#injecting this song into my veins would fix me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jangofctts · 4 years ago

Text

As You Are (Bucky Barnes x fem!reader)

Rated: Mature, Explicit 18+

Word Count: 6.4k

Warnings: smut, explicit language, mentions of alcohol, mentions of violence and injuries, light choking, brief thigh riding/grinding, vaginal fingering with them metal fingies, oral female receiving, unprotected vaginal sex (dont be a dick, wrap that stick), fucking on sam’s couch

a/n: ok hi this fic is very self indulgent bUT YKNOW WHAT WHO CARES EKJHEJHKEJH this is my first fic for marvel and AH I hope I did Bucky justice. ENJOY YALL

This had been a terrible idea.

Right from the minute you tailed after he and Sam to the Baron’s extensive vintage car storage. Bucky had explicitly withheld any and all information regarding this little excursion to protect you but of course you’d shown up—none too jazzed about the little stunt Bucky pulled regarding the Baron. Fair.

You were right—Bucky should have called but that overwhelming guilt of dragging you into another one of his problems stopped him from pressing that little call button. He never wanted to be the reason you ended up back on the run again. Though judging by the way things were going, it was more than likely you’d be in prison by the end of the week.

Luck had your back in that sort of regard—too bad it could never rescue you from your own stubbornness and grief regarding that damn shield.

You’d taken a devastatingly hard hit from Walker—a fractured orbital, a split lip and a dislocated shoulder. All preventable—if only Bucky kept better track of you before you showed up in that warehouse alone. Left to fight the shadow of what was once a symbol of hope for some—another man playing dress-up in something that will never belong to him.

It was just their luck Bucky and Sam arrived in time—preventing you from becoming another red stain of violence splattered over that shield.

James Buchanan Barnes is not afraid of much—but fuck. Seeing you crumpled over the concrete floor, all bloodied and struggling to raise a hand to protect your face… It was the same feeling as injecting his veins with a pure shot of adrenaline and anger shrouded in fear. He promised Steve he’d look after you…

And as Sam carried you out of that warehouse you had the gall to tenderly tell them that you were just fine—as if your mouth weren’t full of blood and a face blooming with patchy bruises. The jealousy that sparked through Bucky’s chest when you clung to Sam’s chest did nothing to help that dark festering pit inside his ribcage he’s attempting to suture back together.

Bucky clenches his jaw. At least you’re asleep now. Curled up against the window, holding your injured arm in a way that limited the turbulence from jostling it. It’s the first time Bucky would describe you as fragile. He know’s you’re anything but that—stubborn mostly—yet most of all brave. It’s what Steve admired most about you—what Bucky loves most about you too. That vibrant spark flowing through your blood and how you’re not afraid to shout along to your favorite songs despite the odd looks you get. Bucky envies how self-assured you are, how you’ll never lose yourself because you know just where you’re headed. He wishes he still had that sort of drive instead of all this uncertainty and guilt clouding each muscle and fibre in his body.

Bucky doesn’t realize the jet has landed until Sam stands and and places a large hand over your shoulder. Your face scrunches as you whine and curl further into your seat. “C’mon, kiddo.” You grumble something inaudible. “You want me to carry you?”

The delicate plates of vibranium clink together as Bucky’s hand tightens into a fist, jealousy flaring hot and bright. He quickly stands, too fast to be considering anything less than awkward. Sam’s brow quirks. “I can do it.”

“It’s cool, man,” Sam says as he scoops one arm under your legs and the other around your back. “I got her.”

Bucky bristles. Whatever.

It’s not like you and him have anything together. A one sided plague of affection that you’ll never know about—he wants to tell you. Fuck, the words burn through his tongue and collect like ashes between his teeth and yet they are never voiced from self sabotage. There’s no possible way to voice how you’ve haunted his thoughts and his dream since the moment his eyes met yours. How he’s memorized the lines of your smile and the sweet sound of your laugh, the sweep of your lashes and the rhythm of your steps. Bucky would know you deaf, blind, numb, in this world or any other twisted reality.

He had said that he wasn’t afraid of much, but that’s not entirely true. Eternity, oblivion, crowded rooms, being alone too long. And you. You terrify him. You have the power to pluck at the very strings of his soul and unravel him completely until he’s no more—and you don’t even know it. Bucky Barnes is less afraid of dying than he is of loosing you but that fear never once provides him the courage to tell you. You may not be a scribbled name in his book, but he still hopes that one day he’ll earn the chance to strike his cowardice and put to rest the wretched ache in his heart that he feels for you.

He wishes he told you in Wakanda, after the Blip, Riga, and right this instant. He watches Sam carry you out of the jet—what’s a little more time?

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The sun is beginning to melt into the horizon, turning the expanse of water into molten gold and shimmering blues. The hazy humidity from the late afternoon heat collects at the back of Bucky’s neck and the light breeze does nothing to cool. Bucky sighs and swipes at the bead of sweat creeping down his forehead with the back of his hand—he glances up.

A ghost of a smile creeps across his lips. You’re exactly where he and Sam left you three hours ago. Surprising to be quite honest—you never did like to stay in one place for longer than ten minutes. You’re a pain in his ass, simply said.

But now—now you’re haphazardly splayed out on the lawn chair you were forced into, a juice box loosely held in your good hand while the other still remains in the sling. He can’t tell if you’re asleep—Steve’s sunglasses do an excellent job of hiding your eyes. Yet as Bucky wanders closer, your head rolls to your right in greeting.

“It’s rude to stare, y’know,” you grumble, lifting the juice box to your mouth. Your lips purse around the plastic straw. “And before you ask—yes, I have a very important job I’m currently overseeing.”

Bucky quirks a brow. “What—hogging the lawn chair?”

“No—“ You huff. You gesture with your juice box at the large cooler your sandaled feet are propped up on. “I’m the booze master. God of the ale, destroyer of sobriety—“

“Alright, Booze Master,” Bucky interrupts with a snort. “Why don’t you bestow upon me a beer, your majesty.”

You tap your index finger over your chin as a lazy smile fixes itself over your lips. “Granted.”

You slide your legs off the cooler and with a pained grunt you shift forward. Bucky shoots his arm out and steadies you back against the chair by your shoulder before you get any further. Your face pulls into a grimace.

“I got it, kid. Relax.”

Bucky pops open the cooler and fishes out a beer and pops the cap off between his left index finger and thumb. You watch with a frown, “I could’ve done that for you.”

Bucky resists the urge to roll his eyes and takes a seat on the cooler. The bitter fizz floods his tastebuds as he takes a sip of his drink, a tangible silence blanketing the space between you. He gets it—people like he and you can never settle for complacency. As if the rest isn’t deserved despite the bloody knuckles and the shattered glass that slices through skin—the bruises and the broken bones. None of it is enough—not worthwhile to preserve yourself when other’s so desperately need your help.

Or maybe it’s penance.

Bucky sure as shit finds himself swallowed by the black maw of guilt each and every day. Battling the never ending shadow of doubt that clings to his soul like glitter to a an old carpet. Bucky believes it’s safe to say that you’re the same—every good deed you do added to the imaginary scale weighing against the bad despite it feeling hollow and insurmountable. Paying in blood to equate the amount you’ve spilled. A hopeless battle you both insist on fighting.

Bucky sighs through his nose, bends at the waist and collects both your ankles in his left hand. You let him lift them both and settle your legs over his knees. You shiver, an eruption of goosebumps rushing up your skin at the cold metallic shock of Bucky’s vibranium thumb scrapinh over your bare flesh.

Bucky’s lips tilt down ever so slightly. “Did I hurt you?”

“Never,” you rush to say before he has the chance to flee. “S’just cold.”

His hum reverberates low in his chest as those cerulean blue eyes fall to his hands. You clench your jaw until your teeth ache as his left thumb continues to stroke over the delicate skin covering the joint of your ankle. This is…new…

You’d been close with Steve and Sam, and by proxy Bucky—in some weird adjunct way. Compared to Sam’s teasing bumps of the shoulder and that infectious laugh far more addicting than the golden liquor of the sun, Bucky is frigid. Still attempting to shake off the whole Winter Soldier thing that’s molded onto his bones like stubborn permafrost. Touch had always been tricky with him—even a friendly pat over the back or a simple tap to the harm had him tensing under the touch—muscle and steel bunching to prepare for a harsh blow that would never arrive. Never from you.

Bucky rarely sought out your physical comfort—you were always the one to initiate those friendly touches even if he was the type to just sit and ignore you like a grouchy old cat barely clinging onto that ninth life. The first time he breached that fragile barrier was in Wakanda—something in Bucky cracked and split into a cavernous ravine of nebulosity. Stitches shred apart then stapled back together as he grabbed your arm and wrestled you into a bone-crushing hug. You didn’t need to ask to realize he cried the entire time, gripping your shirt like a lifeline while he shuddered and sobbed into the crook of your neck. To him everything from the rain to silk sheets felt like shrapnel and the stars tasted like old blood and the past of things long gone—yet you were familiar.

A comfort for the much needed healing of the scattered pieces of a man. You don’t mind helping him pick up the tidbits and reattach them with veins of silver. It’s the least you can do.

The second time occurred after the loss of Steve. Some part of you had been wrenched out with his departure and he never bothered to return it. It doesn’t matter anymore—the hollow ache had been soothed with the Winter Soldier clutching you to his chest until you drifted off into a fitful sleep. A tether to a new reality you both partake in.

Which brings you to now. There’s no cathartic reasoning behind his touch…it’s simple…a risky leap of faith into unknown territory. Bucky’s eyes lift to meet yours—curiosity swimming in those icy irises. You don’t mind—in fact you quite like the calloused warmth of his hand and the opposing chilly metal one tentatively exploring your exposed skin.

“You have a scar here,” Bucky murmurs, skimming the thumb made up of flesh and sinew over the mottled skin occupying the crease of where the top of your foot meets your ankle.

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I fell on barbed wire.”

“Clumsy,” he chides, quirking a dark brow.

Your shoulders bounce with a huff. “I was like—twelve when it happened, James.”

His mouth quirks in a half smile, quite liking the validation of his name in the way your mouth speaks it. He wonders if you know the weight of granting you that leeway of calling him that. Shit—he doesn’t care what you call him, everything sounds lovely when you say it.

There’s another silence—holding your breath until something splits and shatters into a million pieces. You’d be a liar if you said you didn’t want anything more than just friendship with Bucky but fear of rejection is a tricky thing. You take the easy way out and offer him the chance of something more on a silver platter.

“Bucky?”

His fingers whisper up your shin as he inclines his head.

“I’m tired. Drive me back to Sam’s?”

“Sure thing, doll.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Bucky holds the door open for you as you stumble in, escaping the hazy southern heat. He disappears into the kitchen as you make a beeline straight for the couch, sighing loudly once the plush cushions meet your back. You lazily lift your head once you hear his familiar footfalls nearing.

With him he brings two Otterpops, one blue raspberry and the other cherry. Once he hands it to you he takes a seat on your left, close enough that his thigh and shoulder bumps against yours. “Don’t tell Sarah’s kids that these were the last ones.”

You roll your eyes and promptly stick the Otterpop into you mouth. “‘M ain’t no snitch.”

His low chuckle reverberates through his chest. The silence that follows isn’t an awkward one as you enjoy the cold treat—it’s filled with the humming cicada bugs outside and the breeze through the wind chimes. Comfortable with the normalcy—just a couple of regular old people enjoying life for a suspended amount of seconds.

Once you finish the Otter Pop, you crumple the plastic up and rest it on the coffee table. He does the same—hints of the blue syrup sticking to the cracks of his plush lips. You force yourself to avert your eyes. You cheeks heat with a flush as you rush to occupy your mind with anything but wild fantasies of Bucky’s mouth. You lean forward again, pointedly ignoring the way Bucky’s eyes track your movements as you shuck off your sling, the prickle of unused muscles and bruised ligaments rushing through the limb. You wince as you slowly roll your shoulder.

The muscles in Bucky’s jaw clenches. You sigh—he’s still blaming himself for your injuries. “Does it still hurt?”

“Not everyone has freaky healing powers, Buck,” you snort. You rush to appease him when he frowns. “It’s getting better though. Still can’t sleep on it—but eh.”

“I’m sorry.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. No matter how many times you tell him he’ll never believe you. That’s something only he can fix. Doesn’t stop you from telling him anyway. “Stop blaming yourself for my idiocy. I made my choice and paid the price for it.”

Bucky’s eyes drop to his hands. “Can’t help it, sweetheart. Steve told me to look after you.”

Your heart constricts within your chest like a fist. You inhale and reach out to rest your hand over his wrist. “Funny—he told me the same thing about you.”

It surprises him—his dark brows furrow as his mouth parts, but nothing comes forth. Grappling with the right words that fit with what he feels. He’s still learning how to give his soul a name that fits. Learning how to take the dark, twisted bramble of his heart and make it into something that doesn’t ache each time it beats. He’s still learning how to look himself in the eyes, point to himself and say that there’s nothing frightening in there. Not anymore. No more.

You suck in a breath and muster up the embers of courage. Here goes nothing—

You cup Bucky’s cheek, the scrape of stubble welcome against your warm palm as you gently turn his face to look at you. His eyes drift to yours when the mumbled syllables of his name tumble from your lips. His eyes are framed with dark circles of wildflower bruises, his small smile a moonbeam stark against battered skin. You’ve dreamt so many times of swallowing it whole and pressing him close enough that your heartstrings become entangled with no hope of separation. But that’s something for him to decide.

You drop your hand cradling Bucky’s jaw, but before your hand completely falls Bucky surges forward. His large hands rush to cup your face, swallowing your noise of surprise as his plush lips fall onto yours. The syrupy flavor of a Blue Raspberry Otter Pop he stole from Sarah’s freezer lingers on Bucky’s mouth, mixed in with the smell of old leather and cracked cardamom. Bucky nips at your bottom lip, tugging once and then rolling it between the blunt enamel of his teeth. Despite all the bad jokes regarding his age and senior citizen status—fuck he’s a damn good kisser. Compared to him you feel clumsy, sloppy, but no matter how hard you search for his distaste he doesn't seem to care in the slightest—if anything he’s pulling you closer.

Bucky’s kisses may taste like the middle of June and a first love, but desperation lines every action like a wound with jagged edges. It’s a slow process learning to be free, but one day he’ll transform into starlight—and instead of a kiss like fire, it’ll be like touching your lips to a constellation’s aureate mouth.

When Bucky pulls away, sucking in air and resting his forehead on yours, you catch a whiff of his hair. Freshly washed and smelling a bit like Sam’s shampoo. Your lips quirk. You’ll make sure to keep that a secret from Sam.

You pull back just enough to meet his eye, resting your palm over his vibranium hand that still cups your cheek. “Am I the first person you’ve kissed since the stone ages?”

His lips pull into a cheeky smile. “Maybe.”

You laugh and roll your eyes, skating your palm down the front of his shirt, the heat of his skin near searing through the fabric. “I guess we have a lot of catching up to do, huh?”

Bucky’s lips smother your small moan as he drags you into another kiss. You can feel his smile as he murmurs his agreement between desperate kisses and the enticing warmth of his tongue skimming along yours. The next time you part for air, Bucky drops his strong hands from your face to instead wrap them around the curve of your hips. He tugs you over his right thigh with ease and breathes a gentle sigh of your name, beginning to pepper kisses over you cheek and down the slope of your jaw.

Bucky reaches your ear and carefully nibbles the cartilage, his voice a warm scrape in your ear. “I want you.”

It’s such a simple phrase…and yet…it tears through you and pools like a heavy weight right to your center. “Then take me.”

Quick as a strike of a match, you’re tipped backwards, cradled right between the arm of the couch and the back of it. Heat rushes through each limb and gathers in your cheeks as Bucky’s vibranium fingers skate up your chest and curl around the column of your throat—that hardened soldier he’s tried to bury bleeding through the cracks of his resolve. You don’t care. You gasp into his mouth as he squeezes ever so slightly while he pushes a firm thigh between your legs. Shit—this is how you’re gonna die—grinding on Bucky’s muscled leg while he’s got a hand around your throat.

What a way to go.

With his other hand he grips the meat of your thigh and pulls you higher, grinding the rough material of his jeans covering his crotch into yours. You whine and arch into him. You need more.

You both stay here for a good while up until it feels like you’re ready to burst at the seems if you don’t have him now. Bucky is no better—cheeks flushed as he fumbles with the zipper to relieve the noticeable bulge straining against it. Impatient and needy, you shoo away his hands and do it yourself, easily sliding your warm hand down his navel and over his boxers to palm at his cock. Bucky’s hand twitches around your neck, a sweet groan filling the air when you softly squeeze him through the elastic.

“Fuck, you’re gonna…” Bucky trails off and buries his nose into the crook of your neck. “Gonna make me cum in my pants if you don’t—don’t stop.”

While the thought is tempting, you want this to last just a little bit longer. Rush after the glorious high of just being near him, his kisses, everything about him. Bucky grunts at the loss of your hand and mouths a wet trail of sloppy kisses up your neck and returns to your lips. When you part he sweeps a stray strand of hair and tucks it behind your ear. He smiles softly.

“Can I try something?” He breaths. Before he can even tell you what his idea is, you’re happily nodding along. “Wanna taste you. Been thinking about it ever since Wakanda.”

Oof. His words shoot straight your center. “Bucky—why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

His mouth quirks. “You make me nervous.”

Rolling your eyes you plant a kiss on his forehead and grant him his simple desire. Bucky sits and slides to the floor, close enough that he’s still able to hover over you. You lift your hips as Bucky tugs your shorts and underwear down and off your legs. Besides the general anxieties of being half naked in front of an incredibly attractive man and performing something so sinful on a friend’s couch—there’s a strange stroke of pride that alights through each of your vertebrae. A powerful man willingly dropping to his knees to please you.

Bucky shoots you a smile and slides his hands around your ribcage, bends forward slightly and captures you mouth in a deep kiss. He parts and nips down your jaw and over your throat, sliding his tongue over the marks he leaves with his teeth as if to soothe the slight sting. You whine and arch into him as he slides lower, leaving an obvious trail of bruises and teeth marks in his wake until he reaches the collar of your shirt. Bucky moves his palms under the fabric to grab at your breasts, the flats of his fingertips rolling over your nipples that peak through your bra. You suck in a shaky breath when Bucky catches the pebbled bud between his forefinger and thumb, the hard vibranium of his fingers scraping over it. A low hum rumbles through his chest as he leans forward to playfully nip at your collarbone.

“I wanna see you naked.” Bucky admits as he slips his hands out of your shirt. You shiver as those chilly metal fingers gently come to rest on the outside of your bare thighs.

“Not here, Buck,” you sigh. “T-they—fuck—they can come back any minute.”

Bucky quirks a brow, eyes dropping between your legs, then back up with a smirk. His plush lips part, yet before he can disprove your silly point—that your bare ass is already out and taking off the shirt would barely make a difference—you interject.

“Shut up.”

His shoulders bounce with a chuckle. “You have such a way with words, y’know that?”

You make a noise low in your throat and reach out to sharply tug his ear. He easily bats your hand aside, hooks his hands under your ass and hauls until you’re all but hanging over the edge of the cushions. You squirm, unable close your legs or to relieve some of that burning tension collecting in your core as Bucky lowers himself and wedges his shoulder between your thighs. He slides his hand over your calfs and wrestles them over his broad shoulders—earning a perfect view of your pussy. You’re already wet—worked up and running on borrowed time. You roll your head back onto the back of the couch and clench your jaw. You don’t want to rush him but Christ—you really don’t want Sam or Sarah to find you like this.

It feels like ages before Bucky’s lips touch your belly and then your navel with his warm tongue. With a grunt he shoves your shirt up to your breasts and circles your bellybutton with the tip of his tongue—his enhanced strength easily pinning you down as you jerk and giggle.

Bucky picks up his head and grins. “Try and hold still, doll.”

No sharp retort comes to mind. Fuck—he’s already got you so expertly wrapped around his finger.

Bucky hums, satisfied with your weak nod and continues on.

Bucky’s bare fingers trace minuscule patterns into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, coaxing out a shiver that rushes through your body. They tickle towards the apex of your thighs and settle close enough to reach your aching center. He pauses for a moment and while you know he’s there, you curse when you feel his thumbs softly part the lips of your soaking cunt. They gently work up and down, smearing your wetness around but never enough to give you any friction as your body adjusts to the feel of flash and vibranium. You bite back a groan as your hips unconsciously twitch.

Unsatisfied with simply touching you, Bucky shifts his weight to better reach your core. “Fuck—you’re so pretty.”

There's a moment just before Bucky swoops down, face hovering close enough that you can feel his sticky, warm breath fan across you inner thighs. Anticipation grips your heart with an iron hold, and then— Bucky licks a broad stripe from the base of your cunt all the way up to your swollen clit. His mouth is molten, tongue like liquid velvet as you shudder and grab at his hair. Bucky grunts against you as you drag him closer by the short strands—greedy for any and all touch he gifts you. Bucky’s mouth slips around your clit, sucking and tracing circles over the bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue. Your eyes flutter shut as a quiet moan wrenches free from your vocal cords.

He trails lower, sucks on your labia, and makes his way down to your soaking entrance. The wet heat of his tongue circles your cunt, skips over it completely to catch the wetness before it leaks over the couch. Bucky opens his mouth wide and groans in appreciation, devouring your pussy like he’s been denied this his entire life. Desperation lingers on his tongue and all you are is the honey sweet taste of salvation.

“Shit—Bucky,” you cry, throwing your hips forward in search of more friction.

It's perfect. So fucking delicious.

You tense as the vibranium tips of his fingers, two of them, press at your entrance, teasing the clenching ring of soft muscle before sinking in. The chilly digits slip in with ease—all the way up to the second knuckle and when he draws them back, they're slick with your wetness. With a self-satisfied grin, Bucky thrusts them back in, then out—setting a steady pace that makes everything ache with desire. It leaves you just hovering over the sharp edge of ecstasy, the catch of his knuckles and imperceptible metal plating dragging along your walls pure torture. Fuck—he’s going to be the death of you—

Bucky’s mouth dips down a second time and sucks on your clit and with a few more curls and thrusts of his fingers inside of your clenching walls, your body seizes up tight. You're flying off that edge, faster than a fucking freight train. You cum onto his tongue and fingers with a strangled cry of his name, sparks of blurry white lining the edges of your vision as your back arches. Bucky continues to lick you through your orgasm, even as you buck and squirm in his iron hold. Supernovas implode behind your eyelids as heat, hotter than wildfire and jet fuel spreads from your center all the way up your stomach and down to your toes. You're shaking, lucid enough to hear Bucky murmur his praise—feeling the vibration of his groan, as he licks up the flood of your wetness over his tongue.

Your brain swims in hazy bliss as you float back to reality. He's still curling his fingers into your pussy and it damn near hurts. You're too sensitive. Nerves rubbed raw and still throbbing—but you're too fucked out and still riding the waves of your orgasm to push him away. Bucky is all too happy to remain between your legs—takes this opportunity to tilt his fingers into your cunt faster, suckle and lave his hot tongue over your clit that burns from overstimulation—somehow you're back at the very edge again.

It's sharper than a vibranium razor against bare flesh. Your thighs shake around him as he twists his fingers inside you and bumps agains that tiny, little patch of nerves. You cry out as an orgasm floods through you veins, rupturing each cell in your being with molten pleasure. Your core pulses around Bucky’s fingers, fucking you through it until those burning waves of release eventually cease to a fading throb. You whine and push at his forehead because he's still going. You panic a bit—fucking hell, he’s gonna make you cry—but he pulls away, his mouth and chin wet with your slick.

“Feel good?” Bucky purrs, resting his cheek on your thigh.

If judging by the way you thighs still quiver and your chest heaves—then yeah—it felt good.

Cheeky bastard.

“Get up here—“

You grapple with his shirt, fisting the thin fabric, but he’s heavy and your entire body feels like jello. Your grip strength is all but laughable at the moment as Bucky clambers back onto the couch and grabs both of your legs, slotting his narrow hips between them. One leg is stuck against the back of the couch while the other hangs off the edge, foot skimming the hardwood floor to accommodate Bucky. Not the most comfortable but fuck it—who cares.

Bucky grunts when you lift your hands and hook your fingers into the waistband of his jeans, tugging them halfway down his legs with a sharp yank. Already a dark patch of wetness stains the fabric of his boxers, the impressive bulge straining against the elastic and begging to be released. Your eyes meet his icy blue ones as you slowly pull his boxers over his cock. It bounces up towards his navel, thick and beautiful just like the rest of him.

Impatient, Bucky’s fingers curl around your wrist and presses your open palm against his cock. He’s thick and heavy in your hand—perfect. The bead of precum that pools at his flushed tip smears against the inside of your palm as you experimentally roll your wrist, fascinated with the feel of his foreskin rolling over the steel heard flesh with each stroke.You give his a cock a rougher squeeze, a bolt of liquid heat settling in the pit of your stomach as a stifled moan reaches your ears.

A sharp hiss of hair passes through his clenched teeth as you lightly tug on his cock. From the base up you pull, fixed upon the throbbing flesh, flushed and pulsing and all for you. His cock bobs when you let go—he huffs out a disappointed noise. “I need you, Buck—please.”

Your previous two orgasms did seemingly nothing to soothe the growing ache for him. It prickles up your spine and singes through every nerve and bone—you whine and arch your hips, trying to touch your slick cunt to his cock. Bucky growls your name and pins your hips to the couch with ease.

With his left hand, Bucky firmly grips your jaw, his stare folding into something serious. “You sure?”

Your tongue runs over your bottom lip. You grin. “Do your worst.”

Bucky curses and readjusts your calf slung over his hip and grips the base of his cock. You shudder as he runs the blunt head through your folds, slicking himself up with your arousal. You mewl and dig your nails into the flesh of his forearm as the wide tip of him pushes into your entrance—he shudders as you clench and arch. It doesn’t hurt, but he’s certainly not small in any way shape or form. You’ll feel him for days afterwards as your cunt swallows inch after inch.

You both groan as he finally bottoms out. His jaw clenched tight as sweat beads at his hairline. Shit—he’s gorgeous—struggling not to loose control the moment he’s buried inside of you. You allow yourself to adjust for a moment but your own impatience rakes down your spine with claws of scorching arousal. You rock your hips in curiosity and squeeze around him.

“Fuck—“ A ragged moans severs his words as your gentle rocking tilts into abrasive jolts. At this angle it’s difficult to fuck yourself onto his cock, but the measly thrusts are meant to tempt him. His left hand shoots to your throat, the chilly metal a stark contrast to your flushed skin. You dip your head back, exposing more of your supple skin—all his for the taking.

You dig the heel of your foot into the small of his back and grab at his shoulders—tempting him into fucking you already. You’ve waited long enough. Bucky snarls your name, hooks one hand under your ass and pulls his cock nearly all the way, out only to slam back in with devastating force. There’s no time to adjust or gather your obliterated thoughts before Bucky sets a pace, desperate and feral. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end after being denied for what seems like a millennia—and maybe it has been. Bucky shifts, widening his knees as much as he can to sink lower onto your body—his soft hair tickles your cheek as his choppy exhales burn hot over your skin.

Bucky turns his head to steal a kiss, open mouthed and catastrophic. No words are exchanged as he fucks into you with brutal strength aided by that damn super-soldier serum—there’s no need for them, not now anyway. You complete each other without the spoken utterances—still both a work in progress. Though most things are you suppose—constantly remaking yourselves, but instead of smashing the haphazard pieces back together alone—you have one another. You bury your hand in his hair and cry his name.

You choke out another groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter and damn—you really hope nothing gets on this stupid couch. You don’t want to explain that Sam.

Electric heat sears down each vertebrae in your spine, blazing through each and every vein with the brilliance of a wildfire escaping the edges of the forest. This is gonna ruin you. Bucky’s hand reaches between your bodies and rubs tight, controlled circles over you swollen clit. There’s no build up to your orgasm—just a calamitous surge of warmth that sweeps your very soul off its feet. Your nails dig into Bucky's back as you shake and fumble for a foothold in your own consciousness—the steady warmth of his body a much needed anchor.

You have no time to recover because he’s still going. Thrusting into your pussy with violent slaps that echo through the room and will more than likely leave bruises against your ass. Through the pressure of his hand over your windpipe—threatening to cut your air off completely—you garble out his name. Bucky drops his head to his chin, the weight of his gaze landing between your legs, watching the way his entire length disappears inside of you. When he raises his head he molds his mouth to yours. The soft, wet kisses rapidly morph into pricks of his teeth, his gravelly moans so pleasing to hear.

You arch and tilt your head back as he presses you harder into the couch. The vibranium hand latched onto your jaw, works it open and slides a thumb past your plush lips. You lave your tongue over the digit—the metallic tang flooding your tastebuds. “Good girl—m’close. A little longer.”

Bucky’s panting breaths mingle with yours as his pace turns vicious. Chasing his high that he so desperately needs. Overstimulation bites at your nerves, but with a gentle tug to the soft strands of hair on the back of his neck and a sweet whisper of his name, Bucky bursts. His moan jumps up an octave, eyes slamming shut as he buries his face into the juncture of your neck and shoulder as he cums. He’s shuddering in your arms as his hips erratically jerk, hot spurts of his release coating your insides. You whine and tilt your hips up to prevent it from spilling onto the couch.

Finally he slows to a stop, ragged breathing filling the air as the heat and weight of his body becomes a welcome comfort. Eventually that warmth grows stifling. He lazily pulls away, observing gaze drinking in each inch of bare skin exposed—the marks and the light sheen of sweat. You hiss as he curiously drags his thumb over the bite mark lingering just above your collarbone.

He parts his plush lips but before he can apologize, you interject. “Don’t—I like the reminder.”

Bucky shakes his head and drops down to tempt your lips into a lazy dance. “You’re a weirdo.”

You smile and cup his cheek. “I’m not the one with a staring problem. You know that you can’t kill people by glaring, right?”

Bucky kisses your cheek, your jaw, and then the dip of your throat. “You don’t ever shut up, do you?”

You shudder as his softening cock twitches inside of you, another coal of desire flaring in the pit of your stomach. You flash him a coquettish grin. “Maybe if you give my mouth something to do, you’ll finally get some peace and quiet.”

Something dark and dangerous flickers within those eyes. You shiver as one hand returns to your throat while the other draws teasing patterns over the outside of your thigh. He draws in close, nips at the shell of your ear and chuckles darkly. “You’re on.”

#weLL here we are in a marvel hole kwejrkwejhr #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x fem!reader #james bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #marvel #the falcon and the winter solider spoilers #tfatws #the avengers x reader #my writing

837 notes · View notes

disturbedbydesign · 3 years ago

Text

The Widow and the Wolf - Chapter 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x dark!exWidow!reader

Summary: After Natasha Romanoff took down the Red Room, the former Widows scattered to the wind. Raised to be a killing machine and released into the world with nothing and no one, you decided to use your newfound autonomy to take down the bad guys of your choosing. But now Natasha is riddled with guilt for leaving you on your own. She wants to recruit you, rehabilitate you, make you part of a team again. But the rest of the squad has reservations, and no one is more against you than Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: Graphic violence; Mentions of domestic violence, rape, pedophilia, human trafficking, child sex trafficking; eventual Dubcon (not Bucky); eventual smut; slow(ish) burn enemies-to-lovers. [More warnings will be added as necessary but these are the Big Bads.] 18+ only, no minors.

A/N: This is canon-adjacent in that I just decided to pick and choose who I wanted to write for and what parts of canon I wanted to use. Best not to think too hard about where it falls on the timeline because the canon is a mess and we all kind of hate it anyway.

If you prefer to read on AO3, you can do so here.

Chapter One

You’ve been tracking him for days, not that it was hard. His patrol schedule is always the same, as is his after-hours routine: drinks at the Irish pub on Reade Street with the other boys in blue. It’s a cop bar but you waltz right in, looking lost even though you know the name, rank, and various misdeeds of every guy in the place. He looks at you, because of course he does—his wife assured you that he has a wandering eye, among his other sins.

You take a seat at the bar. “Double vodka rocks, please.”

The bartender pours you your drink and you take a deep pull, savoring the burn of it. Then you wait, but it doesn’t take long—it never does. Sergeant Thompson sidles up to the barstool next to you.

“Hey darlin,” he says, his breath reeking of cheap beer. “You lost?”

You turn to him with an innocent smile. “Evening, officer.”

“It’s Sergeant,” he says, tapping his badge, “but I won’t hold that against you. So, what’s a pretty young thing doing in a dive bar with a bunch of old men?”

“I was supposed to meet a friend for dinner but she bailed on me. Figured I’d grab a drink before I head home.”

“And where is home?” he asks, not that it’s any of his business, but cops think they deserve answers to any questions they feel like asking.

“Williamsburg,” you lie.

“You’re pretty far from home, then,” he replies, even though you both know that you aren’t. He takes a sip of his beer and the foam leaves a trace like a mustache before he licks it clean. “It’s late. Why don’t you let me drive you? Wouldn’t want you on the subway this time of night.”

“It’s only 8:30,” you say. “I think I’ll be just fine.”

He leans in conspiratorially. “Well, I really shouldn’t be telling you this—open investigation and all that—but we’ve been on the lookout for a guy in the area, serial rapist, real nasty piece of work.”

That’s one thing the two of you have in common at least.

“I’d feel a lot better if you’d let me take you home, darlin.”

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” you admit. “Can’t get much safer than the NYPD, right?”

He laughs and so do you, knowing that nothing is farther from the truth—especially when it comes to this guy.

Sergeant Thompson speeds across the Williamsburg Bridge with his flashers on, headed toward the address you gave him. Of course, that’s not actually your address—you don’t have a home anymore—it’s just one of many rundown warehouses in the neighborhood, variously used for impromptu raves and as drug dens and, in your case, a private place in which you can take care of business without fear of being interrupted.

“This is me,” you say, waiting for him to let you out of the back of the cruiser where he insisted you ride—caged in like a helpless animal, or so he thinks.

“This place?” he asks. “Looks like it’s about to collapse.”

“You’d be surprised what they can do to these places on the inside—gentrification and what have you. My rent is astronomical.”

“Still,” he says, “I’d like to walk you up. Looks a bit unsavory.”

“If you insist, Sergeant.”

The second you get up the stairs to the top floor, you inject him with the etorphine, straight into the jugular, and down he goes. It never gets old—how easy it is, when they think that they are the predator and you are the prey. You drag him into the loft where you’re already set up for a long night’s work.

When he comes to, he’s fixed to the chair with (among other things) his own handcuffs, mouth taped shut and a rag shoved in for good measure. You don’t want to hear him talk; it’s time for him to listen. His day of reckoning has come. He starts to squirm but between the cuffs and the duct tape and the sedative still coursing through his veins, he’s not going anywhere. Even if he did get free, you could take him down easy. It’s what you were trained for. It’s what you were born for.

“Welcome back, Sergeant,” you say, and he screams something unintelligible through the rag which, if you had to guess, would be some combination of “cunt” or “bitch” or any of the other choice words he likes to use on his women.

The tarps are laid meticulously around the room, placed strategically to catch any and all evidence of what you’re about to do. When he notices them, he goes still, because he knows. Part of him knows.

“So,” you say, pulling out the Thompson file, “this is quite the impressive resume you’ve got here, Sarge. Lots of civilian brutality complaints, including a few choice allegations from female prisoners. Oh, and then there’s the domestic violence and marital rape. You’re a real charmer, huh?”

There’s more muffled screaming but you ignore it—the last gasps of a dying man.

“Here’s the thing, Sarge. I know you think that you’re above the law, because you are the law, but you aren’t. Your wife is real tired of your shit, and me? Well, let’s just say that my motto is protect and serve.” You lean in close enough to smell the salty sweat on his brow. “And unlike you, I actually mean it.”

You pull your favorite knife from your thigh holster and slit him from ear to ear. “See you in hell, Sergeant.”

You sit on the edge of the table, swinging your legs and watching him bleed out. It doesn’t take long. The actual disposal is the real work. You set about chopping him into manageable pieces and you find yourself missing the days when you didn’t have to cover your tracks alone, when there was a clean-up team to take care of it for you.

But you’re freelance now. You’re not a Widow anymore. She made sure of that.

Sometimes—like right now, when you’re dripping sweat and every muscle in your body is screaming its exertion as you saw through bone after bone—you hate Natasha Romanoff. You know why she did what she did; you understand that, objectively, it was the right thing to do. But did she ever stop to consider the repercussions of her actions? She got out early and found a new family and became one of the Good Guys. But you? You entered the Red Room with nothing and you left with nothing.

They always said you were born to be a killer. It’s all you’ve ever known. So what exactly did she expect you to do? You may be free of the mind control, but you never had the chance to develop a mind of your own. Killing is all you know. At least now you get to pick your own targets.

Once you’ve got Sergeant Thompson all squared away, you pack him up in the trunk of his cruiser and drive upstate, listening to the 80s station you like. It occurs to you that most people have heard these songs a thousand times—so many times that they know the lyrics instinctively, can sing them without even having to think about it. It’s all new to you, though. You can’t decide whether it makes you sad to think about all you’ve missed or whether you’re lucky that you get to experience for the first time what everyone else is already tired of.

When you get to the farm, you dump Thompson in the holes you’ve already backhoed, then you hop on the Cat and fill them all in. You shoot a text to Mrs. Thompson from your burner—just a thumbs-up emoji—and she replies with a smiley face. It was only so long before he would have killed her; she knows it as well as you do. The only people that will grieve the dearly departed Sergeant Thompson are a bunch of assholes who are one false move from ending up in your web.

You didn’t charge Mrs. Thompson your usual rate—just what she could afford without drawing the attention and ire of the Mister. Sometimes, depending on the circumstances, you even work pro bono. After all, you only kill people for money who you would happily kill for free. You consider it a service, something for the greater good of society. You’ll take money, sure—you need it to live and to continue your work—but not from people who can’t easily spare it.

You have standards. You have a code. That’s the difference between the you that served as a mindless weapon wielded by others and the you that decides for yourself how to use the gifts you’ve been given. No women. No children. No collateral damage. Only Very Bad Men who’ve done Very Bad Things. You don’t see the harm in it, not really, and as you settle into bed you come back to the thought you often have before a fitful night of sleep: who’s the real avenger, Natasha?

*****

Natasha wipes her brow and throws the rag down on the mat, grabbing a bottle of water and chugging half of it before she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Bucky has barely broken a sweat from their morning sparring session, and he doesn’t even try to fake it. He’s in an especially grumpy mood.

“This is a bad idea, Natasha.”

“To some people, maybe,” she says, “but I want to bring her in anyway. I don’t understand how you of all people are against me on this, Bucky.”

“Uh, for starters, she’s a serial killer.”

“That’s a bit of a harsh assessment, considering the circumstances. And do I really need to remind you that the same could be said about the two of us? That a lot of people still say that about us?”

Bucky sighs, because he knows she’s right, but this is different—you are different. “It’s not the same,” he grumbles, but he’s not entirely sure it isn’t, and that’s what’s really bothering him.

“Look,” Nat says, taking a step toward Bucky, “I need to try, ok? I know what she’s going through because I went through it, except she’s completely alone out there with nothing and no one. You and I… we had people behind us, helping us.”

“And what if she says no?” Bucky asks. “Are you just gonna let her go on doing what she’s doing? She’s killed… how many is it now?”

Natasha mutters something under her breath and Bucky looks at her expectantly. “What was that, Tasha?”

“25 people in the last 6 months,” she states, her mouth set in a hard line.

“Exactly,” he says.

“I would like to point out that they were all very bad people. So...”

“Tasha,” he says, and he puts his hand up to silence her. “I can’t help you on this. I’m sorry. I want to, but I can’t.”

Natasha huffs out a laugh. “You know what, Barnes? You’re real high and mighty for a guy who–”

Natasha stops herself when she sees the ice-cold look in Bucky’s eyes. “Go on. For a guy who what?”

“Nothing,” she says. “I’m sorry. I’ll go on my own.”

“Well, good luck to you. Hope you don’t get your throat slit.”

Bucky stomps off and Natasha is left wondering if she’s about to make a huge mistake. She knows you’re volatile, that a part of you must resent her, but she needs to make it right. At the very least, she needs to try.

Natasha grabs her tablet and scrolls through the latest intel on your whereabouts. She’s just missed you in New York, but she thinks she’s got a jump on your next target: some coke dealer down in Miami with a predilection for underage girls. Just a brief glance at this guy’s file is enough to make Natasha’s blood run cold. She knows why you do what you do. If she’s honest, it doesn’t bother her one bit that you’re doing it. It’s the thought of you out there on your own, filled with hate and anger and thirsty for bloody vengeance, that frightens her. Because maybe one day—left to your own devices, lost in the chaos of your troubled mind—getting the Bad Guys won’t be enough for you. Maybe you’ll decide that some of the Good Guys aren’t so good after all. Maybe you’ll even be right.

She contemplates being honest with Steve and telling him where she’s headed but decides against it. Steve isn’t on board with her plan. Natasha doesn’t fault him for it—he doesn’t understand, he couldn’t. Bucky, though... that’s a disappointment, and it surprises her. If anyone knows what it feels like to spend your life as someone else’s weapon, it’s Bucky Barnes.

Natasha waits until nightfall to “borrow” the Quinjet, and she finds Bucky waiting for her when she gets to the hangar.

“I’m coming with you,” he says, “but only as back-up. She’s dangerous, Natasha.”

“Maybe so,” Natasha replies, “but only because she’s afraid.”

*****

You knew that she’d be coming for you sooner or later. Might as well get it over with. Your little stilt cabin on the outskirts of the Everglades isn’t quite set up for company but at least it’s tucked away and difficult to access. You’re surprised she brought him, though—that was a mistake. You and she could have a nice long conversation, but you have nothing to say to the Soldat.

You climb up the tree to your lookout platform and hoist your sniper rifle onto your shoulder, following their slow but steady progress through the knee-deep swamp water, trying to line up a decent shot as they weave in between the bald cypress trees. When you see your chance, you take it, and you put one about an inch from where the Soldat’s metal arm meets the flesh of his shoulder. It ricochets off, as intended, and he jumps forward to shield Natasha. You hear her laugh through your earpiece.

“Relax, Barnes. It was a warning shot. If she wanted to hit you, she would have.”

“She did hit me,” he snaps.

You smile as you descend from the tree to meet them.

“Well well well,” you say. “If it isn’t the Murder Twins. To what do I owe this unwanted visit?”

“You know why I’m here,” Natasha says.

“Yes,” you reply, “but why is he here?”

The man she calls Barnes looks at you with disdain and you give it right back to him. You can tell that shot in the arm really pissed him off and it pleases you to no end.

“He’s just watching my back,” she says. “That’s what happens when you’re on a team.”

“Right, The Avengers. How adorable.”

“Listen,” Natasha begins, but you stop her.

“Let me save you the trouble of whatever little speech you have prepared. I’m not coming with you. I’m not going to Widow rehab and joining your ragtag group of misfits. And I’m not going to stop doing my work just because you come here and bat your eyes and smile pretty at me.”

“Your work?” spits the Soldat. “Is that what you’re calling it?”

“Bucky, don’t-”

“Let him talk, Romanoff,” you say. “He obviously has some… opinions. Now that he’s got the mask off, he can finally speak for himself.” You take a step towards him, your rifle in hand but not pointed at him. “So speak, Soldat.”

He looks flustered and not a little bit angry. You can tell he doesn’t like to be called by that name. “Killing people isn’t work,” he says.

You huff out a laugh. “And what is it that the two of you do, exactly? Run a coffee shop?”

“We are not the same,” he says, and you smile because you know that he doesn’t actually believe that—how could he after everything he’s done?

“I think we are exactly the same, Soldat, with one huge exception: you’re still letting other people tell you what to do, and I’m done with all that.”

“This is pointless,” he says.

“Now that is something you and I actually agree on.” You turn to Natasha. “You should go while you still can. I have work to do.”

But Natasha just won’t let it go. “I should never have left you alone,” she says. “This is my fault. Let me fix it.”

“I don’t need to be fixed,” you snap, and you raise your rifle and point it directly at her head. “Leave, Natasha. And take your little pet with you.”

The Soldat grabs her arm gently. “Let’s go, Tasha. She’s hopeless.”

You feel a pang of something then—some indescribable form of melancholy. You try to keep it off your face but you can tell from the look in his eyes that he sees it. A minute tremble of your lip, the quick double blink—it gives you away, and now you’re really pissed off.

“Leave. Now,” you yell, and it pierces through the sweltering darkness. “I’ll make you sorry if you don’t.”

You watch Natasha and the bionic man make their way out of the swamp. You don’t turn your back on them, not that you think they’ll try to take you by force. That would be unwise and Natasha knows it. Once you’re satisfied that they’re gone, you return to the cabin. The bloodied man in the linen suit lays strapped to the bed where you left him, squirming and shouting around the gag in his mouth.

You have to stop yourself from making this a messy affair, but the anger you feel—at her, at him, at everything—is making it difficult to temper your darker urges. You’re not one for torture, even though this man absolutely deserves it for the horrible things he’s done. You almost give in, but you remind yourself that this is a job—it is work, despite what the Soldat may think—and you have to remain professional.

You grab the man’s file off the desk and pull a chair up next to the bed. “So, Mr. Garcia, where were we?”

CHAPTER TWO >>>

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #dark!fic #dark!reader #the widow and the wolf

134 notes · View notes

lxhxsxhxs · 2 years ago

Text

My opinion on random Ateez songs

no one asked but still

INCEPTION

starting w a famous one..

i'm in love tbh lol

the vocals, the perf, the music, the rap lines, even the mv, that's all perfection

HORIZON

how is this one unknown ?! part of my fav and idek what to say abt it

i think people who never listened to it are missing something.. but it's never too late to get goosebumps bro

SAY MY NAME

i know, u know, we all know that the dance is iconic

i love the intro and.. THE FITS OF THE MV !

FIX ON i guess

STAY

honestly, it makes me smile and feel a little relieved of all my stress

obvious summer vibes, part of their first songs and really good

CYBERPUNK

i love it i love it i love it i love it i love it i love it

gives me take me home vibes

almost had a heart attack when it played for the first time

did i say i love it?

WONDERLAND

maybe their most known w deja vu..

BRUH IT SLAPS it is soooo good that i would inject it in my veins for the rest of my life

(best sannie era imo)

DANCING LIKE BUTTERFLY WINGS

this one.. idk if i should dance and vibe on it or just cry all the tears i can

jongho's vocals are insane, as always

DON'T STOP

alright alright alright.. i feel like no one talks abt it

everybody say hi to the innocent me who thought the lyrics were abt being a group, really close to each other..

i was obviously wrong lmao

THE KING

no mv but it doesn't even need one

JONGHO'S VOICEEEEE

i feels powerful and all, i love the vibe

DESIRE

"my heart's beating so fast"

of course i love it and of course i'm obsessed, what a question

the neck break in the perf is killing me

7 notes · View notes

erensproudsimp · 4 years ago

Text

One Night Stand

Gojo Satoru x reader

⚠ Sexual Content Ahead ⚠

Summary : Working as a stripper, it was your job to please men for your daily bread until the day you met a handsome man offering to give you a ride back home, naughty things happening along the way.

Word count : 2.4 k

Looking at yourself in the mirror in the changing room all decked up in your glittery lingerie, ready to put on a show for disgusting men. Painting your lips a bright red, you smacked them together to spread the colour. Being a stripper sure brought a lot of money in which made you so happy but the fact that you had to please men for it didn't sit right in you. Taking a deep breath, you exited the room, your five inch heels clacking the surface with your each step. Gesturing your colleagues a 'hi' by waving your hand, you entered the area where the clientele would be.

Electronic music echoing around the entire room, gracefully you walked to your respective pole with the other stripers going to theirs. Prepping yourself up and warming up a little, you made sure you were perfect to earn more money. Led lights falling on your being as you were made among the centres of attraction for people to feed their eyes on your show. Placing your manicured hand on the cold pole, the other on your hip, you waited for people to enter the club so that you could start dancing. Your golden lingerie really brought out your curves and your sex appeal. Sparkling under the stage light, feeling like the bad bitch you are, you could bet your ass that money would be flying like nothing in your pockets.

Once people started entering the club, you started your performance to attract them to you. Gliding your heels on the floor, you split your legs, synchronizing your movements to the beat of the song currently being played, your sensuality bursting into the most vibrant dance. Your legs extended like a primal ballerina as you stood up, brushing your hair off your face before dragging it down your chest to finally grab your pole.

For the most part, you felt as though the front people were your main audience unaware of two bright blue eyes analyzing your every move. As you turned your body, your eyes caught caught a man sitting not far away in the back, him less adept at hiding his gaze than you. He had the kind of face that made you stop in your tracks. One glance at him was enough to make you fall on your knees for him. He dropped his eyes momentarily before looking away, his head tilted on one side supported by his arm placed on the couch, a hopeful smile playing on his lips as he pushed his dark glasses back.

Ignoring him, of course, you continued dancing making old men's pocket hurt. At some point, you became bored with staying on the stage and got off to approach your clients closer. Catwalking nearer to the man who caught your attention, you halted to the couch beside him where a blond man wearing glasses was drinking what seemed to be a glass of whiskey. Licking your lower lip, bending down to drag your index finger on his cheeks, you saw in the corner of your eye, the white haired man staring at you with a frown. More money thrown you, you sat on the man still sneaking peaks at your main interest for the night to see if your actions were affecting him.

Not so long later, you got bored of the blond guy, blowing a kiss at him, you finally went over to your target. Oh lord, to say he was just handsome was an understatement of his true attractiveness. He was beyond gorgeous, having the beauty equivalence of probably a god, he was radiating so much power. Dressed in a tight white shirt half buttoned, his abbs see through, with black pants, he laid on the furniture with crossed arms. However, upon seeing you approaching him, he opened them, placing them on the couch beside his shoulders.

Sitting next to him, you inclined yourself towards him, your hand on his thigh.

"Enjoying this night?"

"Now that you're close to me I sure am enjoying it more," he flirted.

"Oh really, is there any other thing I can do to make your night even better handsome?" you cooed in his ear.

"Hoooo? you'd do anything?"

"A n y t h i n g."

"Well then if you're insisting, please yourself on me, that would make me happy", he smugged.

Something about him was so alluring, from his appearance to his melodious voice, it made you want to know how his lips move in a kiss, how his hands move around your curves.

"As you wish dear sir."

Wasting no time, you hopped on his lap, your legs spread on his each side. Your hands resting on his shoulder playing with his hair from the back, you gazed into his eyes, his glasses falling his nose bridge. Irises so blue, as though containing all the blues of the sky to the ocean spanning the galaxy. Hell, they might even be the definition of a black hole due to their insane gravitational pull though which anyone could be sucked into.

Straddling his thighs, you rocked your hips back and forth, you grinded on him.

Just swaying to the music in the background, you traced his jawline with your tongue. Not even once did the man touch you as he just watched you do whatever you wanted. His smirk was like liquid adrenaline was being injected into your blood stream making your body tingle.

"Look at you, ignoring your work to grind on me, what a dirty slut you are", whispering in your ear he grabbed your hips to lift you and turn you so that your ass was right on his growing bulge.

Raising yourself up and down, you bounced on him. Intoxicated by the alcohol and cigarettes in the air, your vision blurry, hands moving down your boobs to your waist. Twerking on him, you felt him growing bigger. You bent back, your head placed on his shoulder, giving him a subtle smile. His hot breath fanned on your face, he smelt like booze with a faint vanilla. Cupping your breasts with his big hands, you slapped them away as you stood up to sit next to him. Kissing his cheek with your one hand on his other side of his face, you felt something entering your bra; the man was stuffing a bundle of money in.

Wingling your fingers, you waved him bye as you were going in the changing room to freshen up yourself. That was a lot of money he gave you, you thought while counting but there was one odd thing in it.

There was his business card in it. There was his phone number in it. Was this his way of telling you to contact him?

Shrugging your thoughts off, you typed him a message.

You : Hey handsome, so what's up with the business card?

Him: When does your shift ends?

You: Midnight.

Him: Great. You'll see a white limousine outside. Wanna come in for a ride at home?

A gorgeous man offering to give you a lift? Damn you couldn't miss this opportunity.

You: Sure thing, see you later.

After fixing your makeup and adjusting your clothes, you went out to slay the night until your little date. You couldn't wait until then.

When your shift was finally over, you rushed to change into your black mini satin dress you wore coming to work as well as ensuring you looked charming.

Your black handbag over your shoulder, you went outside, the fresh air of the cold night hitting your face. Lungs feeling so fresh, you were excited to see him again.

Indeed there was a white limousine parked at the entrance of the club. Upon seeing you arrive, the man asked the driver to unlock the doors so as to let you inside.

"Thank you so much for this offer, Mr?

" Oh please, name's Gojo Satoru but you can just call me Gojo", he said loosening his tie to remove it. Goodness, that was hotter than the core of the earth mixed with the sun's heat.

"Sure thing, Gojo~", seductively you said while you took a place on a seat beside him.

"Care for some wine?" he demanded while pouring a glass.

"Why not?"

"So, where do you live?" Gojo asked handing you the glass.

After telling him your address, he signaled the driver who understood the message and pulled up the black windshield to leave both of you in private.

The bitter yet sweet liquid warmed your body making you feel more relaxed after a long work. Throwing your head back, you let the wine disperse in all your veins, Gojo watching you while drinking his.

"I loved your lapdance, it was so erotic and you looked so...hot," he complimented scooching closer to you.

Tucking your hair behind your ear, he removed his glasses to place on the counter nearby. He stroke a finger down your throat, making you shiver. Holy shit that felt good.

"Not going to lie but you caught my attention the moment I saw you dancing on the stage. That golden lingerie hugging your perfect curves was enough to make me drool for you", whispering in your ear while his hand was sliding the strap of your dress off your shoulder.

More shivers down your spine.

Leaning in his touch, your hands reached to unbutton his shirt. Lips on your neck. Hot. Sinful. Goosebumps rose up your flesh. Gojo's shirt was on the floor, his chest threatening to make you swoon. It was so hard not to stare at the most beautiful male body you've ever seen.

"Love what you're seeing?" his voice came out husky.

"Very much", you replied before colliding your lips with his.

Big, warm hands stroke up your torso to cup your breasts. You jerked at the bold move, moaned in his mouth.

Feeling his smirk, he pulled back trailing his tongue down your neck to your collarbone before drawing back. As you straightened your back, his hands unzipping your dress.

His eyes went big when he saw that you weren't wearing a bra. His gaze caressed your plump boobs. Wasting no more seconds, he attacked the area with his mouth making you yelp.

"Fuck's sake, you're so gorgeous", he complimented in between sucking your nipple.

Your stomach clenched. Never had you craved a man with such hunger, never had you been more aware of your own femininity so much.

Pulling away, Gojo turned to take something from the table counter behind him. Taking this moment to take a deep breath to calm your quick heartbeats, you removed your hair from your face. Curious to know what he was doing, you tried to sneak a peak until he turned around to face you, in his hand, an orange slice.

Your head was filled with questions.

"Open your mouth", he ordered and you obeyed, of course.

"stick your tongue out."

Doing as he asked, you took it out as he pressed the fruit on it making its juices spreading throughout your mouth, even spilling down your jaw to your neck. The citric acid running down your skin so slowly as Gojo trailed his tongue down chasing all the droplets, his other hand holding your head by your hair.

"Hmmmm"

"You really like me licking you huh?" Gojo smirked.

"Ooooooohhh"

Unbuckling his pants, he slid them down leaving him in his boxers, his hardened dick pressed, like you were in your soaked panties. Unable to resist the temptation, you pulled them down releasing it from its trap. His dick sprung free, Gojo could no longer contain the heat he felt inside of him to bury himself deep in you.

"You don't mind, do you?" he asked before taking off your underwear.

"Why would I after how wet I am for you?"

Loving your answer the man tore the cloth from you revealing your soft folds to him.

"I hope you can handle me, I'm not going to go easy on you~", Gojo warned teasingly placing his member at your entrance.

"Go ahead, let's see if you can wreck me because I'm pretty sure I can handle you", you sneered.

"Heh~ well, we'll see about that in a few", he said before thrusting into you without any warnings.

"Ah!"

Throwing your one leg on his shoulder to gain a better position to fuck you, Gojo was not slow into gaining speed. This man was like an animal, so violently pushing and pulling in and out of you.

Your moans and heavy breaths was so loud, you were sure that the driver was hearing everything but Gojo didn't care about it one single bit. All that mattered to him at that moment was to fuck you into oblivion.

Right before either of you could come, Gojo pulled out to turn your body on the car couch, your boobs pressed against the leather, your ass lifted up as Gojo inserted himself again in you. This time you couldn't help it but let out whimpers.

"What's with the whimpers? I thought you could handle it, didn't you say so?" he ridiculed you.

Lost in a haze, you could barely hear his words, only feel his thrusts deep in you. He didn't seem to be stopping any time soon.

He grabbed your hand and pressed it against your stomach.

"Can you feel how deep I am into you right now? You like it don't you? Being fucked like the shameless whore you are?"

"Ahhh-yes I do, I do."

Feeling your climax getting closer and closer, you gripped the couch for dear life as you were going crazy with this insane anount of pleasure.

"Ah- Gojo-I-I'm-"

"It's okay my love, you can release it, I'm close too."

It wasn't long before you were screaming his name as he filled your insides with his hot fluid. Pulling your hair as he did so, he collapsed on the couch beside with you laying on top of him rubbing circles on his chest.

Remembering that you had to get off to go home, you took your clothes from the floor and wore them while Gojo was admiring you.

You wished that this could last forever but alas it was just a one night stand as Gojo left you at your home saying a final goodbye to never meet again.

End.

Thank you for reading this. :)

183 notes · View notes

louisdotmp3 · 3 years ago

Text

if i could just inject the blowback theme song directly into my veins i think that would fix me

3 notes · View notes

brandyllyn · 4 years ago

Text

In our own image... (28)

Chapter 28

(Poe Dameron x OFC)

Other chapters...

My Masterlist

Word count: 2370. Read it on AO3.

Rating: Teen & Up (PG) language.

Kina held her arms tight to herself, biting her lip to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. She could feel her body jerking from the strain, hoped that the man behind her would assume the movements were related to the cold and not that her entire world was crashing down around her.

I’m yours.

Two words. Two words that had absolutely ruined her. Crawling into her heart and curling like a thorny vine, puncturing into her and injecting its poison directly into her veins. She had thought…

She had thought he was with her. Had thought that when his mouth was on hers and his lips caressed her that his mind was clear and he was with her. She had missed him terribly. Missed his smile and his laugh and that spark of joy inside of him that set fires into everyone around him. And yes, she had missed his taste and his kisses and his touch but above everything she had missed him.

I’m yours.

Two words. Two words that had shattered her certainty. Shattered her belief that everything was alright again. Was it him she was kissing? Or the soulless husk he had become when the Chasīar had sung his soul into their keeping?

And how would she know?

That was what hurt the most. She wanted to go back to Delacrix. To claw the eyes out of the women who had done this to him. To rip their voices from their throats and…

She took a shuddering breath. It would do her no good to think of what couldn’t be. She called up the Song of Stillness. She couldn’t sing it but the melody helped clear her mind regardless.

"Did I do something to you while I was… enchanted?"

Oh Chasī, why did he want to talk?

"No. Of course not."

Silence again. Then, "Did I try to do something? Did I… did I try to force you to-?"

She turned back to him so quickly she nearly elbowed him in the head, reaching for his shoulders beneath the blankets and shaking him. "No. Poe you couldn’t."

He captured her wrist in his hand, holding it softly. "Then tell me what it is."

She couldn’t think when he was looking at her like that. Soft and concerned and so him her heart could break. She tried to pull away again but his eyes narrowed and he gripped her harder.

"There is something you’re not telling me. And after everything, I think I deserve to know what it is."

He was right. He was right and she hated him for it. "It’s nothing you don’t already know," she said instead.

It was her turn to stare at his back. He let her go with a grunt, turning over with a soft curse. "Fine."

Kina ached to reach out to him. She rolled to lay on her back, staring up at the bunk overhead, hands clasped on her stomach. It was odd and intimate to be trapped under the blankets with him. Caught up in the warmth of him and the smell of his skin.

"You loved me."

She didn’t need to look at him to see him freeze. Could hear the breath catch in his throat.

"What?"

Swallowing, Kina turned her head away from him, staring into the pale shadows cast through the folds of the blankets. "You… you loved me and I don’t know…" She trailed off, unsure of how to move forward. He shifted his weight next to her and now she could feel his breath on her neck.

"I think I did. I probably still do." The tears came unbidden again. Squeezing her eyes shut she tried to fight back the sob but his hand cupped her chin, turning her to face him. "Why does that make you so sad?"

"It’s not real," she choked the whistle out, trying to push him away from her. "It’s not real and I want it to be so much."

Poe caught her to him, pulling her body close to his and chasing the tears that fell from her eyes with his lips. "Sweetheart please don’t. Why do you think it’s not real?"

His sweetness overwhelmed her and she cried harder, giving in and pulling him close to her. Pretending for just a moment that he was still him and that this moment was something more than the echoes of what had happened to him. He held her tight to him, soothing his hands up and down her back, murmuring soft sounds into her ear.

"This song," Poe started and she blinked at him. "It… it made me worship you. Adore you. Yes?"

Kina nodded.

"But I did those things before that happened. Do you remember?"

She swallowed, trying not to. Trying not to remember the way he had touched her, held her.

"How am I supposed to convince you I don’t adore you - when I have from nearly the moment we met?"

Kina sighed, face scrunching while she thought about the problem. "I don’t know."

Poe was quiet, his hands still moving on her back. "What if we… What if you told me to do something? See if I can say no?"

"But you know I want you to say no," Kina whistled lowly and he cursed.

"Well shit, Kina, I’m not sure what you want me to do." She could feel his aggravation, his anger at the situation, rolling off of him.

"Don’t yell at me Poe, I don’t like this any more than you do."

They were both silent for a few minutes. Finally Poe grumbled, "I can’t think with you this close to me. I’m going to see if BB-8 has the heat working yet."

Kina bit her tongue when he slid out of the bunk, but she did shove one of the blankets at him. "Take this."

"You’ll be cold," he started to say but she gave a sharp whistle and cut him off.

"So will you, take the damn blanket."

Poe grunted at her and took the blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders and pressing the door lock panel. A wave of warm air flowed into the berth and Kina sat upright, letting the blanket fall to her waist.

"What the hell?" Poe snapped, dropping his blanket by her feet and stepping into the hallway. "Why is our berth so kriffing cold if the ship’s heating is back on?"

Kina grabbed her translator, cuffing it to her forearm as she left her bunk and joined him in the hall. "I don’t know. We should ask the droids."

Poe nodded at her and crossed the hall towards the cockpit. Kina trailed behind him, running a hand along the bulkhead. The cockpit door slid open, but there was no one inside. When Poe turned back to her Kina was frowning, her hand pressed to the wall.

"What is it?" He asked.

"It’s warm."

Poe tilted his head, "Yeah, we know that."

Kina glared at him. "No, it’s warm. This thing would take hours to fully warm up. It hasn’t been hours."

Poe reached out and laid his palm on the wall next to hers. "What are you saying?"

"I’m saying," Kina pulled her hand back and took off at a brisk stride, "that it never got cold out here. Not really. Certainly not as cold as our bunk."

"But Beebs said…" Poe caught her arm, stopping her just before the common area. "Are you saying BB-8 lied to me?"

"Let’s see." Kina crossed to where the two droids were docked, squatting down and tapping on the larger droid’s sensors. "BB-8, wake up please."

Lights flashed and the droid spun in place. "Hello Friend Kina are you-" The droid cocked its top unit and then froze. They spun more slowly in the opposite direction. "You look upset Friend Poe."

"I am upset," Poe snapped and Kina looked back to see he had his arms crossed and one foot tapping. "I’m upset because someone told me the heating was out and it would take hours to fix. But now we’re up and it seems like maybe the only heating out was in our bunk?" Poe squatted next to her. "BB, did you lie to me earlier?"

The droid spun but didn’t reply, lights flashing again. They rocked backwards a little, knocking into K-0 who lifted their photoreceptor with a muffled curse. "What want?"

"Stay out of this K-0," Poe snapped and Kina reached over and shoved his knee.

"Don’t bark at my droid."

Poe glared at her, "I’ll bark at whoever I damn well please. BB, tell me what happened. You’ve never lied to me before buddy." Kina made a scoffing noise but Poe ignored her.

"The heating was out, Friend Poe," BB-8 replied with a slow set of beeps and whistles.

Poe’s eyes narrowed. "For how long?"

"Twenty minutes," K-0 said in their deadpan voice and BB-8 whirled and bumped the smaller droid.

"K-0 stop."

"Hey!" Kina reached out and scooped up K-0, pulling them out of the way. "Do not." She set K-0 down and the droid immediately zipped around her and rammed into BB-8.

"Fight."

Poe reached out to stop the small droid and then yelped, pulling his hand to his mouth. K-0 tilted their array at him. "Want fight too?"

Kina grabbed K-0 again, this time with both hands, and stood up, backing away from the two on the floor. "This seems like it’s a you two problem."

"Don’t you dare," Poe pointed at her and Kina froze. In her hands, K-0 squirmed, their wheel spinning helplessly.

"Put K-0 down," the droid said.

"Are you going to attack Poe?"

"Yes."

Kina sighed, "Then no."

"Bad Kina."

Kina parted her lips to reply and then raised an eyebrow at Poe. "Your friend is leaving."

"BB-8," Poe bit out sharply and the droid rocked backwards from where they had been trying to slip away unnoticed, slowly spinning their top unit back to Poe. "You get back here right now and answer me."

BB-8 looked so sad as they rolled back to Poe Kina almost felt sorry for them. Almost.

"Why did you want us to think the heating was out?"

BB-8’s answer was so low Kina couldn’t hear it. She carefully squatted down again next to Poe, resting K-0 on the ground but holding the droid in her hands.

"What was that?"

"We wanted you to be cold," BB-8’s answer was louder this time but no less confusing.

"Why would you want us to be cold?"

"So touch," K-0 interjected helpfully.

Kina frowned at the droid and then looked at Poe. "You wanted… you wanted us to touch? Touch what?"

"Each other," BB-8 said mournfully, a sad whistle punctuating the statement.

Poe looked as confused as Kina felt. "I don’t understand…"

"Friends were happy together. We wanted Friends to be happy again." BB-8 bumped Poe’s knee, an obvious bid for affection but Poe ignored the gesture.

"You were trying to force us together?" He asked sharply instead.

"No!" BB-8 spun more frantically. "Not force. Just… help."

Poe sighed, pointing a finger at the droid. "You can’t do this Beebs. You can’t lie to me or break things. That’s not okay."

BB-8 looked so dejected that Kina couldn’t help but defend them. "They were only trying to help."

Poe glared at her. "I can’t have my droid going off on his own harebrained schemes. I need to know I can rely on him."

"You can rely on me Friend Poe," BB-8 bumped his knee again - and again Poe ignored them.

"You lied to me Beebs," he snapped. Kina reached out with one hand, stroking along BB-8 and felt the droid turn towards her, nestling to her knee instead.

"You’re making them feel bad." She stroked BB-8’s sensors soothingly.

"Good." Poe braced his hands on his knees and stood up, glaring down at them.

"God you’re being such an ass." Kina stood as well, the weight of the two droids against her calves as she rolled her eyes at Poe.

"And you’re not taking this seriously enough. BB-8 could have killed us."

"No!" BB-8 whistled.

"Oh for fuck’s sake," Kina shook her head. "The only danger we were in was numb toes."

Poe poked her in the shoulder with one finger. "Just because they’re people doesn’t mean they can’t do anything wrong. BB-8 did something wrong."

Kina batted his hand away, "If you put your hand on me again you need to be prepared to lose it."

"Is that so?" He poked her again, eyebrow raised. "Who’s going to stop me? K-0?"

"Bad man."

She didn’t bat his hand away this time, just reached out to grab his thumb and twist it back. But he was expecting her, pulling his arm and shifting his shoulder back as she reached out. "You wanna fight? Cause I’ve had a really bad fucking week and I could use it."

Kina froze, jaw dropping open. "We’re fighting," she whistled softly, shock covering her face.

"Yeah we are."

She shook her head and reached out, grabbing his shoulders. "No, Poe. We’re fighting."

He glanced down at her hands on him, arching an eyebrow. "Is that-?"

She didn’t let him finish his sentence. She fisted her hands into the material of his shirt and pulled him to her, slamming her lips to his. He sank into it immediately, his arms wrapping around her and his tongue delving into her mouth. Whatever energy he had been channeling turned to passion, his hands catching into her hair and moving her head just so.

Kina melted into his embrace, letting him lead, letting him do whatever he wanted. She reveled in the taste of him, the smooth strokes of his tongue against hers. The way he held her tightly to his body.

"What-?" He started to ask, breaking away to put a breath of air between them.

"Take me to bed Poe Dameron," she whistled and he groaned, kissing her again and backing her out of the commons.

"Plan work," K-0 said and Kina opened her eyes and looked over Poe’s shoulder. K-0 bumped into BB-8 softly and both droids watched them leave.

Kina could only hope Poe hadn’t heard them.

Chpt 29

#poe dameron #poe dameron x ofc #poe dameron / ofc #star wars sequels #star wars fanfiction

8 notes · View notes

monstaxardeur · 4 years ago

Text

Warnings: Mature, Angst

𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚍 - 𝚒𝚒

His black chipped nail brushed the small chit of paper in his hands as he was questioning himself… 'was this necessary?' He looked out the window of his cab, the early morning wind greeted him but there was no sun in sight…in fact it looked like a storm was brewing. 'Wasn’t there enough rainstorm last night?' he wondered blankly watching the cityscape pass him by, his thoughts starting to tangle in last night’s aftermath.

'She' was gone, just like that, leaving a little pricking void in his heart, no..not just his heart, he was sure she took his soul too, sucking the life out of him. She wandered into their lives one fine day and disappeared one night as if the dark skies swallowed her whole, her being now lay atop the cosmos as perhaps the beautiful moon he witnessed every night…along with her stars she oh so lovingly called 'her little moonbeams'.

Last night had been difficult, his fingers grazed over the frayed edges of the torn fabric, he hated it…how she had intoxicated him, her existence, her touch…her kisses in the dark like a pretty little secret. He may or may not have pleasured himself to the swaying memories of 'Queenie'. Her words, the soft nothings would haunt his nights and keep him from peaceful sleep but it had been a while, a good while and she hadn’t been around anymore. Sometimes it felt like a lucid dream he had, it won’t be long when the affects of her drugging existence wear off and it may just feel like it was never real.

'Why am I even doing this?' He bemused himself staring at the small piece of folded paper. He was sure he wasn’t the only one she left small favors with, but why? Its like she left the boys with her fragments to finish what she couldn’t.

“Will you do me a favor my love?” Her words were soft like velvet, her lips barely away from his, both of their lips swollen from the feverish kiss they shared. “Hmmm?” He had replied and all she did was slide a small piece of paper in his palms. He briefly looked down to inspect it but she closed his palms into a fist and captured his lips onto hers, resuming their romantic escapade.

He bit his lip at the sudden memory vividly playing out in his head and sighed throwing his head back and pulling the hoodie over his face, but his moment of tranquil came to a halt as the cab stopped at the destination.

He hesitated before turning the knob…'this doesn’t feel right' his mind told him but Queenie gave him the keys herself, entrusted him with it for this very purpose. He walked into a room greeted with soft music playing, he recognized the song, 'Art Deco by Lana Del Rey' but his feet stopped at a canvas before him. A beautifully haunting image was splayed in freehand strokes on a dark canvas that lay there. An image of a silver cloaked goddess caressing the cheeks of a butterfly winged human. He could recognize her face anywhere, the goddess..was Queenie, but this other person wasn’t completely visible yet, probably an incomplete artwork?

“It’s still in progress.” You spoke startling him out of his trance and he swallowed a lump he didn’t know was in his throat. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” He flashed a faint smile and held up the chit, “She sent me.” You paused and he turned and pointed at the goddess in the painting, “I meant her, I know its her you painted.” Your gaze shifted away as you rubbed the back of your neck sighing….you missed her dearly at times. Right now was one of those times, for your home was the definition of grief, it was messy and unkempt and your appearance looked like you were yearning for the moon’s touch, this moonbeam looked drained of her beams, he could see it in your eyes.

His fingers dug deep into the skin of your bare thighs and his lips moved feverishly over your hot skin as he trailed them all mottled to find that one spot, on the left of your chest…where your heart beats, he knows the goddess lives there and what was meant to be a soft bruise was a harsh mark, a love bite perhaps? You panted and winced at the sudden surge of pinching pain and your own hands tugged and pulled at his blonde locks. His brows knitted and he growled in frustration….he could feel Queenie all over you, he was convinced you were a vessel. What looked like a drained little moonbeam turned out to be bleeding moonlight the moment your skins touched. Like a butterfly so still but at a mere touch it’s wings were spread wide, shimmering it’s vibrant colors and beauty as it fluttered about.

He dragged his lips back to to the sweet spot under your neck to hear those soft moans that were like comforting music to his ears. One of his hands grabbed hold of your neck in a low squeeze and your eyes met his again as you panted and held his hand that was over your pulsing veins. “Please…let me..” your words barely audible against him in close proximity and he loosened his grip over you, softening up and your lips requested entrance at his own and he greeted yours with a needy urge. Holding his face in your palms, you shifted to sit up closer in his lap and your core could feel his hard on but you were patient and just kissed him the most mind numbing kiss, just as his entire existence was mind numbing to yours.

You wanted out, you wanted it all out, the moonlight in your veins that was injected by 'her' loving words and caring notions, by her presence….by her mere existence. You knew you had soaked in a lot of her essence maybe a little more than what you bargained for and he wanted it like a drug, why else would he wander here upon Queenie’s request, you knew despite your overflowing emotions underneath the moonlit facade…that he was here for her, he envisioned her in your stead, all he wanted was to feel 'her' under his skin and you were radiating with her essence…dripping moonlight at his mere touch.

'What an odd place to find your heart at?' You thought pushing back tears so forceful that your throat hurt and a whimper escaped your lips as he broke the kiss letting you breathe. You had hoped to find the other side of him when you looked into his beautiful dark eyes but all you saw was a disciple’s yearning for his goddess and you let go of yourself to his dark desires..

It was nightfall, a silent beautiful night, the moon was full and the starts winked from beneath the floating clouds. He lay bare under the sheets of the bed, he had slept his aching soul away and it was late. '00:00′ the time struck. Was it the witching hour? Did it feel like Walpurgis Night? Sort of, but not in the most devious ways only in the most lulling ways as if the witches themselves descended to sing their lullabies.

When he came to, his nose caught the whiff of scented candles but a very non conventional one, you lived in a beach house but couldn’t get enough of the scent of the ocean. His eyes were greeted by your bare back that had your floral print tattoo, it was so delicate like an old lovers kiss~ When you felt him shift you put on your little crop top sweater and turned to see him, for a moment your breath was stuck in awe as you saw his naked form that lay moonkissed before you. The way the moonlight touched him made you wonder he was perhaps truly made for his muse.

“Were you crying?” His deep low voice was raspy from having just woken, the reason he asked was your glistening cheeks, “I finished the painting.” You changed the subject wiping off your semi dried tears. The painting of the butterfly human was no longer the same, it was in fact everything like him. Changkyun’s eyes were fixated on the painting of what was now the moon goddess and himself…~ “Take it with you.” Came your voice from inside the room, you wanted nothing to do with it anymore, they belonged with each other and you wanted nothing in between their love story, the ache was too much to bear.

The mattress depressed beside you as he sat down next to you in nothing but his undone jeans, he followed your gaze to the night sky outside your window from where you sat. “Isn’t she beautiful?” You asked smiling melancholic. “And haunting.” he added as his fingers traced patterns on your arms trailing them to your wrist. “Do I still bleed her soul?” You asked looking at him, your expressions always softening up while looking at him. He hummed a nod still playing his fingertips on your skin. “Just a little though but it’s always there, like a dormant demon wanting out….I felt it in your heart beat.” and his eyes glance at the mark under her left collar bone, a deep bluish purple bruise and he couldn’t help but feel a little smug for his doing. He marked your heart so harshly, you’ll probably remember it for days to come.

You felt defeated at his reply, “I’ll always be with you my little moonbeam, shhh don’t cry now. You’ll see me again, I promise~” were her words and back then they felt like warmth, comfort & home but never did you ever thought that too much of even such a deep unexplained love could leave you scarred and over flowing with her memories. It’ll take forever for someone to find the real you deep down trapped under the smothering love of your Queenie~

Just as he came, he had left, leaving you in your sheets bare and bruised with his love marks. His touch always burned, always left indents because he was always searching for someone within you. You lay fast asleep exhausted from your little sexual escapade but in the dead of the night you may have felt a comforting touch stroking your head as if a guardian angel watched over you. “I’m so sorry my little moonbeam.” The muse softly kissed your head and fixed your covers, “My poor baby, I’ll tell him to be kind to you hmmm?” she cooed. “I’ll have to pay him a visit though.” her words trailed off as she looked up at the sky and the moon was now completely covered in clouds….almost as if it was never there in the first place~

…𝚕𝚘𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚍𝚎

mood song: art deco by lana del rey

#i.m #changkyun #monsta x imagines #monsta x scenarios #untitled #moodsong

32 notes · View notes

fablesrose · 4 years ago

Text

Of Kings and Shadows XXVII

Description: Y/n, a girl who seems to have found her calling. Being a SHIELD agent is like a dream come true. With a friendship starting to form with the Avengers, she’s the Queen of the world! What could go wrong?

Pairings: Avengers x reader, Loki x reader (eventually)

Series Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Natasha was right, as always.

It was early afternoon when the tether unexpectedly snapped onto me. It was quick and stiff, and I didn't miss the twinge of pain as a result.

I could suddenly hear the quiet breathing of a group of people. I let out a groan and let myself shake a little as if it would brush off the rest of the fading pain, "A heads up would have been nice."

I heard Loki give a dismissive hum in response which made my temper flare. I tried my best to swallow it down, and it worked long enough for my attention to be diverted elsewhere.

"Agent L/n are you ready to continue your report?" Nick sounded formal. I wondered what he thought of me.

I noticed that while the initial pain of the attachment went away, the tether was still extremely taut and was a discomfort difficult to push to the side. "Sure Director Fury, just let me bang my head against the wall a few times. It would feel better then this string-pulling so hard it's giving me a headache!" I turned toward where I thought Loki was, "Could you loosen it a bit? Please?"

He huffed, "No, I can't."

"Bullshit!"

"You'll just have to deal with it," Loki hissed at me. The phrase, no matter how full of malice it was made with, felt incomplete. Something needed to be added to the end, my name, a nickname, anything really. But maybe that just showed how disgusted he was with me, he wouldn't even acknowledge me with a name.

I knew he wouldn't budge, so I turned back towards Nick and awaited his question in tense silence.

"We need to know what happened the day you were captured."

For a moment the ache from the arrangement was forgotten as confusion took it's place, "What-what do you mean? There's cameras everywhere documenting all the missions."

"All the footage was deleted, or the cameras were disabled on this one. Either way, we have no idea what happened."

I sighed, the throbbing coming back, "Well..." I took a moment to recollect my thoughts. This was a moment I hadn't tried to think of in a very long time, "To set the stage: I was on drone duty with all of you guys, if you can recall. It was a simple cleanout of a Hydra base, it was actually the easiest one we'd had in a long time." My wheels started to turn, maybe the ease should have been a warning. "I had started to get into the habit of having music playing in the background to drown out the noises right outside my working area so I could focus on my video feeds. If I remember right the song playing was Somebody's watching me by Rockwell." I chuckled at the irony. I started to visualize what happened in painfully accurate detail.

I was chewing some gum quietly as I listened to the song, my eyes trained on my screens. I was mostly just patrolling the perimeter at this point. The team had just entered the building and everything was going smoothly.

I'm just an average man with an average life

I work from 9 to 5, hey hell, I pay the price

All I want is to be left alone, in my average home

But why do I always feel

I always feel like somebody's watchin' me

Like I'm in the Twilight Zone?

And I have no privacy

I always feel like somebody's watchin' me

I could feel my stomach start to twist and the hair all over my body started to stand on end. I turned in my seat quickly to find no one was around me, like normal. I turned the music down and found that it was eerily quiet.

Is it just a dream?

"Hey, Y/n/n, I was listening to that, what's up?" I heard Tony talk to me through the com unit in my ear.

"Uh, not sure," I wanted to laugh, but I was nervous all of the sudden. "You guys are on your own for a minute, I think something's wrong. I'm going to go check it out." The feeling all over my body was stubbornly not going away which didn't do anything to ease my nerves.

"Be careful, kid."

"Always am."

I left my mic on just in case as I quietly rose from my seat. I couldn't see the agents left behind to guard the jet, which was odd. There were always at least two at the entrance with the rest spreading out around the surrounding area. I had my back against the wall as I shuffled slowly to the ramp. I wasn't quite to the entrance when Ike walked in.

He looked relaxed, as if we were just in the office, "Hey, L/n, do you mind helping me clear out some debris in the landing gear? It wasn't a very clean landing."

I let out a breath of relief. There was nothing to be worried about. "Yeah, sure thing."

He turned and walked away without waiting for me.

"Hey guys, false alarm, we're all good. I've gotta help fix something, so are you guys okay for another little bit?"

I got an affirmative from my teammates before I turned off my mic. I followed Ike to the outside of the jet. I still couldn't see the other agents which left me a little puzzled. Where did they go? I walked around the jet to where the landing gear was exposed only to find that they were perfectly clean.

"Ike?" I turned toward him slowly, studying the landing gear for a moment longer.

"Yeah, sorry, but not sorry."

I snapped my head to look at him, but I wasn't quick enough as he jabbed a syringe into my neck. I tried to shove his hand out of the way, but his hand had already retreated by the time I swatted at him.

I felt my arms grow heavy as the world began to tip. I looked past Ichabod for a moment and the pile of unconscious agents caught my eye. So that's where they went. I hit the ground and my vision began to go dark when multiple pairs of feet crossed my vision.

"Take it away, boys." I could hear Ichabod's voice, but it didn't register that he was talking about me. Before it could click I blacked out.

"So it was a targeted attack."

I shook myself out of the story, "Yes, it appears to be so."

Nick hummed as if he was thinking. He didn't share his thoughts, but asked me to continue, "Would you mind relaying the circumstances of Agent Laime's death?"

I answered a bit weakly, "Not at all, sir." I found it a bit odd that the rest of the group was able to stay quiet for so long, but maybe they were still a little afraid.

"I don't know how long I was in there for. All I remember was I was tired, sore, and probably not in my right mind with how many drugs they had pumped into me."

A pair of guards had dragged me to a meeting room and left me alone. I had probably fallen asleep waiting there, only realizing when I was startled with the door opening. I couldn't believe my eyes when the Ichabod Laime sat across from me.

He just stared at me. I couldn't tell if he was smug or blissfully nonchalant.

"Why?" My voice came out in a rasp.

His voice was painfully bland, "Why not? Why not be on the winning side? Why not be powerful? Why not be able to wipe smiles off people's faces? Why not destroy you?"

I stared at him blankly.

He started talking again, but to be honest his words just started to blend together. He just kept talking. All I remembered about it was with each word, I became angrier and angrier.

It got to the point where all I could see was red. Maybe it was from the emotions, or maybe it was from how high I probably was.

I was able to launch myself over the table tackle Laime to the floor. I straddled his chest, pinning his arms beneath my knees. My hands were wrapped around his throat as tightly as I could muster. He struggled against me, but I began to bash his head against the concrete beneath us.

By the time the guards slammed the door open Laime was limp in my hands. They ripped me off of him and dragged me back towards my cell as others rushed into the room to Ichabod's lifeless body.

As I was being dragged away I couldn't help but smile. Who's laughing now?

I completed my narrative with the exclusion of that last detail.

There was a beat of silence when suddenly the tether went slack. I felt light-headed and dizzy. I'm sure I went cross-eyed.

There were a few gasps around me.

"What?"

Clint answered me first, "Y/n, you just tipped over."

I was still disoriented, "Hmm, makes sense."

Tony spoke up, "Are you okay?"

"Mmm, yeah, just give me a minute..." I just stayed as still as possible, but it didn't pass as quickly as I would have liked.

I couldn't help the sarcasm from leaking into my voice, "Thanks, Loki."

He answered softly, "I apologize, my dear."

I hummed again, "Yeah, fuck you too."

Chuckles echoed around the room, some of them stiffer than others.

I heard myself sigh, "I can still answer questions from down here Ni- sir, if you don't mind."

Nick grunted, "The experiments, your powers, what did they do? How did you get them?"

"For the most part, they were composed of different injections. The first was administered when I first arrived at the facility, as far as I understand, it was to strengthen my body to be able to handle my powers." I imagined trails of black smoke flowing from my blackened fingertips, "I overheard the scientists mention that my limbs would 'whither' without the first shot." I chuckled, "One of them wanted to just replace everything that rotted away with a metal counterpart... How long do you think I would have lasted until there wasn't anything human left if it's as potent as they thought?"

I heard the quiet, uncomfortable shifting of feet.

"Anyway, it must have been weeks later when they shoved something that resembled tar into my veins. That was fun."

No one was answering me, no comments, not even the odd whisper of gossip. I hated filling the silence myself, but what was I gonna do?

"I can only specifically remember those two occasions, after that I think is when Nox- I mean, the Queen started making appearances, so I was blacked out for a while... But I think I remember when there were other black bruises from injections, so there were probably other times."

"Were there any other factors in you losing control, Agent L/n?"

I frowned, the disorientation was nearly gone by now, but I made no effort in standing my illusion up again. I'm not sure I wanted them to see my face clearly. I felt the strange sensation of my voice about to crack through the illusion that I willed to swallow down.

"Uh, yeah... There was this room." I heard myself breathe, "I'm pretty sure it was built specifically for me. It- it... I guess for the basic idea it was very similar to my current arrangements. It was a room covered in white. Through the walls, they could shine very bright lights at me." I remembered that they didn't know what that would do to me early in my transformation. "I guess I should backtrack a little. when I first got the formula, that's what they called the tar, it made my body extremely sensitive to light. So much so that it physically hurt. The purpose of the lightroom was to..." I struggled to find an appropriate word, "put me in my place, I guess. They would shove me in there and turn the lights on high until I was exhausted. I couldn't scream anymore, couldn't even cry. They had to drag me out every time they were finished."

"They tortured you."

"If you want to be blunt, yes." I didn't really pay attention to who was talking to me anymore, I just answered questions.

"Did they hit you? Cut you?"

I mockingly chuckled, "Oh no, of course not."

A collective breath was released around me.

But I wasn't finished, "Nothing so primitive. They preferred to get creative. After a while the light didn't hurt me anymore, just wore me out, drained me of energy, in case you were worried about my health in my current cell. They resulted in differing electrical shocks in addition to the blinding lights."

I could nearly hear the crickets in the still room. Nick was the one who broke the silence this time.

"That's enough for today. Everyone is dismissed."

I felt the tether softly dissolve, leaving me with the silence of the cell and my mind that I was trapped in. Loki didn't exit right away, though.

"I... I apologize for my behavior Lady Y/n."

I smiled, "You're really laying it on thick aren’t you?" I let myself trail off but picked up again, "But I get it."

He seemed reluctant to leave but didn't have anything more to say.

I laughed softly, "Now get out of here, I've gotta work on my trick shots."

I heard a huff of a laugh, but he did as he was told.

After a moment or two, I heard music flow through the speakers.

A/n: Hey, if you enjoyed this, please consider a like and a reblog? Thank you!

Song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7YvAYIJSSZY

Tag List: [OPEN] @snarky--starky @kitkatd7 @confetti-its-an-imagine-blog

26 notes · View notes

colehasapen · 4 years ago

Text

(ONE SHOT) i can't tell you what happened STAR WARS

(belated) Whumptober no.24 - You're Not Making Any Sense

Comfortember no.3 - Nightmare

When she sleeps, Ahsoka dreams of death. She sees the world the Son wanted behind her closed eyes; the Jedi Temple on fire, the dead left to rot on the ground where they fell, and men in familiar, comforting armour suddenly turning on them and gunning down every Jedi in sight, no matter how young or old. She sees Jedi turning on each other to survive, or for power. She sees a ship going down in flames, a massive graveyard decorated by her markings. There’s a voice in her ears, speaking in an insidious whisper to Execute Order 66, and she can hear the voices of millions crying out in harmony before a void of emptiness overtakes them. She sees Anakin across from her, hood drawn up and eyes burning yellow as he approaches a group of younglings who watch him with trusting eyes. She sees Anakin standing among fire, clad in black armour, a single eye glaring at her from the sizzling hole cut away from his helmet.

She sees the Father watching her, hears his parting words. She’d been unconscious when they’d left Mortis, but the Force being had been in her head like his Son and Daughter had before him. He had looked mournful.

“I’m sorry, my child.” The Father had said, voice oddly echoing, “This was never meant to be the life for you.” He sighed, moving forward to place a hand on top of Ahsoka’s head, the move paternal. No matter how much she tries to demand her dream-self move, to push the Father away, it always plays out how it had in real life. “But I cannot risk the balance of the galaxy for one child, no matter how much your Master wants me to. I cannot let you share what my Son so foolishly showed you.”

And as she always does, Ahsoka wakes up as fire burns through her veins. She shoots up in her bed, mouth open in a silent scream, but no sound escapes her lips; none had since Mortis.

The Father hadn’t wanted to risk Ahsoka telling anyone of the visions she had seen of that Dark future. He hadn’t wanted her to tell anyone about what the Son had showed her while he was in her head - hadn’t wanted him to tell Anakin of his possible fate, or the Council of the danger they were all in. She doesn’t want to believe any of it - it seems impossible to think of the clones turning on the Jedi, to be able to kill younglings and noncombatants in their home. She can’t imagine Rex shooting at her, or Cody turning on Master Obi-Wan. The idea of any of the men, who had so patiently allowed Initiates to hang off of them like little monkeys, killing them in their beds is impossible. The clones would rather die, and Ahsoka knows this with confidence.

She doesn’t want to believe her Master is capable of the things she had seen him do in the future the Son wanted. She doesn’t want to think him able of slaughtering the Jedi who were their family, doesn’t want to believe that he would ever Fall, but… but now that she’s seen it, she can’t unsee the possibility.

Ahsoka knows that Anakin was never the most stable of Jedi, that he was willing to throw so many things away with a single-minded determination to protect people. He had done it to Ahsoka, but he had also done it for her just as many times. Her crechemates had been furious when they had heard about the mission to rescue R2, though Ahsoka hadn’t understood at the time, not until they had told her that he was willing to let her and their men die and the mission fail for an astrodroid that he was… attached to. Master Plo had come to personally ask her if she felt safe learning under Anakin, promising that it wouldn’t be her fault if she wanted to be reassigned and that there were Masters willing to take her on. At the time, Ahsoka had been able to confidently tell him that she did, that she loved working with her Master, but now?

Now, Ahsoka looks at her Master and sees the children he could murder without even flinching, She sees the Darkness festering in his soul like an injected, untreated wound. She sees his growing anger and aggression, and she finds herself flinching away, unable to unsee the burning eyes from her vision.

Ahsoka is scared of her Master, and she can’t tell anyone why. She can’t talk to Anakin, can’t try to help him or convince him to see a Mind Healer. She can’t share the vision with Master Obi-Wan to get him the help he needs, and she can’t ask the clones what Order 66 is.

Shaking, Ahsoka curls around her legs, choking on a hiccuping sob. She doesn’t know what to do, or how to fix things. The Healers hadn’t found anything wrong with her, couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t able to speak or why there was a solid wall keeping them out of her thoughts. There was no physical proof of something having happened to her, and Ahsoka couldn’t exactly explain that it had been a metaphysical Force being who had decided to lock away her voice to stop her from spilling his secrets, because no one else remembered the events of Mortis. The Healer had concluded that it was psychological in root, that Ahsoka had been traumatized. They had tried to argue against her being sent back into the field, but the Jedi were too thinly spread to spare anyone, and Ahsoka would have never let them take her away from the 501st, especially not when she had an investigation she planned to run.

But now that she’s back on the Resolute, all she can see is halls full of her men as they hunt her down, and her dreams have echoed this. She’d be on a ship on a crash course with a moon, explosions rocking the world around her, but something had changed this time, someone had changed, and it fills her with a feeling of hope.

With quivering hands, Ahsoka reaches for her comm, punching in a frequency she knows off by heart and typing out her message, listening to it ring. Rex - she needs Rex. He had been in her vision tonight, the only thing that had changed in her dreams since she had first returned from Mortis. He had been standing next to her, looking out over hundreds of graves, a comforting arm around her shoulders as a convor flew overhead, singing a hopeful song of change.

Her comm chimes when Rex replies, and for the first time since Mortis, Ahsoka smiles.

The Father hadn't wanted her to share the possible Dark future she had seen, so he had made sure that she couldn't. But Ahsoka is smart, she's crafty, and she's learned how to wiggle her way around rules, and with Rex on her side, they'd be unstoppable. Rex would help her - they could change the future she had seen. They could work together to find a way around the command the Father had planted in her mind, and they could save everyone.

(The Father was stubborn, but his Daughter is more so, and Ahsoka Tano is her chosen champion.)

#cole writes #star wars #whumptober 2020 #comfortember 2020 #no.25 #no.3 #ahsoka tano #swtcw fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

8 notes · View notes

shotsbyshae · 5 years ago

Text

Living Dead Girl

Warnings: Substance use, knife play, kidnapping, mention of murders

Words: 1.8k

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

A/N: Little Saturday drabble inspired by my favorite time of year...Halloween.

Song: Living Dead Girl by Rob Zombie

So beautiful they make you, kill.

The Winter Soldier isn’t just any ghost story.

He is your ghost story.

Something awakens you quickly and the streetlight outside your bedroom window casts a soft orange glow across the features of the man standing at the foot of your bed. Before you have time to scream, he’s on top you – pinning you to the mattress – metal fingers pinching your skin as they wrap around your throat. Your heart pounds in your chest as you open your mouth, trying to gasp for air as he pushes down harder against your trachea.

“Moy,” the Russian word is thick as it slips past his lips, blue eyes staring into your soul. “You are mine.”

Your body jerks upright in bed, a cold sweat drenching your body and dampening your sheets. The air in your room is cool with the scent of the lavender lotion you used after your shower earlier, but you also pick up hints of sandalwood. You know it’s from him – the smell – like a sense memory. The nightmare has haunted you for over ten years now and everytime you awaken from it you can smell the faint traces of cologne.

He had let you live the night he was sent to murder your aunt and uncle in cold blood, but the thought of him coming back to finish the job is never far from your mind.

10 Years Earlier

After the car accident six months earlier, your aunt and uncle, who lived just outside of DC had taken you in. A know-it-all teenager with a smart-ass attitude. All you knew about your uncle’s job was it involved the government, aside from that you didn’t care. You were sneaking in through the side door of the kitchen late one night past curfew when you heard muffled gunshots upstairs. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the Xanax you had popped earlier in the night, but you felt brazen enough to grab a large steak knife from the butcher’s block on the counter and quietly make your way up the stairs. You could hear heavy footsteps coming from your aunt and uncle’s bedroom and you instinctively kept the knife down at your side, tucked against the back of your thigh.

At the top of the stairs you had paused and looked around, no longer hearing anyone move about. You carefully edged your way along the wall until you were close to the bedroom door. Moonlight from the window at the far end of the hallway cast an eerie glow across the dark hardwood at your feet and for a brief moment you chastised yourself, because you were the girl in the horror movies who went to investigate the noise instead of running away.

As if on cue, the door to the bedroom jerked open and you were slammed into the wall by something cold and hard around your throat. The man towered over you as his metal fingers held your neck firmly in place. His long black hair framed his face almost too perfectly and you could see the black stubble along his jawline. Ice blue eyes stared down at you menacingly and you knew it was over. Quickly, your hand had brought the blade up and shoved it hilt deep into his ribs. You felt as the knife ripped through the muscle and tissue just below the metal arm. An overwhelming thrill coursed through your veins as his eyes widened in shock and his mouth opened slightly. He glanced to the knife briefly before he flicked his rage filled eyes back to you.

You were dead, you knew it.

He reached over with his free hand and pulled the knife out slowly as his metal arm released the grip on you. He held the blade up in front of you, now dark red from his blood.

“Moy,” he said the word, tilting the blade back and forth. “Mine.” He turned and walked toward the stairs, stopping for a moment at the top of them, turning to look at you. His face illuminated by the moonlight as he stared at you threateningly, “Stay.”

The smell of blood and sandalwood hung in the air as you had waited until he disappeared down the staircase before you raised your hand up to look at it – the one that had held the knife. There was a smear of blood on your index finger – his blood – and you stared at it curiously for a few moments, the thought of having almost died at his hands at the front of your mind.

Why did he let you live?

Better yet, did you enjoy stabbing him?

You pressed your index finger inside your mouth – the metallic remnants swirled against your tongue – as you contemplated the questions.

The Winter Soldier had been your first taste of blood – literally – and your world hasn’t been the same since. You like to keep your hit list as clean as possible: mobsters, pedophiles, murderers, etc. The basic scum of the Earth types.

After you make your morning coffee you find a large manila envelope lying on the hardwood in front of your apartment door, where it was shoved under the door sometime during the night. You already know what the contents of the envelope are – your next target. You place your mug on the counter and carefully peel back the metal prongs and open the flap, pulling out the file folder. Your heart stops as you open the file – the man in the photo you recognize – the name isn’t what you know him by though.

James Buchanan (Bucky) Barnes

In a box toward the bottom of the page under aliases is the name you know him best by: The Winter Soldier. You stare at the photo a moment before you pick up your coffee mug and raise it to your lips, talking quietly to the photo you say, “Looks like you’re mine.”

***

You watch from the shadows as his head slowly lifts from his chest and he takes in his surroundings. Your aunt and uncle’s house had been left to you, and it’s sat vacant for years. The bedroom is mostly dark, with some moonlight creeping through the windows. You reach over and turn the table lamp on, illuminating the corner you stand in.

His eyes widen at your presence, voice groggy as he speaks, “Who are you? Where am I?”

You notice his voice is different than you remember from that night as you slowly walk towards the dining room chair you have him tied to, “You don’t remember me?” You point to the pristinely made bed with the large steak knife in your hand. “You murdered my aunt and uncle in that bed right there.”

He glances over to the bed and his eyes flash dark for a moment – realization sinking in. A sly smirk tugs at the corners of his lips as he flicks his gaze back to you, “You tried to kill me.”

“Bingo.”

“Why now?” He questions you, trying to move his arms against the restraints. His blues eyes fixing on you as he realizes you must have injected him with a paralytic. You can’t tell if he’s angry or impressed.

“Chalk it up to fate I suppose. I only take care of those whose names I’m given, and your name just so happened to come across my desk, so to speak,” you smile coyly at the man as you move closer to him. “Looks as if we’ve come full circle.”

“You’re an assassin?” The realization sets in as you drag the knife gently up the black denim covering his thighs.

“Yup,” the word pops out of your mouth cheerfully as you continue to run the tip of the knife carefully up the front of the dark green Henley he’s wearing. “Just like you.”

“You’re not like me,” he remarks quickly. “I was brainwashed into doing what I did.”

You stop moving the knife, leaving the tip of the blade at his jugular notch, your face tilting close to his, “Then why didn’t you kill me?” You stare into his blue eyes fiercely as he considers the question. “I’ve read your file – you don’t leave witnesses – so why me?”

He continues to stare at you for a beat, “I don’t know.”

“Bull shit,” you spit out. “You and he are the same person. You know exactly why – tell me.”

You watch as he clenches his jaw, not wanting to answer and you run the blade along his collarbone causing small rivulets of blood to roll down his skin, soaking into the green fabric of his shirt. Straddling him in the chair you drape your free arm casually across his shoulder, twirling the length of his hair around your finger, “We can do this all night.”

Bucky closes his eyes for a moment before he sighs, “Your eyes – there was a darkness in your eyes. You weren’t scared.” Blue eyes glance up at you, mere inches from your own. “When you stabbed me, you weren’t scared. Most people would have been terrified – you enjoyed it.” Your eyes narrow slightly as he shifts uncomfortably under you, letting you know there’s not much longer before the paralytic wears off.

Running the knife along his jawline you smile innocently at him before you lean closer and press your lips to the corner of his mouth, his body tensing at your actions. Confusion is evident in his eyes as you lean back, your fingers still wrapped gently around his neck. He waits for you to stab the knife into his side like you did the first night – or maybe you’ll slit his throat this time.

You stand up slowly, keeping your eyes trained on his as you do, “It was nice to see you again Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky watches in surprise as you walk towards the bedroom door, “You’re not going to kill me?”

“Kill you?” You glance back over your shoulder at him incredulously. “I can’t kill you babe – you made me.”

Hours later, after the paralytic has worn off and Bucky is back at his hotel room, he finds a small business card shoved into the back pocket of his jeans. Pulling it out he sees the words typed out in dainty letters The Raven. He flips the card over, the back reveals nothing and he quickly pulls his cell phone from his pocket dialing the first person he thinks of.

“Sam,” he says urgently. “What do you know about an assassin they call The Raven?”

There’s a momentary pause on the other end of the line before Wilson scoffs, “Dude, that’s a ghost story. She’s not real.”

Bucky stares at himself in the dresser mirror, seeing the blood on his shirt from where you had sliced into his collarbone. He knows you’re real, because he had seen you, felt you, and he can still smell faint traces of lavender, as if you’re still straddling his lap.

The Raven isn’t just any ghost story.

You’re his ghost story.

#Bucky Barnes #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #mcu #fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #fanfic #avengers fan fiction #avengers #avengers fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic

256 notes · View notes