#niks1kwritingchallenge

[kashimos-hajime]

buried in your bones | b.b.

summary: “Promise you’ll love me always.”

WARNINGS: fluff, angst, blood, violence, swearing, drinking, magic and therefore magic haters pairing: king!bucky x queen!reader word count: 11.1k

a/n: inspired by hurricane by fleurie. i recommend listening to it for proper vibes :) written for @serpienten​​​​ and @buckysknifecollection​​​​. i had the prompt king/queen au and a dialogue prompt that is bolded. sorry this took so long! am still working through some killer writer’s block :( but enjoy!

James can taste nothing but blood in his mouth as he plunges his sword through chainmail. His ears are ringing from the sound of metal singing with every slice, every clash of his sword against his opponents and his foot catches on a dead knight’s arm as he whirls around.

All around him, dirt is flying and there is the smell of smoke as he twirls out of the way of a horse with no rider. Sweat dripping through his armour, he spots a soldier pinned down and charges, running the attacker through his sword and kicking him off the tip.

The smell of shit fills his mouth as he sucks in a wet gasp, helping the soldier get up. Clapping his shoulder, James can barely hear himself over the clamour of battle raging around him.

“Are we winning?” Steve asks harshly, shrugging off his king’s hand, and James feels cold ice spear up his limb at the bitter glare his knight commander pins him down with. Steve has lost his helmet, his golden hair dark with mud and blood but his eyes burn bright. “Is this worth it for you?”

“Volley!”

The word pierces through the haze and the two men collapse to their knees, ducking their heads as arrows stab into the dirt around them, the inflamed tips snuffing out as soon as they sink into wet mud.

“I want nothing more than to retreat, but they attacked first,” is his reply. He knows it’s pathetic.

He knows he’s at war because his people crave what they think is justice, because his people hate what they don’t understand.

He had been the same once.

Straightening, James jerks back as a sword tries to cleave him in two, and Steve is lost to him in the furious chaos of battle. Parrying another blow, he shoves his shoulder into his opponent’s gut and knocks him off his feet, dark hair flying into his face as he shoves the metal through the man’s stomach. The strangled scream echoes in his ears as he pulls it out with a wet schluck.

Stumbling back, James looks up to see more of his men clad in their refined red and gold armour storming down the hill, and he whips around, watching as more soldiers in gold and white fall. He can barely discern who is on his side, who is on Asgard’s.

“Well, if it isn’t the King of Kings!”

The voice, even to this day, harsh and rich with arrogance that only comes from believing their purpose is righteous, causes a fire in James to ignite.

Turning around slowly, he sees the gleaming dark armour, the stained black leather, the stench of death following his wake. Lord Rumlow scrapes the blood off one short sword with the other and James swears he can see someone’s brains along his knuckles drenched in blood as he raises his own sword.

“Rumlow.”

“How are you, m’lord?” he drawls, that knifepoint smirk digging into his cheeks as he raises one of his swords, the tip pointing for James’ eyes. Scarlet drips from the edge and James swallows the knot in his throat. He has no illusions that if given the chance, the man will stab him through the throat slowly, sinking that blade through his flesh as he watched the light die from James’ eyes and relish in it, but he is a dog.

A dog with a master.

“Where is she?” James asks, the words tearing out of his throat as he sweeps his gaze through the dying battle. The ground is littered with the fallen and he can taste death on his tongue—bitter and cold and vile. “Where is she?”

Lord Rumlow merely laughs, harsh and sharp and poisonous. He circles James like a predator circles cornered prey, slowly making his way within sword range, and James watches those dark eyes narrow in bloody glee. “As if she’d come here for you.”

“I know she is.” He doesn’t recognize his own voice. It’s dark with fury as Lord Rumlow merely cocks his head, intrigued. “I saw her on the rise.” Hair sticks to his skin and his heart is nothing more than threads barely holding together. “Please, we can end this—”

“You still love her.” It is nothing but cold, brutal truth and James flinches as soon as he hears it. It exhausts him to hear those words, to know that someone like Lord Rumlow knows what he had refused to believe, to know that he’d been the fool for years.

Lord Rumlow lunges forward, bringing his short sword down upon James’ shoulder. Blocking the blow, the king falls onto his back. Metal sings in his bones as their swords drag against each other.

James manages to drive the sword into the dirt, his lungs heaving for air as he jerks his head away from the tip. A wild glint falls into the dog’s eyes as his lips curl into a vicious snarl as James tries to throw the man off. His skin is slick with mud and blood and sweat, and James can feel the heat kiss him at all sides. It’s suffocating in his armour, clouds of hot air gathering in his back, under his arms, on his face.

Brock wrenches his bassinet off and James barely has time to prepare himself for the punch before it hits. His head snaps back into the mud, nose blooming in pain as his eyes squeeze shut to prepare for another strike, but hands merely wrap around his throat.

“How dare you claim to love her? How dare you say that after what you’ve done? You’re not even fit to say her name!”

Fingers dig deeper into his throat and James gasps for air, blood slipping down his cheeks from his nostrils. Mouth gaping, he wraps his hands around Lord Rumlow’s sleeves. The cacophony falls away, the sound of everything fading as James forces his eyes open, staring into the pits of his strangler’s eyes, and his feet kick, slip through mud.

“You. It was always you,” Rumlow murmurs. “Even after all these years, she chose you time and time again with nothing to show for it. She should’ve killed you when she had the chance.”

“What did you just say to me?” James chokes out and Rumlow laughs, sharp and his teeth are bared in a sadistic grin. 

“You’re in no position to threaten me, m’lord.”

“No, what— what do you mean?” Another fist to the cheek, James’ world spins as his head jerks sideways. He can hear his blood gurgling in his head, in his throat, as he digs his fingers deeper into Rumlow’s gloved hands.

“All these years and you still don’t know.”

Unworthy. Unworthy. Unworthy, Rumlow’s voice chants in James’ head.

It is all he can hear.

Black dots impede his vision as the strength drains from his body.

“She never trusted you. She could never trust you. And how could she? Your family ruined her life!”

What?

“Please, don’t—” That voice from so long ago, scratched and aching with its plea for mercy, echoes in his ears and his eyes flutter shut.

“And why would she? You won’t even fight for her honour,” Rumlow derides, a cruel laugh mutilating his words. “You don’t deserve her love. You deserve nothing!”

There’s a snap.

“Get off of him!” a voice snaps, dark with power, and the weight lifts from his chest, but it is too late.

James doesn’t recall falling into the abyss, but he knows he falls when everything goes silent.

.

“Prince James, let me introduce my daughter.”

That is how it starts, when he is nothing more than thirteen, reading in the garden’s hedge maze. The sun is golden, the wind smells like sugar and sweet fruits, and the sky is bluer than sapphires as he closes his book and looks up at the approaching man.

When he thinks on it years later, he thinks it is just as how all the fairytales, all fables, start.

He recognizes the man—a diplomat, lord of some powerful house.

The girl behind him, however, he doesn’t.

You’re wearing a dark red dress, your hair pulled elegantly away from your face, and you’ve the warmest eyes he’s ever seen. A fire ignites inside him, smoldering him from the inside out as you curtsy and he stands, his chair grating harshly against marble.

You smile at his flustered expression and he finds it beautiful.

“Your Highness.”

“My lady.”

“Your hedge maze was no challenge for me,” you proclaim and James laughs, tucking his book underneath his arm.

“And you’re good at puzzles?”

“The best.”

His heart no longer beats in his chest as your father explains that you’re simply here to shadow him in his diplomatic duties.

He had never worried about marrying a woman he didn’t know the name of, but now, as you cock your head and your smile grows sly at his shy grin, he knows you’ve stolen his heart the instant he laid eyes on you.

Any betrothal in his future will be for nothing because all he wants is to marry you.

.

It’s his seventeenth birthday and he’d spent the night before drinking smuggled whiskey and smoking rum with his friends. His head pounds now, with regret, as he tries to keep himself from falling asleep. His feast is going full swing, and he can’t quite recall ever feeling the effects of irresponsible drinking so strongly than tonight.

“Your Highness.”

You’re helping him in that regard.

“You can’t doze off, can you?”

He blinks, head jerking to you, and you smile.

“It wouldn’t be fit for a king to sleep at his own birthday feast.” Extending a hand over the table, you cock your head. “Dance with me. Perhaps then you’ll stay awake long enough to see the night to its end.” Standing, James feels blood rush through his body and he grins, placing his hand and yours and walking around the table. You tug him playfully into the center of the dance floor, the circlet gleaming in your hair.

The melodies of the band sink into his bones as he places a hand on your waist, the other interlacing with yours as he steps with the music.

“I apologize, my lady.”

“Oh, as you should.” You smile although your tone betrays it as he spins you around. Your dress floats, flares gracefully from your waist in dark green flames, matching the emerald on your sternum. A gift of his for your last birthday. “Illicit drinking without me? Honestly, it’s a crime.”

“Steve wanted to keep it a secret,” James protests as he dips you in one hand.

“Funnily enough, Lord Rogers said it was your idea.” Hoisting you back up, you send him a berating glare. “Honestly, you’ve never kept a secret from me. What’s going on, now? You’ve been ignoring me for days.”

“Nothing, bluebird,” he soothes as your hand settles on his shoulder, and a heat blossoms from your palm, through him. He could melt into your heat, the effortless hearth that stems from your very soul. His eyes settle on your confused expression, and he pulls you close, forehead knocking into yours. “I promise you. There is no secret.”

“You’re lying,” you murmur, eyes searching his. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“As are you.”

You scoff, drawing back and their noses brush as you narrow your gaze in a challenge. “You’d be surprised.” You twirl out of his reach with a parting glare, another lady taking your place and he’s surprised to see Lady Natasha smirking up at him. Taking her hand in his, he steps back into a bow while she curtsies. The music stalls for a moment as he kisses the redhead’s knuckles before it picks back up again.

“My lady.”

“She’s not very pleased, is she?” the redhead points out and James groans. “You invited her all this way and then chose to exclude her on the pre-celebration ritual.”

“Don’t tell me you’re the one who told her,” he complains, nearly stepping on Natasha’s toes but the lady quickly steps out from underneath his boot. “I’m trying to keep it all a secret. You know that.”

“I think you’re doing a terrible job of it. If you’re going to propose to her, it might be best not to act like she has the plague.”

“I haven’t!”

“Yes, you have. Don’t play the fool.” Natasha narrows her gaze, squeezing his hand painfully, and James winces. “You’ve never went a single week in the four years you’ve known her without sending her a letter and suddenly, the moment we get here, I have to listen to her complain about how you refuse to even look her in the eye and how you don’t spend any time on her, excusing it with flimsy reasons.” Shaking her head, Natasha pretends to accidentally step on James’ foot as they waltz around each other. “You’re lucky she loves you. She suspects something is wrong with you, and she’ll get it out.”

“And you didn’t tell her, did you?” James adds nervously, causing Natasha to sigh heavily, rolling her eyes. Her whole body seems to cave in with the stupidity James is apparently exuding as she sucks in a breath and tries to formulate a response not too rude for him.

“Of course not. Why would I ruin something like this for her, Your Highness?” With the last, biting word, Natasha is whisked away by a blond man with flushed cheeks and way too many drinks to be anything but a stuttering mess. James follows the redhead as she pulls Steve off the floor and sighs dejectedly, collapsing into the chair beside his best friend.

“Your birthday not all you wanted, my lord?” Steve crows as Natasha brings a goblet of wine to her mouth to hide her smile. James, with a glum smile, leans his cheek against his fist and watches you dance with another lord. He’s a bit older, one of the lords of your house, and handsome in a roguish sort of way.

Lord Rumlow, your sworn shield.

James does his best to bite his tongue when you toss your head back in a laugh and the knight grins, his obsidian eyes soft only for you.

The three friends exchange glances as you cup the knight’s cheek before slipping into the crowd just as the music ends, and James stands abruptly without a farewell to his companions. Pushing himself through the crowd, he mutters his pardons, your dress slipping between noble lords and ladies.

Breaking into the hall outside the ballroom, he doesn’t see a trace of you.

As if you’ve disappeared.

Sighing, he walks to the gardens. These halls are ones he knows well, ones he’s run through since he was nothing but a princeling escaping his nursemaid’s supposedly evil clutches. Then, as a boy after tutoring or a day out riding, and now…

He had walked you through these halls a dozen times and he still thinks you haven’t seen everything.

One place you do know, however, is the palace gardens.

The leaves are silver in the moonlight, a gentle wind rustling through the hedges as he makes his way through the hedge maze. Crickets chirp and some bird croons as he sucks in a warm summer breath. It smells heavenly, of flowers and sweet sugar, of light and clean water. He can hear the faint music from the palace, still, but the smell of hearty meats and smoke have faded to something softer, something warmer.

“James?”

Your voice pierces through the night air as he finds himself in the centre of the maze. You turn around on one of the benches to look at him, and he’s surprised by the morose expression printed onto your face.

“Are you alright?” Stepping to the bench, he sits down beside you with a frown. “Did something happen?”

“Brock was simply saying how I had to rest up tomorrow. We depart at dusk tomorrow to avoid the rebels.” You turn to him, a glumness to your face he’s not used to seeing and he takes your hands gently in his. “I’m sorry I have to leave so early. We were supposed to have the week together.”

“If the rebels are threatening the roads, it’s best you go before you can’t any longer,” he whispers, leaning forward and pressing his lips to your brow. You inhale shakily at his touch, leaning into him. “I’m sorry I can’t fix this.”

“You can’t fix everything, Bucky,” you mumble, your nose brushing against his as you pull back. James wrinkles his nose and you cup his cheek, thumb brushing underneath his eye. “I just don’t think this is a war we need to fight.”

.”These magic users are dangerous—”

“Those magic users are people,” you reply hotly, pulling back and standing. You turn away from him and James’ eyebrows knit together as he stands as well. He doesn’t reach out for you, and you wrap your arms around yourself. “They’re people who’ve been treated like beasts.” Approaching you slowly, he gently sets his hands along your shoulders and you whirl around in his grasp. Your eyes search his, and he feels something in him soften at the bleeding heart he can see in your chest.

“You know I can’t change my mother’s policies. Not after how Father died.” His throat cinches shut at the mention of the father he never knew and he turns away from your palm, looking up at the summer sky. A dark indigo canvas speckled with diamonds, it’s so vast and endless, James can’t help but wonder if his father is watching down on him.

“What happened with your father, with Steve’s father, it was one incident that somehow made everyone see people with magic like freaks. One incident was all it took.” Looking down at you again, James brushes his knuckles down your cheek. “We haven’t exactly prosecuted all of mankind for one man going on a murder spree with a knife he stole from the butcher’s shop,” you say, voice snapping like a whip as you pull away. Again, you turn away from him and James feels at a loss. Every time you turn away, he feels as if he’s splitting in two and he sighs, letting his hand fall back to his side.

“We put murderers, criminals, in jail.”

“And we’ve persecuted a whole people for the same thing.” Your shoulders fall as you let out a tremendous breath, and an emptiness in James widens at the desolate aura emanating from your very being. “I should go.”

You move towards the hedges but James walks after you. “Wait! I don’t want us to depart on these terms. I have no wish for you to leave angry at me.”

You turn slowly, your dress twisting and brushing against the dirt as you shake your head, a gentle smile upon your face.

“I’m not angry at you, James,” you assure quietly, and he believes you by the earnest glint in your eyes.

“Then, may I walk you to your room, my lady?”

You dip your head, and extend a hand for him to take. Your fingers slide easily between his, and he pauses, simply admiring your face bathed in silver light. His other hand reaches to brush against your jaw and your smile grows as you cup his jaw and pull him down.

The kiss is quiet, tender, and his eyes slide shut as your hand runs through his hair, pulling back just enough to breathe.

“Promise you’ll love me,” you whisper, words as soft as silk against his lips as he presses his brow to yours. Your eyes are still closed but his flutter open, soaking in your face as if he’ll never have enough time to memorize it. You cup his face with both hands, open your eyes and stare into his soul. A wounded ache festers in your gaze and he nods. “Promise you’ll love me always.”

Drawing back, he feels your hands tremble and brings them in his own to his lips. Mouth against your fingers, he nods again. “I promise I will always love you.” Kissing your knuckles, he does not break his gaze away as your lips curl into a tender smile. Squeezing his hands, you look younger, as if a burden has been lifted off your shoulders, and in that moment, James swears he has never seen something quite so divine.

He falls to one knee, and reaffirms his grasp on your hands before digging through his trouser pocket for the ring.

“Bucky…” you begin, bemused at his antics, but then you catch sight of the ring and your breath hitches. Eyes widening, your fingers wrap tighter around his as he brings the ring up to the moonlight. In lunar rays, it glows effervescently, winking and stunning in its shallow grooves, smooth gold, and intricately shaped hands linked together. The metal bends, caves where the fingers interlace and you let out a whispering sigh as he looks up at you.

A heat rises in his cheeks and he swallows the nerves biting at his throat. He should’ve had a drink before he came out here, but then again, he hadn’t realized this would be where—

He should’ve. This is, after all, where he first fell in love with you.

“Marry me,” he says although it’s more of a question, a request, an ask for a blessing, and your smile is brilliant as you say nothing. “It is why I have been so distant lately. I’ve been trying to find the perfect execution, but it seems my own heart has betrayed me. I have loved you since I first laid eyes on you, and although I am your prince, to be your king… Do me this honour, Y/N, and be my queen.”

“Well…” Your grin digs into your cheeks as he looks up at you, and a flood of relief fills his body as you tilt your head, just as you did the first day you met him. “No more drinking without me, then I’ll marry you,” you proclaim and he laughs as you tug him onto his feet. “Promise me that.”

Sliding the ring onto your finger, he presses a warm, bruising kiss against your lips before pulling back just far enough to whisper, “You have my word.”

And then he kisses you again.

.

If, four years ago, James knew marriage would be so exhausting, he would still do it again in a heartbeat.

Your laughter, after all, is the song he wakes up to every morning.

That, or the squirming body of his son trying to get between James and you.

You laugh as his son bounces between your legs, desperate for the horse to go faster than the easy walk he paces at, and James watches as you wrap an arm around his son’s waist.

“Your stallion is ready, my king.” Turning to the stable hand, he nods his thanks and mounts easily atop the white steed, gently nudging his sides into a trot to join his family at the edge of the woods. Alpine nickers his greetings to your mare as you tug on the reins with your one hand.

“A fine afternoon,” he comments, glancing over at you as Stellan wraps his chubby hands around the handle of the saddle specifically crafted for riding with a child.

“Indeed it is, your Grace,” you tease, brushing your hair out of your face. “A fine day for riding.” Your mare bumps noses with his stallion as Stellan notices his father, clapping his hands. “The prince wants his father.” Hoisting his son out from the space between your lap, you hand him over to James with a grin.

“Papa!”

Kissing his son’s cheek, James grins when his son latches onto him, arms wrapped around his father’s neck as they start their ride into the woods. James keeps a hand on Stellan, careful not to let him fall or squirm too much.

His twenty-first year has been blessed with peace, and James can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. The rebels have been squashed into their hiding holes, and the kingdom prospers with long summers and short winters.

And his family…

He looks at you and something inside him melts. Your lips are puckered in a whistle and you repeat the bird songs chirping through the trees while the guard rides behind you, and he glances back to see Steve talking to Lady Natasha.

What joke did she tell him this time? He wonders, amused when Steve blushes at whatever Natasha said. Always flustered by whatever the bold redhead says. I hope nothing too under the skirts.

“Eyes forward, my king,” you call and he turns forward again to see you up ahead, head tilted to look over your shoulder. “We do have a clearing to reach before midday.”

“Mama?” Squirming in his arms, Stellan wriggles his way back between his father’s thighs and grabs the wooden handle of the saddle. Bouncing excitedly, the boy leans forward. “Go!” James nudges Alpine into a trot to catch up to his wife as his guard splits apart in the woods, no doubt interested in a day off simply relaxing without any drills on a sunny day like this. He’s sure some would head off to the lake for a swim while others participated in a hunt.

“Are you coming, Rogers?” a voice crows within the trees, and James grins when he hears Anthony’s squire, Peter, exclaim in pain when he hits his head on a low-hanging tree branch. “Your lady can come, too!”

“She’s not my lady, Tony!” Steve calls back as James catches up to where you’ve stopped and he pulls his reins lightly to stall as well. Glimpsing Steve’s red face, James smirks when the blond turns to Natasha. “I mean, you are my lady, my lady.”

“Aren’t you the charmer?” Natasha says dryly as the two approach the royals. Their steeds’ ears twitch and Natasha scratches her horse’s ear as you grin. “My king. My queen.”

“You do realize you are free to take the day off. We haven’t had the time to do so in ages,” you tell them kindly, your eyes darting from the lady to the lord. “Not since James has been crowned king, I feel.” Steve cocks his head when Stellan tries to reach over to him and he picks up the prince, bouncing him in his arms. “Not since this one was born for certain. You ought to take it, the both of you.”

“Spoken like a true queen,” Natasha teases. “But I agree. Diplomacy is an exhausting sport.”

“Sport? I’m sure Rhodes wouldn’t be so inclined to call it so.”

“Rhodes needs to stop and learn to relax. It’s not that complicated.”

“He knows how to relax,” James quips. “He just doesn’t take his job so lightly unlike you, Lady Natasha.”

Natasha grins, rolling her eyes before tugging the reins of her steed towards a parting in the trees. “Well, unlike Rhodes who is no doubt racing Tony to the lake, I will take a long, leisurely stroll there. Lord Rogers, if you would accompany me?”

“Of course, my lady.” Steve transfers Stellan from his arms back into his father’s, picking up his reins before dipping his head to you. “My queen.” Always with the formalities, James muses as he grabs Steve’s hand in a hearty shake farewell. “I won’t be too far away.”

“I’m counting on it,” James replies before the blond rides after the redhead, and the royals look at each other before bursting out into laughter. “God, I wonder when he’ll ever have the courage to properly ask for her hand in marriage.”

“Knowing them both, she’ll ask first,” you reply with a wrinkle of your nose and the two of you ride off into the woods.

The destination is a clearing upon a small hill, sparkling with morning dew just beginning to dry and flowers blooming in the branches. The trees part perfectly in a path down the hill to the lake and the sun casts golden shafts through the branches, the entire clearing glimmering in its blessing. The smell of fresh wind and sweet nectar fills James’ nose as you dismount beside him, lowering Stellan gently onto the grass. You unpack your saddlebag, revealing blankets and food.

James dismounts as well, patting Alpine firmly along his neck as he grabs the flagon of wine and more food from his own saddlepack while you lay the blanket gently over the grass. Feeding an apple to Alpine, he gently rubs his steed’s nose before joining his wife and son underneath the shade of a tree.

Unbuckling his belt, he rests his sword against the trunk before sinking to his knees beside you. You’re already leaning back on an arm, watching as Stellan chases a butterfly across the huge clearing and James kisses your temple, easing against the tree. You immediately lean against him, your head against his chest, and he tilts his head back to feel the breeze along his neck.

“This is wonderful,” you sigh, your hand on his chest. “Four years of nothing but non-stop madness and now we have a day to simply breathe..”

“Three years of being king, four of being a father. I don’t think I’ve ever been so exhausted,” he agrees. “Father always made it seem so effortless.”

“Well, that’s how fathers are,” you tease, glancing up at him. He looks down with a slight frown and you reach up to tap his nose. “You’ve been nothing but a perfect father to Stellan. You ought to slip before he thinks you’re some god.”

“Would that be too bad?” His nose wrinkles and you chuckle, pecking his lips before sitting upright. Stellan wanders back towards his parents, his chubby fist holding blades of grass and he tosses it at James before crawling into his mother’s lap. “He seems to be his mother’s son, anyway.”

“As he should,” you fire back, lifting Stellan up in your hands and throwing him up a few times. His high-pitched giggles cause James to smile as he leans down, brushes hair away from your forehead and kisses your brow. Tilting your chin up to snag his lips into another brief kiss, you settle your son against your chest and roll over.

“Mama, walk,” Stellan orders, and you look down at your son. “Go walk.”

“Your son’s already giving me orders,” you comment pointedly, sitting up as Stellan gets to his feet and James smirks, beginning to unpack the food.

“I think he’s more like you in that regard,” James fires back mischievously and you lightly smack his shoulder as their son grabs your hand and tugs you away. Pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, you allow yourself to be lead into the forest while James carefully sets up the wine, the food. Taking a bite out of a bit of cheese, he heads to the horses who’ve been roaming the clearing and sighs.

He must cherish this day. Tomorrow, it’ll be nothing but more meetings with diplomats, advisors, and other engagements regarding the bandits along their border.

Magic still spikes fear in the hearts of his people, despite how hard you’ve tried to dissuade the notion that magic is dangerous. It’s been your one goal since you’ve been crowned his queen, a movement that has made you…

Made you controversial, to say the least.

It has definitely put you into disfavour with his mother, but James doesn’t care.

He knows your heart is in the right place, even if he himself is still afraid. There is that bravery with you, that makes him want to be brave, too, but his father...

He will never forget the sight of his dead father.

Stroking Alpine’s snout, he feels the stallion lip at his pockets, searching for treats as your mare nickers, coming over with ears perked up in interest. Turning to the mare, he grins when she snorts against his cheek.

Grinning, he simply lets the horses nudge him every which way, threads his fingers through their manes. With a deep breath, he lets the day wash over him. He closes his eyes and presses his brow against Alpine’s.

In the distance, he can hear Natasha shouting at Anthony, Steve’s loud, bright laughter.

No matter what happens, he wouldn’t change being a king for anything if it meant ruling with these people beside him.

“Wolf! Wolf! It’s the White Wolf!”

Peter’s petrified warning shout echoes through the forest and James jerks towards his voice, eyes widening. The White Wolf?

His blood freezes in his veins. The White Wolf had been lurking through their woods for the past years, a white beast larger than horses and hungrier than ten wolves that only came out at night. With blood red eyes and claws that could eviscerate through steel armour, the White Wolf is nothing short of a monster.

Never has he heard of it roaming during the day.

Until now.

“Peter!”

“Where’s the king?”

Alpine lets out a loud neigh, stomping his foot against the soft dirt as the sound of swords and steel clashing and James grabs his belt from the tree, cinching it tight around his waist as Steve appears in the parting of the trees. His thoughts immediately race towards you and Stellan, alone in the woods, and his heart leaps to his throat as he turns to Steve.

“She went out with Stellan for a walk,” James barks, brushing past Steve roughly. Behind him is the rest of his guard, stumbling up the hills in various states of undress, but they stop as soon as they catch sight of him. Ice seeps into his veins and he ignores the thought of you mauled to pieces, a tiny body beside yours. “Find your queen!”

“Yes, my king!”

Drawing their swords, the knights split off in coordinated groups, disappearing in seconds. Steve and James pair off and sprint into the woods. His blood is racing through his body, his feet flying through the grass as he hears the loud roar of the bear.

Shouting your name, shouting Stellan’s, his lungs feel like they’re about to burst as the crashing river comes into view. The sound of the white rapids, thunderous as waves crash against rock, echoes in James’ skull as he sweeps his eyes for a glimpse of you.

There’s the dark brown of wood everywhere, the same shade as Stellan’s leather vest, and his vocal cords burn as he screams over the sounds of the rapids.

“James?” He can hear his name in the distance and then there is a flash of white smudged with green and he can see Stellan bursting through the bushes on the other side of the river, followed by you. Steve raises his hand as you scoop up your son, and James rushes to the chaotic riverside. Frigid water splashes at his boots and a chill shoots up his spine. “What is it?”

“We need to head back. The Wolf is awake.”

Eyes widening, you disappear back into the woods after a quick nod, and James turns to Steve with a grimace before they start to sprint down the river. 

The only place to cross is by the lake where the river is calmer.

All he wants is to hold you in his arms.

The river calms as the trees begin to thin out once they reach the crystalline lake and Steve breaks through first just as something bursts through the bushes. Stellan’s cheeks are streaked with tears and as soon as he catches sight of his father, he runs towards you, and you tear out after him, your clothes stained with dirt and leaves, your hair a mess.

What follows is a massive beast, lunging out of the trees for you. It’s nothing but a flash of white fur and red eyes, claws gleaming in the sunlight. Drawing his sword, Steve runs into its path, bowled over with a painful clash just as James unsheathes his sword. You pick up Stellan and run up the hill, and as soon as James makes sure you’re on your way to safety, he joins Steve in the battle. The Wolf drags its claws through steel, and Steve lets out a scream, struggling to wrench its paw off of him just as James charges at the thing, running his blade through the pelt but it seems to glance off easily.

No mark stains the pelt and it swipes out a ferocious paw, knocking James aside as Steve struggles weakly, blood beginning to seep into the soil beneath. Scarlet rivulets gleam in the sunlight as James blinks his vision clear, digging his sword tip in an attempt to stand again. Terror tries to lock his limbs, but he tries to fight the swelling in his chest as he reaffirms his grip on the sword and runs at the beast once again.

The Wolf’s lips pulled back in a snarl, it leaves Steve motionless just as James tries to stab at its shoulder and it pulls back, tail thrashing. Blood drips from its maw and as James stares into the eyes of death, he wonders what he’ll see on the other side.

Hopefully, nothing.

Realistically, this will not be a painless death.

He raises his sword, and steadies his breath, sweat gathering in the hollow of his back, the seam that has stitched itself into his ribs just beginning to heal. Lungs heaving for air, he feels light-headed, near dizzy with adrenaline.

The Wolf lunges and James tries to jump out of the way too late. It catches him by the waist, drags him through the mud and his sword goes flying as teeth sink into his thigh. Grunting, he smashes his fist into the mutt’s muzzle to no avail, desperate to contain the scream trying to rip through his chest.

Black dots swarm his vision and his whole body is in flames as he raises his other leg, kicking the Wolf in the eye but it is not phased.

At least, not until something blasts it off of him.

Gasping for air, he pushes himself up and away from the Wolf that lies in a crumpled heap by the lake shore and then there is another pulse of energy, a cage of gold forming around the beast before hands hoist him up underneath his arms and drag him away.

“Are you alright?” He can hear your voice, sharp in his ear, and he turns to see you, eyes focused on the Wolf struggling to escape its prison. His whole body is aching buried deep in his bones and blooming like flowers in summer, and blood soaks through his trousers as you pull him behind a rock, dropping into a crouch beside him. “James?”

“What was that?” he whispers harshly, hand wrapping around your wrist, and your gaze jerks towards him jarringly. There is a light he does not recognize, focused, precised, glimmering in your eyes. You pull your wrist out of his grasp, turning to his oozing wound. Grabbing his hands, you push it atop the puncture, and James’ breath hitches at the warm, tingling sensation festering in his leg.

“I need to pull Steve to safety. Put pressure on that and do not move. You’ll only bleed more.” Without another word, you turn and make a lifting gesture with your hands. James cranes his head to watch a warm, golden corona surround Steve’s body and he is dragged towards them, leaving a trail of blood-soaked grass. The Wolf growls, lunges and bites, the sizzling of its energy cage filling the silence along with the clanking of Steve’s armour just as the blond is caught in your hands.

Pulling him around the rock cover, you hoist Steve up against the stone and run a glowing hand across the hemorrhaging body. Your fingers, tense and locked, seem to tremble as the blood stops flowing, and James’ eyes nearly pop out of his skull as he watches the eviscerated remains of his best friend begin to stitch together.

Turning to his own leg, he lifts his blood-red palms to see it already nearly closed, and his heart constricts as he covers it again and lets his head fall back to the stone.

Magic.

There’s the sound of branches breaking and James’ eyes snap open. Sweat pours at your brow just as he turns to look at you, and you barely flash him a smile before something snaps again and your attention is torn away.

Immediately, the stitching effect disappears and James cradles Steve’s head in his, brushes blood away from his cheek as a sharp howl pierces the air. The summer heat is thick against his cheeks as you trade blow for blow with the Wolf.

He wants nothing more than to step in beside you, but with every flash of gold, every bright burst of energy, he feels the fear he felt when he was nothing more than a child locking his legs, paralyzing his body.

Magic.

Pure, powerful magic lights up the air and he can smell it, smoke and starlight, on his tongue.

The Wolf lunges and you toss it into the lake. You send a shockwave rippling towards the hound and it merely jumps over and pins you to the ground. Its claw gouges into your chest and your scream is earth-shattering as you kick it off of you with a powerful blast from your legs. Rolling onto your hands and knees, James can see blood drip slowly down your chest, into the grass as your tattered dress blows in the gentle wind.

You seem to stare into death’s jaws, and then…

You smile.

The Wolf’s claws dig into the dirt, and then it is sprinting at you in full force just as you force yourself onto your feet.

Your name tears through his chest just as the Wolf tackles you into the lake and there is a small flash before a loud crash of water and he turns to Steve to make sure he’s still alive before stumbling to his feet to watch, and in the lake, two beasts thrash in the cold water. Jaws snap, claws drag through flesh, and he watches as a magnificent bird beats its wings, sending a rippling gale of wind through the lake. The water recedes onto the shore as fire flares and the Wolf whines in pain as talons sink into its back.

An awe fills his entire body as the gorgeous phoenix flaps its wings and takes flight, dropping the Wolf onto the shore once again and landing with delicate precision. It warbles, a gentle sound, and shakes out its feathers, droplets of silky water flying everywhere. Each quill is red-orange, near golden, and its talons glimmer with golden scales.

James’ mouth drops open as it croons at the Wolf who merely cowers in its presence. Another whimper escapes the white dog, its red eyes fading to brown and James, entranced, watches as the phoenix, wings extended, begins to sing.

A sense of melancholy seeps into his soul as the Wolf lowers its chin to its paws and the phoenix coos, the crest on its head swaying and catching the true sunlight. They shine like cut amber as its golden eyes narrow.

Then, there is another, softer glow as the phoenix buries its beak in the fur of the Wolf, and James turns away, shielding his eyes from what seems like the sun. Falling beside Steve, he looks at his best friend.

“Steve?” he murmurs, and murky blue eyes meet his just as you appear again. Magic still oozes around you like oil in the sea, and he can smell magic again, but warmer this time—like a hearth burns inside his soul. Around your shoulders is an arm attached to a young woman he doesn’t recognize in a white dress.

“Are you alright?” you ask, slowly lowering the woman to the ground as well. Reaching, you cup Steve’s face that is beginning to regain its colour, and James watches gold light up the blood beneath his skin where you touch.

Don’t touch him, he wants to say, but Steve only wakes up at the contact, eyes widening ever more so slightly.

“Y/N,” Steve rasps and your hand retreats just as you turn to the woman that’s barely stirring. James watches as you lay a hand carefully on her arm, and she raises her head groggily. Her eyes are muddy, dazed, but then they roll back and she slumps forward and Steve jerks away from the hair brushing against his hand, shuffling back against James who wraps an arm around Steve. “I thought death held me for certain.”

“It almost did, old friend,” James replies, eyes wandering to you. “And the Wolf?”

“She needs time to recover,” you reply, delicately brushing hair away from the girl’s face and James’ eyebrows rise in shock.

His whole body is wracked with fatigue, but his mouth drops open when he gets a glimpse of the necklace hanging around the girl’s neck. “I remember her. Seven years ago, House Starr reported their daughter was missing to Mother. They never found her.”

“At least not until now. I need to bring her to healers,” you say, standing and lifting the girl with surprising ease. James struggles to his feet, pulling Steve up, and your eyes soften at him as you try to smile, but the blood, the still-fading glint in your eyes, sends chills through his body.

Magic…

“We’ll need to speak later.” You dip your head in farewell before walking to the lakeshore, and Steve groans, his entire body deadweight against James’ shoulder and the king grunts, doing his best to keep him standing.

“Bluebird, wait—”

You glance at him over his shoulder, and there is a sorrowful sweetness resting in your face, a tenderness in your smile, a grief in your gaze.

Then, a golden sparks carve a line into the air, sizzling against the grass as it carves a portal into this reality. You turn forward and walk through.

It closes before he can follow.

.

His mind is cluttered, his ears full of beeswax, and he doesn’t know what is real.

Steve had been rushed to the hospital wing to be swarmed by doctors, the other knights anxious yet relieved to see both the king and their knight commander alive and safe.

He doesn’t miss the fact that Rumlow is not among those men.

In fact, he is missing, and not a single soul has heard from him.

Buried in his bones is an ache James cannot ignore. His chest feels like it’s splitting open, his ribs snapped, and as he stares at his reflection in the cheval mirror, he swallows the hard lump in his throat.

The teeth marks are already closed, scarring over yet there’s still a residual pulse of pain when he prods at it.

He doesn’t know whether or not to be enraged, relieved.

All he knows is emptiness.

“Are you alright?” Startled, James drops his pant leg and turns around to see you standing there, eyes wide and a tentative smile upon your lips. His breath catches in your throat and his eyes immediately go to his hands that you clasp before you. “James?”

“What are you doing here?” he asks, feather soft and you walk closer, your footsteps light. “Where is the Wolf?”

“Lady Ava is fine. I’ve brought her to some healers on the border of Asgard and Midgard. It was some curse inflicted upon her as a child. Parental mishap, it seems but she’ll be fine with time,” you inform quietly, your gaze dipping to your hands as you twist the ring, the ring he had given you, around your finger. “Is Steve…”

“He’s alive,” he replies stiffly, brushing past you and you turn around with him, lips twisted into a worried frown. “Thank you,” he adds quietly, genuinely. His mind is a whirlwind, his heart racing in his ears, and he can’t help the sensation that seizes his chest, the awareness of where your hands move. “Without you, he would’ve died.”

“Steve is family.” Walking up behind him, James can feel you come close. His entire body tenses, and he faces the wall, eyes slip shut. Bright blasts of gold ignite in his mind, followed by a ravaged village he had seen on his tour of his kingdom. At the hands of magic.

Hands of your kind.

He forces the next words out between gritted teeth, the words coming out flat, stoic.

“Go, before someone tells the truth about you.”

“James, you can’t possibly—” You touch his shoulder and James flinches away, whirling around to face you. Your eyes widen at the reaction, and you withdraw your hand back, stumbling to the wall. “You’re afraid of me.”

“You’re magic,” he whispers, voice wavering and you swallow audibly. Your hand shakes through the air as you retract it to your chest, and he watches the pulsing wound along your collarbone slowly stitch itself together, the flesh leaving no mark. Magic. “Of course I’m afraid of you.”

“James—”

“And Stellan,” he cuts you off cleanly, trying his best not to shake when your eyes widen, wet with tears. You blink and they fall, crystalline in the low light. You’re shaking, your entire body trembling as the two of you stand on opposite sides of the small room. “Is he…”

“Magic?” you finish for him and your voice is void of life, defeated. Your hands drop to your sides and you seem to stand straighter under his gaze as you stare at him. “After all this time, you’re still afraid of magic. You won’t even let me explain.” Your expression crumbles and you turn your face away, rubbing at the tears tracking down your face. An incredulous, sharp exhale fills the silence and James feels something inside him split open.

“Would you? Explain, that is.”

His heart wilts, his lungs collapse. His ribs seem to ache as you wipe at your face, the soft sounds of your uneven breathing filling the silence. He can feel your gaze, hot and desolate and aching against his cheek as he closes his eyes.

All he can see is his father’s splayed body, the blood soaking through the mud.

“You keep this secret from me, and expect me to trust you with the truth?”

“James…” you whisper softly, and his gaze jerks to yours jarringly. Your glassy eyes seem to stare right through him and he swallows through the bruising in his throat as he tries to hold back his own tears. “Please—”

“How could you not tell me?” he croaks, and you inhale, a shuddering, sharp thing. His chest is cracked open, his limbs are numb yet every bone in his body is solid lead. “How could you keep this from me?”

“Because I know you.” 

Your words are empty in the summer air.

There is a moment of silence as everything James knows shatters around him. If he listens close enough, he can hear the shards of it colliding with the stone beneath his feet, breaking into uncountable pieces.

“Go,” he says softly, and he can’t bear to look at the devastation his words cause. “I’ll say you died in the attack, so you have enough time to leave the kingdom. Take Stellan and do not return.”

“James, no. He’s your son. Please, don’t—”

“I said, go!” The loudness of his voice shocks him and he flinches back into the wall at the eerie quiet that follows.

There is the only sound of uneven breathing, the cacophony of hearts breaking, and you step forward, the fabric of your tattered dress brushing against the floor. He can see your shadow in the candlelight, reaching for him, before you jerk back and he closes his eyes, burning tears dripping down his cheeks.

The door groans when you push it open, as if the castle is reluctant to let you leave, but then it opens and you slip out.

The door closes shut with a soft, yet thunderous boom.

.

“The King is awake!”

James’ head blisters with pain, and it only intensifies at the voice as he blinks his eyes open. The ceiling of his room is not unfamiliar, neither is the mattress he’s beginning to wear uneven beneath his back.

All these years and he never could sleep on your side of the bed.

“James!” Doors open and hands rush to help him sit up, and he groans, eyes squeezing shut when his head sways. His whole world slants and the taste of vomit burns at his throat as he slowly opens his eyes again, and he catches sight of Natasha’s red hair. The bright light streaming into his room makes his head pulse and he turns away, hand rising like it’s dragging through molasses.

“The light,” he rasps, and Natasha, who holds him by the elbows, turns to whomever is with her.

Darkness falls in his room.

“James.” Steve. “Are you alright?”

“What… how am I here?” His tongue is thick in his mouth, dry and raw, and his vocal cords twinge at his voice.

“Rumlow almost killed you,” Steve begins quietly as more people enter the room. “We lost men, but won the battle once they surrendered.”

“Surrendered?” Frowning, James’ brow wrinkles and he feels something split open with a stinging sensation digging into his skull. He hisses out, reaching to touch it but Natasha guides his hand away. “Fuck. Where—”

“In the dungeons. Waiting for you whenever you’re ready.” Natasha’s voice is soothing to the thumping in his skull.

“Help me stand.”

“Wait. Give yourself a few moments to regain your bearings,” Steve murmurs but James shakes his head despite how terribly it increases the agony chipping into his head.

“No—”

“James.”

“If she’s there, I need to see her.” Letting go of Natasha’s hand, he swings his legs off the bed and leans forward, hands clutching onto the edge of his bed.

“James.”

“What?” he barks, head snapping to Steve and Natasha who look at each other with an apprehension. “Steve…” Something drags at his gut and his eyes widen in fear. Ice sluices through his chest. The silence becomes suffocating and with every passing second, he feels the world darken in on him.

No. No, no, no, no—

“She’s not there.”

“Where is she?”

“James, sit down.”

The ice melts into magma, and he thrashes off Natasha’s gentle hand. 

“Where is she?”

.

Peter’s cabin is small, but warmly furbished for a squire. He lets them in before excusing himself to the castle, and James feels like he’s chained to a solid steel ball by the ankle. His limbs are wrought with bruises, and his head sways with every step as Natasha and Steve help him in.

He can see you through the open door to Peter’s room, and his breath stops in his chest.

Your body is hunched over a bed, a blanket draped over your shoulders as the sun washes over your body. You don’t stir at the entrance of the trio and James lets out the breath, the string lancing through his body snipped when you don’t immediately move. You’re dressed in oversized clothes, trousers and a linen shirt hanging off your shoulders. Your hair is slick with oil, and he can smell the poultices that must’ve been slathered onto any wounds from where he walks slowly deeper into the room, his fingers deep in Natasha’s and Steve’s arms.

“Steve,” Natasha murmurs, and she brings James’ hand to Steve before approaching the bed slowly. Steve leads James to a couch by the small hearth but James’ eyes don’t stray from Natasha as the redhead approaches your sleeping form. He cranes his head to watch through the doorway, and his blood rushes to his head, dizzying.

“Why is she here?” James whispers, voice fleeting just as Natasha lays a hand on your shoulder and you jerk up, a soft blue corona flaring around your being and Natasha raises her hands, walking around the bed. Narrowing his gaze, James tries to decipher who lays there as you stand on unsteady feet, rub at your face.

“How long have I been asleep?” you ask quietly and the sound of your voice, deeper, mature, strikes James, pulls him apart at the seams. Standing on unsteady feet, his legs knock into a table as he rushes towards the bedroom despite Steve’s attempts to grab him, and he stumbles to the door frame, his head spinning.

His vision blurs, and his head feels like it’s bashed in, but he doesn’t miss the colour of your eyes, the way your head turns to look over your shoulder.

Lightning strikes his core when your gaze fixes on his. There’s so much about you that is the same since the last time he’s seen you. Thirteen years and you’ve only grown more beautiful, more graceful. The little wrinkle in your brow as you look at him, the tightness in your lips as you frown.

“James.”

Even the way you say his name is the same.

What isn’t, though, is the fear.

He knows what fear looks like on your face, the way it floods your eyes, the way it can’t show on the rest of you because you are a queen and untouchable, but for it to be directed at him…

His head is heavier than bricks on his shoulders as you back up until your legs touch the bed, and your arms are spread.

Is this how he looked at you all those years ago? As if he holds a knife to his throat and digs the blade deeper with every second?

“What is he doing here?” you ask, scratchy and you clear your throat, not tearing your gaze away from him for a second. James stays by the door, a cold hand wrapped around his ankle, keeping him there no matter how much he wants to move.

“I don’t want to hurt you—”

“Oh, you’ve done plenty.” Your voice, pure fire, sears through his chest as you narrow your gaze. “Go.”

“Y/N—”

“I said, leave.” Although no magic flares at your fingertips, there is a shift in the way the light plays in your eyes and James’ throat closes up at the way your eyes glisten. “Don’t you think your family has done enough?”

“You’re my family.”

“No, I wasn’t,” you whisper. Natasha’s head is bowed, but her eyes still watch the scene with an uncanny glint. Even if she is your friend, she will no doubt step between you and him. Catching the woman’s gaze, James tilts his head towards the door. Eyes widening, the red lady dips her head and slowly makes her way between them, her gaze slowly dragging across James’ expression but he remains solely focused on you.

Your eyes do not stray from him either.

Walking in slowly, he closes the door behind him and his eyes flicker to the figure in the bed. Their face is cloaked in shadow, but he can see dark hair illuminated by the candle. Eyes narrowing, he tries to discern who it is.

Perhaps it is Rumlow, and he has made a tremendous error.

“Why are you here?” you whisper tightly between clenched teeth, and his eyes snap back to yours. “It’s been thirteen years and you’ve fixed nothing.”

“I didn’t know Asgard was ruled by you,” he begins. “I didn’t know until I saw you on the rise. If I had known—”

“What? Would you have attempted peace? Or would you have tried to conquer us again like your father did?” Your expression is wracked with agony as he steps closer, and you inhale softly, shakily. “Stay away from me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Stay away—”

“Bluebird—”

“Do not think me so soft that I will listen to you because you call me that.” Your words become thin, choked. “I gave you my terms, and you didn’t choose peace, just as your father did.”

“Your people are hostile.”

“And yours murdered mine. King Thor died two moons ago and the only suspect is a Midgardian” Her words hang coldly before him and he pauses in the middle of the room. “As his successor, it was only natural to want justice.”

“Why you? Why not anyone else in his court?”

“Because I was not just Midgard’s queen,” you say, finally pulling your gaze away to sit down on the edge of the mattress and turning to the figure on the bed. You touch their face, but do not tilt them to the light. “Your father tried to conquer Asgard when I was young, four or five. I was playing with my brother in the streets, my mother watching over us. I didn’t know what was happening until we heard the screams.”

James hears the tiny, trembling breath in your throat as you run your hand down the figure’s cheek.

“It was too late before we knew to run. My mother took my brother and ran, and I did my best to follow, but they just kept running after us until we separated.” Your voice goes quieter, glass-like. “I found their bodies, my mother’s hunched over Loki’s as she tried to protect him. I can still see their blood, taste it in my mouth. It felt like the entire city burned before allied Jotunheim forces arrived and chased your people out of our land.”

“Y/N—”

Your gaze finally turns to him, and he does not recognize the pitifully small girl in them, the shivering, broken girl in the rain and smoke staring back at him. “They ran through the streets like rats. I could hear them shouting in fear as they froze to death, and I thought I was going to die, too, until Brock found me. He was… he was the knight commander’s squire, and he told me I had to run.”

“So he knew all this time.”

“Of course he did. He was sworn to protect me,” you murmur, and the way your voice flips makes James’ eyebrows rise.

“He loved you, you know?”

“I know he wanted revenge. I know he wanted me to kill you at every turn. I don’t know if he could have ever picked me over the other,” you whisper, eyes drifting and finding his again. Your eyes have softened with an unspoken agony, and the candlelight plays with your face, making you simultaneously younger and older all at once. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“He’s dead, isn’t he?”

Your silence is his answer and, this time, when he comes closer, his hand against the wall, you don’t protest.

“I’m sorry.” He cranes to catch a glimpse of the face, and sees a younger face, at rest yet ashen with death. Eyebrows knitting together, he looks to you again and it’s breathtaking the way you gaze at him. Effortlessly in anguish, terrible in your grace. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“James—”

“Forgive me.” Pushing off the wall, he falls to his knees before you and bows his head, heat rushing to his face. Head submerged in his own shame, he can feel his shoulders shake before the tears come and his throat clots as he plants his hands into the ground. “Forgive me.” A worm in his gut wriggles its way up his throat and he feels sick to his stomach as he keens over, presses his brow to the wood. “I never meant this. I don’t know—where? How did we get here, bluebird? How?”

“James.” Your voice, strong yet tender, commands you to look up at him, and his face is kissed by cold wind as he wipes at his tears. “Come sit beside me.” Raising to unsteady feet, he collapses beside you and your arm immediately wraps around his shoulders, your other hand brushing hair away from his slick cheeks, his tear-stained eyes. “You know how we got here.” Your thumb brushes over his lip and a sense of warmth fills his hollow being. Thirteen years without your warmth, and now, he drowns in it.

Your hand flattens against his cheek and guides your gaze as you twist to reveal the face on the bed. With your free hand, you tilt the boy’s face towards him.

His entire body freezes as the boy murmurs, eyebrows knitting together and turning away.

“Stellan…” Standing, he rushes around to the other side of the bed to get a better look of him, and reaches with trembling hands toward his son’s face. A large cut is drawn into his stem and disappears beneath his shirt, and a rage fills his soul. He’ll kill the man who tried to kill his son. “My son—”

Who looks just like him in nature, the same jaw and nose. 

“—has grown into a man,” you say, and James wrenches his gaze to you. A sweet sorrow resides in your face as you smile. Holding Stellan’s face in his hands, James entire body alights with energy, with a breathless wonder. “And knows his father enough to save his life.” You thumb over Stellan’s cheek, your fingers barely brushing James’, golden magic spiralling beneath your hand like branching ivy, and the boy mumbles under his breath, turns to the warmth. He fights the instinct to flinch, and simply lets your magic caress his knuckles. It tickles, then melts like warm chocolate against him. “And he got a sword stem to stern for it.”

“He killed Rumlow?” James looks to you, his hands drawing away from his son’s face, and the warmth is chased away.

“It was instant. Brock felt no pain. It was all I could do to save Stellan,” you say, struggling to keep your voice even. “I don’t want us to fight, anymore, James. Bucky,” you correct yourself with a small smile, and his heart pangs as you reach for his hand across the bed. No one has called him that in years. “But if this is what happens when our people mingle, perhaps it’s best we stay apart.”

“I don’t want that,” he whispers, taking your hand and you study him with knitted eyebrows. “I don’t want to be apart from you for another moment.”

“Then, promise me you’ll fix this.” Your voice, barely a whisper and shaking, is strung with a strength he knows you have, and he looks to you, a queen all on your own.

You have never needed him, but he needs you. Your hand in his tells him as much as you weave your fingers carefully with his, and he wants to hold you tight, hold his son again.

Thirteen years have left him cold, nothing more than a skeleton in a flesh prison.

“I promise.”

At his words, your expression seems to ease, and then a shyer, girlish smile curls at your lips.

“And promise you’ll love me always.”

“I promise.”

#fic: buried in your bones #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x yn #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky fic #bucky fanfiction #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan fic #buckysknifecollectionchallenge #niks1kwritingchallenge #my writing

[buckyreaderrecs]

Wax and Wane

Summary: Bucky was sure he'd felt all the different types of bad a person could feel. He was wrong. You were pretty sure it was illegal to drive away with an Avenger in the back of your van, but what else could you do? A story about grief that is basically the 'flowers grow in the sidewalk cracks' metaphor fanfictionalised.

Words: 5,614 Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Thor Additional tags: mostly canon compliant (Infinity War and Endgame never happened), Stark Tower still exists, other Marvel characters are mentioned but aren’t central to plot, recovering Bucky, not angsty but a sad story, she/her pronouns Warnings: illness/death, sick children, grief

Note: This was written for Nik's 1k Writing Challenge - @serpienten  My dialogue prompt was, "I'll keep you warm. Hold me closer." I hope you love it, Nik! 

EDIT: Accidentally had all the Y/N replaced with my name because of the Chrome extension. Hopefully fixed, but if you see Rhiannon pop up, please let me know so I can edit. Embarrassing lol.

Wax and Wane

As the paint was brushed gently across their skin in broad strokes, you could read the joy and pleasure in their sweet little faces. It was a very minor and short term relief from their day-to-day pain, but it was the very least you could do. Face painting wasn't going to cure cancer or mend broken bones, but it made the residents of the hospital's children's ward happy.

Most of the long-term patients knew you. You were the girl in the tutu and butterfly wings that would come and blow bubbles and make them smile. But on that day, you weren't the one they were excited for.

The children were in a frenzy as The Avengers entered the room, dressed in their best outfits (minus any dangerous weaponry, you assumed). You stood to the side of the room with the doctors, nurses, and parents, and listened along with an enraptured audience as Captain America and Iron Man introduced the team. The kids couldn't sit for long, so very quickly the nibbles and treats were brought out and the room calmed into a soft party atmosphere.

As soon as you'd set up your station, there was a line of children wanting to have webs and stars painted. You worked quickly, getting through the line fast. Staying put, you only had a chance to briefly survey the room before Liam, one of your most special friends, trotted up to you, pulling along someone new.

"Hey, Liam," you greeted. He let go of his new friend's hand to hug you.

"Look, Y/N!" he said, pointing up. "It's Bucky!"

You looked up at Bucky Barnes, who would have towered over you even if you had been standing. The child's size plastic chair you were on really added a comical size difference though.

"Hi, Bucky," you said, coy smile. Bucky softly smiled back. "You're Liam's favourite,"

"Yeah, I told'ed him that!" Liam said, not a shred of self-consciousness in the child. "And now we can be matching,"

"Matching?" you asked.

"Yeah, 'cause you do the painting and you can paint my arm like Bucky's," Liam explained, holding his prosthetic arm out in demonstration.

Glancing up at Bucky to make sure he was privy to the plan, he simply gave a little shrug.

"Sounds good to me. How about you sit in this chair here, Liam, and we get Bucky to sit right next to us on the floor. Is that okay?" you asked both of them.

Liam jumped into the seat, sticking his arm out ready.

Bucky had a bit of a harder time folding himself down, but he eventually managed to sit in front of you comfortably.

"Okay if I borrow your arm for a bit?" you asked Bucky.

He nodded and held it out to you. When you took it, laying it across one of your legs so you could copy the seams and markings, Bucky held his breath. Most people hesitated. He figured some of them were afraid, and some didn't want to appear rude. Not you though. To you, his arm was just that - an arm. You'd kinda grown used to celebrities (is that what superheroes are classified as? you wondered to yourself) by then. Make a Wish and fundraising events and all that jazz… Turns out most famous people are pretty normal, boring even.

Bucky watched you pull a bunch of markers out of your kit and begin replicating the aesthetic of his vibranium arm onto Liam's plastic prosthetic. He let you gently move him as needed, and found himself in awe of how good your Sharpie skills were.

"You're really good," he said, speaking up for the first time.

Liam held most of the space in the conversation, which was fine by both of you. He told Bucky about his illness, and how even though he'd lost his arm, he was the "luckiest kid in New York" because he was alive and because he got to meet The Avengers. There were shades of adult in his words, like he'd been told of his own luck before.

While Liam spoke, you stole glances at Bucky. Mostly, his gaze was on Liam, sometimes darting over to you and away just as fast; he was avoiding eye contact. However, he quickly would turn to focus on particularly loud sounds or doors opening. If you'd had a chance to watch any of the other heroes in the room, you'd note they all did the same.

"Doin' okay, Liam?" you checked in when the boy had gone quiet.

Liam nodded frantically, not wanting to disappoint. "Yeah!" he affirmed.

"Maybe just need a little nap after this, huh buddy?" you asked.

"Maybe," he replied, relieved that there was a nap in his future.

"Think I might need one too," Bucky chimed in. Liam giggled like it was a joke.

"All done!" you announced.

When the very elated Liam was done tippy tapping and hugging, he ran off to show his parents how absolutely cool he was.

You and Bucky stood, both stretching out your limbs.

"Think you've made a friend for life there," you told him; he softly smiled in reply. "Can I just say something that might be way out of place? I just… I don't know… I feel like you need to hear it."

Bucky frowned, studied your face for a second. "Sure,"

"Okay… So… You do know that you deserve to be here, right?"

Mostly his expression was blank, then his head tilted to the side just a little. You'd been reading him the whole time, he realised. He felt exposed. But there was nowhere to run to.

"Maybe…" he finally settled on saying.

"Maybe?" you scoffed. "I mean, kids are lining up to meet you… And you're not questioning if, like, Wanda Maximoff or Natasha Romanoff should be here, you know what I mean?"

Bucky looked over to where Scarlet Witch and Black Widow were forming a girl gang. "They're different. It's different," he argued, but his words were laced with too much sadness for you to give in.

"Yeah… If you wanna get technical, weren't you the only one under mind control or whatever?" you posed.

Bucky looked at you, tried to figure out why you were being so… persistently kind. Your logic made sense, and something in him considered believing it.

"I'm just saying," you continued, "You deserve to be here. And if you don't wanna accept that, then it can be like… Liam deserves for you to be here."

That, Bucky could get behind. He nodded. "Thank you," he said, awkward but earnest.

You shrugged it off, then took a slow step towards him. "Hug?"

He blinked stupidly, then nodded, opening his arms and letting you step into them. While you wrapped your arms loosely around his neck, Bucky hesitated for a moment, then slid his arms around you. People around the room, even the ones that didn't know Bucky, watched how his hands lingered in the air before settling on your back. They saw how he melted into the hug, let his head rest on your shoulder and closed his eyes.

When you stepped away from each other, he'd inherited some of your fairy glitter.

"I'll see you next time, I guess," you offered, letting your sentence trail off enough that Bucky could catch it if he wanted. There was room for him to say anything. But, he just nodded.

Bucky watched you walk away.

Sam appeared at his side. "So, are you gonna-" Sam said, the amusement clear in his tone.

"Don't," Bucky interrupted.

"She's clearly-"

"I said don't," Bucky snapped, walking out of the room.

Sam went to follow, worried he'd genuinely upset his friend, but he caught Steve's eye. A subtle shake of the head told him to stand down.

…

Although you buried it deep inside, there was some small part of you that thought maybe you'd hear from Bucky. You weren't exactly sure why you thought that was going to happen. It was easy to let that idea fall in the face of logic though; he was an Avenger… very busy… very private… etc. etc. Nonetheless, that small part stayed alight, and it fed your dreams all the way through to the next time you would cross paths with Bucky again.

It was a different hospital, but the same type of event. Sparkle and shine and cheer the kids up. Although there were less Avengers than the first, the children were entirely chuffed with meeting their heroes. And, this event had something the previous did not. Thor. His laugh bellowed all through the ward's corridors, providing a sharp contrast to the otherwise sterile mundane life of the hospital.

Thor promised the children that it wasn't that they weren't worthy of wielding Mjolner, it was that they just weren't ready yet. "You're far too little! When you're big and strong, like me!" He filled the children with more hope than they'd had in a long time.

Your attention constantly being drawn to the larger-than-life Asgardian was a welcomed distraction… You were trying to give Bucky space, deciding that if he wanted to talk to you, he could. You wouldn't push it. Two superheroes that apparently did want to talk to you, though, were Falcon and Captain America.

Like you were their mission, there was hardly a second where one of them wasn't by your side. Sam was entirely unhelpful, giving creative input to all the face painting. He made the kids laugh though, often at jokes that went over their innocent heads. It was his sassy tone they really liked. Steve was a little calmer, answering weird and wonderful questions only children could think up.

They were both charming, personable, and genuinely fun to be around, but what were they doing? Were they trying to coax Bucky in? Provide a buffer? Or, no… Maybe they were keeping you from him? Shaking the thought from your head, you simply blew bubbles and painted faces and covered the room in confetti.

You would have liked to say you didn't notice when Bucky slipped from the room, not returning, but that small part of you most definitely did. It most definitely noticed and you most definitely felt the effect of him not speaking to you, not even offering a smile across the room.

"Did I do something?" you finally asked Steve, not needing to explain the context.

"No… It's not you…" he answered, looking over at the door Bucky had left through. "He's just… He's trying…"

…

The children's ward was quiet. It was like that on Tuesday mornings. No events. Rounds over. Just the everyday life of sick children and distraught parents. As you walked down the corridor, you glanced through open doorways on your way to the nurses' station.

It was a hard place to be.

Something caught your eye and you stopped yourself a second too late, passing the room before you could see what it was. A flash of something. Stepping back, you snuck a look around the corner.

A sunbeam off vibranium. Bucky Barnes was folded next to a bed, his arms crossed on the edge of the mattress, his head resting on them. He was asleep. You took a step into the room, then looked to the occupant of the bed. Your heart dropped. Liam.

Liam was asleep in bed, sweating and small.

Cautiously, you crept further into the room. Neither of them stirred, so you took a chair on the opposite side of the bed to Bucky and reached over to pick up Liam's chart from the end of his bed. It didn't say a lot, just the need-to-know for nurse rotation. But you knew those medications enough to know it was bad. Really bad. The emotions caught were too big. You put the chart back; the plastic-hitting-plastic sound it made woke Bucky up. He shot up, chair almost knocked to the ground if it weren't for his reflexes. He looked across the bed at you then, recognition instant. A worried expression took over his face.

"Y/N?"

"He's sick again," you said, your voice sounding far away.

Bucky tracked your gaze to Liam. He nodded. "Yeah… They, ah… It came back… His parents went home to get some sleep. I said I'd stay." When you didn't move, didn't say anything, Bucky grew nervous. He could hardly handle his own reaction, let alone yours too. "They, the hospital, got in touch when he came back in. Said that… I could help. Make him feel… brave, or… I don't know.. It's been a couple weeks, but…"

He couldn't bring himself to say it and you didn't need to hear it.

"I've… I've got to… go…" you said.

When you stood up, you wobbled on the spot and tried to take a step to the door. Bucky was next to you before you even clocked him moving.

"Come on. Don't wanna wake him," Bucky whispered, helping you out of the room gently.

In the corridor, away from the door, you felt the wet hot tears roll down your face. Stupid, you thought to yourself, you should be used to this. It's happened before. The obvious and cruel downside to volunteering in the pediatric ward of a hospital.

Bucky stood in front of you, watching for only a couple seconds before pulling you into a hug. He squeezed you into his chest, your arms curled comfortably between him and you.

"He's talked about you. He'd wanna see you... Come back this afternoon and see him."

You nodded, keeping your eyes shut tightly.

"Okay," you tried, your voice squeaky and small.

"Okay," Bucky repeated, trying to channel the humanity pre-Hydra Bucky showed when Steve's mother passed away. He knew what to say and do then. "You're okay… Go… Go do what ya need to. We'll be here. I've got him," he said.

When he let you go, you felt cold. You wiped your tears, nodded once and looked up at him.

"Go," he prompted, and you nodded again, turning and walking away.

…

"Yeah, I don't know what that is,"

"Finding Nemo?!" Liam repeated, like if he said it louder Bucky was more likely to recognise the title.

You chuckled from the seat next to Bucky's.

"You knew?" he asked.

"Everyone knows just keep swimming, Buck," you told him with a shrug.

"Guess that's another one for the list then," he said, pulling his phone out and adding the film to his ever-growing list of 'to watch'.

Hours could go by like that. You, Liam, and Bucky sitting around, reciting movie quotes to each other. Guessing titles. Laughing at all the gaps in Bucky's pop culture knowledge. Liam loved feeling smarter than an adult, and he completely lost himself in hysterical laughter when Bucky burst out his chair in joy when he finally recognised a film.

"Star Wars!" Bucky had screamed so loud the nurse came in to shush him. "Luke, I am your father!" Bucky whispered at her, grinning ear to ear. Then there was the Harry Potter time. "I got tricked into watching them," Bucky had said, shaking his head. Apparently, during his stay in Wakanda, Shuri had convinced him that Scarlet Witch and those who attended Hogwarts were from the same breed. He should, she said, watch it so he understands Wanda Maximoff better. Shuri would remember Bucky's face forever when he came back from visiting Team Cap.

"My turn," Liam said. He thought for a second. "I'm gonna make you an offer you can't refuse," he said, his voice forced as deep as his tiny child body would allow.

"Woah! Who let you watch that?!" you said, completely horrified.

"My cousin David," Liam snitched immediately. "The horse head didn't even look real,"

"It didn't," Bucky confirmed, again, happy to identify The Godfather. "Alright, my turn… Ah… Okay. Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine."

You were as lost as Liam.

"We give up," Liam reported after maybe five seconds of thinking.

"Casablanca?! Come on, guys. It's a classic!" Bucky argued.

"God, you're showing your age," you teased.

"Alright, you do better,"

"Easy," you cleared your throat for dramatic effect, "To infinity and beyond!"

"TOY STORY!" both Liam and Bucky yelled in unison.

Liam then taught Bucky how to act out the "Buzz, will you get up here and give me a hand?" scene, complete with thrown prosthetic.

…

"Theeeeeee… beeeeestest… leaf!"

You and Bucky ran off in opposite directions. The hospital courtyard wasn't exactly bursting at the seams with nature, but it was enough to complete a little scavenger hunt.

On Liam's orders, you returned with the most impressive leaf you could find. Bucky was right behind you. Handing them over, Liam carefully considered them from his bunded up seat in his wheelchair.

"The winner is…" he said, pausing to cough. "Y/N!"

"What?!" Bucky screeched.

"Calm down. It's one-all," you reminded him. His feather was iridescent therefore better than your grey pigeon one.

Bucky grinned at you, ever competitive and ever aiming to make Liam happy. "Alright," he said. "What's next, little man?"

…

"Not today, guys," the nurse replied when you ask if Liam could go for a walk.

"Maybe we'll just read a couple chapters of The Lord of the Rings then, yeah?" you said, turning your suggestion to Bucky.

Bucky nodded solemnly, suddenly and deeply affected by the reminder of Liam's weakening state, of mortality.

Before entering Liam's room, you reached out and touched Bucky's arm. He stopped, looked at you with glossy eyes. You don't wanna see it, think it, but sadness didn't take away from Bucky's beauty.

"You okay?" you asked.

It was a loaded question and almost a rhetorical one. Bucky knew that. He didn't answer, just gave you a weak, lopsided smile.

"You Sam or Frodo today?" he asked, shaking it off and moving again.

…

For the whole time you'd known Bucky, his size had always been so obvious. Sitting beside children, beside Liam, he looked like a giant. Even next to the nurses that came and went he towered. Small hospital chairs. Small plastic cups. Small, sanitised rooms.

So, when you turned the corner and saw Bucky sitting on the floor of the pediatric ward's hallway, looking so fucking small, it stopped you in your tracks. His head was in his hands, and you knew what it meant.

Slowly, step by heavy step, you walked the hallway and came to stand in the doorway of what was once Liam's room. The bed had been stripped of linen, but wasn't yet made ready for the next patient. The charts were gone, and the many tubes and plastic bags of chemicals too. A crushed, empty juice box was on the ground.

Behind you, a nurse cleared her throat.

"Y/N… I'm so sorry… We tried to call ya this morning but-"

"I left my phone at home… I was running late. Locked myself out my apartment. Left half my kit there too. Was late to this fairy party gig I had downtown… Bad day… and-" you were rambling, tears slowly running down your face. The nurse's hand gently cupping your shoulder stopped you.

"S'alright, love… Nothing you could've done. But it's good you're here now. Reckon the Sergeant here might need a little TLC, yeah?"

Nodding, you wiped your tears away on the sleeve of your hoodie. Suddenly, it felt ridiculous to be wearing a pink tutu.

The nurse left you alone with Bucky.

Bucky, who had not moved a single inch since you arrived. Bucky, who looked small. Bucky.

"Let's go," you said, kneeling on the lino floor in front of him. "Think maybe a crying fairy and ah, statue Winter Soldier might confuse the kids… So… let's go."

You thought maybe he wasn't going to reply, but he lifted his head, faced up. Bucky's eyes were rimmed red, but they were dry. He looked haunted. Shaking his head the smallest amount, he told you, "I… I can't… can't leave him…"

"Okay… Okay, yeah. Um…" You looked up and down the hallway, trying to think while your head was drowning in grief. "Alright, um… My van is downstairs, in the lot. Let's just… I don't know, get that far."

Bucky just starred at you. For one… two… three… "Yeah, okay," he agreed, standing.

He didn't say a word as he followed you into the elevator and down to the carpark. People tried to not stare as you walked by.

Arriving at your van, you opened the back and shoved some things out of the way, pulling the small mattress and pillows down from where they were propped up against the side. Turning to face Bucky, you read the confusion in his face.

"Oh, ah… I don't live in it… I just…" There was no point in sugar-coating at that point. "I spend half my time around sick kids, you know? I need somewhere to be when it gets too much. Somewhere to… cry or sleep for an hour or whatever."

Bucky looked from the van to you, gave you a small nod of acknowledgement.

"We can just stay here… for as long as you need…" you offered, feeling embarrassment swell in you, but it quickly gave way to the apathy summoned by abject grief.

If Bucky thought it was weird, he didn't say and you wouldn't have cared. He didn't though. He moved to sit where he could politely unlace his boots and nudge them under the van, then he scooted back onto the mattress, laid down. You crawled in after him, closing the doors behind you.

He'd returned to his state of seeming too big for his surroundings, curled up in the back of your van. When you laid down next to him, he looked over at you. "Thank you," he said, voice croaky.

As tears began to form in his eyes, you had the grace to pretend not to notice. "I think there's a blanket somewhere…" You sat up, looking over a box of costume fairy wings. Before you could locate the blanket, Bucky's arms wrapped gently around your waist, pulling you into him.

Your back was to his chest, his face buried somewhere between your neck and the pillow.

"I'll keep you warm," Bucky said, "Hold me closer." So, you did, putting your arms over his and threading your fingers between his. You didn't need to be kept warm, but he needed to hold onto something solid, someone living, breathing, real, and there. He needed you.

…

Usually, sleeping in the back of the van was fine. When a super soldier was taking up 80% of the space, however… different story. You lasted forty minutes before snaking your way out, jumping over the front bench seat to sit behind the wheel.

Bucky was definitely dead to the world. You could hear his heavy sleep-induced breathing. But, you couldn't just drive off with him in the back. That would pretty much be kidnapping an Avenger, right? You looked over the seat at Bucky. Waking him up seemed like an equally bad idea, both practically and morally speaking. He was so peaceful.

So, against your better judgement, you got out, grabbed his boots, and jumped back in, putting the key in the ignition and turning.

At every car horn, New York pedestrian, and sharp turn, you glanced over to see if he'd been startled awake. Alas, sleeping beauty. After about fifteen minutes of sitting on your phone when you'd arrived home, parked in the back lot of your apartment complex, you ran out of feeds to refresh. Leaving the car key close to Bucky, where he'd see it, you left him there, figuring he'd probably be able to defend himself if anyone tried to steal the van.

Hours later, close to midnight, you found yourself walking around your place, lost and teary. Pulling your nightgown on, you left your apartment and ventured outside. It was cold. That type of night time chill that only exists when you're at your most sad. Bone freezing. Visible breathing.

There was no reply when you knocked on the back door of the van. Opening it, you were startled by Bucky's upright frame. He was sitting awake, back to the interior wall.

"Buck?"

No reply.

You were a little scared. Unsure of what to do next.

"I… I thought you could use the sleep. We're at my place now…"

Still, nothing.

"Do you want to come inside?"

You chewed your lip for a second, waited, but he remained still. His super soldier body would be fine without food or water for a little while longer, you reasoned. And, he constantly radiated heat.

"I'm apartment 5C. Come up when you're ready."

He didn't look over as you closed the door and retreated back into the safety of your home. There, you cried. Grieved. Tried to sleep. You told yourself you would make him come inside in the morning.

…

The sun rose red over New York City. You'd left your blinds open all night; waking up to natural like was meant to be good for you. Sitting up, you stretched the last remnants of a restless sleep off your heavy body and stepped out of bed.

Maybe Bucky got himself in overnight. Crept in through an unlocked window. Used some sort of superhero technology to unlock the front door. He wasn't on the couch, though, or anywhere in the apartment.

Teeth brushed and coffee brewing, you once again donned the nightgown and headed outside.

At least he's lying down, you thought, opening the van door.

Bucky was back under the blanket. He was awake, the lines under his eyes deep set and sharing space with purple shadows.

"Come on," you said. "You can't stay here. People are gonna come looking for you."

Slowly, Bucky rolled his head to the side to look at you. Previously, he was staring at the van ceiling. "Steve knows," he told you, throwing his phone over. It landed on the blanket with a gentle thud.

You didn't pick it up.

Bucky continued, "Messaged him last night. Phone's dead now,"

"Um… okay… Well, you should still come inside. There's more room,"

"I'm fine."

It wasn't defiance as much as it was apathy. You wanted to say something. Anything. Be reassuring. But to be honest, you were surprised by his grief.

Surely, the Winter Solider knew loss. Surely, he'd mourned and learnt to cope.

No… No, this was different, you told yourself. The first child who passed away when you started working with the hospitals destroyed you. It took a month to even go back to the pediatric ward. Since then, you'd put things into perspective and learnt to process everything a bit better. Not as equipped as the doctors and nurses to do so, but able enough to survive the pain.

The pain. Entirely unique. Something Bucky hadn't felt before.

He really thought he'd felt all the types of bad there was to feel. He really thought he was no longer able to love. Besides Steve. And Sam. Wanda. Nat. Shuri… Okay, so he was kidding himself. Still. It fucking hurt.

…

Around lunch, you took Bucky some food. Around dinner, you found it untouched but replaced it anyway.

It was a Sunday night. In the morning you were expected over at the palliative care centre. Reading aloud to the patients helps.

At 5:30 am, you woke from a fever dream. After shoving the sheets in the apartment building's basement washer, you called the centre.

"Oh, no worries, Y/N," they told you. "Sally's bringin' her new puppy in today. That ought to bring some cheer to the place anyway."

Guilt alleviated only slightly, you trekked to the van.

At least he'd nibbled on dinner at some point.

"Bucky?"

It was dark still, the sun only just waking up. You could make out Bucky's form in amongst your stuff.

"You have to come inside today. I…" Guilt. Maybe a guilt trip would work. "I need my van for work…" It almost sounded like a question. "And, I'm sure you've got things you need to do…" No response. "Superhero stuff?"

A muffled snort, but nothing else.

…

"Any chance you can just leave him there?"

For a second, you thought Steve was joking. The silence at the end of the line said otherwise.

"Ah, I mean, it's been almost two days,"

"I can get a car sent over to you if-"

"No," you interrupted. "That's not it. I'm just… Is this normal?"

Steve sighed. "There's not a normal for us, Y/N. There's just… coping… day by day."

Holding in tears, you nodded to yourself. "Yeah, okay. I, ah, just wanted to check in. See if there's anything I should be doing,"

"I'd wager that you're already doing it… It means something that he's chosen to be near you. He could have run. He does sometimes. So, really, for him, this is… progress. He trusts you."

You're weren't sure what you'd done to deserve that.

"Thanks, Steve,"

"Anytime. Call anytime, Y/N."

When you'd phone Stark Tower looking for help, you didn't really expect to be taken seriously. As it turned out, they were waiting for your call.

…

To your relief, Bucky was sitting up when you opened the van doors around 5 pm. He watched in interest as you awkwardly climbed in, handing him the tray you were carrying so you could settle in next to him.

"Choc chip cookies and tea," you announced, not letting him give the tray back. "And I'm not leaving until you drink your cup and have at least two cookies."

Bucky looked down at the presentation in his lap. "Guess I can't argue with that."

You chewed your cookie slowly, making sure you'd not finish before him.

"Did you make these?"

"Yeah… I bake when I'm… Whatever," you replied.

He nodded, then took another bite.

"You called Steve?"

"How'd-"

Bucky shrugged. "Just figured you would. What'd he say?"

"Um… That you're okay here," you told him.

Bucky didn't reply, instead picked up his mug of tea and held it between his palms. The china softly chinked against his left hand.

You wanted to ask if he was indeed okay, but you weren't sure of what you'd be able to say if he lied. Or told the truth. Or anything in between.

When the tray was empty of food, you climbed out of the van, and half-heartedly asked if he was coming inside.

"I'm fine here," was his equally half-hearted reply.

Together, maybe, you could make a whole person, something functioning and able to cope better than either of you were doing alone.

Back inside your apartment, you ran out of plain flour and dishes to clean. All that was left to do was mourn.

…

It had been three nights and days since you'd arrived home from the hospital. Almost eighty hours of saying goodbye to Liam and telling yourself to be grateful that you knew him, and that you were able to help him laugh and find joy in his final few weeks. Hours of phone calls to friends, family, and your favourite nurses. Hours of standing at your apartment door, ready to march down to the van and pull Bucky out by his boots. Hours of it all.

Like all things though, good or bad, it was waning and you were beginning to see how you could survive.

You were sitting at the kitchen bench, practising your pipe cleaner and pom pom crown-making skills when there was a knock on the door. Glancing at your phone as you stood, you thought it was around dinner time. Probably next door, asking to borrow an egg. Or the old lady from down the hall that always made too much lasagne.

Without checking the peephole, you opened the door with your best polite smile ready.

Bucky.

The sight of him hit you, not like a tidal wave, but a waist-deep wave that knocks you back unexpectedly. You stumbled, had to refocus. Felt a little out of control.

Out of the mess of the back of the van, it was easier to see how utterly fucked he looked. His long hair was ratty, visibly knotted in parts. Expression strung out, he looked like he was in amphetamine withdrawal. His skin was too shiny, and his clothes were crumpled and damp in places.

Bucky went to speak, but the words got caught in his throat. He looked pained, then sniffled and wiped his nose on the back of his hoodie's arm.

Without any warning, you burst into tears.

Your hands went up to cup your mouth but it was too late. The sobs were heaving up from deep inside you, and Bucky was born with too much empathy to not be affected. Tears began to roll down his face.

And that was it. Any pretence or attempt to be stoic was entirely dissolved. You crumbled into each other.

Bucky wrapped his arms around you and you pressed your head hard into his chest, almost pushing against him like you were trying to push the feelings out of yourself.

"I know," he whispered, kissing the top of your head.

As his arms tightened around your body, you could feel how it was calming you. It was only a short term relief from the grief, but it was the very least Bucky could think to do. Holding you wasn't going to make anything better, but it made you both feel less alone.

Showers and fuzzy bed socks. Hot cocoa and trashy television. Sleeping close. Waking up together.

From the deep unwanted darkness of grief, something was determined to find a way to grow.

Tag list (open): @browngirlmagic @lookalivefrosty @aynaraxas @vibraniumwitch @the--sad--hatter @bubbabarnes

(not sure if you want to be tagged in new fics @animegirlgeeky?) 

#Bucky Barnes #Mine #Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes/Reader #Bucky Barnes x Y/N #Bucky Barnes/Y/N #Bucky Barnes x You #Bucky Barnes/You #Bucky Barnes fic #Bucky Barnes fanfic #Bucky Barnes imagine #Marvel fanfic #niks1kwritingchallenge

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

It’s The Avengers (03x02)

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Season 3 Episode 02: The Boyband

Series Summary: Living in the Avengers facility post-apocalypse in a better timeline   Tony Stark has decided to capture every moment by pulling The Office on the Avengers. All of housemates are pretty used to the idea except for you, who had just come here to finish her degree, and the newest member- Loki.

Warnings: cute? mad? possessive?

Word Count: It is not until the blood gushes out do you realise that those stupid tears you cried in the office in front of everyone due to some fucking pentup emotions was the PMS all fucking along.

Written for @serpienten ‘s 1k Writing Challenge. Thank you so much for letting me participate! I was supposed to start with the Season with the challenge but due to some stupid screwup from my end I wasn’t able to. My apologies.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

The camera panned in on your face, recording your hair flying in the desert loo while you had your face covered with your shirt, your jacket wrapped around your waist, letting the maroon tank top absorb the sweat your body had churned up on the walk to whatever town you and Loki were supposed to head to.

Speaking of Loki, the camera moved a few degrees forward to show Loki walking ahead of you, his face covered by a helmet 'borrowed' from the wolf army. Though both of you were in boots, the movement through this slippery sand had not made any of it easier. Which was why Loki wanted to cover more of this hard ground you three were on before nightfall.

"You okay, Javi?" Your weak voice called out, making the camera come back to you, panning out to take the entirety of your defeated figure in one frame. Javi's shadow by your side on the ground did a thumbs up.

"We're close," Loki announced, "let's keep moving."

"But I'm tiiiiiiiiiiiii-yu-huh-huuuuuuuh-d!" You moaned, on the verge of tears, coming down on your knees at the nearest pile of husk shining under this alien sun. "Let me just rest by this grass bunch."

The camera caught Loki turning around, his eyes on the edge of rolling till he saw you. "Uh...Y/N, that's no-"

You felt something fluffy stroke your head, making you scream and jump; which in turn made the little pile of grass scream and jump away from you.

"IT MOVED!"

"Because that's not grass. That's a living breathing organism."

"THAT THING MOVED!"

"That's a Has-krot Nuer."

"That Grass-got-boo MOVED!"

"Not gra-"

Loki stopped midway, the camera taking a subtle angle to catch the clench of his perfect jaw as he closed his eyes and breathed in a lungful.

Loki: *looking far away into the barren land* I have survived the craziest of creatures. I have even survived death. *stops as the camera zooms just a little to record you looking at the hairy creature with crazy curiosity and shouting 'Loki, it's not doing anything. Is it okay?!'* *blinks at the camera without any change in this facial expression* I don't think I can survive her.

*In the background, you raise your finger cautiously to poke that creature*

Loki: *instantly* *without even looking* Do not poke it!

"They're amphibians. Versatile creatures. They can live in any environment. But they're usually in groups," Loki contemplated, getting down on one knee and taking the back of his fingers to stroke the creature. "It's unusual for one to be alone like this. They can't survive without their family for long."

The creature purred at the touch, bending a little towards Loki's hand. Loki's eyes shifted from the purring being to you, followed by a furrow of his brows.

The camera turned too, catching you face experiencing an emotional rift.

Javi moved a few feet back to catch both of you in a single frame, making the camera jiggle a little as he did.

"Y/N, no." His words came out like a soft cautious tale. Almost too poetic.

Your lips pressed on to each other, while your brows stood arched in a sad curve. "Loki-"

"No," he raised his hand, pointed his finger at you to stop, "don't."

"Come on!" You whined.

"But-"

"We're already three people with no means on a foreign planet. There is no way we're taking this one with us."

"Loki, pl-"

All through the bickering, the golden husk kept turning between the two of you, making a low hooting noise like an owl.

"No!"

You didn't speak this time. Your eyes went wide while your lips pressed into each other. Loki was already shaking his head at it. Your cheeks- already red from the heat- blew up a bit. "Mm-mm. No." And the combination of it all created the best puppy-eyed face.

"Y/N, we are not taking it with u-"

Loki: We're taking it with us. *sigh* *camera focuses out of Loki's face to show you scratching your little hay-buddy and it purring back at you* *camera focus back on Loki*

*closes his eyes* *whispers to himself* curse those stupid eyes.

"We'll help you find your family, okay?" You tried to convince the little one, who tilted- what apparently was its head- at you. "Hopefully before we find a way back to ours. So-" you got up and turned in the direction you were heading earlier- "wanna join us?"

The head tilted up in your direction, then towards the way you were looking, then back at you.

Loki meanwhile stood with his hands on his hips. "I don't think this is a good time to make promises, darling. Especially not for someone who has zero ideas about the universe."

A chirp came out of it, bringing your- and Loki's- attention to its cute little motion of 'walking' a few steps ahead of you before what seemed like an arm protruded out of it and pressed somewhere in the middle of his anatomy. Out came a click sound.

"Did it just press its stomach?" You asked your universe guide, not realising he wasn't looking at you or the creature. But at something far out in the barren land.

"Yeah, not the thing we should concentrating on for now."

Your eyes were barely able to register the dusty whirlwind at first. "Is that a sandstorm?" You asked Loki while shading your eyes with your hand.

"A sandstorm does not rise like that. Not with aliens in it."

You tried to squint hard to look at it but could not see anything except riled up dust. Suddenly it wasn't the sandstorm that was taking away your attention.

Music.

There was music coming from somewhere.

Clearly, Javi knew it before anyone else, for the camera was pointing at the little guy as the tempo and volume increased a little.

"It's coming from...this one," you told yourself.

The little one was doing little jumps on the beats while seemingly looking at the dust storm.

And soon enough, the camera too could see what Loki was seeing.

A vehicle shaped like those monster trucks from Mad Max hoarded an entire bunch of aliens on it. Aliens that looked human enough as the monstrosity on wheels got closer.

I don't trust nobody I don't even trust my mind

Faces started to appear out of the dust. And oh! What faces indeed. You could feel your eyes wanting to blink again and again just to make sure they were not dreaming.

Losin' everybody They can never take the grind People always switchin' sides People always hit my line Never ask me how I'm doin' They just wanna waste my time

The vehicle stopped a few feet in front of the party. The creatures- all looking like humans but coming in various shades of the galactic rainbows- came with quite some attitude, stepping down onto the ground.

So I don't hate nobody Just stay up out my life And I won't hurt nobody So just stay up out my sights

"Holy fuck," you whispered, scrutinising those perfect beings from head to toe, "looks like Tom Hardy had kids with a K-Pop band."

Indeed. The close slo-mo zoom-ins by the camera on every face could vouch for the fact.

People always hold me down They just told me that I'd drown When you livin' how I'm livin' All these leeches come around

Loki's brows furrowed as he turned to you. "Tom who?"

You tskd, a little annoyed to have to rip your eyes away from the buffed up alien boyband.

'Cause we don't trust nobody We don't even trust our minds Losin' everybody From them lows to them highs I was always gettin' high Never took a look outside I was livin' in the dark Thinkin' I would never shine

"You know that guy from...did I show you Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy?"

No answer from Loki assured you you didn't.

"How about Batman?"

"...a man who is a...bat? Is that a comedy?"

"... you're lucky no batman fan can hear you right now. Okay...um...oh yes! Remember that guy Eddie we met at the tavern?"

"Eddie who?"

"That guy who's got a parasite. He goes by the name Venom."

"Oh yes, I remember him. And the parasite. Is that Tom?"

"Oh no. He looks like Tom. Just a little more rugged...and weird. Hot, no doubt, but a little weird."

Loki couldn't help but notice you lick your lips and hide that hint of a smile on the edge of your lips.

Loki: *gives a knowing look* so, she has a thing? A thing for the weird. *smirks at the camera* Well, aren't you naughty, Y/N Stark.

"You guys lost?"

You and Loki watched as those seven boys- aliens- stood in a perfect formation and the one who looked like a leader addressed your party of four.

"Yea, we were looking for the nearest tow-"

"We're fine," Loki cut you short, "are you all travelling northwards? I'd suggest you prevent those rocky hills. Met some weird knuckleheads in those parts."

You looked at the camera and blinked.

"Come on, Y/N. Javi. And...and you," he addressed the little hay, who chirped back with excitement and followed him.

"Actually," you started, making Loki stop and turn to grab your arm but not before it was too late, "it would be really helpful if we could hitch a ride to the nearest town. If it's not too much trouble for you boys." You clasped your hands in peace, not resisting the need to whisper, "Gods, you look so much like that familiar K-Pop band. They have no idea how many girls could go crazy over them."

"Yes, it would be too much trouble for them," Loki insisted, trying to pull you in his direction, "come on, we'll find something on the w-"

"We don't mind at all," the leader spoke, stepping forward towards you. You did not see it coming. Neither were you ready when his pale hands took your left one ever so gently, making you let out a muted a gasp while Loki stood there watching the whole thing unfurl with dull shock. "This is the least we could do for a heavenly beauty like you."

Loki's eyes rolled so hard it felt like they might go all the way back.

Another click sounded through Little Hay's stomach and out came another song.

You're so beautiful, girl a blind man could love you (Woo! yeah. woo! yeah)

"Really," Loki called the new member out flat. Little hay shrugged and hooted while pointing at you and the rainbow K-Pop.

You're so beautiful, girl a blind man could love you (Woo! yeah. woo! yeah)

"Stop it," he ordered, making it let out a whine before reluctantly clicking its stomach to stop.

Loki was about to speak but you cut him away like a sharp sword cutting the wind in half.

"Alright, listen, you galactic rip-offs," you started, taking your hand away from that pale- almost white- guy and crossing your arms across your chest, "we need a ride to the nearest town. Drop that sweet talk, start your engine and get us there before it's dark."

Loki, mouth just a little agape, stood there in veiled awe, sharing a look with the camera.

"Now." You pressed your authority, making the leader call out for the green-skinned boy to start the engines.

"Anything for you, my love," he declared ever so sweetly, trying to take your hand again.

"Touch me and I'll rip your arms off your body," you announced every so softly.

The leader paused where he was, bowing in respect and directing you towards the vehicle.

You turned towards Loki and Javi, your expressions making a one-eighty, replacing the dark with the cheery, "shall we?" And then you skipped away towards the vehicle.

Loki: Hm. Maybe we will survive space. Or maybe we will land up in more trouble. *Shrugs* Guess it'll depend on what mood she is in.

You: I think we'll be fine. *scoffs* Hm? Oh, I don't like it when someone is too forward. Too flirty. Blame my childhood and those stupid truth or dare games where boys would dare each other to tell me they liked me. My defence mechanism got a bit strong since and whenever anything like this happens I metaphorically smack that person into just getting away from me.

*looks at Javi* *furrows brows* what? Ugh? Why would harsh words be a kink?

You turned to look to your left where Javi was pointing. The camera panned out to show Leader looking at you all starry-eyed while resting his face on his palm as the vehicle moved over the rough terrain, letting you all shift with the inertia

You shifted a bit away from Leader, never turning away from him while he continued looking at you with a smile. Uncomfortable, you got up and made your way next to Loki, who turned at the graze of your arm on his, watch you cocoon yourself while staring at Leader with an uncomfortable glare.

"Don't worry," Loki sighed, looking at the road ahead, "He's just a puppy. He isn't going to come near you till you tell him to."

You grunted with disgust at the fact. "Bad dog."

Leader whimpered while speaking something you didn’t understand. Two of his companions, one the colour of the sky and the other looking more orange than a tangerine, looked at you the same way, with different undertones. The sky guy practically blushed and shied away looking at you. The tangerine oozed with sluttiness, biting his lips and licking them, often moving his fingers over his jaw or his neck, trying to throw hints in your direction.

And you? You sat there with disgust plastered on your face the whole ride while Loki chuckled silently and closed his eyes for a nap.

 The Lounge- Night-Time

"Oh my God!"

Disgust-filled curses, shocked exclamations and scoffs echoed through the dark lounge with the only light coming from the big screen showing the white alien taking your hand in his.

"The audacity of this alien bitch," Peter whispered with a mouthful of popcorns, pointing his hand- again, filled with popcorns- at the screen, "right in front of my O-" he stopped, watching eyes turning to him, freezing for a second- "my popcorn. Right in front of my popcorn."

Peter relaxed only when everyone went back to the screen -whether in confusion or agreement- and looked at Scott who mouthed, 'dude!'. 'I got caught in the moment,' Peter mouthed back. Both of them immediately whipped their heads to the screen when Bucky turned back to look at Peter, almost sure he heard him whisper something.

Steve sighed with a worried look on his face. "These aliens don't seem that bad."

"Why didn't we ask for Thor's help, again?" Sam asked a logical question, once again.

"Tony did," Natasha acknowledged, "He said his people needed him and that Loki was smart enough for the three of them to figure his way back home."

"... okay?"

Vision looked at Sam with questioning eyes. "You don't seem okay with that decision."

Wanda, Peter and Scott were the only ones still crunching on their popcorns through the judging silence where everyone waited for an answer.

"What. I know y'all thinkin' the same thing. If it were my brother I'd go look for him, no matter how bad that s-o-b is."

Natasha narrowed her eyes at him.

"I saved Bucky's ass in the Philippines, didn't I?"

Bucky looked at the camera with a tensed jaw and a tired look while everyone else silently agreed.

"Someone should talk to Mr Hammertime about this," Sam stressed. Everyone paused, looking at each other before immediately raising their fingers shouting 'not it'. Everyone except Sam.

Sam: *resting bitch face* kids.

"Wait," Pietro interrupted, "what did that guy say to Y/N?"

"Something on the lines of 'your boyfriend doesn't know how lucky he is'," Natasha murmured while busy licking the remains of tater tots in the bowl in her hand. She stopped midway as all eyes rested on her in question. "What."

"How do you know?" Scott asked.

"Their dialect has a strong base of Korean," she simply shrugged, going back to the bowl.

"She's right," Bucky chimed in.

"Huh," Pietro wondered out loud, "are they really a space K-pop band?"

"Yeah, space band or not," Steve declared, "let's just keep the boyfriend thing under wraps. Away from Tony."

Everyone agreed.

"Or Clint," Wanda added as she munched on the chicken wings.

"Yeah," Steve agreed, "what is with him lately? He seems to act pretty defensively whenever Loki's in the room."

"Tell me about it," Scott muttered through a mouthful of popcorns and an eye roll.

"He still ain't over the whole monkey business?" Sam asked Nat.

"He told me Loki apologised and told him how Thanos was pulling the strings. As far as I know, Clint's over the whole thing. There's something else he seems to be mulling over."

Everyone seemed to take a few moments- between the crunches and munches to think it over. Steve, with his brows of justice, suddenly seemed to have a realisation before anyone else who was actually trying to think.

Steve: I think I know what's bothering Clint. *smiles*

Nat's voice: What?

Steve: *nearly jumps* *hands curled into fists* Jesus! Where the heck did you come from?

Nat: I've been sitting here the entire time, Steve.

Steve: *tries to speak* *stops* *shifts in his seat* *exchanges glances between the camera and Natasha*

Nat: So? *rests one leg on another* *tilts towards Steve* what's bothering Clint.

"Those aliens look quite, how you millennials call it, hungry," Vision stated as he watched Mr Tangerine try to make his move on you. Everyone shouted curses and made faces at him. Vision observed the reactions before looking at the camera.

Vision: I think I...*slowly raises hands to make finger guns* nailed it.

"Suddenly, I'm really glad she's got Loki by her side," Steve mentioned, surprised at his own words. Bucky and Sam agreed. Scott and Peter smiled at the exchange, fist-bumping at the back of the sofa.

"The moment she gets back, we gotta work on that defence mechanism of hers though," Sam added, "otherwise she'll never get a date."

"I think she'll be fine," Nat enunciated, "I'm sure when the time comes she'll like the right one."

"As long as she gets to enjoy it all," Sam raised his beer bottle to get a cheer from Nat's.

"I have to say I like that little hay," Sam pointed out, getting 'amen' from the room, "dude's got a freaking boombox inside him."

"Y/N's going to adopt it, isn't she?" Pietro chuckled.

The cutest howl left Zuko as he sat beside Bucky, looking at Pietro with angry eyes.

"Ay, you're makin' her baby angry," Sam guffawed. Everyone laughed, cuddling and cooing at the little fur-face to calm him down. He did calm down, but he was still furious at Pietro.

On the screen, the camera showed the vehicle come to a halt. Leader-Kun got out first, along with Loki, and had his hand out for you.

You paused, looking reluctant to do anything with those eyes stuck on you. Taking a step to your side, you waited for Loki- who was scrutinising the place- to turn to you.

When he did and took in Leader-Kun’s eagerly waiting arms, he didn't just open his own.

"Oh I'm sure your lover here is happy to help you ou-"

"Shut up and get me down," you spat back, your arms stretched out, waiting for his shoulders to come close.

"Are you sure?" Loki stressed, "Because I don't want to make him jealous-"

"Loki, for f***'s sake, I don't like being teased about men I don't like as much as you don't like being compared to your brother. So, if you don't want me to blabber about Thor for the rest of the way-"

"Alright, fine! Fine!" He quipped, feeling the sour taste in his mouth.

He stepped forward, letting you rest your hands on his shoulders as he grabbed you by the waist, helping you down safely.

"Damn," Sam chuckled, "our girl plays dirty."

"You play dirty, woman," Loki stated right after, earning a smile from you. "Thanks," you raised your shoulder in appreciation, "I learned from the best."

Natasha looked at the camera with a smirk.

Natasha: *holding out a knife with sharpest edges, its hilt holding a beautiful carving of Black Widow's symbol* this is my birthday present. The one Y/N made me and was supposed to gift me before she left for space.

*swings the knife in her hand* I've been preparing her since she arrived. If anyone's going to take advantage in space, it's Y/N. If anyone tries to hurt her, then they *catches the knife in attack position* and Loki will answer to me.

The new place greeted them with a tavern by the road and all sorts of creatures going in and out of it. The tavern, seemingly made of wood that was entirely blue, stood with neon signs spelling out something supposed to attract customers.

Feminine figures, green luminescent blobs, purple tentacled odd creatures stood outside the entrance at different corners.

"O...okay-" you narrowed your eyes at the whole scene- "I may be wrong...but this does not feel like a place one normally visits."

"It's a tavern cum brothel," Loki acknowledged, looking around the area, at the minimal housing along the road. "Looking at the size of the town, it seems like it's for the crowds that travel here from other planets. This might be a stop."

"Good, we can ask for a lift back home then," you agreed, ready to walk towards the building.

"What?" Loki stopped you short, "you cannot just walk in there?! Heaven knows what kind of miscreants hoard this place."

You sighed. "I'm guessing that's what's to happen any place we visit."

Loki scoffed. "Of course, it will. You should be more scared of space."

"I am scared, Loki," you stated, taking his arm that was holding onto yours, "I'm scared like hell. I barely go around town for the fear of being mugged or raped or murdered. Think what I'm going through right now. Look, the thing is, bad guys are everywhere, your survival skills are peak perfection and I am a weight you'll be carrying around till we find a way back. Come in terms with the fact that I will be going to places I shouldn't even know about and you can only do so much."

A warm breeze blew Loki's hair, letting shadows play over his face in this planet's golden hour.

Wind blows Blew me to where I belong

"Not now, sweety," you called out, making Little Hay hoot and click his stomach and stop the song.

The silence was used by the two of you to come to terms. "I don't like it either but judging by how little you've said about ways to get back, I figured we don't have much to work with right now. So we'll need all the firepower we can," you declared softly. “Don't worry. Being there for each other in grim times, that’s what friends are for.”

Loki took in a lungful, closing his eyes, dropping his head before finding back his stature.

"I hate you," he finally admitted.

"Aw-" you broke into a smile- "I love you too!"

"If we're going in there, you have to stay close to me, not touch anything strange, no talking to strangers, especially the ones who look alluring."

"My my, if I didn't know better, I'd say you're being possessive."

"..."

"What. I like it," you teased him, "as long as it's healthy."

A chirp came from Little Hay, as he rubbed itself on your leg while moving around.

"Come on, guys, stay close," you announced, walking with Loki towards the tavern while turning towards Loki, "you know, we should really give a name to our little hay baby."

"He's not out baby, Y/N."

"Hey! Don't say that in front of it. You might hurt its feelings."

 The silence in the lounge was suddenly broken by low sniffles, slowly making heads shift towards teary-eyed Scott and Peter barely holding the moisture in their eyes, their smiles too wide to contain.

"You okay, Peter? Scott?"

Both of them nodded. "We're fine," Scott's broken voice reassured them. "Mmhmm," Peter added."

"There was too much spice in my tater tots." Scott nearly broke again at the end of the sentence.

"I just remembered Mr Barton has my special Spider-Man suit and he said he won't give it back to me," Peter sniffled while poking at the empty popcorn bowl in his hand.

"Oh, he won't be saying that anymore," Natasha pressed, "I promise you that."

Sam: Well, Clint's 'bout to die.

"Let's try calling Carol in the morning," Steve declared before getting up and looking at the screen. "Everyone, get some shut-eye. We'll catch up with them in the morning."

Everyone greeted goodnight and made their way to the dorms- all except Scott and Peter.

"No, Cap," Scott nearly shouted, making Steve freeze halfway to the screen's power button, "leave it like that. Please?"

Steve stood back straight, a shade of concern over his face. "Sure you guys okay?"

The camera focused in on Scott and Peter.

Scott and Peter: crying with joy Scott: Babbiees! *squeals and sniffles* Peter: ow my heart! *clenches his chest* 

“Yes,” Scott nodded with the purest smile, “we’re okay.”

#niks1kwritingchallenge #loki #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki fluff #loki smut #marvel fluff #marvel smut #mcu fluff #mcu smut #fluff #Smut #loki fanfiction #loki fic #marvel loki #loki odinson #mcu #Avengers #Avengers The Office #the office au #loki x oc #loki fanfic #LOKI SPEAKS #loki series #fanfiction #fanfic writers #fanfics #loki (marvel) #Loki Laufeyson

[tarithenurse]

God of Sarcasm - Challenge

Pairing: Loki x reader Content: Cussing, negative criticism/demeaning, violence/fighting, death, fluff. Maybe some innuendos and hinting towards sex but nothing explicit. A/N: I’m rolling around in wonderful challenges and this is a one-shot to a brilliant challenge by @serpienten​. Due March, sure, but I once I got the idea (based on a dialogue prompt which is highlighted in the text) I just had to write.​

The blue sparkles flare from your fingertips to condense into a blossom. So pretty. The light flickers as soon as your mind gets distracted by the appearance of the magic. Desperately summoning the Focus within, you try to re-establish the flow and sustain the illusion, but in your rush, you cause the blossom to flare up in an explosion that sends you hurling backwards into the mound of pillows strewn about for just this reason.

“Tsk,” the cold voice utters beyond your closed eyes.

Gods, you hate that sound. Day in and day out you have been training under the condescending yet watchful eyes of Loki at this cottage far from anyone and anything. Ever since your parents realized your skills, they have pestered the Avengers to take you in, train you. Well, Superheroes are busy. Rather than have Wanda or Doctor Strange become your mentor, you are stuck with a pompous bastard on parole.

“Get up!”

At least he can’t see your eyes roll behind the lids, but you know delaying the inevitable will only make him worse to be around, so you get onto your feet. How much longer today? It feels like you have been stuck in the barren room for ages…unfortunately the clock on the wall claims it’s only been a few hours.

“I expect more of you,” Loki sneers, “a simple Illusion yet you manage to mess it up? At this rate you will never even master Projection!”

You bite your tongue, not wanting to say anything he could take the wrong way. Sure, the others claim that he is good now…better safe than sorry, though.

Okay, calm down. A slow inhalation to fill your lungs before exhaling through your mouth in a carefully controlled pace which you follow with your arm as you stretch it in front of you with a bent wrist, fingers delicately pointing to the floor. Flower from earth. As if stirring slowly, you imagine holding a seed between you fingers to soak up the energy around it needed to grow (here, you flip you palm up to present the still invisible seed). Grow and glow. The words aren’t an incantation but simply a way to remember the movements, and again you feel the tingle of magic connect each outstretched finger and condense into the flower from your dreams. You do not dare to look at the result.

“Finally. Keep holding it,” Loki hisses.

You can hear your own breathing and the soft whistling from the air conditioning. There’s no hint of what the greasy-haired maniac is doing. Probably about to scare the shit out of me. You have half a mind to drop the magic and look for him…problem is it would make him insult you for the millionth time and you really aren’t sure how much more of it you can take. The only option is to keep calm and allow the Focus to survive anything Loki will throw at you.

Despite stalwart resolution, the Illusion falters and fades when the building shakes from an explosion and something heavy barrels into you. You try to get your bearings amidst scattered pillows, dust, and the green cape Loki insists on wearing. The Asgardian has thrown himself at you to shield you from the blast without a care for the shrapnel.

“Why did you do that?!” Your voice is shrill with anger and shock. “There’s a billion ways to test my Focus but tha-?!”

A cold hand clamps your mouth shut. Green eyes with a hint of red give you a onceover before scanning the surroundings. “This was not my doing, pet.”

You nod demurely. “Mm.” Wait, pet??

“Now be quiet.”

It’s not like you have much of a choice with his hand still covering almost half your face. That’s when you realize just how the two of your are positioned, chest to chest as he sort of straddles you, but because he still has worried about covering your legs…well, pelvis to pelvis is also a way to get to know someone.

You don’t have time to worry about it, though. A creaking, groaning noise of tree splintering makes both of you look up to see the ceiling caving in. Without thinking, you grab hold of Loki in the hopes of rolling both of you out of the way. With a crash a mass of debris and limbs lands where you just were, and the god is off of you with his daggers magically appearing together with his full armour.

He deflects the spear flung from the dust cloud, returning the greeting with a steely weapon of his own. You see what he does next only because he has shown you each part of the gesture that calls forth a host of clones of him and you perched on any surface of the place. Why not just…lock them up with magic? In the heat of the moment your brain forgets what class of magic Loki excels at until the laughter of the intruder makes your skin crawl.

“Trickery won’t help you, snake,” the voice cackles, “I see through your lights and smokescreens.”

You can make out the shape of a man most pro wrestlers would be envious of.

“Then make a move,” all the Loki’s in the room cajole.

The ground shudders by the weight as the enemy leaps into action, lunging to the left at the last moment. Steel meets steel, proving that he faultlessly has picked out the real Asgardian even though you were fooled (which in reality isn’t unheard of because the asshole loves to mock your lack of skills by showing off).

The man is partially naked, the broad chest exposed to display a blond patch of hair and a few scars from injuries that with any fairness should have killed him. His trousers are not unlike those harem pants that were all the rage (again) a few summers back but tied together around the calves before disappearing in a pair of heavy boots. Whoever this guy is, he has faith in his own abilities. Regardless, the attack is a glancing blow, allowing Loki to slip sideways in an attempt to skirt the attacker.

“Impressive.” Of course Loki still sounds mocking but he drops half of the Illusion, leaving only the copies of you milling around.

You get the hint. Leaping into action, you mimic the imagined crowd in the hopes of being harder to target.

Too bad it doesn’t work.

As if in slow motion, the attacker grabs the horn on Loki’s helmet, yanking it harshly backwards and causing the normally slippery guy to go flying into a wall that absolutely isn’t an Illusion. Meanwhile the intruder has continued the spin to his advantage – using the momentum he hurls the spear towards you. It’s only a perfectly aimed knife that saves you even if the larger weapon skewers your sweater and pins you to the floor. Heart frozen in your throat, but speed back to normal, you try to get free by yanking at the oversized “nail” with sweaty hands. No good.

The men are in each others’ faces again, both formidable fighters using the surroundings to their advantages. Still, it’s an unbalanced match because the slimmer of them keeps trying to draw the opponent away from you, forcing the enemy to have his back towards you. The enemy has no one to protect. His jabs and sweeps are methodical, each step countering the effort Loki makes to keep you out of the danger zone.

He can’t keep going like that! Bitter realization sears your stomach.

Wiggling and twisting, you crawl out of the sweater and onto the knees where instinct takes over and brandishes your hands in a flurry of weaving movements. Blue sparks shoot from the fingers, forming a rope as they speed towards the unidentified enemy and snake around his wrists. You feel the pull from him through the conjured restraint and have to use physical strength to hold him back.

Focus! Squeezing your eyes shut, you fight to follow all the instructions Loki has been drilling you with. There’s a grunt of surprise.

Must…use my…Focus! But the magic breaks, leaving you tumbling backwards once more.

“No!” Shooting back up, your breath stops at the sight of the two men apparently embracing each other. “No…no…”

Only a fool would think they actually are hugging. Did he…? If the attacker has managed to kill Loki, then you are done for too, and your heart screams with a million fears as the naked arms let go of the smaller man. Crap. But the man goes limp, sliding to his knee with the groan of the dying. Loki, now visible, pulls out a blade from between the ribs.

“A Conjuration…” Unreadable eyes study your face and hands before returning to the situation before him. “I’m impressed.”

As if. Turning to find an intact pillow, you feel the bitterness well up. Loki doesn’t give compliments. Loki doesn’t praise efforts, only perfection, and the attempt to bind the attacker had not lasted.

Yeah, well…I’m proud. “Even though that’s dripping with sarcasm, and definitely isn’t genuine, I’m gonna take it.”

“[Y/N]…I push you because I know what your potential is, and I have faith in you.” Somehow, he’s come to stand right in front of you, hands clasping your shoulders gently. “I mean it. You are amazing and it’s because of your magic that I could strike him down.” Oh. “Thank you, my dear.”

First pet and now dear? And he…?

Nothing makes sense, least of all when the Asgardian tilts your face up by your chin and kisses you hesitantly. No logic. Only a warm tingle, but this time it’s in your chest and has nothing to do with magic and you find yourself giving in to it.

#loki x reader #loki x you #niks1kwritingchallenge #loki odinson #loki fanfic #Loki sass #fluff #Avengers #reader #reader insert #loki magic #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #mcu loki #Sensei Loki #lerning magic #teaching magic #ambush #protective loki #asgardian #pompous bastard

[serpienten]

Umm....okay. how about prompt 16? "Don't worry that's what friends are for."

Perfect!! All yours, hun :)

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[serpienten]

Congrats on 1k! Can I have the enemies to lovers au for your writing challenge? If it's already taken, can I have number twelve from the dialogue prompts? Thanks! :)

enemies to lovers with bucky is yours darling! thanks for joining in :)

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[serpienten]

Hey. Saw you challenge through a mutual. Is dialogue prompt #4 taken ("Dripping w sarcasm")? That one looks it could be a lot of fun...possibly with Loki, though I haven't quite made my mind up.

it’s yours hun! thanks for joining in :)

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[serpienten]

Ik it's not a dialogue prompt, but still. I wanna do a fake dating au with Bucky x Reader for your 1k writing challenge. I already had some ideas for a fic of this trope. Really excited!

au prompt no. 9 is all yours, darling! thanks for joining in :3

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[serpienten]

Hey! Congratulations on your milestone. Would it be okay if I joined your challenge? With the 1st AU prompt about the blind date gone bad?

It’s all yours!! Thanks so much for joining in.

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[serpienten]

Can I do a soulmates AU with bucky and clint for the challenge?

unfortunately, there’s no soulmate au on the list :/ do you mind picking another one?

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[serpienten]

Hey gorgeous! Huge congrats on reaching 1K!!! I'm not sure if my Ask came through earlier, but in case it hasn't – I'd love to participate with dialogue prompt 6 for Tony Stark if it's not taken..? I'll be posting under my fic blog @evanstarff for this one. Thank you lovely 🖤🖤🖤

thanks so much!!! it’s all yours, thank you for participating :3

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[serpienten]

Congrats on your milestone, love!😁🤗

thank you so much!! 🖤

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[serpienten]

hey!! congrats on your big 1k and i'm super glad i found you through reblogs! if it's not taken, may i have the king/queen au for your writing challenge and are series okay? if not, that's okay too but i was just wonderin :)

thanks darling! the prompt is all yours, and i’d love to read a series with it. just make sure to tag me in every part so I can find and read it :)

thanks a bunch for joining in!!

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[serpienten]

Congratulations on the milestone! May I have dialogue prompt 6?

Thanks darling! Unfortunately, it’s already taken :/ Would you mind picking another prompt?

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[serpienten]

Hiya! Congrats on 1k! Could I have dialogue prompt number two please? :)

Thank you!! It’s all yours :]

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[serpienten]

Hey, love! Can I still join your challenge? Prompt #12 “Don’t you ever do that again.” with Bucky! ☺️

It’s yours!! Thanks for joining :3

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