#mCU fic

[darealsaltysam]

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

[thinkinonsense]

Sweet Temptations.

logan howlett x fem!reader

cw: fingering, oral (f receiving), innocence kink, inexperienced reader, darkish!logan

a/n: hi! sorry i've been gone so long! i have plenty of stuff in the works but for now here's this. i'm working on making a mini-series of dark!logan x inexperienced!reader so i hope everyone enjoys! <3

to think, logan almost went out to the bar tonight. almost left to find a one night stand or come home and fuck his hand. tonight could've had so many different outcomes but luckily, he ended up with the best one.

there's a light knock on his bedroom door. he knew it had to have been you since everyone was on a field trip a couple hours away for the night. logan obviously wasn't interested in going and you were busy working on an experiment in the laboratory.

in all reality, logan just wanted an excuse to stay here alone with you overnight. ever since he joined the x-men and met you down in the lab in that cute white coat and pretty smile, he's had a crush on you.

"hi, logan." you smile softly when he opens his door.

"hey, dollface. you need something?" he asks, leaning against his door frame and eyeing that short little nightgown of yours.

"can we talk?"

"sure."

the two of you walk into logan's room and sit on the end of his bed. you sit up on your knees, facing him. he can tell that something is on your mind but you're unsure on if you should confide in him or not.

"is everything alright?" he asks, growing concerned.

you nod, chewing on your bottom lip.

"whatcha wanna talk about then, sweets?"

logan's large hand rubs your knee softly, almost coaxing the words out of you.

"would you do me a big favor?" you ask, avoiding his hazel gaze.

"of course."

there's slight hesitation. you were afraid of logan's reaction to your request. after a deep breath, you remind yourself that it's just logan. the same logan who trains with you every morning, the same logan who plays with your hair when he's bord, the same logan who praises you for all your hard work in the laboratory. there was nothing to be afraid of.

"c-can you take my virginity?"

the question almost killed logan. he thought he had died and gone to heaven. you finally look at him with a twinkle in your eyes and he feels the need to adjust the tent growing in his pants.

"where'd this idea come from, sweetheart?"

"well, i was seeing a guy a while ago who acted really weird when i told him i was still a virgin then when i told storm and jean, they told me that if i'm ready to do it, than it should be with someone i trust." you explain so innocently to him. "i just figured since you've always been so gentle with me and i trust you, i was kinda hoping you wouldn't mind."

never in his wildest dreams could logan have imagined this happening. you sitting pretty on his bed, practically begging him to take your virginity. god, logan couldn't even remember the last time he was with a virgin. must've been decades ago.

"that's real sweet, dollface. 'f course i'll do it." he says, watching your smile grow with excitement. "first i need to know what you've already done."

"i've kissed while sitting in someone's lap, given a hickey twice... maybe three times? some nights i'll rub myself against one of my pillows."

even though he knew the answer, he had to ask, "ever fingered yourself?"

"no." you shake your head, almost making logan moan at just the thought of being the first person to do that to you.

"want to try it?"

"s-sure but i thought we were gonna–"

"we will." logan assures. "need to get you loosened up first if you want me to fit inside of you."

a small gasp exists your lips, making him chuckle. logan leans in, testing the waters to see how you kiss. he's a bit shocked by how you pull him closer to deepen it. you moan into his mouth while your hands roam his hair. he sits you in his lap and lets you grind yourself on top of him, showing him what you know.

"let's see if you're nice and wet for me." logan hums, lifting up your nightgown and feeling the wet spot over your underwear. "very good, dollface."

without thinking, you let out a tiny moan next to his ear because of his praise. he can't help but pull your head from its hiding spot in his neck to look at you.

"you like when i tell you how good you're being for me?" he ask, watching your face contort as your hips keep moving. one of his hands rests on your waist, stopping you from moving. "c'mon, you can tell me."

"mhm..." you nod. "love when you praise me."

suddenly, your back is pressed flat against his sheets as he kisses all down your body. leaving little marks here and there until he reaches the waist band of your pretty pink underwear.

"did you wear these just for me, princess?" he asks, placing a kiss right over the cotton covering your button.

"y-you said i looked p-pretty in pink."

as the words stumble out of your mouth, logan feels a warmth spread across his heart. a couple months ago, you were wearing a new pink dress and as logan passed you by, he mentioned how pretty you looked in the color. it meant a lot to you.

"you still do." he says. "can i take these off of you, baby?"

you nod, lifting your hips a little to help him. logan tosses the pink cotton somewhere behind him. lifting up the nightgown to your tummy, eyes glued to the spot in between your legs.

"didn't think you could get any prettier." logan mumbles to himself.

his intense gaze made you feel a bit vulnerable, trying to close your legs but his large hands stop you.

"don't hide from me, princess." he says, capturing your attention. " 'm gonna make you feel good."

logan carefully drags his thumb through your slit, collecting the arousal and circling it around your button. the feather like touch sends your head back and whimpers to fall from your lips. gently, logan pushes his middle finger past your velvet walls, groaning once you clench around him.

"atta girl, princess." he smirks watching you swallow up his finger. "takin' it so good."

logan watches in awe as your head fall back and the arch in your back. slowly he inches his face closer and licks a thick stripe up your fold before sucking softly on your button. you feel logan muffle 'fuck' against you, only resulting in more arousal to spill out of you.

"o-oh, logan." you moan, hips chasing his tongue feverishly.

since this was your first time, logan went easy on you, not making you work for your orgasm. he feels your cunt clench down on his one finger as it hits deep inside of you until you are seeing stars. with logan's other free hand, he paws at your tit and rolls it in his palm.

"need m-more!" you whimper with glossy eyes and lips. "p-please, lo."

in an attempt to give you what you want, logan struggles to hit another finger inside of you. he wasn't sure what he did to deserve this type of heaven but god, was he thankful for it.

"i can't, sweetheart." he groans, kissing your hip bone as he speeds up the finger inside of you. "you're too tight for two of my fingers. there's no way i'll be able to fit inside of you tonight."

before you could whine in protest, this indescribable wave of euphoria washes over you. smooth silky legs wrap tightly around logan's head. thighs covers his ears, blocking out the sweet sounds you were making. logan goes back to sloppily making out with your cunt until you weakly pull him off and drag him up to your lips, tasting your own release on his tongue.

"thanks, lo." you smile in a daze at him.

"anytime." he says. "i think you'll need another lesson soon though if you want to take all of me. do you want that, princess?"

he could feel your heart rate increase eagerly. you blush intensely and avoid his gaze as you nod.

"alright." he chuckles darkly. "but first, you gotta show me how you get off on your pillow."

[queen-of-the-avengers]

An Enigma

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.4k

Warnings: angst, blood, threat of violence, unwanted touching, harassment

Summary: You and Bucky are in an arranged marriage set up by both your parents. It’s a way to keep the peace between your two families. You thought Bucky didn’t care for you, but when someone from your past comes back into your life, Bucky makes it known that all he ever thinks about is you.

Square Filled: au: no powers (2024) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

You step into the kitchen but keep to the wall in intimidation. Your husband is standing there with his back to you. He’s shirtless with only a pair of slacks on. You’re not sure what is more hot. Him being shirtless or dressed in a three-piece suit. He has his phone to his ear so you don’t dare interrupt him, scared of what he might do or say to you. It’s not that you’re scared he’ll beat you, it’s just that he’s always so stoic and rarely shows his emotions.

There’s something you want to ask him but you’re scared of what he’ll do when you ask it. He’s your husband for god sake. Just go up to him and ask him! Your inner personality isn’t as scared of him as you are. You wouldn’t be this way if you had married him out of love. No, this marriage was arranged by yours and his parents. You were forced to be his wife, so you’re not even sure he loves you much less likes you.

Still, your marriage meant a truce between your family and his, but that doesn’t mean he stopped hating your family.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to come in and say something?”

You snap out of your own thoughts and look at Bucky who is now facing you. His shirtless back is almost as delicious as his shirtless front, but you’re too nervous to appreciate the sight in front of you.

“I just wanted to ask you something.”

Bucky looks you up and down, studying your behavior and body language. You’re jumpy, your hands are sweaty and shaky, and you can barely meet his eyes for more than five seconds.

“Why do you look so scared?” He smirks. “I won’t bite.”

“My dad called.” His smirk is lost. “He’s having a family dinner next week. He wants both of us there.”

“I see.”

“I’d be really happy if you came. He won’t try anything, I promise. They’ll be on their best behavior.”

“Okay,” Bucky says after a moment.

“Wait, really?”

“You’re my wife. If my father-in-law is asking for dinner, then so be it.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you. It’s next Friday.” You take out your phone. “I’ll let him know you’re coming.”

You turn to leave but Bucky’s voice stops you. “One move.”

“What?”

“If he tries one move, my knife will be lodged in his throat.”

Your eyes widen but you hear the threat loud and clear. You nod and scurry off before he can make any more conditions. Your father is part of one of the biggest crime families New York has ever seen. He has power in every single corner of his jurisdiction. No one can do anything without him knowing about it. Bucky’s family is the other family that has ties to mafia dealings, making them just as powerful as your family.

Both families split New York in half, but they’re constantly fighting over drugs, property, clubs, money, etc. If it can be used to manipulate and exert power over people, both your families are greedy for the taking, especially if those businesses live on the border of both jurisdictions.

One day, your father met with Bucky’s father about a truce, something they both will want to agree to. This was when your mother was pregnant with you, but he loves to tell the story so you feel like you were practically there. If you were to marry Bucky, then both families would be able to come to agreement on those petty fights.

A truce would be made. The cost? Your freedom. Any children that you may will bear will be part of the biggest crime family this country has ever seen.

When you were old enough, you met Bucky through a family dinner. He came off as stoic, cold, and calculating. He didn’t let anything get under his skin. Then, his nieces and nephews joined the party and he became a different person. His hard resolve started melting, giving you a show of who the real Bucky was. It’s different when he’s in front of business partners and your family, but you have a good idea of who the real Bucky is.

He’s a mystery, something you’re desperate to solve.

To prepare for the dinner, you decide to go to the gym and hopefully shed a few pounds. You’ve always loved doing cardio, so the treadmill became your best friend. You go so often that the front desk lady knows you by name.

“Welcome, Y/N. Have a good workout.”

“Thank you, Betty. I will.”

You walk over to the treadmill and start with a walk to get your blood pumping. You put your headphones in and listen to your favorite podcast. You listen to all sorts of things when you work out but lately, it’s been about the podcasts. You’re an hour into your workout when someone touches your shoulder. You take out your headphones and look back to see someone you never thought you’d see again.

“Vince. What are you doing here?”

“It’s a gym. I’m working out.”

You look him over and notice he’s not sweaty or red. If he’s been here as long as you have, he hasn’t been working out.

“Right. I’ll let you get back to it.”

You’re about to put your headphones back in when he steps onto the treadmill next to yours. He leans over and rests his elbows on your handlebars, and you immediately stop your machine. It’s a good time to call it a day.

“I came over here to say hi.”

“I should get going.”

You step off the treadmill and walk over to the cleaning station to grab some paper towels when you feel him standing behind you. You used to feel so safe with him but that all changed when your father discovered a hole in your wall that came from his room which was right next door. He was your bodyguard, supposed to protect you from creeps, and ended up being one. He was truly a pervert.

The only reason why your father didn’t kill him was because you didn’t want to deal with it. You convinced him to just fire him, so he did. Now he’s back but you’re not sure why. Your father made it very clear that if he tried to come near you again, he would do more than fire him. You turn and find him standing closer than he should be.

“What do you want, Vince?”

“Just to talk. I’ve become better. I’ve worked on myself. I’m ready to go back to work.”

“Excuse me?”

“I want to be your bodyguard again.”

“Like hell, that’s going to happen. You shouldn’t even be here. This isn’t even your gym. Just go home.” You step around him to clean your machine but he grabs your upper hard harder than normal. “Ow, you’re hurting me.”

“Oh, sweetie, you have no idea what pain is. I’ll do more than hurt you if you don’t give me my job back. I’m a good bodyguard. I kept all the creeps away from you.”

“Yeah, except for you. Let me go.”

He does but he doesn’t move away from you. You have sensitive skin so you know you’ll have bruises on your arm from his grip.

“Don’t be so shocked if one day you find me inside your house. I know you don’t have a bodyguard now.”

You don’t need one. You have Bucky. He’s very possessive and protective over you. You’re not sure what he’s going to do when he finds out about this, but you can imagine it’s not going to be kind. Crew cleaning your machine. You drop your supplies and rush out of the gym in a panic. During the ride home, you think of ways to lie to Bucky. He’s going to take one look at your face and know something is wrong.

You’re a terrible liar, but you can’t think of anything because you’re too scared. Scared to the point of tears. Maybe if you sneak inside and run to your room, you’ll be able to calm yourself down enough to come up with a convincing lie.

You park in the garage and rush inside knowing Bucky has cameras and sensors for when someone enters the garage. You’re about to book it up the stairs when you run smack into Bucky’s chest.

“Where’s the fire?” He sees the panicked look in your eyes and immediately becomes on alert. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Just an intense workout. I’m going to take a shower.”

You go to leave but Bucky grabs your arm in the same place as Vince did. You wince and he lets you go immediately thinking he hurt you. His eyes narrow on the bruises Vince let, and the fire in his eyes tells you he’s not going to believe anything but the truth.

“What. Happened.”

You have no choice but to tell him the truth before you get in trouble for lying.

“Before you, I had a bodyguard. He was caught spying on me through a hole he created in my bedroom. He was fired and my father made it clear never to bother me again. Well, he was at the gym. He… threatened me… saying I shouldn’t be surprised if I find him in this house because I don’t have a bodyguard now. He… wants his job back.”

“Okay.”

Bucky moves around you to go to the garage but you jump in front of him and put your hands on his chest. He looks calm but you know he is fucking pissed. It’s taking all of your strength to keep him from entering the garage.

“Bucky, stop.”

“If you think I won’t pick you up and move you out of the way, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Bucky, please. I will bring this up to my father tomorrow at dinner. Please let my family handle this. He worked for my dad. He should deal with it.”

Bucky looks down and he sees the desperation in your eyes. It doesn't do shit to calm him down but he backs away knowing this is what you want.

“Fine.”

Bucky retreats to his office for the rest of the day. Before you know it, Friday has come and you’re walking up the steps to your father’s mansion. You’ve been dreading this moment since the gym but you know you have to tell your father about this. Bucky was supposed to ride with you but you hadn’t seen him all day.

“Oh, sweetheart! I’m glad you’re here!” your mother says when you walk into the house.

“Hi, mom.” She pulls you in for a crushing hug. “You just saw me last week.”

“I know, but it feels like a lifetime. Where is Bucky?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure he’ll be here. He said he would.” Your father walks in and you smile when you see him. “Daddy!”

“Princess,” he smiles.

You bounce over to him and hug him tightly. He’s a very tall and muscular man but he has always been gentle with you. You’re his princess. You’re his only daughter, so he takes your health and well-being very seriously. You have six brothers but he’s not the same with them as he’s with you. They’re just as scary as your father. You’re not sure why you ever needed a bodyguard when you had six living at home with you.

You join your family in the dining room and greet your brothers. The family butler brings out the food until there is a plate in front of everyone. You look beside you at the empty chair and wonder where Bucky is. He’s supposed to be here. He said he would. If he had to work, he would have told you.

“So, Y/N, when am I getting grandbabies?”

“Mom!”

“I’m not getting any younger over here.”

“You have grandbabies. Tony and Luke both have children. Gio has one on the way.”

“None from you, though.”

“Okay, well, when I get pregnant, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Where is Bucky?” Stefan asks, shoveling food into his mouth as he speaks.

“Stefan!” your mother scolds. “Don’t eat like an animal.”

“Sorry, mom,” he says with his mouth full.

“I don’t know. He said he’d be here. He’s probably caught up with work.”

Once your brothers are finished with their meals, they eagerly go for seconds. The dining room is filled with chatter about people’s plans, kids, and trips they have coming up. You never talk about work while you’re eating. That’s reserved for after dinner and always over a glass of top-shelf whiskey.

Suddenly, all chatter ceases when someone walks into the dining room. Bucky. Only he’s covered in blood. Blood stains his nice suit and spatters his smooth skin, but he acts as if he has nothing on him. His hands are clean though. He sits next to you and accepts the food the butler brings. He takes a bite of the meat and moans at how good it is.

“Is it taken care of?” your father asks.

“Yes, sir.”

Chatter returns as normal as if Bucky isn’t covered in fucking blood. Even your brothers don’t seem to care that blood is now on the table. Your mother doesn’t care that blood is getting on her nice white dining chair. You lean closer to him and grab your napkin. You grab his chin and start wiping the blood from his cheek.

“What the hell is the matter with you? Where were you? Why are you covered in blood? Whose is it?”

“Vince.”

Now everything makes sense. He must have called your father to tell him what you told him who then told your mother who then told your brothers.

“I told you I’d handle it.”

“He touched what’s mine.”

“Excuse me?”

“He touched my wife.”

You throw the napkin down knowing it’s useless. “Last I checked, Bucky, you don’t own me.”

“No, you but own me.” Your eyes widen in surprise. “I’d do it again and again to protect you.” He grabs your chin with his clean hand and kisses you. He pulls away from you and wipes away the drop of blood he got on your skin. “Eat.”

It takes you several seconds to wrap your brain around what just fucking happened. You grab your fork and take a bite slowly. Maybe there is some warmth to that cold heart.

x

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[drdawnbreaker]

𝐀 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐈𝐧 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐝 𝐈𝐜𝐞 || 𝐁.𝐁

Pairing: Winter Soldier x HydraPrisoner!Reader

Summary: Soldat, and you have been through so much in such little time. And now, you have to navigate the looming storm of snow and rising tension. Can Soldat keep you from slipping over the edge or will you just end up falling together?

Word Count: 1.49k

Warnings: Blood. Canon level violence. Non-sexual nudity. Tension. This is basically just naked cuddles by an open fire. What can i say, I'm a romantic.

Notes: I didn't expect to write something so long, but here i am, ahah. This was heavily inspired by @winterarmyy fic with Bucky, hehe. Anyhoo enjoyy. Not beta read. Yolo. Also, this is my first full fic, i guess... ahhhh. So please go easy on mee argh xx

Masterlist | Nav

Imagine You and The Winter Soldier are fleeing, running for your lives in the wet and cold night. The gravelled roads covered in a blizzard of thick snow. Your body is soaked from rain, blood, dirt, and god knows what else.

Soldat never said a word as he tracked closely in front of you, creating a path with his long, thick legs, letting you walk without much effort, unlike him who is starting to feel the burn of his muscles and the sting in his lungs. But he would never tell you, he would rather break all his bones in his body than risk any discomfort to you. Not ever again.

Soldat pushed open the heavy door with his metal shoulder, the cracking sound of snapping wood echoed in the vast silence of the lonely woods that hid more than fifty-ish gaurds from the hydra base they had just broken out from. You stumbled in behind him, your breath creating little clouds as you sighed deeply as you almost tripped into Soladts' large back.

Your thin clothes that Hydra forced you to wear while you were stuck in your cell and soldats tactical gear was soaked, stained, clinging to his skin. It was like a reminder of the struggle he went through to get you out. He had taken the brunt of the most brutal confrontations, but the scars of your escape marked both of you—physically and mentally.

As the door slammed shut with a heavy thud, a cold shiver coursed through you, making you very aware of the biting chill that seeped into your bones, rattling your body with a familiar emotion... Fear. Soldat noticed your discomfort. His steel, almost grey eyes, were shadowed with concern. “There is no power. Too risky,” he muttered, his voice low and husky. “But we need to get warm.”

Without another word, grunt, or whimper, Soldat moved like lightning towards various cupboards, tossing through cobwebs, dust, and strange bugs before finally finding an old stack of firewood. Well, most like cheap chip wood, but it'll burn enough to get you warm.

You watched him as he arranged all the wood in the fireplace, not even seemingly taking a breath until it was complete. The flicker of warmth that the flame produced would simmer you down only momentarily before another shiver ran down your body as the wet melting snow pooled against your skin from the soaked fabric.

"Here,” he called, gesturing to try beside the fire, his voice steady despite the storm outside. Yet you somehow knew that he was panicked deep inside. Worried about yours and his safety. Morely yours, but you try not to think about that. “Get closer to the fire.”

You obliged without a word, positioning yourself on your knees before the flames, but quickly realized that the heat was barely wrapping around you. The cold still seeped into your chest, gnawing at your skin. Soldat threw more wood in, but time was not a luxury you had, it seemed. No, as your eyes grew heavy and your shallow breath slowed, Soldat needed to find a solution quick before you surely died from hypothermia. He grunted through his nose as he watched you for a moment more before speaking...

“Strip,” he said, gravelled and bluntly. It made you freeze, cheeks flushing as your slowed heart began to race.

What? Is he serious? You blinked at him in shock as uneasy laughter bubbled up, tinged with embarrassment. He can't actually be serious... Right?

“Soldat, I—” you started, but then he cut you off by speeding down the hall before you could process his request. You sat there stunned and trembling. Confusion warred with the urgency of your situation, the biting cold gripped you tighter, but now a heat pooled inside you, one you always managed to keep hidden until now.

With a deep, shaky breath, you hastily stripped off your damp clothes. The chill of the room made every inch of exposed skin tighten, and you quickly slipped into your underwear. Just as you pulled the last layer away, Soldat re-entered the room, his arms holding a bunch of blankets and pillows. He dropped them carelessly on the floor, but carefully not to get any in the fire or on the wet pile of clothes you created. He began to arrange them with determination, making a makeshift bed. Almost like a nest or cocoon.

"You have to get warm." He states, letting you see the determination in his wild eyes. You hugged your arms around yourself tightly, still feeling in the heat of embarrassment, being almost bare in front of the only person in your life who ever showed care for you.

“The underwear isn’t helping,” he stated flatly, as if the gravity of the situation was the only thing at play, almost completely ignoring the circular emotions churning in the space between you and him. The tension that has been brewing since the first day your cells were side by side. Since the first time you used your abilities to sneak into his cell and hold him, let him know he wasn't alone while using your powers to soothe his torturous mind.

Your heart raced as you met his gaze. “Can you... uh c-can you close your eyes, please?”

He chuckled softly, a lightness breaking through the tension. “Alright,” he said, feigning nonchalance as he covered his eyes with his metal hand, though a ghost of a smile lingered on his lips. Something was almost foreign about a smile on the Soldats, but he had grown to have one when only you were around.

With shaking fingers, you slipped your last barrier away, letting the wet bra and panties all alongside the other wet fabric before you dived for the blankets, mortified and relieved at once, your heart hammering wildly. “Okay...I’m done,” you called, hoping to mask your vulnerability and embarrassment with the soft cupboard smelling duvet

He opened his eyes, pulling his hand away. The warmth of the fire reflected off you, a hint of satisfaction finally grazed in his expression. You shifted slightly, the blankets cocooning you with newfound warmth, but the icy sensation still danced inside your chest. You shivered again

Soldat could hear the way your body was still craving heat and as he swore under his breath as the silence stretched thick with the unspoken tension. He knew he needed to do something. So he started to strip himself of his own wet clothes, revealing the chiselled muscles and scars that told stories of his torment...of battles fought and lost. He reached for his belt, and it made you suddenly speak up with an eep in your voice.

“W-what are you doing?” You blurted out, the absurdity of the situation slamming into you like a train as he slipped off his pants, boots, and underwear until he was completely bare in front of you. You didn't mean to cast your gazs lower, but before you could even get a good look at him, he was under the blankets beside you. Skin suddenly against skin.

“I need to keep you alive,” he replied with a gruffness that softened under the weight of his intentions. He pulled you close, lifting the blanket over both of you to create more warmth.

Your body instinctively moulded against his, seeking the refuge of his body heat even though your mind was racing at the idea of being this close to the soldie while completely naked.. As his heartbeat thrummed beneath your ear, you inhaled his scent without thought—an intoxicating mix of woodsmoke and something uniquely him. It made your heart ache and twist with butterflies. And as the storm outside raged on, you felt a surreal sense of safety wrapped in his strong embrace.

You buried your cold nose into his chest, feeling the fear, the stress, all of it melt away with every passing second. “You’ll be okay,” he murmured, fingers gently brushing through your hair as if he was soothing both of you to rest.

In that moment, there was a clarity of peace that felt sacred. It was something neither of you had felt in years, decades... It was as if the world had fallen away, problems and fears non-existent by the closeness you shared with him. A refuge built on trust forged in darkness and chaos.

Even though none of you predicted this moment, the sleepiness began to claim you both, weight of conflict fading like melting snow.

Soldat's warmth surrounded you, lulling you into a quiet dreamland. And that night, amidst the storm, with the fire crackling softly, Soldat mended the fractures within both of you if only just for a moment. And that night was the first night Soldat slept without the fear of the demons to raid his mind. No, the only thought he could think of was that he had you safe and away from the sinister grasps of hyrda. You were both finally free.

[eclipsedechoesofmywords]

"I Read About You in History Books"

[Bucky Barnes x fem!reader]

Part Two here [Outside of History Books]

Masterlist

Summary: You've always been fascinated by history, especially by the untold stories of people forgotten in the shadow of legends. Bucky Barnes is one of those people.

Warnings: Mentions of trauma, Fluff with a dash of angst, not proofread

Word Count: 1.6k words

You knew The Winter Soldier. Who didn't? Everyone knew the tales of the most feared assassin in the world. How he appears and disappears like a ghost. How he struck his victims with deadly accuracy and no one could catch him. The man behind the mask intrigued you more, though. It was almost laughable, but to you, The Winter Soldier was older news than James 'Bucky' Barnes.

Meeting Steve Rogers was incredible. It took every professional bone in your body not to jump up and down in excitement. I mean it was the Captain America. How were you not meant to be excited?

You didn't expect to become his friend, to watch his back and have him watch yours. You had been in so many fights besides him and, of course, asked him every question you could think of about his life, the war and especially Bucky Barnes.

Why do you want to know so much about him? He had asked once.

Only the Gods knew the answer.

You couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Bucky Barnes, more than what was in the history books. There was never much about him in anything, always being overshadowed by Steve or the other Howling Commandos. You'd read every account, watched every documentary, pieced together the fragments of his life as if they were a puzzle begging to be solved.

You never expected to meet him. Never expected him to be more than a name in a book or a picture in a documentary. You thought that meeting Steve was miracle enough.

You were quite wrong.

~~~

"Mind if I join you?"

Bucky frowns. "In a stairwell?"

"Well, I usually come here to get some quiet, so yeah, in a stairwell."

Bucky's posture is stiff as he leans back against the cold concrete wall, his arms crossed over his chest. You stand a few steps below him, one hand resting on the metal railing, your head tilted to the side as you study him.

“Quiet, huh?” he asks, his voice a low rasp, still hesitant to engage.

“Yep,” you reply, popping the 'p' with a small grin. “It's one of the few places in this whole compound where no one’s either training, running missions, or asking me a million questions.”

He’s guarded, that much is clear, but there’s something else too. Something underneath the surface, a complexity you’ve always suspected is buried deep within James Buchanan Barnes. You aren’t just interested in The Winter Soldier. You want to know the man beneath that, the person history has barely bothered to document.

“So, what brings you up here?” you ask casually if your presence is the most natural thing in the world.

Bucky glances away for a moment, his jaw clenching. His eyes are distant, but not in the way that screams of danger. More like he’s... lost. "Just needed some space," he finally says.

"I understand that." You slide down onto one of the steps, resting your arms on your knees, looking up at him. "It gets overwhelming, doesn’t it? Always being around people, no room to just... think."

Bucky nods in agreement, his eyes flickering to you.

You decide to take a chance. "I swear this isn’t some weird interrogation or anything, but... I've read about you, in History books. Well, about the Howling Commandos. About you and Steve during the war."

His expression tightens, the walls going higher up than before. "You don't know me—"

"I know," you say quickly, cutting him off. "I know that what’s in those books isn’t the whole story. That’s why I want to know more."

"More?" His gaze sharpens, almost suspicious. "Why?"

You shrug. "I don’t know. Maybe because history’s never the full picture. It’s just pieces, bits of what people decide to write down. I’ve always thought there had to be more to you than just 'Steve’s best friend' or 'The Winter Soldier.' And..." you press your lips together, hesitating, but continue, “...I guess I just want to know who you really are.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, the tension between you thickening with each passing second. His blue eyes are scrutinizing you, searching for something—maybe sincerity, maybe an ulterior motive. You aren’t sure.

"You think you can figure me out?" he finally says, his tone biting, though not as cold as before.

You shake your head. "No... But I think you deserve to be known. Not just as a name in a book or a legend in a file. As, well, you."

His brow furrows, and for the first time since the conversation started, he looks truly unsettled. "What if I don't even know who that is anymore?"

The pain in his voice catches you off guard. For a moment, the Winter Soldier—the assassin, the ghost—seems to fall away, leaving only a man haunted by the weight of his past. And it breaks your heart a little.

"Then maybe I can help you figure it out," you say softly.

Bucky exhales, a sound heavy with the burden of decades he hasn’t asked to carry. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make any promises, but he doesn’t leave either. Instead, he slowly lowers himself to sit a few steps above you, the silence between you shifting into something more comfortable.

"Can I be completely honest?" you ask.

"Huh? Yeah?"

"I don't come here for quiet. I lock myself in my room for that. I totally stalked you in here."

Bucky scoffs. "You're probably the nicest stalker I've encountered."

You look up at him, grinning. "Thank you!"

He raises an eyebrow at you but you swear you see a small smile grace his lips.

Maybe this is the beginning of something. Maybe not. Either way, you aren’t about to let him disappear like a ghost again.

Not if you have anything to say about it.

[rootedinrevisions]

Kinktober 2024: Day 5

SUMMARY: Bucky struggles with the fear of hurting the reader due to his traumatic past, hesitating to take their growing relationship to the next level. Despite his hesitations, the reader fully trusts him, encouraging him to embrace their connection and take their relationship further. One evening, in a moment of vulnerability and passion, Bucky finally allows himself to cross the line he's been so afraid of, realizing he's more in control than he thought.

PROMPT: "Touch me like you mean it."

KINK: Choking

WARNINGS: 18+ SMUT.

WORD COUNT: 2.1k

The evening was quiet, the low hum of the city outside filling the room as you sat straddling Bucky’s lap. His arms were wrapped loosely around your waist, and for a moment, you were content just to be close to him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. It had been months since you’d started dating, and while things were progressing, there was still an invisible line between you–a line he seemed too afraid to cross.

You knew why. He had explained it before, the hesitance in his eyes when you brought up moving your relationship to a more physical level. Bucky’s past haunted him, and even though you reassured him time and again that you trusted him, the fear of hurting you—of losing control—kept him at a distance. 

But tonight, something felt different. The air between you was heavier, charged with something more than the comfortable silence you’d grown used to.

You leaned forward, brushing your lips softly against his, testing the waters. Bucky’s hand moved up to the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair as he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss. 

It was slow at first, careful. But then you felt the shift, the way his grip tightened just slightly, the way his lips moved more hungrily against yours. Your heart raced, a mixture of anticipation and desire flooding your senses.

His left arm rested against your hip, the coolness of the vibranium contrasting with the warmth of his other hand, which slid gently down your side to rest on your thigh. His touch was feather-light, tentative as if he was still holding back.

"Bucky," you murmured against his lips, your voice barely a whisper. You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your hands resting on his chest as you searched his face for any sign of doubt. "You don’t have to be so careful with me. I trust you."

His eyes flickered with uncertainty, his jaw clenching slightly as he struggled with his fears. 

"I don’t want to hurt you," he said, his voice low, almost pained. "You don’t understand what I’m capable of. What I’ve done."

"I do understand," you replied softly, cupping his face in your hands. "I know you. I trust you. You won’t hurt me."

For a moment, he was silent, his blue eyes searching yours as if looking for the reassurance he needed. 

Then, something shifted. His expression softened, and he exhaled slowly, nodding almost imperceptibly. He reached for you again, this time with a little more confidence, his hand slipping under your shirt as his lips found yours once more.

The kiss grew more intense, his touch more certain. His fingers brushed over your skin, sending shivers down your spine, and you responded by pressing yourself closer to him, urging him on. 

“Touch me,” you whispered, your breath catching as you kissed him again, your lips barely leaving his as you spoke. “Touch me like you mean it.”

Something in him snapped at your words. His grip tightened around your waist, and in one fluid motion, he lifted you effortlessly, rising to his feet as he carried you toward the bed. 

The world around you blurred as he moved, your hands clinging to his shoulders as he lowered you gently onto the mattress. His body hovered over yours for a moment, his gaze dark and intense as he watched you.

"Buck," you breathed, reaching up to pull him down to you. “Touch me.”

His hands slid up your sides, fingers tracing every curve as his lips moved from your mouth to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You arched beneath him, your body reacting instinctively to his touch, craving more. Every kiss, every caress sent a surge of heat through you, and you couldn’t get enough of him.

His hands gripped your thighs, pulling you closer, and you gasped as his lips traveled lower, trailing kisses down your collarbone. 

"Is this okay?" he asked between kisses, his voice low and rough, but there was a tenderness in his tone, a quiet need for reassurance.

"It’s more than okay," you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair as you pulled him back up for another kiss.

As Bucky hovered over you, his lips lingering against yours, you could feel a shift in his energy. The hesitation that had once held him back was melting away, replaced by a quiet confidence that sent a thrill through you. 

His hands, which had been tentative just a few minutes before, now moved with purpose as they slid beneath the fabric of your shirt, his fingers brushing against your bare skin, sending shivers up your spine.

You let out a soft gasp as his lips trailed from your mouth to your neck, pressing firm, heated kisses to the sensitive skin just below your jawline. You could feel his breath against your collarbone again as his hand continued to roam, slowly pushing your shirt up. 

There was a pause, and Bucky pulled back just slightly, his eyes locking with yours as if silently asking for permission. “C-can I-”

Without hesitation, you nodded, your heart racing as you whispered, "Take me. I want to be yours in every way."

That was all the encouragement he needed. In one smooth motion, he gently pulled your shirt up and over your head, tossing it to the side before his hands returned to your body, exploring every inch with a newfound confidence. His vibranium arm, which he was usually so careful with around you, now moved with the same intensity as his flesh hand, gripping your waist as his lips followed the path of his fingers, trailing hot kisses down your chest.

Your breath hitched as his mouth found the edge of your bra, and you arched your back slightly, your body responding to every touch, every kiss. He looked up at you again, his eyes filled with a hunger that matched your own. 

Slowly, almost teasingly, he reached behind you to unclasp your bra, his hands steady as he pulled the fabric away, exposing more of you to him.

Bucky let out a low groan as his gaze roamed over your body, his fingers tracing along your skin before he leaned down, his mouth replacing his hands as he kissed and caressed you, his lips igniting a fire deep within you. You could feel his confidence growing with each passing second; his touches were no longer careful but full of the passion you had been craving for so long.

Your hands found their way to his chest, tugging at the fabric of his shirt as you whispered breathlessly, "Take this off."

He didn’t hesitate. With a quick motion, he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the broad expanse of his chest and the defined lines of his muscles. You couldn’t help but run your hands over his skin, marveling at the strength beneath your fingertips as he leaned back down, his lips finding yours in a heated, breathless kiss.

You could feel the tension building between you, the heat rising as his hands gripped your hips, tugging at the waistband of your pants. He paused for a moment, looking into your eyes, silently asking if you were ready to take things further. You nodded eagerly, your heart pounding in anticipation.

Slowly, he peeled your pants away, his touch sending sparks of electricity through your body as he removed the last barrier between you. You could feel his breath against your skin as he took in the sight of you, his hands sliding along your thighs, up to your waist, before pulling you closer to him.

Your body pressed against his as you kissed him again, more desperately this time, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. You had waited so long for this—for him—and now that the moment had finally arrived, it felt even more intense than you had imagined.

Bucky's hands moved over your body, his touch no longer tentative but filled with passion and need. As his lips left a trail of heated kisses down your neck, you could feel the tension between you both rising, the room charged with the electricity of the moment.

Your breath quickened as his hand rested on your hip, his grip firm but controlled. There was a hunger in the way he touched you, but you could still sense the care behind every movement. You wanted more—needed more—and you trusted him completely.

You reached up, gently guiding his hand away from your hip, your fingers wrapping around his wrist as you moved it toward your throat. 

Bucky froze for a moment, his breath catching as his hand hovered just over your skin. His eyes met yours, wide with a mixture of surprise and hesitation. He knew immediately what you were asking for.

A flicker of uncertainty passed through his gaze. "Are you sure?" His voice was low, rough with desire but tinged with the same worry that always lingered when things between you started to go deeper.

You nodded slowly, your eyes never leaving his. "I trust you," you whispered, your voice soft but filled with conviction. "I want this."

Bucky hesitated, his fingers hovering near your throat, his mind racing. You could feel the tension in his body, the internal battle he fought whenever he got too close to losing control. He was terrified of hurting you, of crossing a line he couldn’t come back from. But you knew better—you knew he had more control than he gave himself credit for.

His hand shook slightly as he brought it closer to your throat, his fingers warm against your heated skin. You gave him a reassuring nod, gently squeezing his wrist to let him know it was okay. His grip tightened, but only slightly, still tentative as if testing himself, testing his ability to stay in control.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, the vulnerability in his words tugging at your heart.

You smiled softly, your voice steady as you reassured him. "I will."

With that, he pressed his palm against your throat, the pressure light but enough to send a surge of excitement through your body. His thumb brushed along your jawline as he leaned down, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. The combination of his strong hand on your throat and his mouth on yours was intoxicating, and you moaned softly into the kiss, encouraging him further.

Slowly, his confidence began to grow. His grip tightened just a little more, his touch still careful but now more deliberate, as if he was finally starting to trust himself with you. The hesitation that had once held him back began to fade, and you could feel the shift in him as he leaned into the moment, fully embracing the desire that had been building between you.

You arched beneath him, your hands gripping his shoulders as his other hand roamed your body, his lips trailing down your neck to your chest. Every touch, every kiss, was filled with a deeper intensity now as if he was finally allowing himself to let go of the fear and truly give in to the moment.

Your breath hitched as he continued, his hand still at your throat, applying just enough pressure to heighten the sensations coursing through your body. You felt completely safe in his hands, trusting him with everything as you gave yourself over to him fully.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours once more, searching your face for any sign of discomfort. But all he saw was the trust and desire reflected back at him. That was all he needed.

With renewed confidence, Bucky’s lips found yours again, his hand releasing your throat as he moved lower, his touch growing bolder with every passing second. His hands explored your body, no longer hesitant, and you could feel the shift as he finally allowed himself to take what he had been holding back for so long.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as the last of his hesitation melted away, and for the first time, you felt him fully give in to his desires. 

His lips never left yours as he shifted, positioning himself over you, his body pressing into yours with an intensity that took your breath away.

He paused again, his forehead resting against yours as his breathing grew heavy. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice rough and low, filled with both desire and concern.

You cupped his face in your hands, looking into his eyes as you whispered, "I'm sure. I've never been more sure of anything."

With that, Bucky kissed you again, deeper this time, his hands gripping your hips as he finally let himself take what he had been holding back for so long.

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (vii)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, mentions of hauntings and the paranormal.

A/N: hello. i am late again. i almost gave up but we are here. for better or for worse. i will most likely go back ad edit the second half again ok love u guys mwahmwah

Previous part || Series masterlist

Only after hours, nay, a full day of hunching over his desk, eyes red-rimmed and burning, four crushed cans of energy drinks next to him lending to him the nervous energy of a chihuahua, Bucky realises that there’s no beating it.

He absentmindedly takes another sip of the RedBull, flinching when the taste registers. Either he’d reached his threshold or the medicine flavour had begun morphing into something else entirely. The caffeine didn’t even work on him, so really, he was just placebo-ing himself into having energy. 

Every site he’s visited has had a vastly different interpretation; ones that don't match what he thinks has been happening, or the context past his past provides. Others are simply blatantly wrong based on the additional research he, in his infinite wisdom and totally accurate self-assessment tendencies, has been gathering in the last 3 days. 

The Star. Six of Cups. The Hanged Man.

Bucky knows he could ask someone in real life about this, someone who possibly had more experience than a simple website whose code broke every time he tried to scroll to the bottom. However, that would mean that he had to tell them his dead sister was probably haunting him out of her spite and hatred for the very fibres of his being.

Also, Bucky may be haunted by his dead relatives, but he’s not haunted enough to actually leave his room over it. 

Video consultations were also an option, but he’s convinced that if word got out that Bucky Barnes was half-convinced ghosts were following him around, it would make headlines for a mighty long week. 

Therefore, he resorts to shady, online websites that demand he pay up before giving him the results of the readings they’ve done for him. 

The “lady” that he paid to talk to using Steve’s credit card on mistytarot.com types for a very long time before a message comes through.

The thought bubble disappears for another half an hour, and Bucky thinks hat either she is a complete scam, or it’s run by someone who is about as technologically proficient as Steve was. 

But a message does in fact come through, and it’s enough to have him be covninced that the 20 bucks he blew on Steve’s card was worth it. 

Lady Lilia 

Considering that you think you’re being haunted, The Star could represent the absence of hope. Do you feel like you’re being trapped in darkness? As if you are being abandoned by the universe and with no room for healing?

B. Barneswell i forgot about it until now

Lady Lilia If your sister passed away a long time ago, the reason The Six of Cups may have presented itself is because you may be feeling like you're ensnared in the past, constantly reliving moments that hurt or confuse you, rather than finding peace. 

A frown grows on his face. 

Lady Lilia If you’re haunted by a person who used to be in your life and it is reminding you of past mistakes, The Hanged Man could be because feel like you're stuck in a cycle of stagnation, unable to move forward, as if these spirits are keeping you suspended in a state of emotional paralysis. 

However, if the cards were upright–

Bucky slams the laptop shut, inhaling and exhaling sharply through his nose.

From the corner of his eye, his phone lights up with the fifth missed call in the last ten minutes, but considering that he keeps that thing on silent, he never even noticed.

Shoving aside whatever he may be thinking for the moment, he checks the caller ID, only for feelings of confusion and despair to be immediately replaced with annoyance, or disgust even. 

He calls back anyway, preparing for the worst. 

“Did you drink all my RedBull?” Clint booms the second he picks up.

“No,” Bucky lies smoothly.

“Fucker, I know it was you. Pay me back. With interest.”

“No.”

Clint switches to whining. “You know I need that shit to stay awake at night. Some of us don’t have superhero cocaine in our system.”

“I don’t care, go to sleep at a normal hour.”

“Say, did you drink every last one?” Clint instantly switches to a curious tone for a second. “Because one of them’s not like the others.”

Bucky looks at the cans that littered his bedroom floor. “Why?”

“I can’t tell you what it is over the phone.”  

“Why?” 

“Let’s just say it’s not exactly allowed in the country, but–”

Bucky cuts the call and tosses it onto the bed. 

He runs a hand through his hair, softly exhaling while contemplating whether or not to continue the chat. Steve wouldn’t miss another 20 dollars, he had the wealth of a small prince with all that army back pay bullshit. In fact, Steve should ideally be funding more of Bucky’s endeavours. 

There comes a knock at his door.

Bucky immediately leaps off the bed, sprinting to the door, because he fuckin knows that knock, goddamn it–

He throws open the door before you get the chance to full body slam against it.

“Oh.” You blink, relaxing away from your stance. “Hey. How’d you know–”

“You do this every week,” he breaks in. “You do this multiple times a day.” 

“Don’t you dare say I’m predictable,” you warn, raising a finger. “I’ll start crying right here, then you’ll have to deal with that. You wanna see snot running down my–”

Bucky slams the door shut again, waiting to turn around. 

“Can you take me to the doctor?” Your voice is muffled through the solid wood.

It’s enough to make him hesitate, hand on the doorknob.

“What’s wrong with you?” he inquires.. 

“Nothing, I’m perfect,” you reply instinctively, before course correcting, “Wait, no, I’m sick.”  

He lets his head drop against the door. “Go to the fucking infirmary.”

“The infirmary told me to go to the hospital. Can you just take me?” you bug. “They won’t discharge me unless I have someone with me to drive me back.”

“You have a head injury?” Bucky asks, before following it with, “Actually, that tracks.”

“Rude.” 

“Ask Nat.”

“Nat’s in Lagos.”

“Ask Sam.” 

“Yoga.”

“Clint.”

“Really.”

“Glad to know I’m your first choice,” he mumbles, opening up the door. 

You send him a blistering smile. “You’re my favourite choice.” 

______

“You gotta take this turn,” you instruct, too close to the actual crossing. 

“The nearest hospital’s five minutes away, what the hell are you talking about?“ he points out, eyes on the road. 

“We’re going to the one on King’s Road,” you read off of Google maps. “Take that lef-– well, you missed that. Now you gotta make a u-turn.”

“What’s the problem with Chastain Park?” he demands. “King’s Road is half an hour away.”

“This one’s got all my files,” you insist. “Otherwise I gotta start over and it's so much effort.”

“Aren’t you in a database?”

“Yeah, but not a medical one.”

Bucky lets out something akin to a growl and a groan. “What's the time?”

“Like eight thirty?”

“What’s the time,” he emphasises, because he most definitely had another email due from another lady on the internet who he had sent his cards to a few hours ago. 

“Fine, it’s eight twenty two,” you shoot back.  “Did that make a big difference?”

“Yeah, it did actually,” he fires indignantly, “My life is radically different. You have no way of knowing.”

“Liar. You’re a lying liar, who lies.” You scoff. “And details are for losers.”

“Losers can drive all the way back to drop you off at the infirmary and let them deal with you.”

You relent, flashing him a grin. “This won’t take long.”

“You say this every fuckin’ time,” he groans, before complying and taking a u-turn anyway.

“You’re fucking joking,” he states. 

“No, it’s actually called lying,” you correct casually.  

“Is this an abandoned hospital? What the fuck?” Bucky asks, staring up at the huge decaying building.  

The outside looks run-down, with cracked, weathered brick walls and broken windows. The entrance is blocked off with rusted gates, some sections of which have fallen over. As the car rolls up, the air is thick with a musty, damp smell, mixed with a faint odor of decay.

“Yes,” you say simply, opening the trunk of the car and pulling out all the supplies you had from last time. “Video time. Let’s go.”

“You didn’t have to lie,” Bucky mumbles. “I’d have showed up.”

You give him a deadpan look. “You famously never do.”

That’s fair, but also, that was the old Bucky. The new Bucky circa this week is a bit more… invested. He feels the need to gather some more information, and unfortunately, the only opportunity to do that is here.

So for the time being, he decides he will hang on. For purely selfish reasons. 

“Just tell me next time,” he grunts. 

You observe him for a second like you're about to call him out on something, but instead you simply say, “Okay.”

Bucky grabs his usual stuff– the spirit box, a lapel mic, while you levitate the camera. 

“Hello?”

You both look beyond the camera at the same time to someone stalking up to you.

“Who’s there?” demands a middle aged woman with straw blonde hair, wrinkles decorating sunburnt skin, and a navy blue jacket. 

“Uh–”

“Who are you?” she asks, cautiously stopping a few feet away.  

“We’re here on a video shoot,” you inform. “Just wanted to check the place out.”

“Oh, you’re one of them camera folk,” she says, ponting her flashlight at you. “Those ghost hutner types.”

“That’s us,” you agree, flinching from the bright light. “We're from The Graveyard Shift.”

“Who are you?” Bucky cuts in, because why should only the both of you explain. 

“I’ve been working security here for the last thirty years.” She shines her flashlight at the musty place. “Name’s Brenda.”

“Why does an abandoned hospital need a security guard?” Bucky inquires. 

“Management just underwent a shift. White collars are setting up a mall here, so they bought up the whole place, fired everyone and now they’re gonna build an all year ski world or something in there.” There’s a tick in her jaw as she draws it out. “Whole damn place is cursed. They better hope it only burns down.”

“Okay,” you drag out, giving Bucky a sideways glance. “Anyway, we’re gonna go check out the place. See if we can find some ghosts.”

“Oh, you’ll see ‘em, alright. Everyone who was collateral damage in the buyout is still in there.” Her voice is distant, arm coming to rest on her hip.  “You’ll have to hit up specific rooms. Y’all got a floorplan?”

“No, figured we’d just wing it.” You pause. “Hospital wing it.”

“Shut up,” Bucky replies on instinct. 

“You’re gonna be spending a lot of time in there if y’all dont know where youre’ heading. It’s a maze,” she continues, ignoring your brilliant joke. “I can show you the rooms, but I can’t guarantee that it has ghosts in there.”  

“Uhhh—” you begin. 

“It’ll cut down your time in half.”

“Deal,” Bucky says immediately, sticking out his hand for a shake.

Brenda sticks out her hand too, only to wince immediately, following it up with a curse.

“What’s wrong?” you interject.

“Damn back’s killing me,” she mutters. “You’d think death would stop the pain, but it’s not let up yet. Come on then.”

Both of your eyebrows knit together at her statement, but she leaves no room for a reply as she marches inward, one hand on the small of her spine. 

Bucky elects to use his phone flashlight, as if he keeps that shit charged above 40% at any given point of time. If anything is not going to make it out of the night alive, it was that thing. 

The air inside is stale and heavy, filled with the scent of mildew and old, rusted metal. All three of your footsteps echo in the silence, reverberating through empty halls with each cautious step. The moonlight  in conjunction with the flashlight casts long, unsettling shadows. The faint taste of dust lingers in the back of Bucky’s throat that he cannot get rid of. 

“Y’all gonna sleep in here tonight?” Brenda pipes up, swinging her flashlight around.

You look at Bucky with a grin that’s alarming.

His face immediately pulls into one of “What the fuck”

“No, we aren’t,” you announce instead. “But do people do that often?”

“You’d be surprised,” she comments. “You’re not the first folks we’ve had here with those fancy shmancy gadgets.”

“That explains how you have a tour all planned.” 

“We get a bunch of you every couple of months.”

“Who is ‘we’?” Bucky cuts in.

She pays him no need. “Y’all run a podcast?”

Bucky looks personally affronted. “No, we do not.”

“We run a YouTube channel,” you offer instead. “It’s for ghosts and stuff.”

“I see,” she considers, tone thoughtful. “So, this will go up online?” 

“Unfortunately,” Bucky murmurs.

“Have you caught ghosts before?”

“Not even one–”

“Several,” you chirp. “And we have a witch cat. Her name’s Alpine.”

Bucky narrows his eyes at you. “Since when is her name Alpine?”

“I gave her a bunch of options and she told me she liked that best.”

“The cat can’t talk.”

“To you. She and I chat shit everyday,” you dish back. “She hates that stupid fern in your room, she says it smells.”

That fucking fern was not even his idea. But Sam got it for him when he moved in, so there was a zero percent chance it would be leaving any time soon. 

“Tell her to fuck off.”

“Y’all got a large following?” Brenda interrupts.

“Building towards it.” You look at her before looking at Bucky. “Once we hit a sizable amount and Bucky becomes an official internet boyfriend, we’ll stop the series.”

He sends you a withering look. “We’ll be doing this till I die.”

“Nonsense, everyone loves you,” you dismiss. “You’re a pretty boy and extremely irritable. They think you’re hilarious.”

 His nose twitches, and he feels the need to clear his throat. 

“Your camera records ghosts?” Brenda asks again. 

“We’ve got a bunch of devices. We’ll catch it,” you sound confident. 

“Great, because here’s the first stop,” she says, pressing her shoulder onto a double door.

The door groans as she pushes, its hinges protesting with a long, rusty screech, the cold metal heavy under her hand. A stale gust of air hits your face, carrying the faint smell of rot as the door finally gives way.

She steps back with a small huff, stretching her back with a small, “Shit.”

The pale blue walls had turned greenish, wallpaper peeling away. Counters were covered with a thin layer of dust. Old tools laid unused on the surgical table, once stainless steel but now rusted. 

“A lotta deaths happened in this operating theatre,” she imparts after a bout of stretching. “They thought this place was cursed for a while.” 

The sterile, tiled walls are cracked and chipped, and the old surgical lights hang dim, their bulbs long burned out. The air still lingers with antiseptic that’s long since turned sour.

Bucky feels a little too acquainted with this setting. 

He doesn’t even realise his silence is palpable until you nudge his side, drawing his attention sharply back to you. 

“You doin’ okay?” you whisper.  

“Fine,” he says, tearing his eyes away from the tools and towards you.

It only twists his stomach a little. It makes him think of how different his reactions used to be even a few years go. 

“Old, dingy hospitals may not have been the best idea,” you admit to him, using the flashlight to shine a light in the corner. 

It occurs to him a second later once he forces himself to compartmentalise. 

“You okay?” he asks, voice low. 

“Yeah,” you reply, slowly looking around. “Just looks like my nursery.”

A small crease forms between his eyebrows. 

“Not gonna lie, mine was way prettier. Lot more mould on the walls,” you continue, tone light. “You know, timeless decor.”

His nose lets out a small exhale in the form of a laugh. “Leviathan not into blood stain wallpaper?”

“Couldn’t afford it. Fuckin’ place kept referring to itself as Hydra’s sister org but had none of the budget,” you say, swiping a finger across the dust. “You’d think that at least some of the people that left would give alumni donations, but no.”

Bucky snickers at jokes literally no one else would laugh at. It feels good for once, not to feel the need to censor himself to make others less uncomfortable. 

You take a step forward, camera following behind you. 

You shine the flashlight around the room, noting all the surgical trays piled together. 

But something flashes on the ceiling. 

You swing your flashlight toward it immediately, only for the table beside you a few inches away to start rolling, making a loud whining noise as it did, snapping your attention towards it.  

By the time you finally bring the light back up towards the ceiling, it’s gone. 

“What the–” you mumble. 

“What?” Bucky asks, looking up from where he was scrolling through his phone. 

“Could’a sworn I saw–” you frown at the empty space now, only an old defunct looking camera staring back at you. 

“Red eyes?” Brenda inquires, looking at you. “Yeah, that happens.”

Bucky glances up at you, and then the wall. “Probably just the lens glare.”

You scrunch up your face at her. “How’d you know it was red eyes?” 

“That’d be the spirit of ol’ Doctor Damon, chief of neuro,” she says. “You’ll find him here or his cabin, but that’s a few floors away. He never liked climbing the stairs.” 

“Right,” Bucky acknowledges monotonously. 

“When he worked here, he spent so long in surgery that his eyes were always bloodshot. One day he just dropped dead from exhaustion,” Brenda explains. “So his spirit walks around here, red eyes, wheeling surgery tables waiting for the next patient.”

“What’s he doing on the ceiling?” Bucky questions, going back to his phone. “He did his surgeries suspended midair?” 

“Are you trying to gatekeep the ceiling?” you scoff. “Have you never seen Spiderman hanging upside down for fun?” 

Bucky finally lifts his sight from the phone. “The doctor is not an insect superhero, he would have no reason to be hanging upside down–”

“How would you know if he’s a superhero or not? What if he was bitten by a bat?” you challenge. “Like a bat…guy. Batman.”

He jeers. “Then he’s got a stupid codename.”

“Oh, and Captain America is poetic genius.”

“At least Sam has a codename, where’s yours?” 

You narrow your eyes at him. “Maybe you should have paid attention when your mother was screaming it las-”

“Shall we move on?” Brenda asks calmly. 

“Yes,” the both of you reply simultaneously. 

She doesn’t even bother looking at you, almost as if she’d seen it all in her lifetime. 

“Besides, sometimes you can see him sitting on one of the operating tables. He doesn’t just hang out on the ceiling like… bat…man,” she explains, leading the way back out. 

“See?” 

“See what?” you ask. 

“Nothing,” he replies. “There’s nothing to see. That’s the fuckin’ point.”

You shove him lightly. 

Bucky bites back a grin.

_____

The morgue is silent. 

The ceiling is low and chipped, streaked with stains of old water damage, the paint fallen away in patches. 

Against one wall, old, disused morgue drawers stand open and half-broken, the once-sleek stainless steel now speckled with rust. Some of the drawers are bent out of shape, while others are stuck, sealed tight from years of neglect. Inside some of the open drawers, tattered, yellowed tags hang loosely from the handles, swaying gently as the chill air moves through the room.

“This room’s self explanatory,” she says. “Sometimes, you can hear spirits still trying to claw their way out of the drawers but they never open.”

“Skill issue,” Bucky mumbles under his breath.

“Shut up, oh my God,” you whisper-yell, still mouth pulling into a thin line to stop from laughing. 

“What?” Brenda asks, suddenly from near the drawers. 

You had no idea when she even went there. 

“Nothing,” you reply, before thoughtfully asking, “Bucky, truth or dare?”

“No.”

“Dare it is.” You shine a flashlight at one of the closed drawers. “I’ll give you twenty bucks if you get in one of them for a few seconds. Let’s see if the ghosts come at you.”

“You're deranged,” he replies, incredulous. 

“It’s for science,” you insist. “How else will you know for sure?”

“I’m sure it’ll be comfortable,” Brenda quips. “Like a coffin.”

The both of you look at her together in silence.

She shrugs. “It’s what I’ve heard from them.” 

You look at her for a second more, before turning to Bucky. “Anyway, if you want I’ll come lie in there with you.”

“How does that make it better?” he exclaims. “I am not lying in the morgue.”

“Even if I’m in there with you?”

“That’s even worse–”

There’s a loud knock from one of the drawers on Brenda’s side. She looks down at it, almost like she was expecting it. Soon, there are further loud thuds that come from inside the remaining drawers. 

“Hey, Magda,” she calls, before more knocks come from inside. “You’ve got visitors. Say hello.”

You grab the spirit box from behind Bucky’s ear and hold it in the direction of the wall. Nothing registers.

“Animals,” he answers the question hanging in the air calmly. 

“The spirits?” Brenda replies. “They’re not gonna like that.”

Sure enough, a few of the drawers start rattling on their own accord.

You look at Bucky with an eyebrow raised.

“What?” he carps. “I’m not gonna go lie down in there, if that’s what you want.”

“Come on, take one for the team,” you whine. 

“You take one for the team.” 

“I’m literally the one pulling all the weight around here. You do it.”

Bucky doesn’t agree with you on the last part, but the first one is undisputably right. He makes a mental note to start contributing a fuckton more if he plans on continuing on in the series. 

The rattling around comes to a halt eventually. 

“If none of you want to get in there, should we move to the next one?” Brenda points to the door. 

“Yes, please,” you confirm, sending Bucky a glare.

She leads the way up the stairs while you both follow, bickering and shoving lightly.

Once upstairs, Bucky glances down the hall, only to  see a large double door that is noticeably different from the rest you’ve seen so far. There’s a fading rainbow drawn on the front, little footsteps painted onto the floor leading towards it.

Bucky hesitates, steps faltering. “Is that the children’s ward?”

“Yes,” Brenda looks over her shoulder briefly. 

For a second, he wonders. Whether it was worth a shot. He hadn’t heard from her since the incident at the house, and the tarot cards have been suggesting nothing but reasons to believe she may actually be there.  

“Are we going to check that out?” he asks. 

“No, there’s nothing there,” she shrugs it off. “No spirits. I’ve asked the others too.” 

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. “Are you sure?”

You shoot him an odd look that he refuses to meet. 

“Yep. Next stop’s the other way.”

Bucky spares the doors another long look, before traversing down the hallway with you. 

“Why do you wanna go to the children’s ward?” you query, voice low. 

“Just thought it was worth checking out,” he replies, voice steady.  

“We can always make a run for it and go check.”

“No,” he says, giving you a curt shake of his head, “it’s alright.”

“We’re right down this way,” Brenda calls, turning a corner and disappearing out of sight.

“Coming!” you call back before spinning to Bucky. “Hey.”

“What?” he responds, moving at his own brisk pace. 

You tug him back with you with force. 

“What are you doing–’ he hisses.

You link your arm with Bucky’s, pulling him along with you as you walk, shutting him up. He eyes your elbow looped with his and the proximity with which you walked beside him and all of a sudden, the back of his neck feels quite warm, extending down to his chest.

“I think Brenda’s a ghost,” you tell him casually.

Bucky stops in his path, drawn very much back to reality. 

“Keep walking,” you grit through a smile. “I’m pretty sure she’s dead. Why else is she totally chill with the ghosts here-”

“Because there aren’t any. It’s animals.”

“Why is she saying coffins are comfortable? Why is she talking to the ghosts and knowing exactly where they are and aren’t?”

“I can make shit up too, look,” Bucky comments enthusiastically. “Oh, down the hall is the isolation room. You’ll hear heavy breathing because that’s where the tuberculosis patients were–”

“That’s one of the isolation rooms,” Brenda’s voice echoes down the hall. “It’s next up.”

You yank your arm away from Bucky when he blinks, a bit surprised himself. 

“Are you dead?” you whisper-yell.

“Only ‘cause the government declared it,” he sighs. “Do you know what a fuckin’ pain it is to get undead.” 

“Come on.” Brenda beckons to the both of you with her flashlight. 

With a slight shove, the door to the room swings open easily, but the smell of old paper and mildew floods your senses. 

The bed is now a rusted, sagging frame, the thin mattress long since torn and discolored with age. The once-clean sheets have yellowed and frayed, with remnants of old stains. Thin, brittle blankets lie in a heap on the floor.

The walls are bare, save for a few faded medical charts and broken instruments that were left behind in haste. The small window that once offered a faint glimpse of the outside is now cracked and filthy. The weak, filtered light that struggles through the dust-covered glass barely illuminates the room. 

“Patients who were highly contagious were quarantined here. Some of them died without family by their side, so you can still hear their cries. Some of them have problems breathing, so sometimes you’ll hear it through the vents,” Brenda explains. 

“I bet,” Bucky drags out, sending you a “I fuckin’ told you so” look.. 

Down the hall, something makes a loud sound, almost like something had crashed into the floor. 

All three of you turn towards it. 

Brenda’s face flickers for a moment before turning back to its regular calm. 

“I think someone’s angry,” she decides. “I’m gonna go check it out.”

“Do you want us to come with you?” you offer.

“I’ll be okay, I’ve known these people all my life. We’re friends,” she comforts. “Oh, sometimes if you look out the door, you’ll see shadows of people in the waiting room down the hall. They’re just old families lingering around, hoping for better results but they always leave upset.”

“Is there no way to get them out of here?” you ask.

She shrugs. “Unless you find a way to fix their disappointment, I doubt they'll leave. They’ll stick around until something improves or changes.” 

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow at the implication. If that were truly the case, and not just something he concocted in the deep, self hating crevices of his mind, then he had to figure out which part of the fucked up mess that he was had pissed his sister off enough to come back to let him know she was disappointed. 

You nod at her and she nods, spinning on her heel to exit the room, but not before she stops for a second, hand on the doorframe as she catches her breath, and one hand on her spine.

“Are you okay?” you sound genuinely concerned.

She flashes you a thumbs up, leaving without so much as another word. 

“She’s gonna come back with some bullshit about the hospital canteen staff dropping their pans or some shit,” Bucky remarks.

“Yeah no, that was me. I just wanted her out of the room so we could discuss something,” you wave it off quickly. 

Bucky stares at you.

“What? I dropped a cart. It’s not a big deal. Anyway, listen–”

“She’s not a ghost,” he states resolutely.  

“But what if she is,” you insist, a wicked grin on your face. “Imagine saying we got a ghost tour. By a ghost.”

“I can imagine saying that, yes. I have a very wide and limitless imagination.” 

“Ugh, what if we’re meant to help her find her way back?” You peer over his shoulder to see if she’s walking back. 

In the distance another crash sounds through the empty hallways. Bucky stares at you.

“I’m just making sure, it’s not like I’m hurting anyone” you insist, dismissing it. 

“You could've just closed the door,” he says, extending one hand behind him to slide it closed.

“Don’t do that,” you blurt out.

He stops, eyebrow raised.  

“I don't like when doors are closed,” you shrug it off. “Anyway, back to the point. We should totally figure out how to help her exit this realm.”

He slides the door back open slowly, narrowing his eyes at you. 

“EVen if she were a ghost, which she’s not– she seems happy here. Maybe,” Bucky comments, taking a seat on the worn out bed. “I can’t really tell.”

“She can’t be. Imagine being forced to roam the same hallways over and over again till the end of time.” you shudder. “Sounds miserable.”

Bucky shrugs, poking at the pillow, watching a cloud of dust fly up from it. “Routine sounds fine to me.”

“I’d hate it,” you counter immediately. “I hate routines. Fucking inescapable once you get stuck in one.”

Bucky watches you curiously as you shift up and down the small room. “How do you get anything done?” 

“I can get things done without a routine.” The camera follows your command, checking outside the window or the door occasionally facing Bucky. “Why?”

“Just asking,” he replies, checking the time on his phone. It’d been a while since Brenda had gone to investigate.

“And having a routine totally makes you an easy target. Haven’t you watched any assassination movies?”

“No. I didn’t like bringing work home.”

You look at him in surprise before your face splits into a smile. 

Something makes a noise from the wall adjacent to the door. 

You both look at each other, and he gets off the bed to go see what the deal is. The door is adjacent to the wall, giving him a clear look into the hallway that was still empty. 

A faint wail sounds through the vent above his head. You take quick steps towards where he was, and the camera follows suit, pointing at the grill on the wall.

You stand underneath it, spirit box raised as close as you could get it, but the damn thing picks up nothing. 

Another noise comes through, almost like someone was wheezing, before the vent rattles, stopping altogether.

You stare at it, before taking a gigantic inhale and exhaling obnoxiously, forcing all the air out of your lungs with a wheeze. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Bucky stares at you like you're insane. 

“Well, you can’t just back down,” you argue. “I’m gonna breathe louder than that thing.”

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbles.

You give another gigantic inhale and exhale, rattling all the bones in your body, and the faint noise from the vent stops too. 

“We win,” you beam 

 “You’ve completely lost it.”

“Uh, no, I didn’t. I totally won.”

“That’s not what I–” Bucky starts but stops himself when you grin at him devilishly. 

He sighs, asking instead, “Should we go looking for her?” 

“I guess so,” you shrug. “We’re not exactly cut to be her saviours right now. I’m pretty sure she knows the layout of the hospital better than we do if she’s been haunting it for fifteen years.”

“Where did you get that number?” he demands. 

“Does it matter?” you urge. “Didn’t realise you’re a valid ghost only if you have a certain number of years in haunting.”

Bucky ignores you, taking off down the hall. 

“If you had to haunt a hospital or a ship, what would you choose?” you quip, matching his pace. 

“Hospital,” he answers without thinking much.

“Why?”

“I spent a lot of time in them,” he tells you, voice clear. “Steve’s mom was a nurse. We’d meet her there a lot when he got his ribs broken or his nose busted.”

The memory, though faint, is enough to pull a smile from him. 

“He also used to be sick a lot, so I used to come pick up his medicine for him,” he adds. “They used to know us by name because we’d be there nearly every second day.”

You exhale a small laugh. “Every hospital in the state of New York has a chart for Steve even now.”

“Fuckin’ guy just dosn’t learn.” Bucky shakes his head with affection-laced irritation. 

The hallways stretch out endlessly, dim and wide. A few doors line the walls, some ajar, revealing only darkness inside. The silence is unnerving, broken only by the soft sound of you and your footsteps.

Bucky looks over at you. “What about you?”

“What about me?” you hum, small smile still on your face. 

“What would you haunt?

“Ship, I guess,” you reply. “I’ve always wanted to be a pirate.”

“Should be your next job.”

“You gonna come with? We’ll turn it into a vlog.

“Fuck no.”

“Well, thanks for taking the time to really consider it,” you sing, not really offended. “Way to let me down gently, Barnes.”  

“What? It’s got nothin’ to do with you.” Bucky clarifies still, pausing before letting out, “I get seasick. Can’t be on water for more than five minutes before I’m throwing up all over the place. You want that in your vlog?”

It’s enough to elicit a laugh from you, that in turn makes the corner of his lip curl.

“We could always–

Right in front of him, something moves darts across the wall at the end of the hall.

It cuts you off mid-sentence too, the both of you glancing at each other before turning towards it again.

Against the glare of your flashlight, another shadow darts across the wall. 

“That’s what she was talking about,” you whisper, slightly in disbelief that she wasn't wrong. “Shadow people. Do you think they got to her?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, continuing to walk on ahead. 

“Um, hello?” you scramble to catch up with him. “Where is your self preservation?”

“Against what?” he asks stoically. 

“That,” you say pointedly at the wall, when another figure darts across the wall and disappears out of sight. 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “It’s a shadow, the fuck’s it gonna do?”

“Haven’t you heard of shadow demons? Succumbing to darkness?” you chastise. 

Bucky stops walking, standing solidly in the middle of the hallway.

“Okay,” he says, refusing to budge. 

The hall goes silent, no movement other than the steady rise and falls of your chest. 

You stare at him. “Now what.”

“I'm waiting for them to do something,” he says. “I’m waiting to succumb to the darkness.” 

“You’re so annoying,” you bite, dragging him along with you. “And I’m tired, we’ve been walking for like, eight hundred hours. Let’s go.”

“We’ve been here for two hours,” he reminds you, taking a turn into the corner that the shadows disappeared into. “You did this to yourself.”

“Fine, next time I’ll bring an electric scooter with me.” You huff. “And I won’t even let you use it.”

“Where’d Brenda fuckin’ go?” Bucky mumbles, eyes squinting into the darkness to see if there are any clues.

“Where are you guys going?” Someone pipes up from behind you, sending the hairs on his neck up. 

The both of you spin around instantly, arms clenched in a fighting stance. 

“Sorry, it's a habit to take the scenic route back.” She chuckles, unfazed. “Not a lot to do when you’ve been here so long.”

The both of you lower your hands slowly, letting out an exhale.

“Y’all ready to head out?” she inquires, coolly. “I think it’s time we all get some rest.” 

The walk back is relatively quicker, ater she leads you down a path she calls a shortcut. 

The only thing that slowls you down are the occasional stops you had to make for her back ache.

Right by the entrance of the hospital, she holds onto the door frame again in the midst of explaining who was haunting the basements. 

After a particularly hard exhale and a clamour to stand back up, Bucky awkwardly clears his throat to ask, “Have you tried this stretch?”

“What?” Brenda asks, eyes curious. 

“Learnt it in physio. Doesn’t cure it, but it helps,” he explains, craning his neck to the sides, before taking a step ahead towards her.  

You watch him in thinly veiled delight as he shows her exactly what joint to bend and in which angle, and the degree to which she had to pivot.

He even uncomfortably guides her shoulders in the strangest yoga session you’d ever witnessed. 

“Should help,” Bucky mumbles, taking a step away. 

She raises her shoulders and drops it, lips pursuing and bows raising in a look that seems impressed. The small hunch she carried wit her seems to have disappeared too. 

“Let’s go,” Bucky doesn’t wait for a thanks or anything, taking a step away from her and towards the exit. 

“Now that you’ve fixed her back ache, how do we fix her haunting the place?” you ask lowly. 

“She’s not a fuckin’ ghost, she’s fine,” he whispers back. 

“Nothing about what she’s said tonight is normal,” you argue.

The night is clear and cool when you step out, the musty scent of the building dissipating almost immediately.

“Just say bye, we’re fuckin’ leaving,” Bucky shoots. 

You sigh loudly, giving him a glare at his lack of helpfulness before plastering a smile on your face and turning around. 

“Well, thanks for everything, Brenda,” you say, turning around to stick your hand out. “We sure couldn’t have–”

But she’s gone.

“Holy shit,” you say. 

Bucky looks over his shoulder at the disturbance, before turning around fully. “Oh, fuck off.”

“I told you she was a ghost,” you gush. “You fixed her back ache and now she has crossed over to the other side.”

“Shut up,” he replies, looking all over the place for a sign of where she could have disappeared to. 

“You did it, Bucky, you helped a lonely spirit,” you cheer. 

“I did not.”

“Hey!” Someone shouts from afar, commanding your attention to the gate again. 

“Not again,” Bucky mumbles, eyes snapping shut. 

“More ghosts,” you point out excitedly. “Come on, Charon, ferry those spirits–”

“You ferry your own spirits, I’m going to sleep,” he interjects, fully intending on ignoring the person at the gate and simply getting in the car.

“What are you guys doing here?” A man pants, jogging up to the both of you before Bucky had the time to leave. 

“We were just taking a look around,” you say, sticking your hand out, much to Bucky’s displeasure. “We heard the place was haunted.”

“Ah, I see,” he replies, taking in your appearance. “Podcasters?”

“No,” Bucky replies instantly. 

“We were just leaving,” you cut in. “We already got a tour by this ghost, and Bucky totally sent her to the afterlife.”

“I did not,” he seethes. 

“She disappeared after saying ominous shit this entire evening, what do you call that?” you challenge. 

“Going home,” Bucky responds, frustrated that he was clearly not afforded the same privilege.  

“Uh–” the guy holds up his finger. “--not to intrude, but you got a tour by a ghost?”

“Yes,” you bubble over with excitement. 

“And this ghost… did they have a backache?”

Bucky’s interest piques, the irritation giving way to intrigue . 

“You know her?” you puzzle.

“Uh yeah, that’s Brenda,” he admits sheepishly. “She’s very much alive.”

Bucky would have sworn he had never been this elated in his life, but unfortunately he realises very quickly that he simply does not care.  

 “She said she was a security guard here– wait, who are you?”  you tilt your head at him, seemingly not upset at all. It reduces Bucky’s non-existent triumph even more. 

“Travis Dowell, Labyrinth Inc. representative,” he says, shaking your hand. “We’re–”

“--the company that bought the place,” you complete, eyebrow raised.  

“Yeah.” He nods. “Brenda was a security guard here for nearly thirty years. We had to let go of her when we bought the hospital. We’ve been trying to turn it into an apartment for years, but there’s a lot of red tape that we have to get past because of healthcare reasons.”

“Yeah, she told us that it got bought,” you follow along. 

“Hospital was in the worst financial situation possible. There was just no way out.” He shrugs. “But she was super attached to this place. She didn’t take the redevelopment plans well, so she’s taken it upon herself to make sure it never happens, I guess? I don’t know, she spends a lot of time here convincing people that it’s haunted so that people don’t build anything here. She’s got an apartment close by so she knows when someone’s around. You’ll probably find her there, if you want.”

“You guys know about her?” Bucky questions, crease between his eyebrows.

“Uh, yeah, we do,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “We sorta ignore her. Her schtick’s annoying, but it’s not the reason we haven’t demolished this place yet. Once all the zoning issues get cleared up, the building’s coming down. And besides, all the PR’s just gonna have people pay a shit ton to stay here. You know, novelty of it being haunted, and all that.” 

“How’d you know we were here?” you ask pointedly. 

“We’ve set up motion sensors in the place?” he replies. “You may have seen them. The red lights in the operation rooms. We know she takes people there.”

“Oh, that’s what that was,” you turn to Bucky who simply shakes his head lightly. 

“Yeah, she really goes the extra mile.” Travis shifts from one leg to the other. “There’s raccoons in the morgue that start running around if she hits the door. What else… oh yeah, she’s made a hole in one of the isolation rooms to make noises through the wall.”

Bucky wonders what will happen of all the footage now that none of it was essentially real. It made sense why she kept trying to find out where the video was going to be posted and how many people were going to view it now, as if a large number of views were going to save her beloved building. 

“So you’ll just let her do whatever until the demolition happens?” you question. 

“If it gets her to stop vandalising our office downtown.” He shrugs. “It doesn’t make a difference to us either way.”

“Right. So the real horror…” you say. “...is capitalism.”

Travis stares at you, before raising and dropping his shoulders. “Sure.”

“Alright.” You blow out an exhale. “Well, was anything about tonight real?”

“I mean, she really does have back pain,” he adds helpfully.

You turn to Bucky. “Net positive, then.”

Sure. Why the fuck not.

“Okay, Travis, thanks for this. You’ve been an immense help,” you say aloud, hoisting the camera onto your shoulders. “You can watch us on The Graveyard Shift, if we can figure out what to do with all these videos now.”

“Sorry about that,” he replies, shoving his fists into his pocket. “Good night.”

You watch as he turns and jogs away to his car that was parked a bit closer to the gate than yours was. 

Bucky plucks the camera off your shoulder and places it under his arm, even though he’s well aware you can carry fifteen of them at once.

“That was fun,” you tell him, seemingly over it already. 

“I’m fuckin’ starving,” he replies. 

Bucky should be glad then, that he didn’t bother with the children’s ward, if nothing about tonight was real–

“Travis, wait,” you shout all of a sudden. “What about the shadows?” 

“What shadows?” he calls back, confused. 

“The shadow people moving across the hall from the isolation room?”

He raises his eyebrows. “We haven't heard reports of that.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Bucky mumbles.

“Hell yeah,” you reply, knocking into his shoulder. “Haunted hospital, baby.”

When you walk into the dining room, you don’t really expect anyone to be there that late at night.

But fiery red hair pulled into a ponytail and an oversized t-shirt perched at the kitchen counter catches you off guard, dulling the arguing between you and Bucky as you argue the logistics of Brenda having a hand in the shadow demons. 

“Took you guys long enough,” Nat keeps her mug down on the counter before hopping off the chair. You note that it’s the same one you got her a few weeks ago from the flea market, the blue ceramic one.

“Oh, hi!” you smile wide, when she pulls you into a hug. “I thought you were in Lagos.”

“I was,” she replies, pulling away. “Got done early.”

“Of course you did. Overachiever.”

In the end of the common room, Bucky can hear the faint sounds of late night infomercials play through the TV. Clint’s legs hung off the couch as he lay snoring in front of it, blanket dropped on the floor in a heap. 

“Hot chocolate?” she offers. 

“I’m good, we went to the drive-through before coming back.” You beckon with your shoulder towards Bucky. 

She finally turns to him. “Hey.”

Bucky gives her a curt nod, glad that she’s back safe. 

“Why were you out so late?” She gives him a onceover, before raising an eyebrow. “Together.”

“Hospital date.”

“Video shoot,” he says at the same time, glaring at you. You shrug. 

Nat’s lip trails up into a smirk. “Put on your big boy pants and finally admit your crush?”

Bucky drags a palm down his face. “I do not have a crush.”

“If you say so,” she concedes innocently, eyeing him over the rim of her hot chocolate.  

“Are you all in on this? Do you have a quota to reach?” he groans. “Why’s everyone asking me this?”

“Who is ‘everyone’?” you sound delighted. 

“If you don’t want people to call you out on our shit, maybe don’t walk around with heart eyes,” Nat comments.  

Buck’s look is ice cold, but Nat just gives him a wink when you laugh. 

“Hey, I needed to talk to you about something.” She turns to you. “You free for a second?”

“Always,” you reply in earnest. 

Nat leads you a few steps away, hand on your shoulder.  

Bucky takes his seat at the counter, stealing a sip from Nat’s mug. Of course, it was fantastic. Overachiever.

He tunes out intentionally, focusing on the fact that Clint was splayed out on the couch with the TV on a low volume. He knows for a fact the blonde was asleep, and probably would wake up with the worst neck pain in his life, but this was the life he chose.

After watching Clint nearly fall off the couch twice, he looks away, not intending on prying on your conversation but vaguely watching the interaction out of the corner of his eye.

He frowns at what he sees. Nat’s face has turned solemn while she talks to you in hushed tones. Your eyebrows were pulled together, arms crossed over your chest. 

Bucky feels a shift in the air, but he’s not sure what exactly has gone down. 

Nat finally tells you something surely, and you nod. She cups the side of your face and you force out a smile at her, before her hand drops.

The both of you make your way back to him. He turns his gaze back to the counter. 

“You owe me a hot chocolate,” Nat tells him, before giving him a quick kiss on the temple and stealing her cup right back. 

“I barely drank any,” he retorts, eyes still trained on you.

The TV clicks off and she drags a half asleep Clint back down the hall to his bedroom while the man rubbed at his shoulders, trailing behind her obediently. 

Meanwhile, you grab a glass of water from the tap, drinking it slowly as you head towards the elevator.

“G’night, Buck,” you tell him, passing by him.

“Hold on,” he says, voice less gruff than before as he watches you, face tight, “What’s going on?

You observe him for a few long seconds, but he gets the sense you aren’t exactly looking at him. Your eyes are slightly glazed over, and your mind is… elsewhere. 

“What do you do when people refuse to let go of something you’ve already escaped?” you ask finally.  

“What do you mean?” Bucky’s eyebrows knit together tighter.  

“Do you feel like everyone’s eyes are on you?” you say, voice strange. “Like there’s nowhere to go?”

“Where is this coming from? What’d Nat tell you?”

It seems to snap you out of whatever funk you were in, at least partially. “It’s probably nothing.”

His frown only deepens. “Is someone threatening you?”

“No, nothing like that.” You shake your head. “Don’t worry about it. It’s gonna be fine.” 

Bucky stares after you as you press the button to the elevator. He isn’t really sure what to make of the what you just shared. He isn’t even sure he should ask Nat about it later on considering that she didn’t want him listening in now. 

He watches the light above the elevator light up before a ding sounds through. 

“Just so you know–”  

Bucky’s eyes snap back to you, one step in the elevator. 

“I had a codename, too,” you tell him. “I just never liked it.”

Bucky is only left staring as you disappear into the elevator, leaving him in silence. 

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

to keep up with updates for this fic and others, please follow @shurisneakersupdates and turn on post notifications!

Next part

[agreeeeeeeeeee]

Agreee's Library

Emoji Key: SFW 🤍 | NSFW ❤️ | Angst 🖤 | Fluff 🩷

feat. Wizarding World, MCU, Stranger Things, & more!

Wizarding World

George Weasley

A Weekend At The Weasley's ❤️🩷

The No-Dating Rule ❤️🩷

A Christmas Gift 🖤🤍

'A Madness Most Discreet' Series (part 1) ❤️🖤

Bill Weasley

'Magic Lessons' Series (part 1, part 2, part 3) ❤️🖤

Charlie Weasley

'Best Friends Brother' Series (part one, part two) ❤️🩷

1000 Secrets 🤍🖤

Draco Malfoy

Bad Santa ❤️🖤🩷

Flutterby Baby ❤️🖤🩷

Sirius Black

'Hit Me Where It Hurts The Most' Series (part one, part two, part three, part four) ❤️🖤

The Black Dog and His Bluebird ❤️🖤🩷

Regulus Black

Barty Crouch Jr.

What's My Name? ❤️🖤

1000 secret kisses ❤️🩷

I Wanna Be Yours ❤️🖤🩷

James Potter

Work For It ❤️

Remus Lupin

1000 Inked Scars ❤️🖤🩷

Wolfstar

Lockjaw ❤️

Jegulus

Seducing A Scrooge ❤️🩷

Rosekiller

What Is This Feeling? LOATHING 🖤🤍🩷

Drarry

Freefall (roommates!au) ❤️🖤

MCU

Steve Rogers

I Can Do It With A Broken Heart ❤️🖤

Stranger Things

Steve Harrington

Blue Christmas ❤️🖤🩷

1000 Glances 🩷

Eddie Munson

Christmas Karaoke ❤️🩷

The Tortured Fangirl's Department Series

I Can Do It With A Broken Heart (Steve Rogers x assassin!reader) ❤️🖤

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys (Paul Lahote x human!reader) [part one, part two] ❤️🖤

How Did It End? (Gale Dekarios x fem!Tav) 🖤🤍

Misc.

Thanksgiving In Baldur's Gate (Gale Dekarios x Tav) 🩷🤍

Published Work

The Raith Brothers Trilogy

Memento Amore

Memento te Aurum

Memento Sentire - Coming Soon!

Socials

Instagram

Tiktok

Threads

[barnesafterglow]

first burn

summary: your crush on peter may burn you alive

pairing: mcu!peter parker x avenger!reader

word count: 2.6k

warnings: not canon compliant (no snap, everyone is happy and healthy and no one did anything stupid), peter is of age and well within his rights to fuck!!, a little tropey for a second (brief "fake dating" and "only one bed" to move the story along), smut [unprotected sex, pull out method oral (f receiving), just some sweet love making dude], listen i'm here for a good time not a long time

a/n: two fics in a year?? who is she

main masterlist - i no longer have a taglist but you can follow @theafterglowlibrary for updates!

Peter Parker was going to be the death of you.

With each grunt that echoed through the gym in Avengers Tower, your eyes flicked to his sweaty form. The goddamned death of you.

You tried to backtrack, to see when these feelings first started as a small burning in the back of your mind that had turned into a raging wildfire every time you were in his presence. It had to have been the mission in London.

It was normal - or as normal as any Avengers mission could be. 

You had just stumbled through the throes of midtown London, hand in hand with your boyfriend, looking with every bit of wonder like neither of you had ever seen the delights it had to offer.

Then, as soon as you stepped through the hotel door, Peter dropped your hand as if it had burned him the whole time. 

Maybe it started then, with that glimmer of disappointment. Peter wasn’t your boyfriend and he would never take the time to take you around tourist London like he had just done. 

And then that pit in your stomach grew as the door to your room opened: only one bed. Jesus Christ, Tony. 

“I know,” came the response from beside you; you must have spoken out loud. “It’ll be fine.”

Those were the last words he spoke for a long while, as you both got ready for bed, then slid in beside each other. The tension was palpable, and you didn’t know if it was your slowly mounting feelings or the clench of his discomfort, but regardless you slept fitfully for hours until you finally stumbled into a deep sleep.

You woke up to a strong pair of arms wrapped around your middle - somehow pressed there in the dark of the night - and the world spun around you as you shot up.

Peter was alert in seconds, standing by the bed assessing for a threat, when his eyes met yours - utterly confused and you had no real answer for him.

“Bad dream,” you mumbled as you headed to the bathroom, the door clicking with a sort of finality behind you.

And it was fine, really it was. You definitely didn’t think about the way press of his body against yours and how sexy his bed head had looked. Nope. Not at all. 

And you definitely didn’t imagine what he would have looked like if you were the one who made him sweaty and flushed like he was right now.

Snapping out of your borderline impure thoughts, you stood from your spot on the ground where you had been warming up and - before your mouth said something you could regret - you walked out of the gym.

With your back turned, you missed the way Peter’s eyes followed you the whole way.

-

Saturday nights were girl’s nights, as Wanda so boldly claimed. And girl’s night came with a lot of complaining.

Throwing the shot back, you groaned, not even wanting to voice your thoughts aloud.

“I shouldn’t even think about it,” you said. “He’s practically a kid.”

“Not to impede on your self-loathing, but he’s not a kid anymore babe,” was Natasha’s response. She nodded across the bar where Peter was sipping his beer, laughing at something Sam had said. Right, he was 22 and totally within your age range, but that didn’t mean you didn’t still see him as the 16 year old kid who had fought by Tony’s side. “Plus you’re not that much older than him. We used to call you a kid too, you know.”

Dragging your hand down your face, you stood from the table to order another drink, ignoring Nat and Wanda’s laughter at your misery.

As you leaned against the bar waiting, Peter dropped down into the stool beside you.

“Alright, what did I do to you?” His words were casual, joking, but you could hear the hurt laced within. That was never your intention, and your heart sank.

You and Peter had been friends for a long time, since Tony had first brought him in after the air had cleared with him and Cap. You bonded over being the youngest Avengers and what that meant for your lives. The two of you understood each other on another level that no one else truly did. And here you were, ruining everything over a little crush.

“Nothing, Pete.” You ruffled your hand through his hair and his face lit up in a blush that he tried to hide behind his beer bottle. “How have you been?”

“Not too bad, I guess,” he replied, then looked down at you - when had he gotten so tall - with an unreadable emotion on his face. “I miss you.”

Right. And you were back where you started. Admittedly, you had avoided him for the most part since that London mission, only saying hi in passing and at the occasional movie night or debrief. You weren’t exactly proud of it, but you didn’t know what else to do.

“I miss you too,” you whispered, shame coating your words. You never meant to hurt him - honestly, you didn’t. “Listen, kid, I just-“

“Don’t call me kid.” And the anger in his words surprised you. “I’m not that kid you met six years ago - when you were barely any older, might I remind you - and you know that. I know you know that. So don’t use that as an excuse to stop whatever is going on here.” His hands gestured between the two of you. 

Strong, capable hands that you had seen hurt and save, had seen run through his hair, had seen play video games. Hands that you had imagined for weeks now. Hands that you couldn’t help but grab out of mid air, clasping one in your own. 

“And what’s going on here, Peter?”

He leaned in close, breath hot on your ear. 

“I see the way you look at me.” Your breath hitched, then stopped altogether. “But I don’t think you see me looking right back.”

Body all of a sudden hot and raging with emotion, you squeezed his hand and took a deep breath. 

“Take me home.”

-

Your apartment was closer, so you walked the handful of blocks from the bar in tangible silence. Every brush of fingers was an electric jolt through your body and every bump of shoulders sent heat through your core. By the time you reached your front door, the tension was pulled so tight it was bound to snap at any moment.

And snap it did.

As soon as you had the apartment door closed behind you, Peter was on you, his hands everywhere all at once. He crowded you, pulling you close to him when you winced at the door knob digging into your side. One hand came to rest on your hip, rubbing soothing circles there, while the other cradled your face, eyes searching for permission.

You didn’t know what you were giving him permission for, but you nodded anyway.

The world around you stopped as Peter placed a searing kiss to your lips, stealing the breath from your lungs. The hand on your face moved to gently tug your hair and he took your gasp as an invitation to explore your mouth. God the boy knew how to kiss.

His tongue pressed into you, tasting every inch while your hands roamed his body. When he pulled away - not for air, not to leave you, but to place hot kisses down your neck, leaving a trail of burning fire in their wake - you tugged on his t-shirt in a silent plea for him to take it off.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him without a shirt before. Between missions and training and plain old gym sessions, you were thankfully no stranger to a shirtless Peter Parker. But in the dim light of your living room, with those brown eyes boring into your own, everything was suddenly different.

You just stared - for far longer than necessary, you were sure - until he took a step back towards you, his fingers intertwining with your own. Nodding at him, you started to lead him towards your bedroom, not making it more than two steps until his hands were once again exploring your body.

When you finally made it - a trail of both of your clothes left in your wake - your breaths were heavy and panting, aching for more of him.

He stood there for a moment just looking at you, taking in the red lace of your bra and underwear. Unable to contain himself, he ripped it off of you in two quick pulls, leaving you bare before him.

You expected him to jump on you the second you were naked. Instead he pressed his front against your own - you gasped at the contact of your nipples against his bare chest - and lightly traced shapes over your exposed back, moving down to trail along your legs, then back up your arms. Everywhere he touched burned the memory into your skin.

Finally, finally, he gently pushed you against your bed, your back hitting the mattress with a soft bounce, and he peeled off his jeans and underwear before manhandling you towards the center, moving your body as if you weighed nothing.

You truly didn’t need any foreplay, the tension on your own end built up these last few weeks on top of Peter’s heated discovery of your body made for an easy transition, but he wasn’t about to let that happen.

No, Peter Parker was a fucking tease.

He started by kneading the soft skin of your breasts, touch light and gentle as if you were something precious. Even when he leaned down to take one of your nipples in his mouth, he still only gave you quick nips, nothing as satisfying as you needed. He made his way down your body, placing lover’s kisses everywhere he could reach, before finally settling down on his stomach between your legs.

You thought that this was surely the moment you would get some reprieve, some kind of real touch that may or may not send you over the edge, but no. He wasn’t done with you yet.

He kissed the inside of each thigh, alternating until he was breathing right where you needed him most. When you thought you were about to explode, he finally lowered his mouth to your core.

The feeling after so long of teasing was euphoric, and you swear if you were a weaker woman you could have come from the first swipe of his tongue against your clit. You held out as his tongue made its way in circles and figure eights, then he pressed a finger against your entrance, eyes looking up through dark lashes to silently ask permission.

Once you had given it, he sank a finger into you, pumping it a few times before adding another. With that, both his hand and mouth picked up speed until you were grinding on his face, chasing your orgasm.

You were on the edge, ready to jump off, when he pulled back. You whined at the loss of contact and tried to sit up, but one large hand pushed you back against the bed, the other starting its assault all over again.

This time, he didn’t stop until you were coming all over his face, and you think you blacked out for a second because the next thing you knew he was over top of you, not even bothering to wipe his mouth before kissing you, driving his tongue in and swallowing down your moans.

He ground his hips against you, his cock sliding easily through your folds, and you both whined as his tip caught at your entrance. He continued his movements, getting closer and closer to fucking you with every pass, but never quite committing.

Sick of his teasing, you pushed hard on his shoulders and, in his surprise, were able to flip him so he was on his back.

“Stop teasing, Peter,” you whispered in his ear as you straddled his waist. “I need you.”

You pulled back, eyes searching his, before he nodded and wrapped his hands around your hips. Taking that as permission, you grabbed his cock, lining it up and slowly sliding down.

He was big, much bigger than you had anticipated, and you had to take your time before he was fully seated inside you. Once your hips were flush together, you took a breath, practically feeling him in your throat. 

He looked up at you - almost adoringly - as you adjusted to him. You leaned down, pressing your chest against his, and kissed him gently, pouring every ounce of emotion you possibly could into it before starting to move your hips. Now more adjusted, the burn of the stretch turned into a pleasure that had you melting against him and hands guided your hips to move you along his length.

For long minutes you let him move you as he wanted, content to hang on for the ride. You didn’t expect for Peter to flip you over and start pounding into you.

“Fuck,” you gasped out as he settled your legs over your shoulders. “So fucking deep.”

All you could do is hold onto him as he fucked you, alternating between hard thrusts and slow grinds until you were dizzy with pleasure, chasing an orgasm that wasn’t going to come unless Peter damn well wanted it to.

And when he did, when he reached down and rubbed harsh circles into your clit, you exploded around him. The clench of your heat around his cock spurred his own orgasm, and he pulled out at the last second, his come coating your stomach and tits.

That on is own was hot enough, but Peter fucking Parker did not come to play. He swiped two fingers through his own release before pressing them to your mouth. You opened up for him, cleaning off his fingers as he groaned, and you could see his cock give an interested twitch, like it was already trying to go for round two.

The weight of his body disappeared from yours and you whined, reaching out for him even with your eyes closed. He quickly returned with a warm rag and cleaned you up before maneuvering you both under the covers. 

Regaining a semblance of strength, you turned so that you were facing him, suddenly very aware of each of your nakedness.

“What now?” Your voice was hoarse-sounding, it’s only use in the last bit from moans and gasps.

“Well,” he started, once again tracing shapes along your bare skin, “I think we maybe skipped a step in the middle of all this.”

“What do you mean?” If he was going to say what you thought he might, your heart would implode.

“I mean, I’ve liked you for a really long time, longer than I’m going to admit, and I took this chance because I didn’t know if I would ever get it again. But if I’m right - and I think I am - then you feel the same way I do. So, I want to take you on a proper date. I want to make this work.”

His confession made your heart stutter-step and you couldn’t even find the words to tell him yes, yes, a thousand times yes. Instead, you pulled him in for a soft kiss, hoping every emotion he had just poured out to you was matched in the press of your lips against his.

“I’m taking that as a yes, then.”

“Yeah, Pete, it is.”

[starkenobi]

With Love | Natasha Romanoff x reader

masterlist — warnings: mcu; avenger!reader; fluff; acquaintances to lovers; flirty.

Summary: Were you reading it wrong the signs? You hope not, because you really want to be the one for Natasha Romanoff.

“You're staring.”

Natasha grumbled softly, pretending to have her attention completely focused on the book she had in her hands, and ignoring your watchful eyes. Lying on the carpet next to the couch, you watched the small shiver that took over her arms, knowing that it had such an effect gave you a feeling of butterflies in your stomach. Ignoring the reports you had to do, you placed the notebook on the coffee table and sat down so you could look at her better.

A small pout formed on Natasha's lips. “ Stop it, honey.”

You let out a grunt of protest. You never thought you would be in this kind of situation, that you would reach this level of intimacy with Natasha. But there you were, sprawled on the floor of Natasha's room, the weekend after your first long solo mission... Talking about relationships.

You had been invited by Steve to be part of the Avengers, having gained attention after saving children in a terrible explosion in a museum. That was two years ago. Initially, you didn't accept the invitation, deciding to only help when your presence was extremely necessary. You didn't have any great superpowers, just a wonderful memory that helped you to be able to imitate anything you saw, read or heard just once. It didn't take long for you to quit your civilian job and join the Avengers for good, increasingly bored with the calm dynamic, becoming unable to hold back the growing desire to make a difference.

"I just don't understand, okay? I'm outraged! You deserve the world! I can't believe those fucking exes treated you porly.”

Natasha sighed heavily, still pretending to read the book despite not having turned the page in the last few minutes. "Thank you for your support, but it's water under the bridge."

Closing the notebook for good, you pushed the device away as if it were her fault. You weren't at all pleased to see the resignation on Natasha's face; if it were anyone else, you would even think it was just an act, but you could notice the tips of her ears starting to take on a red tone.

Frowning, you crawled to her feet and rested your hands on her knees, finally managing to make her look up from the book. “Tasha, there’s no way you’re just going to accept this.”

She slammed the book shut, throwing it across the couch, and glared at you. “What do you want me to say? I’m tired of wondering if there’s something wrong with me!”

Your eyes widened, completely surprised by her outburst. Maybe the topic was really sensitive, but you couldn’t back down now. After all these months, the coffee invitations and offers to help with small everyday things outside of missions, the affection and smiles, the long conversations… It was a sign, right? So, swallowing hard, you gathered the courage to say out loud what you wanted to say since the first day you saw her.

“Let me eat you out.”

Natasha gave you a small slap on the shoulder in reprimand, making you lose your balance. “Hey!”

“Come on, I'm serious!” You said as you felt the need to defend yourself, hating the idea that she thought it was a joke. You looked at Natasha as seriously as possible, even though she tried to avoid your eyes. “I’ll always give you the orgasm you deserve, without asking for anything in return.”

Natasha's ears got even redder and her cheekbones too, but you couldn't tell if it was discomfort or just embarrassment. Natasha opened and closed her mouth a few times, for a moment she seemed to not know what to say, she finally took a deep breath - as if gathering courage - but the moment was interrupted by knocks on the door.

“Oh, it must be Steve and Bucky wanting to plan in advance the next mission we're going.” Natasha said, moving away quickly and stopping only when she reached the door, giving you a strange look before commenting quietly. “I think you better go.”

You felt the butterflies in your stomach wilt. You didn't dare say anything else, quickly gathering your things and shoving them into your backpack. With your trembling hands, you hoped that at least your face was neutral enough and tried to smile at the super soldiers who seemed surprised to see you there. Ignoring them exchanging silent glances with Natasha, you said goodbye without much flourish, avoiding looking Natasha in the eyes. And you left without waiting for an answer. When you got out of the elevator, you mentally thanked yourself for not bumping into anyone, and for Friday not reacting at all after being the only witness to your pathetic crying.

Your head was heavy, the days passing by in the blink of an eye, but you felt completely numb. It seemed that Natasha had been avoiding you since that weekend, you could never run into her alone like you used to. Always accompanied by someone from the team, she seemed to be always running around and completely busy. You couldn't stop thinking that, maybe, you had really misinterpreted everything, that the feeling was one-sided. Of course you wouldn't blame her. If it were really true that you had misunderstood everything, you would like to be able to apologize. But you couldn't deny that the rejection still hurt, even if it was done silently.

"Are you crazy? Of course she's going to run away from you, this is not a topic to talk about at work." Kate interrupted you, an expression of outrage on her face.

Yelena rolled her eyes at her girlfriend's reaction. "I think it's better if you visit her this weekend, at her apartment."

Kate stared at her in disbelief. "Without an invitation?"

“The worst that could happen is Natasha pretending she wasn't home, or closing the door in her face.” Yelena shrugged, turning her attention back to the coffee.

So that's what you did, with a box of chocolates and a bouquet of roses in your hands. Knocking on the door a few times, at the rhythm that she would know it was you. Your heart was pounding so hard, it felt like it was going to come out of your mouth. It was a cool spring Saturday, but you felt as hot as if you were in a sauna. You were completely nervous, but everything disappeared when Natasha opened the door.

“I was going to text you now.” She said with a smile, opening the door wider so you could enter.

Taking a few steps to the living room, you turned to hand over the gifts. Lowering your head, not daring to look into her eyes and see the possible rejection. “I'm sorry for the last time, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I read the signs wrong, I hope we can still be friends.”

“You didn't do anything wrong.” Natasha sighed, placing the chocolate and the bouquet on the counter, and then walking over to where you were. “I just thought I was misreading the signs, that you were just playing around like you do with Stark.”

You felt your body relax, your heart beating fast, but for a good reason, you couldn't help but smile as you looked back at her. “So it's okay if I admit that I've always wanted to go down on you? With love, of course.”

Natasha snorted, and you couldn't help yourself and ended up laughing, loving her reaction. Teasing her was one of your new favorite things, especially with a vocabulary worthy of cheap porn. However, you needed to keep a bit of seriousness for now, so you carefully held her hands and brought them to your lips to place a kiss.

“You're impossible.” She complained, but with a smile on her lips.

“Forgive me? I know I should have asked you out on a date before telling you that I want to kiss every part of your body.” you said, bringing one of your hands to her face, and when she tilted her head towards the caress, you felt your heart skip a beat and your stomach explode with butterflies.

Closing her eyes, she murmured. “Dinner at that new restaurant near here? I demand pampering.”

You couldn't stop smiling, so much joy. Unable to contain yourself, you ended up leaning in to place a kiss on Natasha's cheek and then a small kiss on her lips. “Anything my princess wants.”

You would do everything to make it work, to make her happy. And who knows, maybe in the near future you could officially call her your girlfriend. But for now, a first date with her was enough.

comments, likes and reblogs are welcome and appreciated! thank you for reading and supporting my writing 💜

[mcu-fan-fics-blog]

Routine V

Mini Series

Wanda Maximoff x fem wife!reader

Summary: Routines can get tiring quickly, especially when you’re the only one working towards keeping them.

A/n: We meet again friends. I am very happy to be updating this fic once more. Also happy to inform that I have found a direction in which to take it!!! I hope you enjoy reading it.

Word count: 1400 approx

She was at a crossroads, there was nothing that she could do to stop you from leaving. She hadn’t stopped pacing the room since you left. That's when she saw it… Her saving grace. Maybe if she did this one thing she could at least open the door if not maybe just unlock it, something. At this point that was definitely better than nothing. Your passport and what looked like important papers were left sitting on the kitchen counter. You had left in a furious haze, something was meant to be left behind. You just didn’t think it would be your passport and work visa. That was the one thing that you thought you had in lock, the one thing that you couldn't forget… And you forgot it. Truthfully you knew that something was missing the moment that you stepped into the car with Kate, but you chalked it up to the stress that Wanda had caused.   

There was a time that anything that remotely felt like a fight was a no go. You never wanted to fight with Wanda, nothing about arguing with her seemed pleasant. In the beginning it was obvious she was scared and all of it was new. You danced around obvious issues the two of you had. One issue was a rather big one being Vision. It was strange their connection. It was something you knew would have easily gone the other way had you not been in the picture. They understood each other; you felt like the odd man out in your own relationship with her. It wasn’t until you exploded one day that the issue was addressed. Thinking back Wanda should have seen this coming. It almost ended the relationship before it really even began. She was tempted to call you, she really was. But she’d just crossed a very big boundary. Instead she texted Kate.

Her text was read almost immediately the text bubble kept appearing but nothing was sent. Wanda instead sent another message. ‘I’ll meet you at the gate, lose Y/n for a minute and I’ll give you her passport.’ She only received a thumbs up and she was on her way. It was high time Wanda started taking action. She wasn’t going to fail you now. 

You were lying. You had no idea where you got the confidence from but it was a complete lie. You loved her so much it hurt. She didn’t read your mind that time and it hurt that she believed you. Tears welled in your eyes, this day wasn’t supposed to go like this. You were supposed to leave peacefully, and now you had no idea what you were doing. She shook you. Wanda came into your life and turned it upside down and now she’s done it again. It was rough. Kate had been fidgety for the past twenty minutes. “Are you okay?” You managed to get the words out. She stilled wide eyed. “Uhm shouldn’t I be asking you that?” You hummed. “Probably… I’m just tired of the same thing over and over again.” You sighed. “There are so many things that I wanted to say. But she was right in front of me and the words disappeared.” Kate nodded, her eyes still fixed on the road. 

“Do you think… that uhm you’ll get back together?” She asked the obvious question. It only made your shoulders deflate more. Not because she asked, “It’s not up to me.” but because of how pitiful the answer was. And it was entirely up to her. You hadn't even been able to bring yourself to draft the papers. The fear that she’d actually sign them still managed to keep you up at night. What if she did, what then? “My heart… it aches constantly. Like something was ripped from me.” Kate cleared her throat. “You’re leaving Y/n… You're going abroad for god knows how long.” You nodded. “How else can I show her what she’s doing to me? Years Kate I’ve put up with it for years.” Kate nodded. “I did not suffer in silence, I let her know at every turn how she was compromising us.” Your words were laced with anger and conviction. And so quickly the sadness gave way to raw anger.  

Wanda felt she should have thought this entire situation out more. Here she was in her car on her way to the airport, filled with hundreds if not thousands of people. And the most daunting part being that you’re unaware. Her mind was already starting to hold her hostage. She made the treck mostly on autopilot. Then there was the whole getting through security, nothing her powers couldn’t handle. Only she somehow couldn’t. She had not felt this lack of control since ultron, she was tripping where she had learned repeatedly not to. It was overwhelming navigating through the masses of people trying to get to their flights, homes, families. Everyone's thoughts traversed constantly. Eventually and not without struggle she had found Kate, near a coffee shop.

“Finally! I thought you’d make this hard for me.” Kate’s words washed right through her. The only thing she could hear now was an angry ring, mocking her. She shook her head softly trying to dissipate the sound. Then she stilled, she could sense it. Her powers out of pure reflex sought you out. And another pang of sadness ran through her. She’d never been able to sense your anger. A slap in the face a testament as to how unwelcome she truly was. A tug at her arm brought her back. She was clutching your passport in her hand. The folder already in Kate’s possession. Kate sighed. “Are you okay?” She relented and finally asked the question. That seemed to snap her out of whatever trance she was in. She let go of the Passaport like it burned her. Kate noticed her distress and asked again. “My powers… are acting up, I'll be fine.” Kate nodded, not fully convinced. 

Kate had decided she’d throw Wanda a life line. She did not think someone could make a change so drastically in a matter of hours. This Wanda that was standing in front of her was not the same one she witnessed yell indignantly at you. This Wanda looked defeated, vulnerable. “She’s still waiting for you…” Kate said. Taking the woman in, and for a moment she wasn’t sure Wanda had heard her. Then tears started rolling down her face. “I don’t think she is…” the words came out tersely and clipped. “She's angry, she has every right to be. That doesn’t change the fact that she’s waiting… so give her time.” Kate sighed, taking a step back. “Fight for her…” She turned on her heel and walked away. Wanda seconds later managed to do the same. Her resolve slowly cemented.

Kate made her way back just as you started looking for her. She looks slightly flushed. Two coffees in hand, a folder tucked in between her arm and torso. Your eyes widened at the sight. “I didn’t even realize I was missing that!” You exclaimed. Taking a cup out of her hand, and the folder at the same time. “Kate, you're a lifesaver.” She nodded, taking a long sip of her drink. Then silence followed, you could have sworn you felt something. It made your heart race. You remembered the familiar feeling. A slight fuzz just out of reach in your mind. You couldn’t help but look around. Could it be, or was it just her lingering in your mind. Then once again Kate brought you back into the present. “Here your boarding group is about to be called.” Kate pulled you up from your seat making toward the line now forming.

Right as your ticket was scanned. She pulled you to the side slightly. “Promise you’re coming back.” You managed a small smile. “I will, I don’t think your mother will keep me away forever.” You joked. Keeping an eye on the people boarding. Kate nodded trying to reassure herself. “You forgot your passport… she brought them here. That's why I was gone for a minute.” Your heart started racing. “I didn’t want to keep it from you.” Then before you could even respond an airline worker was ushering through into the boarding tunnel. The last thing Kate managed to say was for you to call her when you landed. 

A/n: Please leave a like if you liked it!!! Late because I completely forgot to schedule. :(

Tag list: @fxckmiup @username23345 @xxxtwilightaxelxxx​ 

[happy74827]

Let Me In

[Steve Rogers x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Steve is persistent in a lot of things. But when he catches fear in your eyes, he wants nothing more than to help you heal.

WC: 2230

Category: Hurt/Comfort {TW — Implications of SA}

The “who did this to you” trope has my whole heart.

『••✎••』

Seeing the pain in Steve’s eyes was more than enough to make your own heartache. The confusion on his face turned into a deep-set frown as his hands hovered over your body, too afraid to touch. Too afraid that if he touched you, the rest of you would crumble to the ground.

The silence between you was deafening, yet Steve said nothing. He just stared at you. You felt his gaze move from the top of your head and down the length of your body. His jaw clenched tightly when your expression faltered, and you tried your hardest not to show the pain you were feeling.

He wasn’t even reaching toward you in the first place; he was reaching for the water that was sitting by his punching bag, but the damage was done the second his hand came into your view.

Out of all the things that could’ve happened, flinching from Steve… of all people was the worst thing possible. The look of hurt on his face was enough to make your own heart drop to your stomach.

You knew he would never hurt you; he would never cause you pain. It was Steve, for goodness sake; he was a big teddy bear who wouldn't cause harm unless absolutely necessary. He had the biggest heart you'd ever seen. And yet, here you were, cowering away from him.

When his hand came into your peripheral, you jumped back, almost tripping over yourself as you stared up at him. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat.

It was so loud. So, so loud.

Steve, ever the hero, immediately pulled back. The water was forgotten and all of his focus was on you now. He even tried to reach out to you again, but seeing the flinch on your face was enough to stop him in his tracks.

He didn’t know what to do.

Steve was the guy who knew exactly what to do in every situation. He was Captain America.

Captain America.

But seeing you cower away from him made him feel helpless.

His hands were still hovering, his brow was still furrowed, and his lips were set in a firm line. He wanted to touch you, to hold you, but he was so scared that you would push him away and run.

It broke his heart.

The last time he saw you, you were happy and laughing and smiling. But now, it was like someone had taken all the happiness from your face. The smile was gone. Your laughter was gone. The light was gone. And Steve hated it.

He hated it with every fiber of his being.

He was the first to speak. A small whisper. A whisper that would've been missed if you weren't hanging onto every single one of his movements.

"What happened?"

He took a small step forward and watched as you tensed up, your fingers curling around the fabric of your shirt. You swallowed thickly and shook your head.

He deserved the truth, but you couldn't bring yourself to tell him.

You didn’t want to tell him. Not after you had flinched away from him.

"I’m fine, Steve."

He gave a low hum and looked you over, trying to gauge the situation and find the best way to approach this. He needed to get you talking, but he had to be careful. He couldn’t make the same mistake twice.

"You don't look fine."

The way his voice came out, it was like a breath. His words were soft and comforting. His eyes never once left yours, not even to see where he was stepping.

You wanted to scoff. You wanted to tell him that you were perfectly fine and that he had nothing to worry about. You wanted to lie and say that the flinch was an accident, a momentary lapse in judgment.

You wanted to lie.

But you couldn't. Not to Steve.

Never to Steve.

"Who did this to you?"

It was the way he said it. The tone he used. It wasn't accusatory; it wasn't harsh. It was gentle. It was caring. It was full of concern. Full of love.

But the question brought you up short.

You could feel his eyes on you. You could feel his gaze burning through you, his worry evident. You could feel him staring right into your soul.

You knew he didn't mean to ask it, but the question slipped past his lips before he could stop it. Before he could pull it back.

You swallowed thickly and looked down at the floor, not being able to bring yourself to meet his eye. You could see his boots; you could see his toes.

But not his face. You didn’t want to see his face. You couldn’t handle the concern.

You could hear him shuffling closer, his hand reaching out slowly and hesitantly. When his finger brushed against your arm, you jerked back, but he didn't let you get too far.

His grip was gentle. So gentle, but it was enough to hold you. Just enough.

It was just your name, just a whisper, but the way he said it made you weak. The way he breathed it out had your knees shaking. You could feel the tears burning the back of your throat; you could feel them gathering in your eyes. They were going to spill over soon, and Steve was the only one who was going to be there to see it. No one else.

"Tell me"

There was a moment where you wanted to fight it. To shove him off and run to your room. To lock yourself away and never come out. But when his thumb rubbed over your cheek, it was the moment that you broke.

Tears spilled over. They flowed freely down your cheeks, dripping from your chin.

Your breath came in harsh pants.

Steve's hands moved to your shoulders. He held you firmly yet gently. His thumbs rub slow circles on the top of your arms.

“Damn it.” You breathed out. “Damn it! Of all the people I slip in front of, why did it have to be you? Why couldn't it have been Tony? Or Nat? Or Sam? Or hell, even Bruce? It had to be you, didn't it, Rogers? It had to be the guy I was trying to avoid. The one person I didn't want to know.”

Your rant was cut off when you felt Steve's fingers under your chin. He tipped your head back and forced you to look at him. He looked down at you with those soft blue eyes, the ones you had been trying to avoid since the start.

They were the only thing that could ever get through to you. They were the only thing that could make your walls come down.

His hand was gentle. It was like he was trying to hold a piece of glass. If he pressed too hard, you would break. And god, did you want to break. You wanted to feel the release, the freedom.

You wanted to feel something, anything other than this pain.

"I'm sorry." You breathed out. "I didn't mean to."

"Don't apologize," He murmured. "Just talk to me."

"Steve-"

"Please." The word was a broken plea. It was the most vulnerable you had ever seen him.

You bit your bottom lip and looked down at the ground, unable to hold his gaze.

"Please." He repeated. "Let me help."

"It's not that easy." You whispered. You couldn't believe that you were even considering telling him.

"Yes, it is. I'm right here."

You were going to regret this. You didn't want to, but you were going to.

"I can't." You shook your head, a sob rising in your chest. "I can't, Steve. Please don't make me."

“Then tell me how I can help you."

You didn’t know how to respond. How could you possibly tell him how to help?

"I- I don't know."

He sighed and stepped back. For a second, you thought he was going to leave, that he was done with you, but with the way his gaze never left yours, you knew that wasn’t the case.

He reached down and wrapped his fingers around your wrist, tugging you behind him.

You let him. You were too tired to fight back.

Too tired.

Too weak.

He led you out of the gym and through the tower, his pace never once slowing. Not until the both of you were in front of your bedroom door. Then he released his hold on you and stood back, looking at you. His jaw was still clenched, and his hands were balled into fists. You didn't know if it was because of the fact that someone had hurt you or the fact that you were hiding the truth from him.

"Let me in." He said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "If not today, then some other time. Let me in."

"Why?" You questioned, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Because I care."

"Why?" You repeated, your eyes narrowing. "Why do you care so much?"

"I know what it’s like," He murmured. "To feel the need to hide from the world. To feel the need to bottle everything up inside. You don’t need to do this alone. I don’t know what happened to you, but whatever it is, you can talk to me. Let me in. Tell me the truth."

You shook your head and turned, reaching for the handle, but Steve was faster. His hand shot out and curled around your wrist. He kept you in place.

"Please." He murmured.

The desperation was evident in his voice. The sincerity was, too.

“You want the name that much?” You questioned, keeping your gaze trained on the door.

It was better than facing him.

It was better than seeing the disappointment in his eyes.

It was better than seeing the pity.

It was easier to hide the emotions behind the door, not having to see his reaction.

"I want you to be honest with me. I want you to talk to me. If you’re comfortable giving me the name, then that's your choice. It's always your choice. I won't force you to do anything, but I want to help."

"It's a little late for that," You scoffed, yanking your hand out of his grasp.

He stepped forward, crowding you against the door. You could feel his warmth against your back.

"I didn't know." He murmured, his hand reaching out to brush his fingers against the back of your neck. "Had I known, I would've put a stop to it."

"There's nothing you could've done."

"I could've killed him." He murmured. "That's what I could've done.”

“You don’t kill people, Rogers. It’s not who you are. You know that.”

“Still doesn’t change the fact that I would stop at nothing to keep you safe. Whoever this is, they aren’t going to lay another hand on you. I promise. They aren’t going to hurt you again, not if I can help it. You have my word."

You could feel the tears pricking the back of your eyes. God, did he have to say such sweet things?

You weren’t sure if it was because he was being a good friend or because he wanted something more, but whatever it was, it had you melting.

"I didn't mean to push you away." You whispered, resting your forehead against the cool metal of the door.

"I know."

"It was instinct. I couldn't-"

"I know."

"How do I fix this?"

"You don't. It takes time. Healing isn't an instant process. It took me a long time to get back to normal… somewhat normal.”

“But—” You began, but the look on Steve's face told you that arguing wasn't going to do you any good.

So you stopped.

"It takes time." He repeated. "But I'm not going anywhere. You can take all the time in the world, and I'll be here waiting. Whenever you're ready."

"I want it to go away."

"I know. Believe me, I know." He murmured.

You felt him shift behind you. His hand pressed flat against your back and rubbed slow circles, the heat seeping through the thin material of your shirt.

You had never felt so safe, not even when you were a child.

Steve's presence alone was enough to calm the anxiety running rampant through your body. You weren't sure what had caused this particular attack, but now that Steve was here, you were hoping it would pass soon.

"What do you need?" He asked softly, his hand running up and down the length of your back.

"You." You croaked out, the words almost getting lost in the fabric of his shirt.

"You have me."

"Promise?"

"Promise," He replied without missing a beat.

You took a deep breath and leaned further into his touch.

"It'll go away soon," He assured. "We can sit down and talk about it when you're ready."

"What if I never want to talk about it?"

"Then we won't. You set the pace, okay? Just… please, don't shut anyone out. Don't shut me out. We— I care about you."

You nodded your head, unable to form the words you wanted to say.

The feeling was mutual. You cared about him too. And maybe, just maybe, you would be willing to open up about this. Maybe even share the name.

Steve does throw a good punch, after all.

[angelremnants]

A TALES OF... l Jasmins and Prayers

OR.. Still seething with frustration from what had transpired in the cave, Loki storms into his room while cursing your damned dress that lingered in his mind. The tension inside him grows as he struggles to maintain control, and the white jasmin petals floating in his bath only heighten the ache. Caught in a whirlwind of temptation and self-loathing, he finds himself confronted by the dangerous path his thoughts have taken—and, more urgently, by the overwhelming need to act on them.

pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

warnings : Mature themes (18+—MINORS DO NOT INTERACT), Loki-centric, emotional turmoil, graphic sexual content, gratification (male masturbation), twisted fantasies running wild, oral sex (male and female receiving), unprotected penetrative sex (wrap it before you tap it!), themes of norse lore and worship, edging, degradation & praise kink, choking kink, power play, dom!Loki/sub!reader, strong language. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 15.1k

author's notes : Trust me when I say that I was biting my nail the whole time I was writing this—then again, I was also listening to Kiss Land on loop. The man is too hot for my well-being, Your Honor.

This is a continuation of A Tales Of Tides and Mishaps—you can also read this separately, but I'd recommend reading the first part to understand the context. This is the first time I've ever written something NSFW, so please do let me know how I did.

(ao3 version)

The torches lining the grand corridors of the palace flickered and hissed against the weight of the evening air, their golden glow casting restless shadows on the towering marble walls. The echo of footsteps carried through the vast halls, announcing his approach. Loki moved swiftly, his cape billowing behind him like the rippling edge of a storm cloud, the emerald and black of his attire catching the light with each stride.

The palace was quieter at this hour, subdued under the veil of twilight, yet it was far from peaceful. Whispers of court intrigue hung in the air like smoke, weaving through every corner of Asgard’s opulent halls. It was a place that thrived on appearances, on masks as intricate as the golden carvings that adorned the throne room doors. Loki was no stranger to this game. He played it better than most—deftly, effortlessly, and always with an edge that dared others to challenge him.

Tonight, however, something gnawed at the edges of his mind, unsettling his usual composure. The weight of unspoken words lingered on his tongue, and the echo of a gaze—not his own—followed him like a shadow. He had faced gods and monsters, chaos and ruin, yet there was something about the quiet tension of that earlier encounter that refused to let him go.

The grand corridors seemed to stretch endlessly, the silence amplifying every subtle sound—the faint rustle of his cape, the barely perceptible sigh of the wind brushing against the windows, and the distant murmur of voices from somewhere deeper within the palace. Loki barely registered any of it. His focus remained inward, on the fire still simmering beneath his carefully constructed facade.

It had been a fleeting moment, no more than a handful of exchanged words, but it had been enough to unearth something he had long buried—a vulnerability he could not afford, not now, not ever. And yet, there it was, clawing at him with an unrelenting persistence.

The throne room loomed ahead, its doors partially ajar, spilling warm light into the corridor. A faint hum of voices drifted out, the low cadence of his parents and their guest among them. Loki slowed his pace, his expression hardening as his gaze lingered on the doors.

He could walk in. His presence would be noticed, his words sharp enough to cut through whatever discussion you were undoubtedly steering with your usual reckless charm. He could force himself into the center of it all, just as he always did—commanding attention, manipulating the narrative, and ensuring that no one, not even his mother, could look past him.

And yet, Loki hesitated.

The previous fire burned hotter now, threatening to consume him if he did not retreat. He turned on his heel, his movements swift and precise, and strode away from the throne room. Whatever tension awaited him within those gilded walls would have to wait. Right now, he needed to be anywhere else.

The corridors seemed darker now, the torchlight dimmer as he navigated the familiar path to his chambers. Each step brought him closer to the solace of solitude, to the space where he could strip away the mask he wore so effortlessly and face the tempest within.

His mind raced, the unease gnawing at him with increasing intensity. He had tried to ease the tension—an impromptu training session in the palace's sparring chambers had seemed like the perfect solution. The clash of blades and the heavy exertion of physical combat usually grounded him, soothed the simmering anger that had no outlet. But tonight, even the sharp sting of combat had failed to settle the fire within him. His movements had been fluid and practiced, and yet, the burning frustration lingered—nothing had worked.

As he reached his room, Loki paused for a fraction of a second, his hand resting on the cold metal of the door handle. The thoughts he had tried to suppress surged again, sharper this time, cutting through his defenses like a blade. With a sharp exhale, he pushed the door open and stepped inside, the heavy wood creaking as it swung shut behind him.

The silence of his chambers was a stark contrast to the noise in his head. The air was still, undisturbed, save for the faint scent of cedar and leather that always lingered here. Yet, even in this sanctuary, he could not escape the weight of your presence, the echo of your voice, and the pull you had over him.

Tonight, Loki realized, no amount of distance would be enough to silence the chaos your had left in your wake.

⠀⠀

The door shut behind him with a finality that seemed to press against his chest. Loki’s chambers were dimly lit, the golden light of a single lantern on his desk flickering faintly against the polished surfaces of dark wood and stone. The quiet hum of Asgard beyond his walls was muted here, but the storm inside his mind was deafening.

He took a step forward, shrugging off his cape and letting it fall onto the back of a chair. The fabric slid noiselessly to the floor, but he didn’t bother retrieving it. His boots echoed softly on the smooth stone floor as he crossed the room, every movement deliberate yet restless.

He paused near the tall windows, the view of the city below sprawling in shimmering lights. For a moment, he allowed himself to stare out at it, his sharp features etched in the pale glow of the moon. The beauty of Asgard, timeless and magnificent, failed to reach him tonight.

Instead, his mind lingered on the moment he had fled from. Your gaze, steady and unrelenting, had burned through the walls he had spent centuries perfecting. The way you had spoken to him, your tone laced with something he couldn’t quite place, had stirred something dangerous within him—something he had tried to bury beneath layers of wit and cruelty.

Loki’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. He could still hear your voice, the faintest trace of challenge, or perhaps curiosity, woven through it. You had looked at him in a way that made his thoughts crumble, and for reasons he couldn’t comprehend, he hadn’t hated it. No, what he hated was how much he had wanted more of it.

It made no sense. He didn’t crave closeness, didn’t long for understanding—those were weaknesses he had abandoned long ago. But this? This was different. This was something he couldn’t name, and it terrified him as much as it thrilled him.

The tension that coiled in his chest now was almost suffocating. His body betrayed him, heat pooling low in his abdomen as he fought to chase the thought away. He let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair as if the act could dispel the intrusive images crowding his mind. He could still see you in his mind’s eye, the way your lips had curved, the way your hands had moved as you spoke. Would your hands feel as soft as they appeared? Would your lips taste as sweet as they seemed?

Loki squeezed his eyes shut, but the images only became more vivid, more intrusive. Your laughter, light and warm, played on repeat in his memory, tugging at him in ways he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in ages. And your touch—he could almost imagine it now, your fingers grazing his skin, your breath mingling with his. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, one he couldn’t suppress.

“Foolish,” he muttered to himself, his voice low and bitter. “Utterly foolish.”

But even as he berated himself, his body betrayed him. His pulse quickened, his breathing shallow as the ache beneath his skin grew harder to ignore. He felt you everywhere—in the warm air that wrapped around him, in the faint flicker of the lantern’s light, in the silence that hung heavy in his chambers. You weren’t there, but it felt as though you had seeped into the very fabric of his being, your presence undeniable and inescapable.

Loki began to pace, his steps measured but restless, like a predator stalking the confines of a cage. His movements were sharp, the tension in his frame radiating with every step he took. His hands itched with the need to do something, anything, to dispel the storm inside him. They brushed against the buttons of his tunic, and with a frustrated sigh, he began unfastening them. His movements were quick and almost angry, as though shedding the layers of fabric could rid him of the thoughts that clung to his mind.

The cool air of his chambers kissed his skin as he pulled the tunic from his body, but it did little to extinguish the fire raging within. He tossed the garment aside carelessly, his breath coming faster now. His eyes darted back to the window, to the city below, but the view offered no solace. All he could see was you, all he could feel was the pull of you, and it was maddening.

Loki leaned heavily against the windowsill, his palms pressed against the cool stone as he stared out into the night. The lights of Asgard below shimmered in a haunting dance, indifferent to the turmoil within him.

“Why?” he whispered, his voice barely audible, as though seeking some answer from the vast, indifferent universe.

The question hung in the air, unanswered, like a bitter curse, and Loki squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the surge of emotions threatening to drown him. The need to control was a constant in his life, but now, it was slipping through his fingers like sand. He couldn't make sense of any of this. Why you? Why was his mind consumed by someone so... insignificant? Someone who could never understand the weight of the worlds he carried or the gods he had to contend with.

His frustration surged again, building like a pressure that had nowhere to go. He slammed his fist into the nearest table, but it wasn’t enough. The magic thrummed beneath his skin, begging for release, demanding action. And in a moment of unbridled rage, his hands flared with green energy, bright and violent, slicing through the room like a storm tearing through the air. A flash of blinding light erupted, and before he could even register what was happening, his magic shattered the nearby mirror, sending shards of glass scattering across the floor in a chaotic spray.

The sharp sound of cracking glass filled the room, and for a long moment, Loki stood frozen, chest heaving as he stared at the destruction. He had lost control. Again. The realization hit him like a wave of cold water. You’ve let it consume you. A mortal. And this is what it leads to.

A deep sigh escaped him as the weight of the situation began to sink in. He was not a man to let his emotions dictate his actions. But there it was, the undeniable truth—your effect on him was far more than it should have been. The intensity of his feelings, his desire, his frustration—they were more than he could stand. And here he was, a god, destroying things that held no real importance in the grand scheme of things.

His hands trembled, not with weakness but with the uncontrollable surge of magic. He closed his eyes, his breath shaky as he reached out with his magic again, this time not in destruction but in self-repair. With a wave of his hand, the pieces of shattered glass began to float back together, the cracks mending themselves, the mirror reassembling as if it had never been broken at all.

Once the room was quiet again, Loki stood still for a long moment, his fingers flexing as he allowed the tension to drain out of him, though it was impossible to completely erase it. The ache still gnawed at his insides, relentless and unforgiving. His breath came out in a slow exhale as he straightened his posture, fixing the collar of his tunic and wiping the last traces of anger from his expression.

He couldn’t stay here, surrounded by the evidence of his volatile nature. I need to cool off. He needed to distance himself from the fire that raged inside him. And perhaps a bath would do that—remove the tension from his body, quell the heat that seemed to pulse beneath his skin.

With a final exasperated sigh, Loki turned toward the door, his movements purposeful, though his mind still felt like a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and desires. This will pass, he thought, trying to convince himself. It’s only a fleeting distraction.

But deep down, Loki knew that you were no fleeting distraction. He had already allowed you to slip too far into his thoughts. And he hated himself for it. Yet, the ache remained, and all he could do was seek solace in the solitude of a hot bath, hoping that somehow, the water would cleanse him—if only for a moment—from the chaos you had stirred within him.

⠀⠀

As he pushed open the heavy wooden door to the bathing room, a cool breeze greeted him, the scent of lavender and cedarwood drifting through the air, mingling with the faint scent of stone and ancient marble.

The room before him was a sanctuary, a perfect reflection of Asgardian elegance—spacious, luxurious, and imbued with a sense of tranquility that seemed to pulse from the very walls. The floor was polished white marble, veins of gold tracing through the stone like lightning trapped within, glowing faintly in the low light. Tall, arched windows lined one side, offering a view of the vast garden outside, though the curtains were drawn, leaving only the soft glow of magical lanterns to illuminate the space.

At the center of the room sat a large, circular bathing tub, crafted from gleaming obsidian stone. It was deep, large enough to engulf him entirely, a perfect retreat for someone of his status. The water within was an inviting shade of blue, shimmering with an ethereal glow that suggested it had been heated by some unseen magic, its surface smooth and still, reflecting the light above.

Loki paused for a moment in the doorway, letting the serenity of the room wash over him. The tension that had gripped him so tightly seemed to ease just slightly, though the ache in his chest remained. His thoughts swirled back to you—your eyes, your voice, the way you had looked at him. He couldn’t escape it, couldn’t shake it, and it gnawed at him with every breath.

With a sharp exhale, Loki closed the door behind him and turned to face the room fully. He flicked his fingers, a subtle wave of magic rippling through the air, and the lanterns brightened, their light now casting soft pools of warmth across the marble floor. A gentle mist filled the room, adding an element of tranquility, as though the very atmosphere was designed to soothe his frazzled nerves.

His gaze moved to the mirror above a stone counter, where his reflection stared back at him, eyes intense, troubled. A god, reduced to this. His hands moved to the fastening of his tunic, slow and methodical, as though the very act of undressing held some measure of control.

Loki's movements radiated a sensual confidence, each action steeped in an intoxicating blend of precision and allure. He took his time, weaving an intimate dance with the fabric of his clothing, each piece falling to the floor like a whispered secret—soft, intentional, and laden with significance. He navigated the dimly lit room, the soft glow of flickering candles casting playful shadows that danced along the walls. He wasn’t in a rush; there was an artistry to his undressing, each piece of clothing becoming a symbol of the facade he wore, now being shed in this private sanctum.

As the fabric of his shirt slipped off his shoulders, it fell to the floor with a whisper, a soft thud against the wooden planks, almost reverent in its descent. The air was thick with a tension that mirrored the slow cadence of his movements, as though he was peeling away layers not just of cloth, but of burden. The shirt landed, joining a delicate mosaic of who he could be—each article holding memories, masks, realities.

Next came his trousers, the fabric snaking down his legs, revealing the sculpted lines of his body illuminated in the dancing candlelight. Muscles taut beneath pale skin, he moved in a way that was both sensuous and fierce, the shadows playing across his form, creating images of both beauty and danger. As the heat of the moment surged through him, he became acutely aware of his body’s response, the way his muscles tensed with anticipation, each sinew straining beneath the surface. A flicker of arousal sparked within him, causing his hardness to awaken, a subtle yet undeniable shift that added to the intoxicating energy swirling around him.

Yet, amid this heady mix of sensations, a sliver of disappointment crept in, gnawing at him like an unwelcome specter. He felt almost ashamed of his reaction, wondering how he could be so easily swayed when he prided himself on his control. It was merely the stress and the biting cold that wrapped around him, he assured himself, drawing deep and steadying breaths to dispel the tumult within. He paused for a fleeting moment, taking in the reflection of his body, the duality of godhood and vulnerability coiling within him, a tension rippling just beneath the surface, a potent mix of the primal and the divine swirling together in the glow of the flickering light.

In a final, almost reluctant motion, he let the last vestiges of his clothing fall away, relinquishing that last act of defiance. Standing there in the barely-there illumination, he felt the cool air wrap around him like a lover’s embrace, tender yet precise—inviting yet cautious. His skin prickled at the contrast, the air a stark reminder of both exposure and freedom.

With his gaze drawn to the tub—water rippling softly, steam curling sensuously into the air—he felt an anticipation unfurl within him. The promise of warmth beckoned, a siren’s call for solace amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling within. Yet, there lingered in his heart a feral tug, an instinctive hesitation, a wildness that resisted the notion of surrendering to something so simple as water. It was a battle within, between the aching need for release and the primal urge to remain untamed, unsurrendered. There was a beauty in this struggle, the rawness of his being laid bare in the stillness, poised on the precipice of either yielding to warmth or holding fast to the tempest that raged just beneath his skin.

But he was a god of control, and this was necessary. Just a moment of peace.

His magic swirled around him again, a green glow radiating from his hands as he guided the water to shift, the surface rippling softly before calming once more. He wove intricate spells, adjusting the temperature, ensuring that the water was just the right warmth—neither too hot nor too cold, but perfectly comfortable, a balm for his strained muscles and his mind.

Loki’s fingers hovered just above the water, watching the gentle ripples his magic created, feeling the subtle shift in the room’s atmosphere. With a final, sharp flick of his wrist, the water settled into perfect stillness, the surface smooth as glass once again.

A slow, almost imperceptible sigh left his lips, and he stepped forward. His body, tense from the moment before, finally released its last vestiges of resistance as he lowered himself into the tub, the cool water meeting his skin with a comforting embrace. The water rose around him, enveloping him with its warmth, soothing the ache that had burned within him for far too long.

Loki leaned back, his head resting against the edge of the tub, eyes closed for a moment as he let the water cradle him. The tension in his shoulders, his chest, and his legs seemed to dissolve as the heat seeped into his muscles, coaxing them to relax. The water, now lapping gently at the sides of the tub, seemed to hum with its own energy, resonating with his magic.

But still, the thought of you lingered, persistent as the heat in his body. He couldn’t escape it—not even in the quiet solitude of the bath. His fingers, tracing the surface of the water, clenched for a brief moment, his nails scraping softly against the ceramic of the tub. The conflicting feelings of anger, frustration, and desire—they all bubbled within him, mixing in a stew he could neither ignore nor understand.

For now, he would let the water soothe him. But deep down, Loki knew that the tension, the ache—it was only temporarily quelled. Like the magic that swirled through his veins, the thoughts of you would return, relentless as ever.

He tried to focus on the soothing embrace of the bath, the gentle ripples caressing his skin. His breath slowed as he let the water hold him, but even then, in this sanctuary of water and solitude, the thought of you crept back into his mind.

Your face, so close to his in the cave, flashed before his eyes. The way your breath had quickened, the flicker of something more than just a shared moment of tension between them. The warmth of your body, the steady pulse beneath your skin, the way your gaze had lingered on him. The hunger, the unspoken invitation. It haunted him.

Loki’s eyes snapped open, and his hands clenched around the edge of the tub, his pulse quickening as an image of you lingered—your lips so close to his, the soft touch of your hand against his chest. The thought of you in such proximity, your scent mingling with his own, sent a shiver down his spine.

No.

The word was a bitter hiss in his mind, the sharpest of rebukes. She’s mortal, he reminded himself, though it did little to quell the heat that surged within him.

His breath grew shallow, his pulse drumming in his ears as the desire swelled, thick and unyielding. It filled his chest, squeezing, suffocating. He couldn't control it—not when all he could see, all he could feel, was you.

Loki's eyes clenched shut as the thought of you intensified. His stomach twisted with frustration, his body aching with need he had no desire to acknowledge. He couldn’t stay here, couldn’t let this consume him—not now, not in this moment of fragile peace.

With a sharp, exasperated breath, Loki plunged himself beneath the water, his magic swirling in the depths as he submerged his entire form, letting the cool embrace of the liquid swallow him whole. The world above disappeared, and for a moment, he was weightless, suspended in the depths of the tub.

The coldness of the water stung against his skin, sharp and refreshing, but it did nothing to wash away the images of you. They clung to him, persistent and relentless, like shadows in the depths of his mind.

Foolish.

The word echoed in his mind as he held himself underwater, his breath held tight as the world remained muffled, distorted by the pressure around him. The steady rhythm of his heart was the only sound, the only constant as he lingered in the dark stillness. Time stretched on, but he could not escape it. The ache in his chest burned, the tension in his body still there despite the cold water.

He remained submerged for what felt like an eternity, the minutes slipping away in the quiet abyss. The longer he stayed, the more he realized that the thoughts would not leave—not just like this, not with any amount of magic or water.

Reluctantly, with a slow, frustrated exhale, Loki pushed himself back to the surface, breaking through the water with a gasp, his hair plastered to his face, droplets clinging to his skin like a reminder of his defeat. He dragged a hand through his damp hair, his breath ragged as he lay there, floating in the stillness of the room.

The lingering warmth of the water against his skin did nothing to soothe the fire that still simmered inside him. As much as he tried to push it away, he could still feel the imprint of you—the way you had looked at him, the way your voice had tangled with his thoughts. And for the first time in centuries, Loki found himself unable to control the ache that pulsed through him, unable to banish the thoughts of you from his mind.

His mind began to drift again—against his will, like a tide pulling him back to the same, dangerous shore. The silence of the room felt too heavy now, too quiet, and the very stillness of the water seemed to echo with your presence. He could still feel the weight of your gaze, as though you were standing there beside him, watching him in this private moment, your eyes lingering on him in ways he couldn’t dismiss.

He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, but the thought of you wouldn’t fade. It surged forward, unstoppable. The way you had leaned in close to him in the cave, how your breath had ghosted over his skin. How close you had been.

Loki clenched his jaw, his muscles tightening involuntarily. He had wanted to pull you closer, to feel your body against his, to lose himself in the heat of it. The thought of it was maddening, and yet it brought an odd thrill that he couldn’t explain.

The way you had been perched so close to him—the soft heat of your breath against his neck—had made his entire body hum with something unfamiliar, something raw. And your touch... the way your fingertips had traced the contours of his skin, leaving behind a trail of fire that burned long after you had pulled away. The memory of that touch tormented him now, echoing through his mind with unbearable clarity.

His pulse quickened as a flash of that moment surged through him once more. Why couldn’t he let it go?

Without thinking, his hand reached out to the small table beside the bath, fingers brushing against a bottle of scented oil—cinnamon and citrus, a soothing blend he usually used after a long day of training. He didn’t even register what he was doing, lost in the spiral of his thoughts.

He uncapped the bottle, the faint scent of lavender and citrus filling the air, and without hesitation, he poured a small amount onto the length of his torso. The droplets were cool and soft against his skin, but as his hand moved lower, his thoughts drifted again—back to you.

Your skin... soft, delicate. How would it feel to touch you like that? To press his fingertips into you, to feel your body respond to him in ways he had only dreamed of?

The oil dripped onto his abdomen, the cool droplets traveling from the perch of his pectorals down to the navel of his hips. Loki’s eyes squeezed shut, but the memory of your touch was impossible to push away. Your touch could be like that. Your fingers, warm and slow against my skin.

A shiver ran down his spine as the cool oil continued to trickle down his abdomen. His breath hitched when the thought came unbidden, If she had done that...

He imagined you, perched on the edge of the tub just as you had been in the cave—your body so close to his, your breath mingling with his. Your fingers, trailing over his skin, leaving a burning path in their wake. The thought was so vivid, so intoxicating, that he didn’t realize he was still rubbing the oil into his skin, his movements becoming more deliberate, more sensual, as if he were trying to mimic the sensation he had felt in that moment with you.

His fingers, almost without thinking, moved—mirroring the sensation in his mind, tracing a path down his own body just as he had imagined you doing. The movement was slow, deliberate as if he were trying to imitate your touch, to feel it against his own skin. His fingertips brushed lightly down the length of his torso, where the oil had left a trail that seemed to burn even in its coolness.

The more he thought about it, the more the tension inside him grew. His chest tightened, and his body, betraying him, responded to the fantasies that plagued his mind. Loki’s hand faltered for a moment, his thumb hovering near his navel as the reality of what he was doing settled over him.

What am I doing?

But the thought of you—the memory of how you had looked at him, how close you had been, how you had made him feel—was too powerful to resist. His chest heaved slightly, his fingers tracing the curve of his abdomen, the droplets of oil now warm against his skin as they mixed with the heat of his body. He was unaware that his movements had become more purposeful, as if trying to recreate the sensations of that moment, that touch, over and over again. His breath became shallow as the oil slid across his skin, and the fantasy, once small, bloomed into something more dangerous, more tangible.

His fingers pressed against the base of his navel, his thoughts spiraling further into the fantasy. He imagined you again, your hands on him, your body close—too close. It was like a fever, impossible to escape, a longing that twisted deep inside of him. The oil, cool at first, was now nothing but a reminder of that same burn, that same ache in his chest, the ache that he hadn’t asked for, that he couldn’t ignore.

Loki’s heart raced, his fingers slipping lower, brushing against the taut skin of his lower abdomen. His eyes shot open then, as if a switch had been flipped. The realization that he was doing this—falling deeper into a dream, into a desire that should not be his—hit him like a thunderclap.

“No,” he hissed, clenching his jaw tightly, the word coming out sharp and furious.

He abruptly pulled his hand away from his skin, the sudden action leaving him breathless. He quickly closed the bottle of oil, the small sound of the cap snapping into place echoing in the stillness of the room. But even as he tried to stop, to force his thoughts to turn elsewhere, his body refused to listen. The desire was still there, simmering just below the surface, igniting something deep inside him that he wasn’t prepared to face.

Loki sank back into the water, burying his face in his hands, as if trying to rid himself of the images, of the fantasies that had invaded his mind so effortlessly. But no matter how much he willed it away, no matter how much he tried to drown the thoughts with water, with cold, with magic—it was there, clawing at him, persistent and unrelenting.

The ache in his chest had not dulled, and despite his efforts to push it aside, the restless tension lingered, coiling in his gut. His body was on the edge of something he didn't want to acknowledge, and it only grew more intense the more he tried to deny it.

His eyes flickered over to the small decorative jar at the edge of the bath. Inside, delicate jasmine petals rested in an elegant arrangement, their white blossoms giving off the scent of calming sweetness. He reached for it, his fingers brushing over the petals with a gentleness that contrasted with the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind. He needed to relax. He needed something to distract him, to ground him. He closed his eyes as he sprinkled the jasmine petals into the water, watching them float gently, their fragrance filling the room.

The scent was intoxicating, subtle yet powerful, and it seemed to settle the storm in his chest, if only for a moment. He inhaled deeply, the calming effect of the jasmine wrapping around him like a soft, invisible embrace.

But even in this moment of tranquility, his mind refused to be still. The petals floated serenely on the surface of the water, their white silk-like texture reminding him of something else—someone else.

You.

He couldn’t help it. His thoughts wandered back to you, back to the way you had looked in that cave, bathed in the dim, flickering light. The way your robe had clung to your skin, almost like a second layer, leaving little to the imagination. The soft, translucent fabric—white, like the petals—had clung to your curves in a way that made his pulse quicken. He could remember how the fabric had shimmered, catching the light as it molded to the shape of your body.

Loki's breath hitched, his gaze unfocused as the image of you lingered in his mind, vivid and undeniable. The robe, almost too delicate, seemed to shimmer like gossamer threads in the soft light, so sheer that it practically beckoned to him, enticing and inviting. He had found himself frozen for a brief moment, utterly mesmerized, unable to tear his gaze away from the sight of you. Your silhouette was barely concealed, each curve and contour tantalizingly revealed, igniting a fire of desire deep within him that was both exhilarating and maddening.

He could still see how the fabric draped over your body, caressing your every curve, accentuating your femininity with an intimate familiarity that sent his heart racing. The translucent material clung lovingly to your skin, almost teasing him, whispering promises of warmth and intimacy beneath its sheer veil. He had almost been envious of the way it clung to you, as if the robe shared an intimate secret with you, a bond that left him yearning to touch, to discover the warmth of your flesh nestled against that delicate barrier.

The jasmine petals scattered about like whispers against the deep water only amplified the sensuality of the memory, their pure white softness echoing the ethereal glow of your robe. It seemed as though the petals mirrored those intimate moments, each delicate blossom a reflection of the way the fabric clung to your body, effortlessly sculpting your form in a dance of elegance and allure. He imagined you gliding toward him, your skin bathed in the silvery embrace of moonlight, each step orchestrating a balletic shift of the fabric that clung seductively to you, igniting every sense within him.

Loki’s fingers tightened against the edge of the tub, the cool stone under his grip grounding him in the heat of the moment. The pull of his desire was intoxicating, an unquenchable thirst he could feel consuming him. He could almost feel the weight of your presence beside him, the heady warmth of you, the intoxicating scent of your essence wrapping around him like a fragrant embrace. He could hear the soft rustle of your robe brushing against your skin, each sound a silky promise, hear the delicate rhythm of your breathing—soft, steady, a symphony of desire that drew him in deeper.

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the image of you to disappear. But instead, it grew stronger, more vivid.He imagined reaching out, the tips of his fingers grazing the fabric of your robe, feeling its divine softness beneath his touch, the warmth of your skin simmering just beneath it. He envisioned how it would feel to press himself closer, to let his lips trail along the graceful curve of your neck, to slip beneath that fragile seam where fabric and flesh met, to taste the sweetness that awaited him—his body aching with the promise of connection, longing to bridge the distance that separated them. To raise you out of that damned pool and let the thin fabric slide off on the stone, to—

Loki’s breath caught in his throat, and he suddenly felt a sharp, urgent pressure building within him. With a frustrated growl, he plunged his hand into the water, scattering the jasmine petals as his fingers clawed at the surface in an attempt to break the chain of thoughts that had consumed him. But it was no use. The image of you lingered, relentless.

“Damnation,” he muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse. He leaned back against the edge of the tub, his eyes burning with frustration as he tried to steady his breathing. The jasmine scent, now stronger than before, filled his senses, but it only seemed to heighten the memory of you. He could almost feel you there with him, your soft skin, the way the fabric of your robe had clung to your body most invitingly.

Loki forced himself to close his eyes again, breathing deeply in an attempt to regain control. But no matter how hard he tried to suppress it, the image of you, the memory of that translucent robe, haunted him. The petals, the scent, the softness—it all became intertwined with his hunger. He could still feel your fingers trailing over his skin, the heat of your body against his.

His body trembled with desire as he succumbed to the memories and fantasies that had been consuming him. He could no longer deny himself the pleasure that he so desperately craved.

With a low groan, he allowed his hand to wander back down his abdomen, feeling the defined muscles ripple beneath his fingers. His other hand was still clenched in the water, sending jasmine petals drifting to the surface. He trailed his fingers lower and lower, feeling the heat emanating from his body.

He closed his eyes, imagining your hands on him instead, your digits tracing patterns over his skin. With a sharp intake of breath, he slipped his hand beneath the matter, feeling the soft trimmed hairs on his lower abdomen.

Loki's breathing grew ragged as he allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy, his mind filled with newfound scenes of him, of you, of an 'us together'.

⠀⠀

He envisioned himself entering a temple with quiet confidence, his footsteps reverberating against the cold stone walls as he moved toward the inner sanctum. His attire was nothing short of magnificent: garments woven with iridescent threads, shifting in color with every step, embodying the very essence of his trickster nature. His cloak, a masterpiece of fine silk, cascaded gracefully around him, embroidered with intricate patterns and symbols that spoke to his divine status.

As he crossed the threshold, his gaze was drawn to you. You sat within a large stone basin, the water steaming gently around you, its surface dotted with fragrant petals that seemed to float in harmony with the light filtering through the stained-glass windows. The sight of you struck him like a physical blow; you were even more captivating than he had envisioned.

Your infamous robe still clung to you like a second skin, damp from the water, accentuating the delicate curves of your body. The radiant Wyrmscale artifact resting against your neck glowed with soft golden light, its power pulsing through the room, almost as if in tune with your very being. Your long, damp hair was swept back, revealing the delicate lines of your face, and your eyes—those damned eyes—met his with a mixture of trepidation and something far more potent: desire.

He circled the tub slowly, his gaze never leaving you. Each step was measured, deliberate, his mind consumed by the sight of you—your beauty, your vulnerability, your submission. His pulse quickened, a quiet flutter deep within his chest that echoed through his veins. The heat of the room wrapped around you both, intensifying the weight of the moment, but still, he found it difficult to tear his eyes away from you. You were a vision, an offering he couldn’t resist.

“I’ve seen you in many visions,” Loki’s voice was low, almost a purr as he spoke, his words laced with something darker, more thrilling. “I’ve spent nights wondering what it would feel like to have you here. To see you like this—vulnerable, willing to give everything, your body and your soul laid bare. And now... here you are, offering yourself so freely, so openly. Tell me, priestess, are you sure you understand what this means?”

His fingers brushed your collarbone, the lightest touch, but it felt as though it was searing your skin. The warmth of your skin under the damp fabric sent a jolt through him, stirring something primal deep inside. His breath caught as he trailed a finger down the curve of your neck, feeling the soft pulse beneath your skin, steady and inviting. You were trembling just slightly—whether from fear or desire, he couldn’t be sure. But it only made the air between you more charged, more delicious.

You met his gaze, the challenge in your eyes unmistakable, even as your fingers tightened subtly around the edge of the tub. “I don’t know,” you replied, your voice steady but with an underlying edge, “But I’m sure you’ll be eager to show me.”

Loki’s smile deepened, his eyes glinting with both amusement and something far more dangerous. “Such confidence. But you know as well as I do, the gods take no mercy when they’re pleased,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear as he leaned in closer. “When I fuck you, it will be more than a mere battle of wills. It will be your surrender, your desire, your need that I feed. And when it’s all over, you’ll know exactly who owns you.”

Your breath hitched as his words sank in. The weight of them, the intensity of his gaze—it felt like you were standing on the edge of something profound, something that could consume you entirely. But somehow, a part of you wanted it. A part of you wanted to give in to him, to the promise of pleasure and power he dangled before you like an impossible temptation.

Loki pulled back slightly, his finger resting on your chin, lifting your gaze back to his. He gazed deeply into your eyes and lowered his voice to a husky murmur. “I’m certain you’ve imagined it, priestess. But the difference is that I make your fantasies real. What I offer you is beyond anything you could possibly have dreamt. Tell me, are you ready to be taken, to be claimed—body and soul?”

Your body tensed, but your gaze never wavered from his. “We’ll see, won’t we? Then I’ll simply make sure it’s not you who has the final say.” The defiance lingered in your voice, soft yet insistent, despite the way your breath betrayed you.

Loki’s eyes darkened, his smile widening as he stepped back, eyes alight with an undeniable hunger. “You think you have control in this game? You’ve already surrendered more than you realize.”

He ran his finger along your chin, tilting your head back slightly, his voice a dangerous whisper. “It’s time for you to do your due diligence.”

A shiver of excitement ran down your spine as Loki rose from his crouched position, striding with almost sensual slowness to his dedicated altar on which he took place. The sight of him, poised and confident, filled you with an intoxicating mix of desire and fear, emotions that tangled together in a heady rush. His dark eyes never left you, and you could feel the weight of his gaze like a tangible thing, burning into your skin. Your breath hitched as he ascended, his silhouette framed by the soft glow of the room, the shadows falling just right to highlight the chiseled perfection of his form.

The air between you thickened with vibrating tension, as if the very space you occupied pulsed with the energy of your closeness. Your pulse quickened in your neck, your heartbeat erratic, and the anticipation settled heavily in the pit of your stomach. You could feel his power—dark and alluring—drawing you toward him, a magnetic pull you couldn’t escape. You were trembling, your skin sensitive under the damp fabric of your robe, which clung to your body like a second skin, accentuating the curves of your breasts and hips. Every inch of you seemed to be on fire as your body responded to his presence, a mixture of anxiety and anticipation thrumming through your veins.

Loki’s voice sliced through the air, a low, beckoning command. “Come along, priestess. Join me.”

His words were soft yet laced with an unmistakable power, a challenge, an invitation, and something darker—a promise. The tension between you grew almost unbearable, and despite the trepidation swirling in your gut, you found yourself obeying, rising from the water as though compelled by some unseen force. Your body was stiff with both reluctance and yearning, your knees weak as you took your first step toward him. Your skin, slick with water, glistened under the light, and the weight of the robe clinging to you only heightened the sensitivity of every nerve in your body. Each movement felt slower, more deliberate, as you crossed the distance between you, your every step trembling.

Loki watched you intently, his eyes narrowing slightly, a flash of something dark crossing his features, his lips curling into a faint, knowing smile. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice like velvet wrapping around you. “Come closer. Show me that you can follow through, priestess.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you fought to steady yourself as you made your way toward the altar. Your legs felt like they might give way under the weight of his gaze, but you continued forward, each step echoing your growing need, your pulse racing as you neared him. Your hands, trembling slightly, reached out instinctively, grasping the cold stone of the altar’s edge for support.

Standing before him now, you felt small, fragile even, in contrast to his towering presence. Loki’s eyes roamed over you, their gaze calculating yet filled with an unmistakable hunger. The intensity of his stare made you feel exposed, as if he were unraveling your very soul with nothing but a look.

“You’re trembling,” he said, his voice a whisper, yet every word felt like a brand against your skin. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your trembling hand where it rested on the altar. The simple touch sent a jolt of heat racing through your body, an electrifying sensation that made you want to both pull away and draw him closer.

“I can feel it,” he continued, his eyes never leaving yours. “You’re not as composed as you’d like to pretend. But do not worry, I’ll teach you how to surrender.”

Loki’s smile deepened, an expression of quiet satisfaction that made your heart race. “Don’t be shy,” he breathed, as his hands moved to undo the golden tie of your robe, fingers brushing the fabric slowly, deliberately. “Come worship your god.”

The anticipation was unbearable now, every motion seeming to stretch time, prolonging the moment between you as he loosened the knot. The robe, heavy with water, fell slightly from your body, revealing more of your curves, the soft, enticing shape of your figure exposed to his hungry gaze.

Your breath quickened, your body trembling with anticipation, but you did not pull away. Instead, you stood still, your chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath, waiting for him to make the next move. There was a strange mix of defiance and longing in your eyes, the embers of resistance still glowing, but you couldn’t help yourself. You were drawn to him—compelled by something darker, something you couldn’t name, and that terrified you more than anything else. You felt his presence wash over you like a tidal wave, filling your senses and drowning out any other thoughts. You were trembling, not just from fear, but from something deeper—something you couldn’t control. And with every passing second, you realized that you had already given yourself to him, even if you hadn’t fully admitted it yet.

Loki's fingers traced the curves of your hips, the delicate touch sending a shiver of anticipation through you. You couldn’t help but react to his every movement, your body trembling under his touch, as though every inch of your skin was attuned to him. His presence enveloped you, warm and overwhelming, stirring emotions you were both eager and afraid to face.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the soft skin of your neck, tasting the remnants of the water that clung to you. The sensation of his lips, warm and demanding, sent a jolt of heat straight to your core. Your breath hitched, the tension in your body rising as his hands roamed upward, gently parting the collar of your wet robe, exposing the smoothness of your shoulder. His fingers traced the delicate curve of your shoulder blades, making you shiver as a thrill of sensation coursed through you.

His lips followed the path of his hands, soft at first, exploring the skin of your shoulders with slow, languorous kisses. The warmth of his mouth, combined with the sensation of his hands on your skin, made you lightheaded with want. You tilted your head back instinctively, surrendering to the sensation, offering him more of your neck, and Loki took full advantage of the invitation. His tongue traced a path up to your ear, the action sending a tremor through you as a soft gasp escaped your lips.

Loki’s breath was hot against your skin, his voice a low murmur in your ear. “You can feel it, don’t you?” he whispered, his hands moving down your arms in teasing strokes, the light touch leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. His fingertips skimmed over your skin as though savoring every inch of you, his touch light yet laden with intent.

Your pulse raced, your body betraying you, drawn to him in ways you couldn’t fully understand. You swallowed, trying to steady yourself, but the tension between you was palpable, thickening the air with every passing moment.

“Please,” you let out in a shaking voice, the defiance still lingering within you even as your body reacted to him. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the strength in his frame pressing against yours, but it was the hunger in his kiss, the way he seized your lips as if he couldn’t hold back any longer, that set you completely aflame.

His mouth was urgent, claiming, and yet his hands remained gentle, pulling you closer, as if he were testing the boundaries between you. His lips moved against yours with a growing intensity, a hunger you couldn’t ignore. Your hands now timidly fisted the front of his tunic, pressing your body more firmly against his. Your heart beat erratically, a rhythm of need and desire you were now powerless to deny.

Loki’s hands slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and for a moment, everything around you faded away. There was only the feel of him—his warmth, his presence, the taste of his kiss—and the undeniable pull between you that neither could escape. Your breath came in quick gasps, your lips parting as you tried to steady yourself, but there was no stopping it now. Not when Loki’s touch was like fire on your skin, lighting every nerve ablaze.

Loki’s fingers traced every curve of your body with a gentle yet possessive touch, as if memorizing the feel of you beneath his hands. His fingers skimmed across your waist, sending waves of sensation through you, before slowly traveling down to your hips. His touch was deliberate, his skin leaving a trail of fire where it met yours. The sensation was intoxicating, and your breath caught in your throat as you fought to keep control, but each brush of his hand made it more difficult to resist. Your body seemed to respond of its own accord, your pulse quickening, your skin flush with anticipation.

You couldn’t help but tremble under his touch as his hands ventured lower, tracing the outline of your thighs, fingers grazing over the soft skin, sparking a flood of warmth that radiated out from your core. With each slow movement, each teasing caress, you felt as if you were being pulled deeper into him, your body writhing, arching under the pressure of his touch, desperate for more.

Loki’s voice was low and husky as he broke your kiss, his hand wrapped around your throat and his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Now, priestess, I want you to undress me. Slowly, deliberately, as if every touch is a worship of my body.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, your breath hitching in your throat as you nodded, your hands trembling with anticipation. You reached up, your fingers finding the hem of his tunic, and slowly began to lift it, exposing his toned abs and muscular chest. Your eyes traced every inch of his skin, taking in the defined lines of his muscles, and the smattering of dark hair that peeked out from his Apollo’s belt.

Loki’s voice was smooth and laced with arrogance as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “You should consider yourself fortunate, priestess,” he whispered, his tone dripping with confidence. “Not many are allowed to touch a god like me. So take your time. Let every movement be a tribute to what stands before you.”

A surge of boldness and desire filled you as Loki's words of encouragement caressed your ears. Emboldened, your delicate hands slowly slid up the length of his tunic, inching it upwards to reveal more and more of his godly physique inch by tantalizing inch. His skin was unveiled to your hungry gaze—you could feel the heat radiating from his very being, his muscles rippling and tensing beneath your fingertips like coiled steel as they glided across the expanse of his abdominal muscles.

Your tongue explored his heated throat as you pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses along the column of his neck, taking your time to thoroughly savor the taste of his skin. Your lips moved lower, trailing over his defined collarbone until you reached the hollow at the base of his throat. There, you let your teeth graze the sensitive flesh before soothing the sting with a slow, firm lick.

Loki's breath caught in his throat, a ragged hitch that spoke of barely contained longing. His emerald eyes blazed with smoldering desire as they roamed hungrily over your form, drinking in every dip and curve of your body. Reaching up with a hand that trembled with need, his fingers tangled in your silken tresses, the cool strands slipping through his grasp. Tilting his head back in wanton surrender, he exposed the smooth column of his throat to your questing mouth.

"Yes," he rumbled in a deep growl that sent delicious shivers cascading down your spine. The velvet timbre of his words caressed your heated skin like a physical touch, stoking the flames of your desire higher. "Just like that."

His tone dripped with sin and dark promise, full of tempting subtext that left little room for misinterpretation. Loki's voice painted sinful pictures in your mind, hinting at secrets and pleasures only he could provide. Each low, raw word fell from his lips like a forbidden confession, igniting your blood until it burned through your veins.

Your heart pounded wildly, your breath coming fast and shallow as you leaned into the delicious friction of his fingers in your hair. The light pressure at the back of your skull sent sparks skittering across your scalp and down your nape. Loki's grip held you in place, keeping your mouth pressed to the supple skin of his throat where his pulse fluttered like the wings of a caged bird. The heat of him seeped into you, his quickening heartbeat a counterpoint to your racing rhythm.

He imagined your lips brushing against the corded muscles of his neck, feeling the coiled tension thrumming through his body like a tightly wound spring. As your phantom touch grazed his skin, he found himself arching instinctively into the sensation, craving more of that teasing contact. His thick throat flexed and undulated beneath your mouth as he swallowed hard around the lump that had formed there, fighting to control the intense reaction coursing through him.

Loki's gasps encouraged you to continue your sensual exploration. He felt you apply light suction, pulling at his skin until you could feel his pulse jumping beneath your lips. Reluctant to release him, you transferred your ministrations to the opposite side of his throat. This time, you used your teeth more insistently, worrying the flesh and nipping at his hammering pulse until you could taste the coppery tang of blood on your tongue as it beaded on his skin.

You could practically feel the heat of his breath as you traced the strong column of his neck with your lips and tongue, igniting sparks of sensation with every pass. His skin prickled with goosebumps, drawn taut and hypersensitive, as if your imagined touch had burned away every layer between you until only nerve endings remained. He strained towards the pressure of your mouth, blatant in his need for stimulation, his body an instrument thrumming with tension.

Again and again, you returned to the spot, alternating between deep, open-mouthed kisses and teasing licks and nips until his neck was mapped with darkening love bites. Each mark was a brand, a symbol of your possession, the evidence of your claim on him. You loved seeing the proof of your wanton lust decorating his fair skin.

Releasing your mouth from his throat with a wet pop, you admired your handiwork, trailing your fingers over the tender, reddened flesh. Loki's hands had found your hair, tangling in the silken strands as he held you close. His breaths were shallow, chest heaving with the force of his exhalations. The visible strain of his erection pressed against your belly, but you ignored it for now, lost in your need to taste every inch of him.

In a frenzy of lustful desperation, you wrenched Loki's tunic up and over his head with an almost violent urgency. The flimsy garment was hastily cast aside, fluttering forgotten to the floor as your hungry gaze raked over the newly bared expanse of Loki's sleek, pale skin. You drank in the sight of him with fevered eyes that glittered with unslaked craving, your pupils blown wide with desire.

The air between you felt charged and taut, thick with the promise of what was to come. It crackled with an electric tension that made your very skin prickle, so dense with want that it seemed to pulse and undulate like a living thing. The space seemed to swell, heavy and swollen with the weight of your unspeakable needs.

You began a worshipful descent down the sculpted planes of Loki's torso. You laved your tongue over his cool skin, tracing the elegant sweep of his collarbones and the dip of his sternum. Your lips brushed feather-light over the flat discs of his nipples, drawing a shuddering hiss from between clenched teeth as you suckled and nibbled, determined to wring as much pleasure and praise from him as you could. Your teeth scraped carelessly, leaving crimson blooms on his skin like stigmata.

Loki shivered and flared, his powerful frame surging beneath your ministrations. His fingers clenched in your hair, dragging you inexorably up and molding your curves meltingly flush against the hard, unforgiving lines of his body. Loki's gaze burned into your own, twin flames of liquid emerald fire that seared straight to your soul. "The pants," he commanded, his voice a rough, guttural sound edged with feral hunger. The raw command in his tone sent primal heat licking through your core, urging you onward even as it threatened to undo you utterly.

Your trembling fingers fumbled at the waistband of his breeches, clumsy with desperation. You wanted to tear them from his body, to lay him bare before you, but some distant scrap of coherence kept your movements measured. The air felt too thick to draw a proper breath, the anticipation coiling tighter and tighter in your blood until it was almost painful.

Finally, blessedly, his breeches joined his tunic on the floor. You hummed in satisfaction, drinking in the sight of him laid out before you in all his naked glory. You reached out to trail reverent fingers down the dips and ridges of his abdomen, savoring the way he shuddered and tensed beneath your touch. But you were only allowed a brief moment to admire him before Loki was surging up to capture your mouth in a bruising kiss.

As he broke your deep, passionate kiss, his piercing gaze locked onto yours, smoldering with an intense, almost feral hunger. A knowing smirk played at the corners of his lips as he made you advance towards him in a slow, deliberate manner, his voice dropping to a low, dark purr.

"Go on, priestess," he rasped, the words dripping with a sinful promise that sent shivers down your spine. "Take what is yours to worship and claim as your own."

You gulped for air, your lungs burning, fervently nodding as much as you could with the firm grip he still maintained in your hair. A needy whimper escaped your parted lips, your body yearning for more of his electric touch. 

You redoubled your descent down his chiseled body, pressing small, reverent kisses along the way. Your lips mapped a winding path over the planes of his chest, down his taut stomach, savoring the taste of his skin, the heat of him. Reaching his navel, you dipped your tongue inside, circling the sensitive dip teasingly and drawing a groan from the god and his grip tightened, spurring you on to go further.

Finally, you arrived at the apex of his thighs where his long, hard and imposing member jutted proudly towards you. Its thick length seemed to throb, begging for your worshipful attention. You knelt before him in obedience, gazing up at him with hooded eyes clouded by lust and a hint of trepidation. 

As he sat there, watching your crafted image intently with anticipation, you hesitated for a moment. You could feel his intense gaze on you, and you knew what he wanted. Gathering your courage, you slowly reached out a trembling hand towards him. Your fingers inched closer to the hard, rigid length of his cock, and as you made contact, you felt a shiver run through your entire body. The feel of him was intoxicating—hard yet silky smooth, just like the rest of his toned body.

He couldn't help but let out a low groan as you touched him—as he imitated your touch. His hand moved unconsciously to wrap around his member, mirroring your makeshift movements. You would watch in fascination as he began to stroke himself, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of power and arousal at the divine sight that he displayed.

In his mind, you’d marvel at the feel of him, so different from anything you had ever experienced before. Your fingers looked so meager that he doubted they would quite close around his girth. He imagined you, feeling even more turned on by the contrast between your delicate hand and his thick, hard cock like he was to the idea.

"Do you like that?" he asked, his voice low and husky with desire. 

You nodded, unable to find your voice at that moment. You couldn't believe you were doing this, touching him like this, but you couldn't deny how much you were enjoying it.

"Good," he murmured, his eyes darkening with lust. "Because I relish the way your touch sets me alight," he murmured, his voice velvet-soft yet edged with longing, as if the confession itself was both a gift and a weapon.

Fingertips danced along his length, tracing the prominent vein that ran along the underside—he didn’t know if it was your phantom touch or his very real one, he didn’t care for it. He’d pretend that it was yours for now, that he could trade the feeling of the rough palms of his hand for your soft ones.

You watched as his eyes fluttered closed, his breath coming in quick gasps as you touched him. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his muscles tensed under your touch. You circled the base, marveling at the size and the heat it emanated from his member. A bead of clear liquid welled from the slit, making his erection jump. Softly, reverently, you swiped your thumb over the tip, smearing the precum and eliciting a strangled groan from above.

Then, another flash: slowly, almost shyly, you leaned forward and placed a feather-light kiss on his inner thigh, right at the root of his shaft. Your lips trailed up the sensitive skin, pressing soft open-mouthed kisses in their wake. A faint whimper escaped you as you tasted him for the first time, the salt, musk, and pure masculine essence of his arousal thick and heady on your taste buds.

He hissed in pleasure, his fingers tightening in your hair as he pulled you closer. You flicked your tongue over the weeping slit in response, lapping up the salty essence. Another kiss was placed right at the crown before you started to slowly circle the flared head with the flat of your tongue. You took your time, mapping every ridge and vein, savoring the taste of him on your tongue.

But he wouldn’t let the exploration go on any longer, or else he’d go mad beyond reason with want. The massive hand gripping your silky damp tresses gave a sharp tug, wrenching your head back and forcing your face upwards. You let out a yelp at the sudden motion, eyes widening in fear and surprise darting up to meet the smoldering gaze pinning you in place. A deep, rumbling growl emanated from above, the sound resonating in your very bones and sending sparks of trepidation skittering down your spine.

Above you, his imposing form loomed, all chiseled planes and rippling muscle. Sweat gleamed on his alabaster skin which heaved with each labored breath. Heavy thighs bracketed your smaller frame as he towered over your kneeling form, his commanding presence seeming to fill the very air around them. Drawing in a shuddering gasp, you tried to give a jerky nod of acquiescence, your delicate throat working nervously under his stern glare.

His calloused palm dragged from the silken coil of your hair to seize your chin, fingers pressing firmly into the delicate curve of your jaw as he forced your gaze upward. "Enough games," he snarled, his voice a low, dangerous rasp steeped in authority and promise. A flicker of fear danced along your spine, sharp and electric, under the weight of his piercing glare. "Open," he commanded, the single word carrying the weight of inevitability.

You could only whimper in response, breaths coming in short, precipitated puffs as his other hand guided the thick root of his cock to nudge demandingly at your parted lips. With a final, shallow inhale, you let your jaw fall slack, allowing the heavy weight to rest against your waiting mouth. He slowly thrust forward, pushing into the velvet heat past your lips and over your tongue. You could feel every rigid vein, every throb of his width stretching you open as inch by delicious inch sank into the clutching confines of your mouth and throat.

Tears sprang anew to your eyes at the sudden intrusion, but you held his gaze, giving a tentative suck as he hilted fully. The wet glide of your tongue traced over the bulbing head, dipping into the weeping slit to lap at the salty-sweet essence gathered there. Above you, you could hear the hitch in his breathing, feel the air between them crackle with building tension. 

Slowly, he began to rock his hips, sawing in and out with deep but shallow thrusts as he mentally fucked into you face as he did to his enclosed fist. Your lips worked over his length, hollowing your cheeks to suck harder as you brought one small hand up to gently fondle the heavy orbs below. You breathed harshly through your nose, tongue fluttering along the underside as he thrust between your lips.

"Norns' mercy," Loki gasped, his head falling back on a low, wanton moan that echoed through the chambers. "Your mouth is exquisite, a divine temple of pleasure."

Emboldened by his praise, you began to bob your head along his impressive length, hollowing your cheeks to suck hard as you took him deeper, feeling him hit the back of your throat. You ghosted one hand up the length of his body before lightly scrapped your nails down starting from the navel, teasing the sensitive skin. 

Losing yourself in the act of pleasuring him, you consumed yourself in carnal desires that threatened to overwhelm you. You loved tasting him, feeling the hot, hard weight of him sliding between your lips, stretching your mouth. You loved his musky, masculine scent filled your nostrils, making your head spin with lust.

Loki's grip on your hair tightened, fingers tangling and tugging as he began to speed up his thrust into the heat of your mouth, not enough to gag you, but just enough to show he was rapidly losing control. "Just like that, priestess, don't you dare stop," he growled, his voice strained with need. "You look so lovely with your lips wrapped around my cock, worshipping me like the god I am. Such a good girl, so eager to please."

His filthy words inflamed your lust to new, dizzying heights. You redoubled your efforts, taking him to the hilt and swallowing around him, throat working to milk his length. He let out a string of filthy curses in the Old Tongue, hips snapping as he chased his impending release, fucking your face with shallow thrusts.

But just as you felt him start to pulse and swell, he forcefully pulled himself from the slick heat of your mouth with a lewd pop. He pictured strings of saliva connected from your swollen lips to the engorged head of his cock as he squeezed the base hard enough to prevent him from cumming so soon. He didn’t want it to end just yet. Too soon.

He could almost hear you whine at the loss as you gazed up at Loki through heavy-lidded eyes, your plump lips glistening and swollen from his earlier bruising kisses. He imagined your enticing face flushed with pride and deep feminine satisfaction knowing you had thoroughly pleased your god, his divine favor a heady rush of power and approval. Loki's eyes gleamed molten green, his expression one of ravenous, possessive hunger as his heated gaze roved over your naked form kneeling wantonly at his feet.

"Well done, priestess," he’d purr to you, voice a dark, sinful promise. "You've more than earned your reward. I'm going to taste every exquisite inch of you until you're writhing and begging for completion."

Loki prowled forward like a wolf, his powerful body looming over her in dark promise. Calloused fingers trailed scorching paths along your quivering thighs, leaving shimmering trails of magic in their wake. You shivered and arched into his expert touch, dizzy with need.

"Please, my god," you breathed. "I'm aching for you. Make me yours."

Loki's fingers trailed down her forearm, gripping your hand and pulling you up. He pushed you down onto the marble of his altar in a smooth show of strength, admiring the way your breasts bounced from the force. Settling between your splayed thighs, the god inhaled your heady, alluring scent. "So desperate for your god's favor," he growled, pressing hungry kisses up the column of your throat. "I'm going to make you scream my name." 

With a wicked grin, he turns to you, his eyes gleaming with desire. "May I?" he asks, indicating the delicate fabric of your robe. At your nod, he rips the flimsy material to shreds, exposing your naked body to his feasting gaze. Loki's gaze lands on a part of untainted skin, and he wastes no time, sucking hard enough to leave a vivid mark. You can't help but gasp at the sensation, your body reacting instinctively. 

He continued his path of destruction down your body, licking and nipping every inch of bare skin. Reaching pert breasts, he caught a nipple between his teeth and tugged just shy of pain, to which you answered by unconsciously spreading your legs in wanton invitation, practically begging for his touch.

"Oh, my sweet [Y/N], so desperate and needy for me," he hummed, trailing his fingers down your arm. His touch was cold fire, leaving goosebumps trailing in its wake. Loki's lips curled into a wicked smirk, his voice a silky taunt as he leaned closer. "How utterly delightful. Let us see if you can endure as well as you deliver, shall we?"

He descends upon you like a starving man, licking and sucking at every inch of your damp skin. His lips and teeth marked you with dark bruise shaped like crescent moons and love bites as he made his way down your body. You writhed and moaned helplessly beneath him, your back arching as he teased your sensitive flesh.

"Mmh, perfect. Sing for me," he growls against your hipbone before dipping his head in your mound.

Loki licks a broad stripe up your dripping slit, his skillful tongue circling your aching clit without directly touching it. He parts your folds with his fingers to delve deep, pumping in and out of your fluttering walls while he laps at the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your thighs trembled and clenched around his head as he devoured you mercilessly, his silvertongue more than living up to its title.

"Such exquisite nectar you have, my priestess," he’d mumble into your sex, the vibrations making you see stars. He suckled your clit and thrust two fingers knuckle deep, curling them to rub that special spot inside. "I could feast on you on my altar for ages and never have my fill."

You tossed your head back with a loud moan as Loki's skilled mouth worked you over. "Yes, god, just like that!"

He sealed his lips around your throbbing clit, suckling the sensitive bud while his wicked tongue flicked rapidly. Two fingers delved deep, curling just right to stroke that velvety patch along your front wall. "That's it, let me hear all those pretty moans while you fall apart on my face," he urged huskily, hot breath gusting over your drenched folds.

Leaning on your elbows, your gazed down at him with glassy eyes, desperate little pants falling from your lips. Your thighs trembled violently, muscles pulled taut. "Please, please," your babbled incoherently, fisting his inky locks and yanking him impossibly closer. "I need—oh!"

"Need what, pet?" His lips and tongue never ceased their sweet torment, fingers plunging and stroking without mercy. "Tell me and I'll give it to you."

"I need—ah! I need to come!" Tremors wracked your frame as you ground yourself wantonly on his face. "Make me come, please Loki!"

"What pretty begging." He doubled down, sucking your clit greedily as you bucked and thrashed. Lips and fingers worked you into a frenzy, wringing out your pleasure with devastating intent. Pressure climbed, tighter and tighter until it finally snapped.

You threw back your head with a choked scream, core clamping down rhythmically. "I'm coming, mmh—fuck!" Your back arched sharply, juices gushing to coat his cheeks and chin as ecstasy overtook you.

His hips thrust upwards as he imagined the expression you would make when reaching climax, writhing in the water as he desperately tried to hold back, not ready for the end just yet. The ripples of the water surrounding him served as a reminder of the feeling of being blessed with your sweet release, droplets splashing onto his face.

With a final thrust, he slowed down, gasping uncontrollably. He gentled his touch, mimicking how he would with you, licking broad and slow to keep you suspended in bliss. "That's it, that’s it. Ride it out on my tongue. You taste divine when you let go."

He knew all too well the effect he had on you; even your casual, teasing banter left you unraveling. His words and actions now, deliberate and charged, were designed to push you to the brink—to drive you wild in ways only he could. He made a low, hungry noise, never stopping until the last aftershock shivered through you and you collapsed back against the altar, spent.

"Good girl, you took it so well. Such a pretty picture you make in your pleasure," he praises, giving your sensitive clit a final kiss before rising to cover your body with his own. "You please me greatly, my priestess. I knew you'd be the perfect consort."

He couldn’t endure the torment he was inflicting upon himself any longer; it was unbearable, a relentless ache that clawed at his sanity. He had to put an end to it—one way or another. Loki's lips curved in a wicked smirk as he visualized him pulling back to admire his artwork, hands gripping your hips possessively. 

"Turn over," he’d command, voice rough with need. You scrambled to obey, rolling onto your stomach and lifting your hips in the air. The position left you completely vulnerable, your dripping core exposed and ready. Loki groaned at the sight, his cock throbbing. "Hands behind your back," he growled, giving your rear a sharp smack.

You gasped and complied, crossing your forearms at the base of your spine. Loki manhandled you, using his strength to pull your arms higher until they were pinned tight against the curve of your lower back, your wrists crossing one another. He nestled your chest down against the altar, leaving you arched and spread open. "Such a good little offering," he purred, running a hand over your naked form. His fingers dug into your hips as he notched the flared head of his cock against your entrance. 

"I will ravish you to the point of forgetting everything but my name." Loki declared with a salacious smirk. His eyes gleamed with determination as he charged forward, impaling you with a single, ruthless thrust. The force of his entry elicited a startled cry from you, your back arching as Loki filled you to the hilt. The exquisite stretch of his length was unprecedented, breaching depths no other had ever reached.

"There we go," he praised, starting to move. His strokes were deep and powerful, pulling nearly out before slamming back in. "Take it. Take every ounce of pleasure your god deigns to bestow upon you." You sobbed brokenly, overwhelmed by the sensations. The altar bit into your breasts as Loki used you, pounding into your pliant body. Lewd squelches filled the air, mixing with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. 

Just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, Loki hauled you up by fastening his free hand to your throat, squeezing lightly as he constricted his grip on your wrists. "Look at you," he crooned while sending another mind-blowing thrust that made you almost shout. "A perfect little slut, born to be bred and used. You relish this, don't you? The sensation of being utterly filled and ravished by your god?" You had no choice but to dumbly nod with parted lips and hazy eyes, his words igniting something primal in you. Loki's hand tightened around your neck, further restricting your airflow. Simultaneously, his thrusts grew fiercer, pummeling you with relentless intensity.

"You were made for this, pet. Made to serve. I will ruin you for all others. You will adore only me, and my name will be your mantra." He accentuated each word with punishing thrusts. You convulsed, his degrading words and ruthless pace pushing you to the brink. Your cunt clenched desperately around him, trying to hold him deep. You were so close, teetering on the edge of oblivion that all it would take was a slight pressure in the right place, and you would shatter completely. 

Sensing your readiness, Loki slid a hand down, zeroing in on your swollen clit. He circled the sensitive nub with a knowing touch, keeping you vacillating on the cusp of release. "Come for me, priestess," he ordered with a gasp, voice a sinful purr. "Come apart on my cock, my little whore. Let me feel your pleasure." You couldn’t do nothing except obey, your body seizing up as your climax crashed through you. A guttering scream ripped from your throat as you came violently, cunt clenching down on Loki's pistoning cock.

⠀⠀

As he allowed his mind to wander, lost in the picture of you falling in the throes of ecstasy, his eyes flew open with a start. He hadn’t realized how deeply he had slipped into it until he felt a sudden jolt back to reality. His hips were moving rhythmically, thrusting as if he were actually buried deep inside of you.

His breath came in gasps, the air stolen from his throat as he imagined the feeling of your tight walls clenching around him. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. His hips were gyrating wildly, thrusting up and down in his grasp, like a ship caught in a stormy sea. How deep had he been lost in his fantasy for his state to go unnoticed, even to himself?

The pleasure was all-consuming, a tidal wave of sensation that threatened to drown him in its depths. His blood rushed through his veins like a raging river, surging downward to pool in his aching cock and upwards to flood his face with a burning heat. Stray and thin tears streamed down his cheeks, unbidden and fierce, as he gasped and writhed for oxygen, his thrusts growing wilder and more desperate with each passing moment.

“Oh, fuck—fuck!” With a final, desperate cry, he came violently in his hands, shouting his muse’s name in a reiterative and frenzied manner, as if it was a prayer made to the gods. Spurt after spurt of his release shot forth, hitting the water with a soft plink and splattering the few jasmine petals that had survived the violent waves. It seemed as if the pleasure would never end, each wave of release only serving to build the tension higher and higher until it threatened to consume him entirely.

But eventually, the storm subsided, leaving him spent and shivering in its wake. He laid there, his breath slowing as he came back down to earth. The fantasy had been so vivid, so real, that it took him a moment to remember where he truly was. The sensation was intense, a violent explosion that seemed to rock his entire body, leaving him utterly shaking from the intensity. 

Loki collapsed against the smooth, cold marble steps of the grand tub, his body spent, a haze of exhaustion clouding his senses. His breath was ragged, still trying to catch up with the frantic, overwhelming rush that had just passed through him. For a moment, he was weightless, floating on the remnants of the high he had just experienced, the delicate hum of release thrumming under his skin. The contrast of the warm water around him and the cold air against his exposed skin sent shivers racing up his spine, but it was not the chill that made him tremble.

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his head tipping back to rest against the edge of the tub. The silence in the chamber felt deafening after the storm that had ravaged through him. The heat of the moment still lingered, but now, it felt oppressive. He was left with a deep, gnawing emptiness, as though a part of him had been drained away with the surge of release. But that empty feeling was nothing compared to what came next.

As the steam clouding his mind began to clear, the aftermath of his actions came crashing down on him like a tidal wave. His breath caught in his throat, and for a brief second, he felt like the room was spinning, his body still reeling from the aftershocks of the desire he had just indulged. His chest tightened, a knot of unease tightening in the pit of his stomach.

He hadn’t just given in to the pleasure of the moment. No, that would’ve been easier to accept. What had really shaken him was who—or rather, what—he had let himself desire.

He dragged a trembling hand through his damp hair, his lips pressed into a hard line as the remnants of his thoughts taunted him. A mortal, really? The thought of desiring you—so mortal, so beneath him—made him feel physically sick. His heart pounded in his chest, but not from desire this time. The heat in his veins was no longer a heady rush; it had morphed into something darker, something that made him feel dirty. He had let himself be ruled by a fleeting impulse, a mortal who—by all rights—shouldn’t have mattered to him. You weren't worthy of his attention, let alone the attention of his body. And yet, he couldn’t shake the memory of the way your presence had consumed him.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, though it lacked any humor. How could you? he asked himself, gripping the edge of the tub as if it could ground him. A sharp pang of disgust sliced through him, his jaw clenching tightly. How could I stoop so low? he thought bitterly, his disdain for his weakness growing with each passing second. The heat of his actions still lingered, clinging to him like a second skin, and he hated it. He hated himself.

As Loki's breath slowed and the weight of his actions pressed down on him, his gaze drifted to the scattered jasmine petals that floated lazily in the water. Their delicate fragrance filled the air, and for a brief moment, it was almost suffocating. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the pale petals, their soft white against the dark water mocking him with their innocence. They reminded him of that damned robe, the mortal woman who had worn it—you.

He scowled, a wave of irritation rising in him as he cursed them for being the catalyst, the one thing that had led to this moment of weakness. It wasn’t their fault, of course; it never was. But in his mind, they were the symbol of everything that had gone wrong. If only she hadn’t worn it, he thought bitterly. If only I hadn’t noticed her at all...

With a sharp wave of his hand, he dispelled the jasmine petals and the evidence of his indulgence, watching as they disappeared into nothingness, as if they had never been there to begin with. But the disquiet that followed lingered, refusing to vanish as easily as the evidence of his lapse.

Another gesture and the steaming bath turned icy cold, the sudden shock making him shudder. The chill was a reprieve—a way to snap himself back to reality, to wash away the lingering tremors still trembling his resolve.

“This means nothing,” he muttered under his breath, the words more of a command than a truth. He busied himself scrubbing away the remnants of his lapse in control, desperate to rid himself of the memory. His movements were quick, almost frantic, as if staying in the tub any longer would trap him in the thoughts he wanted to escape.

Nothing. He forced himself to believe that. He had allowed himself to be overwhelmed by his body’s basic urges, by the frustration of months of mounting stress—the endless manipulations of his “parents,” the suffocating chains of his conditional freedom, the constant reminder that his every action was watched and judged. And then, you—this mortal who had somehow wormed her way into his thoughts. You were simply an enticing distraction, an irritation that had lodged itself under his skin, and nothing more. He had no time for such trivial mortal attachments.

He exhaled sharply, dispelling the shame that clung to him like an uncomfortable cloak. It was just stress. A temporary lapse. The heat of the moment. It didn’t mean anything.

He turned his attention to the water, an escape of sorts, as he manipulated the temperature. His magic flowed effortlessly, and the warm bath transformed into an icy, biting chill. He let the cold seep into him, willing it to numb the stirring emotions that had begun to surge. But the cold only made him feel sharper, more exposed, the shock of it heightening his awareness of every thought, every tremor within him.

He couldn’t stay in the water any longer. The longer he lingered, the more the memory of what had just transpired would settle into his mind. And he couldn���t bear that. He didn’t want to acknowledge how badly the moment had shaken him.

His movements were quick, almost frantic, as he grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist. His fingers were stiff as he dried off, each movement seeming mechanical, as though he was trying to force himself back into control, back into the careful, calculated Loki that he prided himself on being.

But even as he dressed, the thoughts didn’t fade. He told himself it was nothing. He told himself that it meant nothing. But even as he stepped away from the tub, a small, nagging voice echoed in his mind. Unless?

He stopped, mid-step, his chest tightening again. Could it be that simple? Could he dismiss it so easily? His gaze flicked to the empty tub, and a deep, unsettling feeling curled in his gut. The space seemed too quiet now, too still, and he could almost hear your voice again in the silence. Loki quickly turned away, his mind racing. No. He refused to entertain it. It was stress. Nothing more. You were nothing more. Still, as he left the bathing chamber, his steps quick and unsteady, that seed of doubt lingered. He could feel it in the way his heart beat a little faster, the way his breath caught for a fraction of a second longer than it should have. And no matter how much he tried to push it away, there it was: Unless...

ending notes :

The way I was acting like that for the entire writing is SHAMEFUL. Lord have mercy on me.

Also, I'm not sorry for the length. I hope you enjoyed it thoroughly nonetheless. And get your mind out of the gutter, I'm talking about the fic, not Loki. :p

⠀⠀

see more A Tales Of related ficlets.

Want to read more of my works? Check out my masterlist !

taglist : @stilleobjection — @the-fandoms-onceler .

⠀⠀

dividers ©️ @angelremnants + @arminsumi .

angelremnants ©️ 2024. All rights reserved. Do not repost, reproduce, or distribute without explicit permission.

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Project Insight

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.9k

Warnings: on the run, angst

Summary: You’re on the run, never staying in one place for too long. If only you could get to the train, you’d be able to escape without the fear that they’d be after you. However, luck isn’t on your side and you’re caught before you can taste freedom. Now, you must face your past and deal with the consequences of your actions.

Square Filled: Pseudo-villain (2021) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

You lean down and splash water on your face for the third time. No amount will ever clean the dirt you’ve had on your skin for decades. The bathroom light is dim and flickering on and off and there are only two stalls, both of which are empty.

“All I have to do is get on the train and I’ll be free. I’ll be able to get off somewhere far away, and they won’t be able to find me.”

It’s easier said than done. You know they’re here. They’ve been tracking you ever since Hydra made it clear that you were their target. The train is on the other side of the station but you think you can do it. If you miss the train, you’re fucked. Since you are on the run, you don’t have time as a luxury. So, whatever you can grab on the go is what you usually wear. There was a swap meet a few months ago that you passed through, and you were able to grab a handful of clothes.

The gray baseball cap, the black yoga jacket, the short skirt, and the black pantyhose look suspicious, but you need to blend into the crowd. You look at your watch and realize in fifteen minutes, your train leaves. You pull the baseball cap down further and leave the bathroom, anxious about what might be waiting for you outside of it.

The station is crowded with people just trying to get on with their lives. German people don’t rush, but there is an overabundance of people here which makes it seem like they are. The train is on the other side of the platform and if you can just get there, you’ll have access to thirty-three countries in Europe. They won’t be able to find you.

You look around you but no one is paying you any attention. Maybe they aren’t here. You’re not going to stick around to find out. You start walking normally so as not to attract attention to yourself, but you keep looking around you for people who might be looking for you. You make it to the stairs when you see them.

Steve and Sam.

Steve scans the area but he hasn’t seen you yet, and Sam isn’t looking in your direction. You have to play this smart. You’ve dodged Steve before, you can do it again. You turn away from Steve and slowly make your way down the stone stairs. You notice a familiar head of red hair and pause.

Wanda is sitting by herself outside a small cafe sipping coffee. She’s much trickier to dodge because of her mind powers. If you panic, she’ll sense you. You take three deep breaths and continue walking down the stairs as if nothing is going on. Laughter comes from the right of the stairs, and you notice a group of girls together who will definitely walk past Wanda. If you can blend in with them, you might be able to sneak past Wanda.

You speed walk down the stairs and join the group before they reach Wanda. You join in on their laughter and walk past Wanda. You don’t have to look back to know she’s still sitting there sipping her coffee. If she noticed you, you’d be dead right now or at least captured. Ten minutes until the train leaves, and you’re a third of the way to the train.

From the sunglasses kiosk, Natasha watches you break off from the group of girls.

“I found her. Gray hat, black jacket, skirt, and black tights.”

Steve, Sam, and Wanda zero in on you. You haven’t noticed them yet. If you do, you might run which would make this more complicated.

“No sudden movements. Too many civilians,” Steve says. “We need to do this quickly and quietly. No magic, Wanda. Not until we get to her.”

“Got it,” she says.

You look up to check on Sam and Steve when you lock eyes with Steve. Shit, they found you. Eight minutes until the train takes off. You notice a bar on the strip with rowdy boys who are watching a game. To the right of them is a clothing store. You immediately shed your jacket and throw it in the nearest trash can. You rush into the store and remove your hat to reveal your dyed hair. They know you to have blonde hair but you’ve gone much darker.

You walk past a rack of skirts and grab a white one. You unzip it and wrap it around your waist before securing it tightly. You pause by a bench and rip your tights off to expose your legs. You remove your other skirt and toss both materials in the trash can. You leave the store through a different door, making sure to grab a green button-down. You put the shirt on and tie the ends around your mid-section to make it cropped.

You steal some sunglasses on your way out to hide your face as best as possible. You pass through the rowdy boys and cheer along with them. You notice Natasha and Wanda walking into the store together while Steve and Sam are still up top looking for you.

You’re back in the clear.

The train leaves in four minutes. Once you feel it’s safe to do so, you part ways from the boys and head down to the tracks. Two yards away now, and you smile thinking you’ve made it. All you have to do is get on and you’re free. You take one more step toward the train when you feel it on your back.

All the hairs on the back of your neck stand when you feel the cool metal of a gun at your back. A metal hand grips your shoulder, lips press against your ear, and you don’t have to look back to know who it is.

“You hurt my feelings when you ran.” Your bottom lip trembles at hearing Bucky’s voice after all these years. “You’re trapped. Come with me and this won’t get ugly. I’d hate to scare these innocent people with a gun.”

Shit.

You have no choice but to go with Bucky. He takes you to the local police station where they place you in an interrogation room without the cuffs. You’re a normal human without superpowers. What can you do to those with powers? The door opens ten minutes later and Steve walks in alone. You sigh and look away from him, and he takes a seat across from you.

“You’re a hard woman to track down.” You don’t respond. “Why did you run?” Again, you keep your mouth shut. “I can’t help you if you don’t let me, Y/N.” Nothing. “You were last seen escaping Hydra and going on the run. I hear you stole something. What was it?”

You look at him but don’t say a word. Steve sighs and leaves the room knowing he isn’t going to get anything out of you. You’re not alone for long because Fury joins you not long after Steve leaves with files in his hands.

“I’m not going to be as nice as Steve, so just tell me what I need to know.”

“I can’t,” you sigh.

“Why not?”

You look at him with pleading eyes. “I just can’t.”

He pulls out the first file in the stack and sets it next to the pile. “I know you stole something from them. The answer is in these files. Let’s go over them, shall we?”

“You’re wasting your time, Fury.”

He opens the first one. “Operation Paperclip. That can’t be it. Nazi scientists came to America looking for work, and the government pardoned them regardless of what they did to WWII. That was way before your time, though.” He opens the second one. “The Centipede Project. The super soldier program. Again, way before your time.” He opens the third file. “The Winter Soldier program. That’s where you met Bucky, right? You were one of his doctors.”

You look at the two-way mirror knowing there is someone on the other side watching. You’re just not sure if Bucky is watching or not.

“Is there a point to this?”

“Hey, I’m just trying to have a conversation.”

“I’m not telling you anything. Just throw me in a cell or whatever you had planned for me.”

“I touched a nerve with him, didn’t I? Let’s keep going.” He opens the next file. “Project Insight.” Your jaw ticks and your brow twitches, all of which Fury notices. “Do you know anything about that?” You bounce your leg nervously but you try to keep it hidden, and he opens another file. “Project Distant Star.”

“That was a failed project from the beginning.” You relax in your seat. “They never got far outside of Earth.”

“Give me something to work with, Y/N.” You look away and refuse to say anything. “Have fun in solitude.”

Fury leaves the room and looks at Steve who stands on the other side of the glass. The both of them walk into a conference room where Bucky, Natasha, Wanda, Tony, and Vision are.

“She won’t talk,” Bucky says.

“She doesn’t have to.” Fury puts a file down on the table. “Project Insight. Did you notice her body language when I mentioned it?”

“Yeah, she was nervous.”

“Project Insight was the only one that got her to react that way. I’m betting that she got her grubby hands on it, and now Hydra wants it back. All we have to do is find out what it is and why she took it.”

Not to your surprise, you’re taken back to Washington DC only to be locked up in solitude. They’re not treating you like a prisoner otherwise you’d have handcuffs on you, but they’re not letting you roam freely either. You pace the length of your cell because your mind is racing at the thought of what Fury is going to do when he realizes what you’re after. You look up and notice someone’s reflection in the glass wall of your cell.

“Bucky…”

It’s been so long since you’ve uttered his name. Your heart squeezes painfully but you try to ignore the pang.

“It’s been a long time,” he says.

“Yes, it has.”

He sighs and looks down. “I don’t like seeing you locked up in here. Not after…”

He doesn’t have to finish the sentence for you to know what he’s talking about. He was captured in the 1940s, but the real experimentation didn’t happen until the 90s when they took in multiple people for the Winter Soldier program. By then, Bucky was already established as Hydra’s property, and he was tasked to train the others.

That’s where you came in. You were hired on as a doctor because of your PhD in medicine with the intention to play doctor to the newcomers. However, you and Bucky immediately clicked and he became your primary patient. They hired another doctor to take your place with the other soldiers so that you can focus on Bucky the entire time.

The times when the real Bucky came out, you were there to take care of him and coax him back down from the many panic attacks he suffered. Your feelings for him grew so much that you’d intentionally keep him from the experiments just to keep him from being in pain.

“What do you want, Bucky?”

It hurts to speak to him with such a cold voice because even after all this time, you’re still so much in love with him. You fled to protect him, but the last thing you’re going to do is tell him about it and get him involved.

“I can’t help you if you don’t help yourself. What is Project Insight?”

You look at him with a hard look. “Stay out of it, Bucky.”

“Just tell me what it is, and they’ll let you go.” You start to pace the room. “You’re panicking, Y/N. I know you better than you know yourself.”

You walk over to the glass wall that separates you and Bucky, and you slam your hands against it angrily.

“I told you to stay out of it. Please. If you know me like you say you do, you’ll do this for me. Stay out of it.”

Bucky reaches up and puts his hand over the spot where yours is. “Why are you so afraid?” You shake your head and go back to pacing the room. “I used to think the world of you and now… I’m going to do whatever it takes to make you feel safe like you made me feel safe.”

The second he leaves, you collapse on your bed in tears. This isn’t how this is supposed to go. The only place they’re keeping information on Project Insight is on one of SHIELD’s ships in the middle of the ocean. Natasha and Steve are tasked with getting that information for Fury, and now that he has it in his hands, he’s floored at what he reads.

Project Insight is more than just a way for the government to keep tabs on threats. It’s Hydra. They’ve infiltrated SHIELD and have been since the attack on New York with Loki. Project Insight are three helicarriers that they will launch into the sky, which they will then use to wipe out any potential threats to Hydra. Anyone who opposes them will die, and they won’t even see it coming.

With them, they can wipe out millions of people with a push of a button. You stole their plans to build them, but that only set them back a few months. You’re one of the biggest threats to Hydra right now which is why they’re hunting you. Rumors about Project Insight were going around the compound you worked at a decade ago, but you didn’t think they would be stupid enough to build something like that. Only a few years ago were those rumors turned into truth.

Hydra has always wanted this planet to become totalitarian, and Project Insight was their way to do that. You couldn’t sit by and watch it happen so you planned on taking their plans and fleeing. However, you were caught and they threatened everyone you love and care about starting with your friends and ending with Bucky. He was still under their control, and they promised they’d make it hurt if you continued with what you were planning.

The next time you stole, you made sure not to get caught. You were going to flee Germany when you were caught by the Avengers. If they don’t know it was you, they will soon, and Bucky will suffer for it.

Days turn to weeks which then turn to months with you stuck in confinement. They provide you with three meals a day and a bathroom inside your cell, but you’re alone otherwise. Bucky hasn’t come to see you since that first day, and you wonder if he hates you for what you did. You pass the time either sleeping, pacing the cell, or reading whatever book they put with your lunch.

You’re lying on the bed with your arm over your eyes when your cell door opens. You sit up and lock eyes with Bucky. He walks in but doesn’t close the cell door behind him.

“You’re free to go.”

You stand in surprise. “What?”

“We don’t need you anymore.”

“What did you do?” you whisper in fear. “I told you to stay out of it.”

“It doesn’t matter what I did or didn’t do. There is nothing left for you to fear. Project Insight is no more. You’re done here.” You could leave and start a new life somewhere else but you don’t move a muscle. Bucky grabs your shoulders and shakes you gently. “Are you listening to me? Go. Flee. Run. It’s what you’re good at.”

You look into his eyes which have a pool of tears in them. “Bucky…”

“I have survived without you then, and I’ll survive without you now so just go.”

“No, I don’t want to.”

“Why? Why did you run in the first place? I… They hurt me after you left.”

The dam breaks and tears roll down your cheeks. “I ran to protect you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“They caught me once and they threatened to kill you. I couldn’t let them go through with Project Insight, so I took their information and ran. They wanted to make you suffer at my expense, and they wanted me to see you hurt. I knew if I ran, they’d be focused on me instead of you. I knew you’d get out and I knew Steve would keep you safe. I’m sorry for hurting you, but I’m not sorry for running.” You cup his cheeks and wipe his tears with your thumb. “You were and are the most important person in my life.”

Bucky moves his hands down to your waist and kisses you. It’s been decades since you’ve felt his lips on yours. They still feel as safe as they did when you first shared a kiss.

“Don’t run now,” Bucky whispers when he pulls away.

“Hydra isn’t over. You might have ruined their plans but they have hundreds more. They’ll come for me… They’ll come for you.”

“They can try. We’re stronger now.” He leans in and kisses you again, this time softer. “Let it be my turn to protect you.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

You trust Bucky with your life, and it’s time you start fighting for what you love.

x

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[wayneskluv]

it’s possible she wants you back ¡! ❞ | n. romanoff

summary: your super cool assassin gf broke up with you but she wants you back sooo win win ig | pt 2 with fluff/smut?

word count: 711

pairing: natasha romanoff x gn!reader

warning: mentions of alc/nat being drunk, use of petnames “love” & “baby”

authors note: i would let her do anything to me but i'd also give her a hug and tell her everything's gonna be okay & the use of y/n, i had to for it to make sense, please forgive me 🙏

NATASHA thought breaking up with you would be for your own good, she didn’t deserve you. She was always late for date night due to her duties as an avenger, she had consistent nightmares that kept you awake and she was jealous of anyone who, well, looked at you—she couldn’t really blame them though.

“Baby..” Her whines echoed from behind your front door, from where a slightly intoxicated drunk as fuck Natasha was located. She was too drunk to be able to knock on the door, but you knew she was there, you knew her voice.

You take a deep breath, before you place a trembling hand on your door handle and gently pushing down as if it would break if you looked at it. "Jesus, Nat." A small sigh escapes you as you register her pathetic state, your hand instinctively reaching out to prop her upright. You haven't seen her this drunk in years, and she, most certainly, was not a lightweight.

"C'mon." You gently guide her into your living room, being as delicate as humanly possible. You sit her down on your couch, though as soon as you let go, she sprawls out lazily. "Gotta sit up, Nat. Don't wanna be sick.” You sound like a disappointed parent berating your child, because as much as you were mad at your ex, you loved her with your entire heart, and you still cared about her immensely.

You begin to rise to your feet, to go grab her a glass of water, before a pitiful hand drapes across your arm. "Please, Don't hiccup leave me." If it was anyone else, you'd have pushed them off immediately but you couldn't ignore her pleading eyes. "Yeah, 's okay. I'll stay. 'm not going anywhere."

As you speaks, the thick stench of liquor floods your senses and you feel ever-so-slightly ill. "Nat, love, what happened?" The breakup was fresh, the pet-name was a slip of the tongue, but you couldn't go back now—it’s not like she'd remember in the morning.

"Miss you. So, so, so much." The words roll off her tongue in a drunken slur, and you wouldn't have heard them if you weren't paying careful attention to her. You felt sorry for her, in all honesty-sure, she'd broken up with you without telling you why, and sure, she'd been acting distant, but she seemed genuinely upset.

"You still haven't told me why you broke up with me." You let out a dry chuckle, your shoulders untensing subtly as you notice her slowly regain colour to her face. “Okay, I'll tell you, but you can't tell y/n." The drunken hush she tries to add to her elevated tone is adorable and you have to stifle a grin as you nod, mock seriously. "| promise."

Once she gets your confirmation, she pauses for a few seconds as her head throbs harder, but then it slows and her eyes meet yours. "I was worried I wasn't good enough." Oh. That's not what you were expecting. You were expecting her to say it was something you did, like put an empty peanut butter jar back in the cupboard or anything, really, she has a bit of a temper.

"Really? So it's nothing I did?" Your voice goes up three octaves as you glance down at her, nervously biting down on your bottom lip. "What? 'Course not." It's clear the alcohol is taking a toll on her, and she looks as if she's going to vomit all over you.

You let out a slightly overdramatic sigh, “You take the bed, l'll the couch.” Your arm loops down around her waist, carefully pulling her up off the couch—if you weren't holding her so tightly, she'd had fallen head first into the ground.

The sound of hiccups echo your apartment as you both walk into your bedroom, something she was rather familiar with. You took no caution in letting her drop onto your bed, though you made sure she was in a proper sleeping position to avoid choking on her own vomit.

She falls asleep almost immediately and it's the first time since you've broken up you've seen her look so peaceful. You stand in the door for a few more moments before reluctantly dragging yourself toward the couch.

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Best Friends & Baking (Bucky Barnes)

Summary: After watching a scary movie by yourself, you couldn't sleep.

Warnings; Fluff

WC: 450ish

A/N: i’d originally write & posted this to an older tumblr account i had back in 2017!!! I’m on the hunt for a lot of my older fics. So i’ve been tracking a lot of them down. 

Read on Ao3!

-

You knew you shouldn’t have watched that damned movie by yourself. Not while it was raining outside. Not while you were cuddled up by yourself on the couch in the common room of the tower all alone.

Every creak and squeak of the floor or windows made you jump in terror. You had to hold your hand over your mouth several times to keep from screaming and waking up the whole tower.

You looked at the time from your cell phone, groaning as it was nearing one in the morning. You knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep at all, not while your heart was thudding so hard in your chest from adrenaline and fear.

You clambered away from the couch and placed your hand over your mouth to stifle a yawn before you made your way into the kitchen. You’d always enjoyed baking cookies and cakes when you couldn’t sleep; the scents of the pastries baking always soothed your fears way.

You played music from your phone, being weary not to play the music too loud. You’d been mixing batter for a chocolate chip cake and hadn’t noticed Bucky slipping into the room and leaning against the refrigerator until you had turned around from the sink and nearly jumped out of your skin.

“Bucky,” you breathed. “It’s only you.”

He smirked. “What are you doing up so late? Why are you making enough pastries for a small doughnut shop? You didn’t volunteer the team for another bake-off again, did you?”

You chuckled softly and smacked him gently with the spatula in your hand. “No, Bucky, I didn’t.”

“Then why are you making all this food?” He asked as he reached for a cookie with sugar powder on top.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you admitted, placing the spatula between your lips. “I was watching scary movies again.”

He sighed and gave you an affectionate look. “Didn’t I tell you not to do that without me?”

“Yes,” you pouted, knowing he would give in and kiss your forehead, making you smile and feel giddy.

Just as you predicted, he put the cookie down and stretched his hand out to you, pulling you into his embrace and kissing your temple. “And to think I was coming out here to get a glass of water?” He chuckled.

“Sorry for keeping you up,” you mumbled into his grey tee shirt.

“What do you say I help you finish baking all these goodies, and you come share my bed tonight?” He offered.

You nodded, appreciating the offer, happy to spend time with your best friend.