracks. Her expression was devoid of emotion, but the disappointment in her eyes cut deeper than words ever could. Even Thor, lovable Thor stood with his arms crossed, his brows furrowed, as though I’d committed some unspeakable crime.

“How could you?” Clint’s voice rang out next, loud and accusatory. “Do you even realize what it took for him to plan this? The time, the effort, the heart—and you just said no?”

“I didn’t mean to—” My voice broke, but they weren’t listening. Even Sam shook his head, muttering something about how I didn’t deserve Steve. I turned to him, desperate for support, for something. But Steve stayed silent. His shoulders slumped, his head bowed, his expression unreadable. He didn’t stop them. He didn’t defend me.

The weight of it all became too much.

“Enough!” I shouted, my voice cracking as I stood. The room fell silent, all eyes on me, but I didn’t care. Tears burned in my eyes as I glared at them. “You didn’t even let me explain! You’re all so quick to judge, to attack me, without even asking why I said no. Do you think I don’t love him? That I don’t care about him? You’re wrong.”

I turned on my heel, my voice trembling with anger and heartbreak. “I said no because I’m not ready—not because I don’t love him, but because I do. But clearly, none of you care to understand that.”

Without another word, I stormed out of the room, ignoring their calls after me. My chest felt like it was caving in, the weight of their disappointment and Steve’s silence pressing down on me until I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t know where I was going, but I needed to get away.

Hours later, I sat on a bench at the edge of a quiet park, the cold night air biting at my skin. My hands were trembling, and I didn’t know if it was from the chill or the lingering hurt.

“Mind if I sit?”

I looked up to see Steve standing there, his expression soft but cautious. His voice was gentle, careful, as if he were afraid of saying the wrong thing. I nodded wordlessly, and he took a seat beside me. For a moment, neither of us spoke, the silence stretching between us. The stillness gnawed at me until I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Why are you here, Steve?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“To listen,” he said simply. His blue eyes, tired but sincere, locked onto mine. “I should’ve done that earlier.”

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening again. “You didn’t stop them,” I said, my voice breaking slightly. “You let them say all those horrible things about me, and you didn’t stop them.”

His face fell, and he reached out, hesitating for a moment before placing his hand over mine. “I know,” he said softly. “And I'm sorry. I froze. I didn’t know how to handle it. But I don’t blame you for saying no. I could never blame you for that. I just…I was surprised.”

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I shook my head. “I didn’t say no because I don’t love you, Steve. I love you so much that it hurts. You’re everything, Steve. You’re kind and patient and wonderful. But this…this is forever. And I need to know I’m the best version of myself before I make that promise to you.”

His eyes softened, though the pain lingered in the corners. “I thought…after everything we’ve been through—”

“Exactly,” I cut him off gently, my voice breaking. “After everything we’ve been through, I don’t want to rush into this and risk us falling apart. I want us to last, Steve. And I need to work through my own fears and doubts to make sure I’m ready for that kind of commitment.”

His hand tightened around mine, grounding me. “Thank you for explaining things. And I respect your decision; I'll wait, as long as it takes, until you're ready to say yes."

I looked up at him, the sincerity in his eyes breaking through the wall of guilt and fear I’d built around myself. “You’re not mad?”

Steve shook his head, offering me a small, tender smile. “No. I love you too much to be mad. I just…I needed to understand. And now I do.”

Tears spilled down my cheeks, and I leaned into him, letting him wrap his arms around me. For the first time that night, I felt like I could breathe again.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “For listening. For understanding.”

“Always.”

[stonystark]

Tempted to write a very classic type stony fic of Steve and Tony getting together in the Avengers Tower era, very early after the first Avengers movie, bickering over something absolutely ridiculous in a mission. And Tony just can’t help himself and kisses Steve right on the lips before they jump into battle, and they have to sweat it out with the knowledge they just sucked face before beating up some HYDRA fuckers. So when they finally DO get together, it’s in the post mission euphoria when they’re so happy to be alive and together they can barely even think. LMK if this is a good plan

[redfoxwritesstuff]

AN: What? What's this? A Christmas miracle? Have I come home for the holidays with a classic 2012 Loki's at The Tower post Avengers fic?

Summary: Loki finds himself rather bored at the mandatory Tower holiday party. Lucily someone catches his attention. Once he's been seen at the party enough, he takes her off to the little apartment he has secred for himself for a private party that will leave her decorated, gasping and questioning where her allegiances lie.

CW: 3rd person, female Reader/unnamed female OC, Dub con, Fem receiving oral, M receiving oral, bondage with christmas lights, creampie, vaginal fingering, dom/sub undertones...

Loki couldn’t take his eyes off her. It was just as well. The party was boring and if not for being forced, he’d have left within the first thirty minutes. Attendance was mandatory, however, and it wouldn’t be doing him any favors to buck against this pathetic little order. 

This party could hardly compare to the minor social hours he and Thor had attended in Asgard. The food was subpar; the drink was weak, and the music was not live. That final point offended him the most. The excuse they provided him with when questioned was security- as if there hadn’t been more than adequate time to clear a band. 

At least she was there to entertain his eyes. 

The little red dress she wore could have been painted onto her body. Every stitch of fabric clung to her curves, leaving little work for Loki to imagine what she would look like naked, spread out on his bed. His eyes traced each swell and curve of her body. She would be soft under a man, of that he was sure. 

Heels sparked in the light, making sure his eyes were drawn to her feet only to trace up her legs. The short hem and the sparkling feet accentuated the length of her legs, making them look to go on for miles, though she wasn’t as tall as some. 

She worked for Stark in some capacity. He had gathered that much easily, listening in on conversations. The details beyond that didn’t matter to him. They were as unimportant as the stray sparkles of glitter shed from her shoes as she danced with one man after another, leaving a subtle trail of where she had been. 

The shoes were new, still shedding sparkles and purchased for this event. Between dances, Loki’d catch glimpses of her, running her fingers over red marks on her feet as she tried to soothe the ache. 

She hadn’t known it when she picked out those shoes in the little shop or perhaps in the comfort of her home behind the screen of a computer, but those shoes would lead to doom and salvation for her. 

Loki watched as she excused herself from the party, slipping her foot back into her shoe. She walked, a slight limp in her step from her aching feet and champagne glass in hand. No one looked for her while he waited, watching the door she had exited from. He had expected no one to follow or look for her. She had been mostly alone the whole hour she had been there, but he couldn’t be too sure. 

What no one else would do, he did. 

He set his glass on the table as he passed, walking as if he owned the building. He held his shoulders back and his spine straight. Those who dared to meet his gaze were rewarded with a cold look down his nose as he continued on, slipping through the doors he had watched her exit through. 

The delicate click clack of her heels down the hall lead him to her, though with the trail of glitter flakes he did not need the help. His steps were near silent, the hard sole of his shoes muffled by a cushion of magic, suffocating the sound of each step he took. 

It didn’t take long for him to close the distance. His swiftness was rewarded with the sight of her, leaning against a railing. She looked down at the city lights outside the window. The tower lights were dim, set low to be easy on drunk eyes and to set a more intimate mood, making the sparkling lights outside stand out in the darkness.

There were strands of holiday lights strung all over the hallway, just as there had been in the ballroom. These small bulbs provided most of the light in the spaces, casting a warm glow over everything while allowing for deep, dark shadows to take up residence in corners and under tables. 

“Was the party not to your liking?” Loki’s voice startled her out of her thoughts as he stepped up next to her. The yelp that escaped her throat pleased him, drawing his lips into a charming smile. 

“Oh, you scared me.” She clutched a hand over her pounding heart, flinching back as she realized just how close the stranger had gotten to her. 

“My deepest apologies,” Loki waited for her to answer his original question and, after a few moments, she did.

“I’m kind of new here still,” she shrugged. “When you don’t know anyone, it’s hard to enjoy a party. Not that it’s not a nice party.” She quickly added the last bit after a moment, realizing that he was one of those who, for whatever reason, existed on the upper floors of her boss’ tower. 

It was easy to forget that these people were The Avengers and The Avengers adjacent people. They were important, not just because they were beautiful, rich and, in the case of Tony Stark, her boss. Each one gave such an air of normality around them when she would run into them in the halls. It’s something she couldn’t explain if asked. 

“I care not if you speak ill of Stark’s party.” Loki reassured. “I find it rather dull myself.” 

“Why’s that?” she took a long drink from what was left of her glass, eyes focused on the glittering city lights. He made her nervous. 

Loki looked down at her, taking the moment to admire her breasts in the low cut dress. He could only see a little more from this angle than he could before. The fabric clung close to her skin, protecting what little modesty her dress allowed. What he could see told him her breasts looked natural, not the plastic that woman here insisted on filling themselves with. He could also see that the fabric was thin, a risky move for a work party. 

“Asgardian parties are rather… lustful affairs,” he said after a moment. That caused her eyes to snap to his. “The food is sweet and rich and our wine is as strong and free flowing as our affections.”

“Oh.” was all she could think to say as he plucked her glass from her fingers and swallowed the last of her drink without shame. 

“We revel in all pleasures when we celebrate. We feast on everything, including the body.” Loki’s charming smile seemed so at odds with the words he said. 

“O-oh” She wasn’t sure what she should say to that. Her wide eyes were trained on him, taking in the bluish tint to his slick black curls as the fairy lights twinkled around you. 

That was just the reaction Loki wanted. 

“Your dress and heels say that you had desired to be feasted upon. Have you gotten enough of the attention you craved?”

“Oh, sir, I wasn’t trying to-” She turned to face him, only to find him far closer than she had expected. Once again, as she was lost in the lights, he had closed the distance between them, causing her to back against the railing in surprise. 

“Oh, but you were.” Loki reached out and pulled a few strands of her hair forward, letting the hair flow over his fingers. “Why else would you wear something so short?”

He sent a pointed look down at where the hemline of her dress gave way to her thighs before dragging his eyes up to focus on her breasts. “Or something so low?” 

“I didn’t-” It was a lie. He knew she knew that. While it may not have been intentional at the time, attention was exactly why she dressed the way she did. 

“Shoes to sparkle and draw the eye.” His eyes hungerly followed on the journey over her body his words were taking. “High hem to reward the eye for dragging its way up your legs. Thin fabric to caress your body as if it was but air, or perhaps a bedsheet. A low neckline to highlight your breasts and simple jewelry to make a man think you are bed ready.”

“Excuse me, I should go.” She tried to dart away, but Loki’s arms were quick to cage her in, palms resting against the handrail and fingers wrapping firmly around it.

“Must you?” Loki spoke softly, his voice rumbling in his chest. “I’ve feasted on Midgardian wine. I’ve feasted on Midgardian food. Now, I’d like to feast on a Midgardian woman.”

“I think you’ve got the wrong idea.” She struggled to make her voice sound as sure as she felt she needed to be. There was no way sleeping with Loki would be good for her career. But who would know? 

Without warning, the railing behind her gave way. Fear flooded into her as the feeling of falling sent panic through her nervous system. She had no choice but to throw her arms forward and around Loki’s body for safety, squeezing her eyes shut. Everyone always said these insanely tall buildings were safe and yet here she was, getting ready to fall to her death because a stupid railing gave out. 

Loki wrapped his arms around her as her feet left the floor. She felt herself moving backward, held by Loki’s body. They were not falling. He did not fall with her. Opening her eyes, the world shimmered around her in a shower of glowing green sparks.

Then she was in a different room. The railing hadn’t given out. She wasn’t in danger of falling. She was perfectly safe. 

“There, now.” Loki said, not taking his arms from around her. “We can decide in private if we wish to continue the little party.” 

“Where are we?” She tried to ignore the feeling of him pressed against her, battle strong body hidden under a well fitted black suit. 

“Just a little apartment I rented for the weekend.” Loki said as he let her slip from his arms, fingertips trailing down her back and around her waist and greedily taking in the feel of the nearly nonexistent fabric with every lingering touch. 

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, momentarily taken aback by the glittering lights. 

Whereas Stark’s party was flashy and exciting in its decor, there was a quiet calm to the apartment Loki had rented. Loki had no women in mind when he secured the short-term rental, but he had a desire for something more akin to the yuletide times of Asgard. 

Warm woods, twinkling lights, and plenty of candles and fireplaces littered the space. While solstice on this planet was past by a few days, that didn’t stop the desire to let fires burn through the darkest nights of winter. It had been engrained in him as the only right way to spend the cold, dark season. 

With a flick of his fingers, he lit the fireplaces and candles, bringing a living warmth to the space that the warm electric string lights could not give. 

“Do you wish to leave?” Loki said, stepping closer to her. 

“I don’t know.” She couldn’t help but feel at peace in the space. The warmth made her want to be there. “I don’t usually…” 

The sentence hung left unfinished. She didn’t want to put words in his mouth or make assumptions. The reality is she rarely found one-night stands with strangers to be fun. Loki had a way with words, talking in riddles, saying a lot and yet leaving so much insinuated at best. 

“Why not?” Loki asked, trailing a fingertip up her exposed arm. 

“I just- I don’t usually enjoy… it with strangers. Attention is fine, flirting is fun but actually, with strangers,” she tried to make herself step away, feet failing to give you more than an inch. 

“Are they bad lovers?” Loki asked, inching closer to his prey.

“No. Maybe?” She willed herself to shut up, but his cold blue eyes and the warmth of the room worked together to have her under a spell she couldn’t seem to escape. “I just am picky.”

“Than tell me what you like.” Loki circled her, sweeping her hair off the back of her neck. Loki’s breath fanned over her skin as he hovered behind her, touching only with fingertips.

“I can’t. I couldn’t.”

“Do you like your men soft and sweet?” Loki placed a chaste kiss against her shoulder, nuzzling her neck softly with his nose as his fingertips gave way to the palm of his hand wrapping around her, resting softly on her belly as he pulled her back against his chest. 

Her breath caught in her throat and she wanted to answer, but couldn’t. For the whole of her life, she struggled with sexual frustration, unable to ask for what she wanted. It was dangerous. It hurt feelings. Men took it personally or as an attack. It was better to just accept what she was given. 

Was that any different with Loki? Offending him was so much more dangerous.

“No?” he hummed against her skin. “Do you like it hard and demanding?” 

Loki’s grip on her waist turned firm. His smile turned sharp as he littered love bites against her shoulder. Blunt nails dug into her as she weakly tried to pull away from him. 

She shuddered with the change, pathetically trying to keep her reactions under control. In truth, she knew little what she wanted because she had been so scared to voice any interests, to explore anything. 

“Do you like to be taken? Hard and fiercely? Do you wish to have what I can give you thrust upon you?” Loki’s hand dragged itself up from her stomach to cup her breast. He could feel her heart pounding under his fingertips with his words, giving her away.

“Yes,” she squeaked as he squeezed. 

“The fabric is so thin it almost feels as if there is nothing between your breast and my hand.” Loki mused, biting harder on her shoulder. 

She moaned and squirmed into him as his fingers pinched her nipple at the same time. 

“You like that?” He licked where he bit, as if that would somehow soothe the hurt. “I will fuck you just how you like it.” 

“I don’t know.” She wasn’t sure what she didn’t know.

“Than we will find out together.” Loki promised, determined to feast upon his prize. 

Leaving her breast, Loki pushed up and forward until he was cupping her jaw and pulling her to look back at him over her shoulder. He was ready to meet her, his lips savagely latching upon hers. Teeth grazed along the plump swell of her lower lip.

“Wait.” She pulled back. “I don’t usually kiss unless I’m in a relationsh-”

“You will kiss me,” Loki ordered, his lips cutting her words off. She tried to pull away again and was rewarded with his fingers tangling in the hair at the back of her head. 

She wasn’t sure if she gave in willingly or not, but she kissed him back. His biting lips felt good against hers. The pressure of his fist in her hair, the pull against her scalp, made her tingle in a way she hadn’t been able to explain. 

“Is that what you want?” Loki asked, pulling away. “Do you want my fist in your hair? Do you want me to dominate you and put you exactly where I want you, take you exactly how I want to and to give you orgasms exactly how I want to?”

“I’ve never,”

“I will ruin you for other men,” he promised, pulling her deeper into the rental, toward the bedroom by her hair and his body behind her. “You’ll know exactly what it is you want and no one will give it to you like I can. You’ll pray for me in the darkness while other men leave you unsatisfied.” 

Loki pushed her against the wall and pulled the flimsy cups covering her breasts to the side, exposing both. The tension of the displaced fabric and the straps still on her shoulders presented her naked breasts to him, pebbled nipples begging for his attention. 

He palmed her breasts, taking his time enjoying the way they filled his hands. He rolled and tweaked her nipples periodically, enjoying the way her breath would hitch in her throat and the way her back would arch with each painful pinch. She was ever so responsive. 

“I do love the feeling of natural breasts.” Loki leaned down and ran his tongue over a pink nipple, slathering it with saliva before blowing an unnaturally cold breath on it. She gasped as the frosty cold bit at her sensitive skin. The bud of her nipple responded eagerly, tiny muscles tensing and bunching tp pull the skin tighter. 

“You like the cold,” he told her, as if she hadn’t noticed this about herself at the same time. “You like the pain. You like the loss of control.”

Loki pushed her arms back against the wall when she reached out for him, hands seeking to explore his suit clad body as he was exploring her. 

“Please?” she asked hopefully.

“You’ve not even begun to beg. You’ll touch me when I say.”

Loki pulled her from the wall, not giving her a moment for her legs to steady. Angles tangled together, making it easy for him to push her down on the bed. She bounced, breasts moving freely.

“Sir,” 

He cut her off. “You will say my name while I take you.”

Loki’s hands rested on her knees, strong fingers gripping her. Large hands pushed them apart so that he could step between them. Smoothe, warm skin spread out under his palms as he pushed the hem of her tight little dress higher and higher. 

“Wait,” she said, pushing herself up onto the palms of her hands. “Loki,”

“No,” he said simply. “You’re not wearing a single scrap of fabric under this dress, are you? You want me to stop, so I don’t see how badly you wanted to catch someone’s attention. You want me to stop, so I don’t see how much you’re enjoying this.”

Loki wrapped his hands around the back of her thighs when the dress bunched under her ass and wouldn’t go any higher. He lifted and dragged her toward the edge of the bed, her dress rolling under her lower back and exposing her naked sex to his eyes. 

Greedily, he took in the sight of her with her hair spread out around her head, dress around her waist and breasts framed by the cups. Her knees were on either side of his thighs as he gazed at her. Oh, what a little present she was.

When she again tried to raise up on her hands, Loki pushed her down harshly with a palm to her chest. Tsking her, he fell to his knees as he slapped her pubic mound lightly. 

She had been waxed, giving away the hope for a sexual encounter even though she had denied it. Shoving her thigh up, he opened her sex to him, a delicious fruit he was eager to feast upon. 

“Let me taste you,” Loki demanded. 

“No,” she again rose up but found her elbows struggled to support her weight when the palm of his hand struck her sex softly. 

“I told you, I will have you.” It didn’t go unnoticed by Loki how her thighs twitched at the slight sting of the strike. “You like it when I strike your cunt?” 

“No,” again she was on her elbows looking down at him.

He struck her cunt again, the sound of the contact against her folds echoing through the room with each strike. She flinched with each stinging slap, arched her back and slick built up at her entrance. Though his blows were far from hard, they stung more as his palm spread her wetness. The gasps that sounded more and more like moans were music to his ears. 

Just as she began to really enjoy it, Loki grabbed her thighs in his hands and licked a long stipe up her slit. Her slick gathered on his tongue as he eagerly sampled her arousal. His tongue twisted and caressed her clit, only to disappear as she panted.

“Do you still desire I stop?” Loki asked, only to instantly repeat the action. He waited patiently for her answer as he took her clit between his lips. Harshly, he sucked and teased at it as she pleaded, though neither he nor she was sure exactly what for. 

“Please.” Never had she really enjoyed receiving oral before. It always felt like a tease, almost good than over. 

Loki was skillful with his mouth and well versed in reading the way his partner responded to his touches. When her body seemed to tighten up no more, he knew it was time for a change. 

Reaching out with a fingertip, he marveled at how soft the folds of her cunt were under his touch. It was as if he was caressing the petals of a flower as he ran his finger tips through her folds, coating his digits in her slick. She flinched from his hand, not expecting the change of contact. 

He followed the trail of wetness, finding its source and dipping in. Her body eagerly swallowed his finger as she gasped. Warm, wet muscles clenched and fluttered around his finger as he curled it inside her, stroking her soft walls. 

Dragging the pad of his finger firmly against the top of her canal, he withdrew it. She arched under the pressure, tilting her pelvis forward in a attempt to run from the pressure. 

Loki hummed in satisfaction, adding a second finger as he worked into her again. She was tight around him, body fighting while he pushed his fingers apart from deep inside her. She rewarded him with the sweetest sounds as he pumped his curling fingers into her again and again. Each thrust had her core tightening. 

Fingers and tongue worked together as he played her sopping cunt like an instrument. The sounds of his fingers squelching in and out combined with her ragged breathing and gasping moans to make his favorite music. 

She was embarrassed to fall apart under his touch. Throwing her arm over her mouth, she muffled her moans. Each breath that filled her lungs came slowly. She held her lungs under tight control. The way her walls contracted around him and the twitching of her folds under his tongue told the story of a restrained orgasm. 

Loki knew she didn’t know what she wanted. It was scary for her to take the type of pleasure she wanted, she needed, from him. There was a world of immense pleasure she was too timid to reach out and grab. 

He would thrust that pleasure upon her. Her eyes would be open to the pleasure she hadn’t dared to dream about. No longer would she be able to settle for mediocre love making. She would long for primal sex, for his hands upon her flesh and his direction. 

As he rose from her soaked sex, she reached down and ran her fingers through his hair. For a moment, Loki allowed her to indulge in the affectionate touch. The lovemaking she was used to was soft, caring. He would allow her the moment of what she knew. 

Once that moment was gone, he snatched her wrist up and away from him. He rose quickly and folded over her, snagging her other wrist as well and pushing them up. With her wrists pinned over her head, he hovered above her. The thin dress did little to cover her abdomen as she stretched out below him. 

There was nothing left to Loki’s imagination as he raked his eyes over her exposed breasts. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, desperate attempts to maintain control. Squirming under him, she made a writhing temptation. 

Loki lowered his torso just enough for her breasts to brush against him. Nipples rubbed against the fabric of his shirt. When he had discarded his jacket, she never knew. Loki had slowly leached the heat from the room and the cooler air had her nipples pulled tight and firm, pleasure sparking with every light touch. 

Loki kissed her neck harshly, leaving a trail of wet kisses and harsh nips down her neck as he worked his way to her breasts. The sensitive bud of her nipple in his mouth had her mewling under him. For as much as she had tried to reject him, she was quickly becoming desperate for him. 

“Remember Darling, I touch you, you do not touch me.” 

The reminder spoken over her wet nipple, cool breath fanning over her, fell on deaf ears. Bare legs ran up his legs, wrapping around his waist. He growled a warning into her breast as she hooked her ankles together and tried to get some friction against her core. 

The disobedience was rewarded with a harsh nip to her nipple. 

“Ow!” She jerked from him. The way she flinched had her legs tighten around him.

“I said no touching.” Loki warned. “And yet you do not listen.”

“Sorry.” She whimpered as his tongue danced over the stinging nipple, yet her legs did not fall away from around him.

“Clearly, you cannot be expected to follow simple directions.” Loki pulled away from her. “I’ll have to do something to solve that.”

“What do you-” The sharp, stinging slap of Loki’s hand against her sopping wet pussy forced her question to end as a yelp. 

“Take the dress off,” Loki ordered, as he looked around the room. 

He could create cords, ropes, ribbons, or straps, but they didn’t seem quite right. This was a festive fuck, and he needed something to embody what the holiday season had become in Midgard. 

Reaching out, he grabbed a string of lights running along the headboard and gave them a yank. The strand of lights fell in a twinkling rope. Another yank had the lights unplugged and they should have gone dark. Loki ensured they continued to twinkle and flash with a twitch of his finger. 

“Stand up.” Loki’s eyes traveled over her body as she climbed to her feet, naked before him. “Turn around.”

“What are you doing?” she timidly asked, though she did as he said. She was a quick learner. 

Loki grabbed her wrists and tied a loop of twinkling wire around them. He wound the wire cord up her arms, ignoring how she jerked and protested, knowing well that she didn’t really mean her protests. The twinkling lights wrapped around her chest, above and below her breasts, framing them in sparking lights. 

He pulled each layer of wire tight around her. Loki spared not a thought about how the bulbs would surely bite into her skin. The way the lights lit up her naked skin mesmerized him. 

“My, don’t you look like a goddess?” He was speaking more to himself than to her. 

He stalked around her, taking in his latest art project in all her glory before reaching out, running his hand over the swells of her breasts. Shadows played over her skin, highlighting over every curve, casting shadows down her stomach. 

He tweaked a nipple just as she relaxed. The gasp she let out told him much of how excited she was. He didn’t need her to voice the excitement, though. The slick running between her thighs as he pushed her to bend over the bed told him more than enough. 

The lights were not long enough for him to use them to secure her legs as well, but that was okay. Loki used a silken black ribbon to tie her ankles to each foot of the bed, holding her legs spread wide as she struggled and failed to put herself in a righted position. 

“Now that you’re all tied up, you won’t be sneaking any little extra touches, will you?” Loki stood behind her as he spoke, hands resting on the round curve of her ass. His thumbs caressed her, smoothing circles into the soft skin.

“It’s not comfortable,” she whined.

Loki slapped her ass in response, the sting pulling a shocked gasp from her. “It’s not intended to be.”

He patted her exposed cunt, the sound of the soft slaps far sharper than the strikes actually were. Her cunt was soaked, slick running from her opening in eager streams. She flinched from the contact, though he rubbed her folds soothingly after finishing the series of slaps. 

Did she flinch from the sting or from the shame? Perhaps from both. 

“You can try to tell me you don’t like this, but your body tells me another story.” Loki dipped three fingers into her opening. He leaned over her, using the leverage to push them deep inside. “You can try to tell yourself that you don’t like this, but you’ll long for this night for the rest of your life.”

“Loki,” she didn’t know what she was begging him for as she twisted and turned her torso on the bed. Each attempt to relive the pain from the lights digging into her skin just resulted in different lights pushing harder into her. 

Loki unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off his shoulders. As his belt buckle clanked in his hands, he watched as she shifted to look behind her. She was very interested in seeing what Loki was working with, even as she pretended to be far too timid to as him to continue. 

He pulled the belt from the loops in one smooth motion. For a moment, he considered just throwing it aside, but changed his mind. Folding the belt, he watched as she watched him, wide eyes looking over her shoulder. Loki swung it softly, enjoying the way she flinched harder from the contact. 

“Did that one sting?” Loki didn’t wait for her to answer before softly striking her ass again with the belt on the other ass cheek. 

The final strike was against her center, slick smearing over the fine leather. She yelped and jerked as far forward as her limited range of motion allowed. Tears gathered in her eyes as pain radiated out from her wet sex. Only when the belt thumped to the floor, did she begin to relax, peeking once again over her shoulder at him timidly. 

He unbuttoned his pants and pushed the zipper down as he watched her watching him. There was no layer of underwear. As soon as the zipper fell far enough, his cock sprang free. The lack of tension sent his pants falling to the ground in a pile. 

A twitch of his fingers had the clothes removed from around his feet. It wouldn’t do to be tripping over it. Walking around, Loki climbed onto the bed in front of her, sitting back on his heels. 

She had to twist her neck awkwardly to see him. Most of what she could comfortably look at were his thighs and how his cock proudly stood up in front of his abdomen, just as Loki had intended. 

“Do you wish to taste me?” Loki asked as she licked her dry lips and nodded her head hesitantly. 

Loki leaned over her, grabbing the wire wrapped around her arms, pulled behind her back and lifted her up. If not for the assistance of his magic, the wires would not have supported her weight. He supported her body with a shelf of magic, a bed that carried just enough of her weight to keep the wires from causing any real damage. 

It was as much a performance as it was an act of control. 

Shuffling forward on his shins, Loki presented his erect member to her. 

“Taste it,” he ordered. “Taste me. Take a God into your mouth and perform an act of worship.”

She did just that, tentatively licking the tip of his cock at first as Loki held it pointed at her mouth. She wrapped her lips around his velvety head as best she could and sucked hard, tongue swirling around him while she did so.

Loki scooted forward, thrusting lightly as he did so. He was careful not to push too far into her too quickly, giving her time to adjust her lips and mouth to his size. Soon he was thrusting into her mouth and she was choking, coughing around his cock as hit the back of her throat. 

Loki watched her as he fucked into her mouth. There was nothing he didn’t see. He watched how her fingers would flex, straighten and curl as her throat contracted around him. He took in the way the lights on the wire dug into her skin, making ever so slight adjustments when they dug too harshly. 

Spit ran down her chin and tears gathered in her eyes as he hit the back of her throat again and again. Mascara ran as wide eyes looked up at him, pleading. 

“You’re such a mess.” Loki said, pulling the shaft of his cock out and leaving his head inside, so she could not speak without doing so around him. “What a beautiful mess. Who’s made you such a mess?”

“You.” The word was muffled and indistinct, only recognizable because he knew what she was trying to say. 

“Say my name.” Loki ordered and she did.

The word was as muffled and fuzzy as he expected; the L being totally lost to the cock in her mouth. 

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Loki asked, twitching his hips forward in shallow thrusts. 

“Yes,” she tried to answer, the word almost totally a moan. 

“Do you want me to use you?” Loki asked and waited for her to moan around his head again. 

“Do you want me to take my pleasure from you?” Again, he waited for her to moan.

He withdrew his cock and sat back, watching as she gasped for breath. She floated, parted lips panting for breath right in front of his cock, shiny with her saliva. The cushion of magic lowered her back down onto the bed as Loki stood, walking around. 

Long legs shifted her weight from one sparkling heel to the other. It was nothing more than a desperate attempt to gain stimulation. The ribbons around her ankles tightened, the length growing shorter as her heels skipped further apart on the wooden floor. 

It did no good. With how he had her legs spread wide, her folds were pulled open. He could see every part of her. Shifting her weight couldn’t even buy her the friction of her folds sliding and brushing against her pretty little clit. 

“You’re squirming,” Loki teased, running a finger along the twinkling wire, painfully biting into her skin. “And leaking.” 

“Please,” she whimpered as he stepped behind her. 

“I don’t know,” Loki hummed as he grabbed a strand of lights, pulling them from where they had been wrapped around the banister. “You don’t look quite festive enough.” 

“What are you-?” 

Loki ignored her question as he fed the wire under the strands wrapped around her waist. Bulbs dug into your lower back as each passed through the tight space. He hummed as he worked, a festive tune with words in a language she couldn’t understand.

Shame and desire burned inside her as he wrapped the strand of wires down between her legs. Bulbs pinched into the skin where her thighs gave way to the puffy outer lips of her bald folds. He worked the wire through the front of the strands around her waist, making a glittering, twinkling farce of panties that lit up her cunt.

The remaining wire wrapped around her thighs, each loop passing lower and lower before he tied them off at your knees. It hurt how the lights dug into her skin. 

“Oh, how festive!” Loki laughed. “I have half a mind to get some ornament. Would you like that?” He rubbed his fingers up and down her soaked folds as he spoke. “Bend the wires into tight little loops around your nipples?” 

He plunged three fingers hard into her core, body making an obscene squelch as he spread them wide, making room for him. She moaned, no longer able to resist the feel of his control. Shame did not leave her, though it made her desire greater. 

“Perhaps that is a game for another night,” Loki mused. “You will come back to me, after all.” 

Emptiness was all she could feel as he pulled his long fingers from her. She wiggled her ass at him, begging for his attention with her body. All it earned her was a sharp stinging slap to her cunt, fingers dragging over her clit as he repeated the action a second time. 

“Use your words,” Loki demanded, knowing full well that asking for what she wanted would be one of the hardest things she ever did. 

“Please,” she whimpered. The nonspecificity of her request earned her another punishing slap to her folds, slick splattering against her inner thighs with the stinging force. “Please, fuck me.” 

“There you go,” Loki purred. “I knew you could do it, darling!” 

His praise felt mocking and oh, how she liked that. The way her cunt twitched, her hole fluttering and begging for him to fill her, told him more than the timid words she said did. Slick glittered over her folds, sparking in the twinkling lights. It ran down her tights, gathering over the wires biting into the fat of her thighs. 

“You like being tied up, don’t you?” He ran the head of his soft cock along her slick folds. Each pass coated him with her nectar. “You like being at my mercy, under my control. This is what you’ve craved.” 

“Yes,” she moaned your answer as his head nudged her clit, shooting pleasure through her nerves. Each pass, each strike, felt like her body was at risk of becoming little more than a live wire. She realized with a start that this time, perhaps she would actually get to cum. 

“Who do you want to use you?” Loki asked, nudging the head of his cock against her opening, letting her slick seep out around him. 

“You,” you tried to lean back only to have his hand plant on your back, pushing the bulbs digging harsher into your skin. 

“Who?” He asked again, dangerous edge to his voice. 

“Loki.” His name became a moan as he slowly filled her, inching his thick cock into her once inch at a time. 

“Good girl,” he praised, hand running along her sides before he wrapped his fingers around a tight loop of wire. Using that as a handle, he thrust the remaining length into her harshly, his hips slamming into her ass. The bulbs of lights dug into her sensitive skin and bit his hips, though he didn’t mind the pain. 

“Oh, fuck,” she whimpered as he stretched her around him, head seated deep inside her weeping cunt. 

“We’ve only just begin,” Loki laughed, pulling his cock from her slowly before ramming himself back home. 

Each thrust into her brought pain. She struggled with herself, battling against the desire to submit to him, to submit to how much the pain excited her. Harsh thrusts knocked the air from her lungs as she lay on the bed, spread open for him. Fingers flexed and twitched as she tried to each out for him, to touch the man who was so brutally taking her. 

His heavy balls swung, slapping her clit in a soft echo of the pain his hands had brought her. Each thrust drug his heavy cock through her walls, demanding she submit to the pleasure he gave her. 

“Loki,” she gasped out his as he fucked into her faster. Though her mouth hung open, gasping breaths filling her lungs, only to be knocked out as he rammed his cock into her, she couldn’t get enough air. 

Saliva ran from the corners of her mouth, a mess of lipstick already smeared by how he had fucked her mouth smeared further into the wet mess her face was making on his bedspread. 

“Oh, fuck. Oh, Loki.” Her body tightened around him as he drug her back, pulling her up by the wires around her arms. Her back arched as she hung by the wires. Spittal hung in ropes from her bottom lip as he thrust into her, the pace harsh and punishing. Her breasts swung, wires cutting more into the tips of the swells and then the undersides as their weight shifted. 

Her orgasm built as he fucked into her, using her. Her foggy mind kept telling her that this was wrong. She never agreed to be tied up. She never agreed to be used. Did she? 

Oh, but his cuck spearing her again and again felt so good. She was powerless against the pleasure he gave her. She couldn’t get away, even if she wanted to. Did she want to? 

“Do you wish to cum?” Loki asked, leaning forward to cup her breast in his hand as he continued his harsh thrusts. 

“Please?” she begged, body tightening around him as he pinched her nipple. 

Loki decided it was a shame he had elected against decorating her like the tree she could have been. She’d look so cute, standing in the room’s corner, lit up, legs spread wide, with a vibrator tied to her cunt. He’d tie bells around her, let and hang her from a wire, let the bells sound as each orgasm ripped from her body as ornaments hung from her nipples. 

Surly Stark wouldn’t notice her missing for a few days, at least while he kept her as his little yule tree. Perhaps he would. She bent so easily to his will. She’d agree just for the promise of the pleasure of being his. 

“Loki,” she moaned as her walls fluttered, twitching and gripping his cock as it ripped through her walls. “Fuck, it’s too much. Too much.” 

“It’s not,” Loki purred in her ear, pulling her back to his chest by the breast in his hand. His other hand ran down her body, soothing her flaming skin until he reached her spread folds. “Until I say it is.” 

Every panting moan that left her lips shifted into a high-pitched whine as he slapped her clit. 

“You’re such a pretty little slut for me. Look at you?” He slapped her clit again and again, stinging pain tightening her cunt around him as he withdrew his cock before plunging forward again.

“Whining as I shape your greedy cunt to my cock. You’re going to cum on me, aren’t you?” He chuckled darkly as he slapped her sensitive bud. “No one will be able to fuck you like you need. No one can take you like I can. You’re going to be my little pet slut, won’t you?” 

“Yes,” she cried out as her body pulled impossibly tight around him. “Fuck, yes. Please.” 

“Who owns your cunt?” Loki whispered, pinching both a nipple and her clit harshly at the same time. His cock twitched inside her. 

“Loki,” she cried out, body clamping down on his cock harshly, orgasm claiming her with violent force. “You. Fuck, Loki! Loki!” 

He came harshly, pushing her down onto the bed as he thrust into her impossibly hard and fast. Her walls convulsed, gripped him as she screamed his name, muffled by the bedsheets. 

He came with a roar, shooting his seed deep inside her quivering cunt as he forced his cock into her again and again. Bulbs pressed into her ass and thighs with such force that she would have bruises come morning. 

His thrusts slowed as she sobbed against the bed, overwhelmed by pleasure as his cock twitched, softening. She was wrecked, just how he wanted her. All it took was one powerful orgasm and the feeling of being unreservedly owned. 

“Be my toy and I’ll ensure you are never left unsatisfied.” He rubbed his hands along her body, fingers tracing the layers of wire wrapped around you. 

“Why?” You gasped as his hand struck your ass. 

“Because if you turn me down, you’ll never get fucked like this again.” Loki laughed as he slipped from her body. His cum ran from her opening as he stepped back. “And you have spent all your life looking for someone to own that little cunt of yours, haven’t you?” 

“I-” Her heart beat wildly in her chest as she fought to be able to think through the haze her orgasm left her. 

“I’ll leave you to think,” Loki said, running his hand down her back. She gasped and leaned forward as he pushed two long fingers into her twitching hole, covering them in her juices. He smeared the mess onto her thigh as he walked away. “Call for me when you decide.” 

“Wait-” you struggled, wanting to sit up, to face him. “You can’t leave me like this?!”

“I can,” Loki laughed as he picked up a book, stretching out on the small loveseat in the living space. “Think of it as a reminder of what only I can give you.” 

[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

Valentine's Day

pairing: steve rogers x fem!wife!reader

genre: fluffff

requested: yes

el's thoughts: a verrrryyyyy late valentine's day fic but here you gooo haha

Steve and Y/N’s love story was one of patience, devotion, and an old-fashioned kind of romance that made even the busiest Avengers stop and notice. They met shortly after Steve had adjusted to the modern world—Y/N was an agent working alongside S.H.I.E.L.D., someone who had always admired Captain America for more than just his reputation. She saw the man behind the shield, the soldier with a heart too big for the battles he had to fight.

Their connection was instant but slow-burning. Steve, ever the gentleman, took his time courting Y/N, despite how much she teased him for it all being very old-fashioned. Writing her letters even when texts would have been easier, bringing her flowers "just because," and insisting on walking her home no matter how many dangerous missions they'd both survived. She adored his kindness, his sense of duty, and the way his blue eyes softened whenever he looked at her.

After a few years of dating, Steve proposed in a way only he could—under the stars on the Brooklyn rooftop where he once dreamed of a life beyond war. They got married with a small ceremony, surrounded by friends who had become family. Life as Steve Rogers' wife came with challenges of its own, but Y/N never wavered in her love for him. She made sure that Steve, the man who had sacrificed so much, always felt loved, cherished, and seen.

~

Valentine’s Day had always been something Steve Rogers liked to keep simple. A quiet dinner, maybe some flowers, but nothing too extravagant. Y/N, however, had different plans this year.

She wanted to give him a night to remember—something reminiscent of the 1940s, a time Steve still held close to his heart. So, she went all out. A candlelit dinner, a tailored suit just for him, a beautifully decorated space with red and gold accents, and even a dance floor set up in their living room with a playlist of old jazz classics. She told him to come home dressed in his black suit. That was her only hint at her surprise for him. 

When Steve walked through the door that evening, his blue eyes widened in surprise. “Doll… what’s all this?”

Y/N grinned, stepping forward to greet him with a soft kiss. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Steve.”

He looked around, taking in the roses, the table set for two, and the soft glow of string lights overhead. “You did all this… for me?”

“Of course, I did. You deserve to be celebrated, too,” she said, smoothing her hands over the lapels of his suit. “I even got you this.”

She held up a neatly wrapped box, and Steve carefully unwrapped it, revealing a vintage pocket watch. His fingers traced over the engraving on the inside: My heart, forever yours – Y/N.

Steve swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion. “Doll… this is…”

“Do you like it?” she asked softly, searching his face for a reaction.

He nodded, pulling her into his arms. “I love it. And I love you.”

Dinner was filled with laughter, conversation, and reminiscing about stories from the past. But the real magic happened when Y/N reached for his hand and pulled him toward the small dance floor.

“May I have this dance, Captain?” she teased, her eyes twinkling.

Steve chuckled, shaking his head fondly. “I think I’m supposed to ask you that.”

“Well, times have changed,” she said, stepping closer.

With a small smile, he placed his hand on her waist while she rested hers on his shoulder, and together they swayed to the soft sounds of Ella Fitzgerald. It felt like they had been transported back in time, just the two of them in their own little world.

“You always make me feel like I belong,” Steve murmured, resting his forehead against hers.

“You do belong,” Y/N whispered. “Right here, with me.”

He kissed her then—slow and deep, pouring every ounce of love he had for her into that moment. When they pulled apart, he grinned. “Best Valentine’s Day ever.”

Y/N smirked. “Good, because next year I might just top it.”

Steve laughed, spinning her around before pulling her back into his arms.

[adventures-in-mangaland]

I'm going with 10 All Time Classics from the Captain America (MCU) fandom. I mean, they're all classics to me, at least. In no particular order:

1. This, You Protect by owlet

First installment in the Infinite Coffee and Protection Detail series, which are all amazing. It's a “Bucky escaping Hydra and rebuilding his sense of self” fic, which he does while spying on Steve. With eventual Avengers Family and a lovely cast of OCs bonding with Bucky in the meantime. It has a very distinctive perspective and writing style; Bucky's in constant internal (and sometimes accidentally external) dialogue with himself, making it hilarious and tragic all at the same time. I love it. I've recently been getting into The Murderbot Diaries by Martha Wells and this Bucky has a similar sassy-but-vulnerable vibe? Read this if you like that, anyway.

2. The One Who Knows by Dira Sudis (dsudis)

This is a Political Animals AU, in that no-powers Steve is inserted into the Political Animals world and Bucky is TJ. Discusses being outed and depression but is ultimately hopeful. The author is one of my all time faves and has written lots of great stories for this and many other fandoms.

3. Blue Scales by chaya

Steve is a merman AU. He's still Captain America, though. It's crack with heart, I love it.

Best line: "May your scales and your love story be our weird secret forever.”

4. Our Lingering Frost by eyres

AU where Bucky is rescued from Hydra in the 50s (?) and so is around for Steve to be found.

5. Assets Out of Containment by follow_the_sun

It's a classic to *me*, OK? Bucky goes undercover at Jurassic World just as that movie's plot kicks off. They're Hydra dinosaurs! It's just great. Also has a podfic and crossovers with Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

6. Not Easily Conquered (series) by dropdeaddream and WhatAreFears

Some of the greatest fanfiction I've ever read, the whole series is epic. Anyway, it's a "Steve doesn't go into the ice" AU with added queer angst when (never sent) love letters from Bucky resurface. I particularly like the second installment in the series The Thirteen Letters, which are just Bucky's letters and are insanely well-written.

7. to memory now I can't recall by Etharei

Time travel AU! Featuring post-CATWS Bucky accidentally switching places with CATFA era Bucky.

8. If Wishing Made It So by Leveragehunters (Monkeygreen)

Genie!Bucky AU! This author is great at writing AUs with fantasy/genre elements, it was hard to choose. They've also written an excellent werewolf!Steve AU and a horse!Steve AU that I really love.

9. Into That Good Night by Nonymos

An Interstellar AU! Very angsty and tragic but with an eventual happy ending.

10. Goodbye Piccadilly, Farewell Leicester Square by Speranza

Speranza must be one of the best writers in the fandom, so it was hard to pick just one of their fics. Other strong contenders were All the Angels and the Saints and The Fifties, so check those out too! But this one has a special place in my heart. Steve, Tony and Natasha accidentally time travel to WW2 London, leading to an accidental run-in with CATFA-era Bucky. The author does tragic and romantic time travel tropes so well, but with a happy ending.

I now realise that most of these are AUs, so here’s a bonus rec for a non-AU in-universe story that’s severely underrated and deserves more love:

+1

Heart, Have No Pity on this House of Bone by Sena

This story follows Bucky in-action in the Pacific Theatre. It’s very well written and, from what I can tell, well researched. Steve only appears in Bucky’s imagination and the story focuses on the horrors of war rather than romance, but it’s gripping! And it explores unrequited love, being closeted and period-typical homophobia, which I also enjoyed. I’m still holding out hope for a sequel.

[starlightshadowsworld]

You remember that era, where all the fics were the Avengers being best friends living in Avengers Tower.

Thor's obsessed with pop tarts and Hawkeyes in the vents for some reason.

Natasha steals everyone's clothes, Tony and Bruce are Science Bros TM doing all kinds of chaos in the labs.

Steve's sketchbook is beside him and Jarvis is helping him figure out his new phone.

I really want that era for the current MCU.

Just

Kamala and Darcy making lists of all the classics Carol needs to watch.

Yelena winning family game night. Demands Jimmy teachers her his card tricks.

Sam and Shang trying to out dance each other and pulling out the DDR machines.

Kate casually spoiling her friends.

While Bucky and Katy collect bets.

Monica and Wanda watching sitcoms together on rainy nights.

Zemo and Sharon showing up like they aren't both wanted criminals to watch horror movies.