#eliza's 5k challenge

[shreddedparchment]

Heavy is the Hand You’re Dealt

Part 6

09/23/2019

Pairing: Steve x Reader, Thor x Reader         Word Count: 5,300

Prompt: Imposter - Bearson

Warnings: smut, language, angst again, puppy Thor, just Thor really

A/N: This is for @youngmoneymilla​ ‘s 5K Writing Challenge. Enjoy. Smut. Good smut I hope? The dam finally broke. I’ve been having such trouble getting this chapter out and I know it’s because of my mood swings but hopefully this means I’ve overcome it for now. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work. I know I haven’t been replying to all comments but I do read them all and they make me so flippin happy. Please continue to let me know what you love and what you think. It means so much to me. xoxo

Steve is shameless.

Not only does he come back for you. But he also decides, after your little display of affection and love proclamation with Thor in the common room, that he’s going to leave without telling you.

He tries to anyway.

A digital ding from your phone pulls you out of your drifting. You’d been on the edge of sleep, Thor’s arms are wrapped around your waist, his head nuzzled in against your neck. As you pull your arm back from around his massive shoulders, he groans in complaint.

“It’s late.” He mumbles, more asleep than awake.

“Keep sleeping.” You whisper to him, kissing his head before turning onto your side to reach for your phone.

You blink against the blinding white of the display as you navigate against the burn of your retinas until you find your messages.

Bucky: He’s leaving. Correction. He’s sneaking off. Bruce’s lab.

You almost scoff but instead stare at the screen silently.

“Thor?” You check, but he breathes in heavily and breathes out slowly. “Puppy?”

You turn in his arms which have loosened a bit.

“Thor, Steve is leaving.” You whisper to him.

He frowns and pulls you closer, chest to chest, his nose buried against your throat. You’d been holding him, so he’s a little lower on the bed than you. His feet dangling over the edge. You need to get a bigger bed.

“I should go see him.” You whisper again, and this time, Thor opens his eyes. “He can’t just leave like this.”

He’s staring at your chest, silently waging a war in his head. When he looks up at you, his one blue and one amber eyes are dulled from the spark that had ignited them last night on the sofa when he’d played you his song and then you’d told him you love him.

“Hey,” You begin, softly pushing back the hair of his beard, tucking strands of his golden hair behind his ear—he shuts his eyes as your fingers graze his scalp and pulls you back against him, burying his face against your chest. “I’m just going to say goodbye.”

Shit, maybe you shouldn’t go?

He speaks, his warm breath warming the front of your pajama top. You can’t make out what he says because his lips are buried between your breasts. All you hear is a mumbling, accompanied by the deep hum that reverberates in your chest as he speaks.

“What?”

He pulls back, searching. “I’ll wait here.”

His lips are contorted into a small pout. It’s so slight that you’d have to be anyone else to not see it. You can also tell that it’s not out of anger but rather fear.

“I’ll come right back to you.” You promise him.

“Would it be terrible of me to admit that I’d rather you stayed?” Thor asks, and you’ve made up your mind. You’re not going.

“I won’t go.”

“No.” He gasps, shocked by your declaration. “No. You must go.”

“I don’t have to.”

“But you do. I know that you probably still have things to say to him and he will want to tell you goodbye. Wish us congratulations on the little one that does not exist.” He says, your heart aching.

You’ve seen the way he looks down at your stomach in disappointment every now and then.

You cup his cheeks, pulling him close to kiss his lips. Just a peck that makes a low quiet smack as you pull away.

“I’m just not ready, Thor. But…I’m not saying no.” You need to get used to this idea that you actually have a future again. A real one. One with marriage? Kids?

For so long you’ve contemplated and accepted the fact that this job is all your life would be. You’d accepted it. You even liked it a bit.

You want to keep saving people.

You’re no one special, mind you. No powers. No particularly amazing skill. You aren’t naturally good at anything other than being passionate and throwing yourself into whatever project you choose.

And that’s seemed like enough until now. You’ve taken down more bad guys this year than all four field S.T.R.I.K.E. teams combined.

You like the joy that you feel when you know that you’ve made someone’s life safer. Better.

You keep tabs on the areas that you’ve cleared. The village where you’d almost died, the one that gave you your big scar, has prospered since your mission there. The schools are full again. The market is thriving.

It makes you happy.

You’ll keep chasing that joy until you must stop. Only, now you can have Thor at your side. That makes you happy too. Such a sweet bliss it brings you. Warm and fulfilling. A whole new piece of the puzzle.

You love him so much it hurts. How had it happened so quickly?

You stroke his hair, moving it away from his forehead with a soft gentle grazing with the pads of your fingertips.

“I know. And I don’t want you to think that I am trying to pressure you into anything. We have only been together a couple of months. Even if I know that you are going to be my wife someday, I want to enjoy every moment I have with you. But…I need you to know something.” He finishes ominously, looking down at your chest.

“What?” You wonder, suddenly worried.

He looks up to meet your eyes once again. “You are mine. And I am yours. I will follow you into any battle. Any challenge. With Mjolnir, we might even be able to grow old together. Which reminds me, I really need you to stay worthy so, if you could somehow manage to keep from corrupting yourself, I’d very much appreciate it.”

You chuckle, shutting your eyes as his lips part into a wry smile at his request.

“I’ll try my best.” You shake your head, meeting his gaze again.

“I mean it, little dove.” He relaxes his smile; he means what he’s saying. “You are mine and I need you. If you cannot be at my side, then I shall be at yours. If you must go somewhere, I will follow. I don’t want to be parted from you. Ever, if we can help it. You are my mooring post and I your sturdy ship. I love you. I know I’ve said it to you a hundred times in the last week and especially since last night, but I mean every iteration.”

He reaches up to tuck your hair back, caressing the back of your head as you bring your hand up to touch his. “I love you.”

You want to say it back. You want to tell him that you love him, because you really do! You love him and who you are when you’re with him and what you give him and the fact that you can make him happy and it seems like he’s so satisfied with you that he could never want for anything more in his life.

And though you may really want to let him know all of this, that he’s the anchor keeping you from bolting again, all you can do is kiss him.

You press your lips to his and he returns the kiss eagerly. Although you hate to do it, you cut it short, pulling back after only two seconds. Resting your forehead against his, you keep your eyes shut.

This would be the perfect time to make sure that he knows that you love him.

Instead, you say, “I’ll be back.”

You get up and make for the door.

“Good luck.” He tells you a little sadly as you hesitate over the threshold.

With a look back at him, laying on his side, hand slowly caressing the spot you’d just been in. Moving up and down along your silk mauve sheets as he sends you a small smile of encouragement.

You cherish the sight, heart thumping madly for him. Your large imposing puppy, arms bulging, chest wide, tummy hidden by the sheets. His golden hair falls around him like a flare of light behind him.

Knowing that he’s here, waiting for you to come back helps you overcome what fear you have left and with a loving smile, you head for Bruce’s lab.

You nearly charge into the lab but slow down as you approach, listening to two people bicker. You can’t hear what they’re saying but you think you know.

As they come into view, you find Bucky with his metal hand held in front of him palm up. With the back of his flesh hand, he slaps his palm as he says something angrily. He’s dressed in his pajamas, soft low slung black pants with thin silver stripes and a plain white tank.

His hair is mussed which means he’d been woken up from a deep sleep.

In front of him, taking his scolding with a clenched jaw and a frown is Steve, dressed in that familiar red and white Quantum suit.

With a painful lurch in your chest, you’re reminded of the last day that you saw Nat and you whimper because you miss her so much and you wish she were here because she’d have told you if you are right or wrong.

Actually, you can kind of already hear her, “Steve’s a dumbass. He’s my family. I love him, and I understand what he’s doing but if you ask me, you’re much better for him. Really. If his mind was on the now, then he’d see that, but it isn’t. He just can’t move on. He’s an idiot.

“Y/N, I know you love him and I’m really sorry that you’re hurting but you’re better off. Peggy’s been all he can think about since he woke up after the ice. I know it’s not what you want to hear.

“I think maybe he was moving on with you, but—and I say this because I love you and you need to hear it—you would have still been his second choice. He’d be with you because she isn’t around.

“You deserve better than that.”

Yes, you damn well do deserve to be someone’s first choice. And with Thor you are. After everything you’ve been through, he’s your first choice now too.

When did that happen?

Steve hears your small cry and his storm blue eyes flash up to meet yours.

He blinks, stunned, then looks at Bucky. “You called her?”

Bucky drops his hands.

“You need to start delivering on the man that I know you are, Steve. The Steve I know wouldn’t run. Besides, she deserves more than to wake up tomorrow and find you gone again.” Bucky sighs.

He looks back at you as you step into the lab, fidgeting with the bottom hem of Thor’s big white t-shirt. Your pajamas as of late along with a pair of short dark blue sleep shorts underneath, just barely visible under the hem of the shirt.

“I’ll give you two a minute.” He says, then turns and moves out of the lab leaving you alone with Steve, six feet away.

You stare at him, taking in the sight of him, painful as it is. This must be what he’d looked like when he first left. An event you’d hidden in a closet through.

You remember wishing that the closet would collapse around you. Crush you. You wanted to be suffocated in darkness and in a way you kind of were for a while.

Not this time.

This time, you stand with your shoulders back, chin slightly tilted, and eyes unrelenting. The ghost of electricity making your skin warm. Thor’s and your surge. Both taste the same. Thor’s feels better.

“You were seriously going to just leave in the middle of the night?” You demand, angry again but also confused.

This Steve that you’ve gotten to know—this side of him—you don’t recognize him. He’s such a far cry from the man that Bruce had told you stood face to face with the entirety of Thanos’s army with a broken shield and a limp, fearless.

Where is his courage now?

“I didn’t want to bother you anymore.” He explains.

“Me?” You ask, eyebrows shooting up. “Don’t pretend like you’re doing this for me, Steve. You haven’t done any of this for me. You left me for you. You came back, for you. You’re sneaking off without giving me a chance to tell you goodbye again, for you. Because you can’t deal with this.”

You place your hand on your stomach to indicate yourself, but Steve takes it as something else.

He makes a face, a grimace of dislike and pain.

Then you remember.

Oh, that’s right. You’re supposed to be pregnant with Thor’s baby. Shit. You forgot for a second.

“I…” He begins, staring at your tummy, yearning and desire burning through his storm blues.

Slowly your un your hand from the top of your belly, down to the bottom. Caressing the fake life within you.

“Did you expect me to be waiting for you?” You ask, pulling on this thread because you and he haven’t actually talked since you’ve told him you were pregnant. “That I’d be pining and counting down the seconds until you came back? Did you really expect me to forgive you after what you did to us? After you took our life together and made it nothing?”

Steve begins to shake his head then his shoulders slump. “I don’t know what I expected. I didn’t expect to find you torn up. Battle scars all over your body.”

“These are trophies for me.” You explain. “At first they were proof that I could be more than just your girl. And I’d be lying if I said that it didn’t feel good. Knowing that it could all be over in an instant…my life became my nightmare because you were everything to me, Steve.

“The world ended for everyone else, but I had you and you were my world. As long as I had you, I could have faced anything. Together. Forever…or so I thought.”

“Y/N…”

“But then they began to mean more, these scars.” You trace one along your forearm, looking at it for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “Every scar I have translates into a life saved. Sometimes several. It stopped being about me and it became about them.”

“You can’t go out and do that stuff anymore.” He informs you, stern. It reminds you of him before he’d left you, the way he’d insist on you keeping safe. It hurts. “Not until-”

He gestures at your stomach, stopping after a moment to stare at it. You count one heartbeat. Two. Three. Then gasp as he closes the distance between you, his hand finding your stomach in a flurry of movement. You’d forgotten how fast he is.

With splayed fingers, he feels it, searching for a life that isn’t there.

He doesn’t know that though.

“I can’t feel anything.” He laments.

The tone of his voice breaks your heart as he stares down at his hand over your belly, his eyes watering.

Your own heart is pounding in your chest. Nervous flutters filling the pit of your tummy. Your anger disappears as agonized want takes over.

In this moment, both of you are in the same place. Both of you wanting what had once been so clearly in your futures but is now so resolutely out of your grasps.

He’d made that choice. Now he has to accept it.

“I remember thinking about what we’d name our kids.” Steve confesses pulling your attention as a sad smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “I thought two would be good. One boy, one girl. And I’d move you out to the suburbs. Buy you a house with yellow paint and a porch swing.”

You shut your eyes, seeing his home. The one he shares with Peggy. It’s almost exactly the same. It’s his house for you, but another woman’s now. Fickle fate. Why does it have to hurt so much?

Why do you still want him when you’re so happy with Thor?

A shuddering breath pries your lips, escaping with a broken simpering.

Despite the way things have turned out, this tells you that Steve had really thought about your lives together. He’d planned for it. Wanted it. And then abandoned it when his opportunity to be with his true love had come.

That’s one thing you know for sure now. You aren’t Steve’s true love. One of them maybe? To a lesser degree. If he’d really wanted you. If you had really been the love of his life, he’d have chosen you in a heartbeat. It’s Peggy he can’t live without. Not you.

“Steve…” You beg, eyes searching his face until he looks up to meet your gaze.

“I’m happy for you, Y/N. Thor’s a really like guy.

“And you’re right.” He confesses, nodding. “I thought you’d be here, just as you’d always been. Sweet. Kind. Loving me because…I never stopped loving you. I know that’s wrong of me. I know that I’m a jerk for thinking that way and for telling you this when you’ve asked me not to, but you’ve always been mine. You have been on my mind, every day, since I left. I’ve woken up at least once a month, with the ghost of your lips against mine. Is this cheesy?”

You would have laughed. If things were better, if you weren’t in agony, this softer and gentler and definitely dorkier side of Steve would have brought a smile to your face.

As it is, you find his words hard to believe.

“But you were always hers.” You tell him, shrugging one shoulder as your eyes begin to sting. “I just saw it too late. I should have known better.”

“I did…do love you, Y/N. I always will.” He whispers, passionate, desperate.

“Not enough.” You whisper back, the searing in your chest almost too much to bear.

Steve slides his hand around your side to the small of your back and he pulls you close, resting his forehead against yours.

“I can’t believe you’re having a baby.” He gasps, slightly happy but mostly still depressed.

You think maybe he might really mean, “I can’t believe you’re having a baby, and it isn’t mine.”

The sound of him feeling terrible almost tempts the words out of your mouth. You almost want to tell him that you aren’t. That you only told him that to make him leave. But what if he stays? What if he decides that he’ll fight for you?

You don’t want that. You want Thor.

“I love him, Steve.” You promise. “I love him so much already. I can’t imagine my life without him in it anymore.”

Steve pulls back to look into your eyes.

“And I’m terrified.” You sigh. “What if he leaves me like you did?”

“Thor?” Steve asks, genuine shock and surprise on his face. “Leave you? With his baby? Not possible.”

He caresses your cheek.

“Thor knows what he’s found with you. I can see it in his eyes when he looks at you because he looks like I feel.” Slowly, he pulls you flush against his body, cheek to cheek.

He slides his head down as he hugs you, burying his face into your neck. You can feel him inhaling, taking in your scent but you know that it’s not exactly the same anymore.

You smell like Thor. Not just because he’s all over you, but because of Mjolnir. Because you’ve changed.

You don’t return his hug, because you really want to. And you shouldn’t. And because it hurts. You wait until he pulls back.

You want to tell him that you’ll always love him. You want to tell him that no one can take his place. You want to tell him that you’ll never forgive him. But all you can do, is be honest.

“Can you do me a favor?” You ask him, licking your lips.

“Anything.” He gushes.

“Don’t come back again, Steve. Peggy deserves more than this too. Never tell her you came here. You’ll regret it if you hurt her and I’m sure she’d probably shoot you for it.” You don’t know why the story he’d once told you suddenly fills your mind.

Peggy had once shot at Steve for kissing another girl during the war. He’d been holding his shield at the time but, message received. He hadn’t known the shield would work.

Something tells you that if you had known Peggy, you and she might have gotten along.

Steve chuckles, smiling fondly at the memory, and nods. “She probably would.”

“Steve, promise me you won’t come back.” You beg of him, hands on his biceps now, firm.

He reaches up and places his hand along your jaw, his thumb stroking the soft curve of your cheek. He’s memorizing your face, forcing himself to never forget and it brings back the cutting memory of that last time he’d made love to you.

He’d had the same look in his eyes, the same intense gaze as he committed as much of you to memory.

Gods, you just want to really hate him…so why can’t you?

“I won’t come back.” He sighs, dropping his hands when you do.

“Good.” You nod. “Because if you come back again, I’ll kick your ass myself.”

You call Bucky back in and the two of you watch Steve step onto the Quantum pad.

“Don’t come back again, Steve.” Bucky warns with a bittersweet smile. “It’s getting harder to tell you bye.”

“I won’t be back.” He promises, then looks at you, staring for what feels like an endless minute as you slip your hand into Bucky’s metal one and cling to his arm for support.

“Bye, Steve.” You tell him. “Good luck.”

His lips are turned down at the corners, eyes glistening just like yours. He whispers, because if he says it any louder, you think he’ll probably cry. “Goodbye.”

His helmet comes up into place, and with a click of his fingers, he disappears in a shrinking blur.

You huff, fighting the sob for as long as you can before you lean your head against Bucky’s bicep and let yourself cry. One last cry for Steve.

“He’s gone.” You whimper.

“He’s gone.” Bucky agrees, sounding almost as torn up as you. “He’ll be happier for it.”

He says to himself.

“So, will you, sugar. Trust me.” He looks down at you, leans down to press a kiss to the top of your head. “You want to get a drink?”

“No.” You sniffle. “I want Thor. Thanks for waking me.”

“Sure.” He nods. “Night.”

“Goodnight, Bucky.”

When you’re back in your room, you slip under the covers and lift Thor’s heavy arm to drape over your torso.

He wakes, breathing in heavily as he looks for you with sleep heavy eyes.

“You okay?” He asks immediately, half asleep.

“I love you, Thor.” You whisper, reaching up to trace the shape of his lips through his bristly mustache and beard. “I needed to tell him goodbye before I could say it with confidence.”

Suddenly, Thor looks wide awake, pushing himself up to look down at you.

“I love you, so much.” You smile at him, a little sad but mostly hopeful.

He seems to brighten. His cheeks flush underneath his beard, neck all pink, chest puffed up with pride.

“You love me? Truly?” He asks, as he rolls you over onto your back and settles his weight over you.

“Yes. I love you.”

“Say it again.” He begs, leaning down to rest his lips an inch over yours.

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“Once more.”

“I love you, Thor. So much. I love you. I love you. I lov-”

He crushes you into the mattress, kissing you until you have to twist away from his lips to catch your breath.

Gasping, you slide your hands into his long golden locks as he kisses a trail of electric kisses along your neck, your collarbone, your breasts, then back up to meet your lips.

He nudges your legs open and settles between them, heavy hands fumbling to pull your shorts and underwear down.

He’s already naked, preferring to sleep in the buff.

He guides your knees up, giving you little chance to breathe before he’s pushing himself inside of you.

His cock is big. So big. Even after months of being with him, you’re still not used to the girth.

He finally pulls away from your lips, mouth open as he groans, sinking into the warm silk of your cunt.

You’re so slick that he has no trouble.

“Say it again.” He begs, groaning as he trails kisses along your jaw.

“I…I…” You can’t catch your breath to speak. He’s pumping into you in long winding thrusts, hitting deep.

“Tell me.” He begs, voice almost aching with sorrow. “Tell me, my dove.”

“I-fuck…” You gasp, hands clawing at the skin on his back as he pushes himself up to angle himself up until he’s nudging you just right.

Your pussy clenches around him, a new wave of arousal making lurid noises as he pounds into you.

Finally, he stops, his tummy pressed to yours. Hard chest squishing your breasts through his t-shirt.

“Tell me.” He begs, electric blues staring right into your own eyes.

The intimacy of it…his soul searching pays off, and you’re made breathless again but this time from the endless overflow of affection that makes your body sing with bliss.

“I love you.” You reach up and push his hair back, trace his jaw line with your index finger, his beard caressed where it tickles your chin. “You’re mine. And you can never leave me, Thor. Never.”

He kisses you, gasping into your mouth, heating it up with the strong flavor of honeyed liquor. He must have had a drink while you were out saying goodbye to Steve.

The idea of him stressing over that breaks your heart.

You push his shoulder and he obeys instantly. He lays on his back and you straddle his hips. Not once does he fall out of you.

You’ve barely mounted him before you’re riding him, rocking your hips back and forth as he throws his head back with a moan then tilts it back forward to watch you rise and fall on his cock. He bites his lip, enjoying the way he disappears within you then reappears only to impale you once more.

“Oh, little dove.” He coos, biting his lip as he grips your hips and pulls you against himself to stab you deeper.

You arch your back, curling in on yourself as he helps pull you faster. One of his hands drifts up to trace your scars. Loving them because you do but also caressing them because he hates that you’d been hurt.

“Thor…” You whimper, then reach down to take his wrists.

You shove them up over his head, stopping your movements as you run your fingers along the taut sinew of muscle underneath godly smooth and golden skin. The shift of his biceps draws another moan from you, the flex of his pecs bring you down to lick and kiss until you find nipple and lick slow circles.

“I love your body.” You tell him, itching to ride him again but you’re enjoying the salty tang of his skin.

Something about this makes him growl and he sits up, removes his t-shirt off your body to expose your breasts, then wraps you up in his arms. He squeezes you. Pulling you flush against his body as he finds new grip on your ass and guides you to fuck him.

He’s grinding you down against him, your pussy constricting around him as he moves you roughly, his fingers digging into the flesh of your bottom.

You’re a mess of heavy breathing, gasping moans, mouth wide open as you struggle to find enough breath to make more than a whimper.

Thor licks your lips, a messy kiss as he shoves his tongue into your mouth to coax your tongue to meet his. He closes the distance, kissing you deep as he breathes in, exerting himself as he continues to lead you.

His hand slides down over your stomach, thumb finding your clit which he presses against hard.

You break the kiss, crying out as your body suddenly crashes into ecstasy. No warning. No slow build up.

You’re suddenly clinging to him, legs wrapped around his waist, toes clenched. Your fingers are claws, digging into the skin of his back as your orgasm takes you violently. It makes your body tremble, twitch, and spasm.

Thor keeps moving you, pressing against your clit over and over so that you’re forced into a second climax, less violent but just as intoxicating. You throw your head back and Thor’s lips find purchase against your neck, sucking and biting as he grinds you down against him harder.

He suddenly stops, sparks of electricity surging from him into you making your body shudder a third time. His hot stick warmth spills into you. Coating your insides while both of you fill the room with a blinding blue flare of electric light.

He looks up into your face, eyes wide open but both shining hot blue and white. And your own look back at him. Just as bright. Just as charged.

Your toes clench harder as he thrusts once more in his finish, when you wince and throw yourself sideways off of him.

“Ow! Fuck!” You cry, legs spread wide as you fall away.

“What?” He cries out, suddenly terrified.

Thor finds his way onto his knees, blonde hair sticking to the sides of his face with his sweat from your romp. He’s in a full-on panic as he hovers beside and over you, hands fluttering over you. Useless to do anything to help.

“What did I do? Have I hurt you?” He pleads. “Tell me, what did I do?”

“Cramp!” You groan, then whimper and hold out your foot for him to see.

Your toes are still clenched tight but involuntarily as the muscles in your left foot spasm painfully.

“Ow, ow, ow.” You whine and you see Thor deflate, shoulders slumping as he falls forward, hands on either side of your shoulders.

“Y/N…” He grumbles.

“Owwwww…” You hold your foot closer so that it’s nudging his hip.

He looks down at it then chuckles. The deep laugh makes your stomach flutter.

He sits down, resting against the headboard before pulling your foot closer. It turns your naked body to face him, legs resting over his big beefy thighs.

Slowly he begins to massage the muscles and you cry out from the unexpected pain, then laugh and cry at the same time as he chuckles again.

“You’re so dramatic.” He tells you.

He pulls your foot up to his lips. He kisses it, it tickles. You laugh.

“Did you just giggle?” He asks, chuckling again.

“No!”

“Yes, you did.”

“I did not giggle!” You laugh.

“Yes, you did. Look.” He pulls your foot up once more and kisses it again.

“Ah!” You yell. “Stop it!”

With a booming laugh, Thor reaches for your other foot and kisses that one too.

He teases you for a few minutes, pulling you closer until he gives in and lays back down beside you. Then on top of you. Then he’s kissing your lips again, your neck, then you’re writhing beneath him as he traces the shape of your thighs, down to your ass which he squeezes as he thrusts. His lips kiss your scars and the two of you come undone over and over while he begs you once more, “Say it again.”

“I love you, Thor. I love you.”

#eliza's 5k challenge #steve x reader #thor x reader #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #marvel au #mcu au #thor/reader #steve/reader #heavy is the hand you're dealt

[sunmoonandeddie]

yellow lights

pairing: steve rogers x stark!reader

word count: 7,116

summary: Steve struggles with his decision to keep you safe, and you never get to tell him you love him.

prompt: ‘yellow lights’ by harry hudson

warnings: swearing, violence, alludes to sex

a/n: This was written for @youngmoneymilla‘s 5K Writing Challenge!  Congrats on the milestone, and I hope you enjoy!  I’ll probably end up writing a sequel.  Let me know what you think!

“Steve?”

The blond man in question grunted, but he didn’t turn around. His eyes were locked on the sky in front of him, his hands clutching onto the controls of the quinjet even though it was in autopilot.  It gave him some sense of control, which he hadn’t had in a long time.  In fact, he’s pretty sure the last time he had complete control of his life was before the, before he went in the ice.

“Steve?”

“What?”  He could see his best friend in the reflection of the window, staring at him with a kind of concern that comes from knowing someone inside and out.  He stared out at the million of lights in front of him, illuminating the night sky of whatever city they were currently flying over.  He thought they might be over Spain, but he couldn’t be sure.

They reminded him of you, and of a conversation that felt like it was from another lifetime even if it had only been a few days before.

Bucky took a moment before sliding into the copilot seat. The brunet let out a sigh as he glanced over at his best friend.  “You miss her.”

“I—”

“No,” Bucky said, huffing.  “You miss her.  And it’s okay to miss her.”

Steve’s grip on the controls tightened.  He was trying so desperately to push thoughts of you out of his head, and Bucky wasn’t helping.  “I left her.”

“You did what you thought was right,” he insisted.

“He can’t leave her in there, right?” He asked, finally looking over at his best friend.  His eyes were puffy from crying and his cheeks red after having spent the past four days crying his eyes out.  He’d been hiding away in the cockpit of the plane, keeping away from the prying eyes of his teammates.  He knew that he needed to face them, needed to figure out their next move, but he couldn’t bring himself to go back and face them.

Especially not after they’d watched him abandon you.

Bucky propped his feet up on the dash, despite the glare that Steve shot his way.  “I doubt he’d let them keep her in that hellhole.”  He snuck another glance at the blond.  “I mean, it is his daughter.”

“He already left her there once,” he argued.  He was just feeling worse and worse by the second. He had half a mind to turn the plane around, though he knew that it wouldn’t go over well.  They’d have already upped security and, hopefully, Tony would’ve gotten you.

Bucky stared at him for a long moment, not sure how far to go. Eventually, he decided to give him a little bit of tough love.  “He thought you’d take her with you.”  Before the blond could reply, he continues, “Tony isn’t stupid.  He knew that you would eventually break everyone out, and he knew there was something going on between you, even if he didn’t want to believe it.”

Steve stood up suddenly, his fingers running through his dirty, greasy hair as he paced the floor.  “The way she looked at me, though, Buck.  I…”  He bit his knuckles as he felt another onslaught of tears coming on.

And fuck, if that didn’t break his heart.  He’d seen his friend at a lot of low points.  He’d seen Steve when he was a scrappy little punk in the forties, when he could barely go outside without getting in a fight or catching a cold.  He’d seen him in the war, crying when he thought no one was watching because he was leading men into battle—sometimes to their deaths—and he still felt like that tiny punk from Brooklyn.  He’d seen him when they first reunited after Bucky broke out of HYDRA, and saw how his shoulder’s drooped, the pressure of the name Captain America weighing him down.  And now, he was seeing him losing his mind because he’d fallen in love with the one person that was off limits.

A person who’d chosen him, and he’d subsequently left behind.

Bucky reached out to the super soldier, his hand clasping on his shoulder.  “Steve, you were trying to protect her.  She’s gotta know that.”  He sighed as his grip tightened for just a second.  “Even if she didn’t realize it then, she knows you.  She’ll see your side sooner or later.”

“I think this time might’ve been it, Buck,” he croaked.

You bit your lip as you leaned your head back against the wall of your cell, the stiff fabric of the uniforms they had put you and your team in scratching against your skin.  The cell around you was completely silent, and it was more than a little unnerving. Not even the air conditioner made any noise.

“Hey, Y/N, I don’t think your daddy’s too happy with us,” Clint shouted from where his cell was across the room, and you just rolled your eyes.  “Think you’ll lose your inheritance?”

“Hey, shut up, Barton,” Sam snapped, hands pressed against the glass of his cell. Everyone was starting to get cabin fever and it was clearly not going to end well.

Clint laughed, the sound coming out harsh and distorted.  “We all know that she’s not really a prisoner.  This is nothing but a resting stop before daddy comes and whisks her away back to her tower.”  He glowered at you darkly.  “Ain’t that right, princess?”

Scott’s cell was in between theirs, and he seemed just as annoyed.  “Give her a break, Barton.”

“Who are you again?” The older man asked, head turning to the wall that separated them. “Some B-Team member?”

“Clint,” you said sharply, effectively catching everyone’s attention.  Scott still looked as though he was ready to throw something back in the other man’s face, but you knew that it wouldn’t end well. “Leave him alone.  Your problem is with me.”

He smirked, a glint in his eyes that you didn’t like.  You’d known Clint for years and had never see him act like such an asshole. He’d been an uncle figure for you over the years and had even gone as far as giving you archery lessons, even if you’d never been as good as you were with hand-to-hand.  “Yeah, it fucking is.  Because we all know that you’re getting out of here will the rest of us wither away in the middle of the fuckin’ ocean.”

“I betrayed my dad, Clint,” you said, your voice quiet as you stared at where your legs were stretched out in front of you.  You hadn’t moved in at least two hours.  It just seemed pointless.  “I doubt he’s getting me out of here.”

“Yeah, okay, princess,” he muttered, turning away from you.  You could see the beginning signs of guilt taking over him as he sat down on the little bed that was coming out from the wall.  “You’ll still have your shiny tower when you get out of here.  And we,” he motioned to the different cells, “get house arrest at best.”

You looked up as you heard the door open with a whoosh, followed by the sound of familiar footsteps.  Your father didn’t even look at you as he observed the room around him.  In all honesty, you weren’t sure whether you wanted him to look at you or not.  It wasn’t like you’d been on good terms the last time you’d seen him.

“The futurist, gentlemen!  The futurist is here!”  Clint stood back up, anger radiating from him.  “He sees all!  He knows what’s best for you, whether you like it or not!”

“Give me a break, Barton,” Tony said coldly, his hands flexing at his sides. He was in one of his nice suits, all sharp lines and angles.  “I had no idea they’d put you in here.  Come on.”

“Yeah, well, you knew they’d put us somewhere, Tony.”

Your father walked over to his cell, his posture stiff.  “Yeah, but not some super max floating ocean pokey.  You know, this place is for maniacs.”  His eyes drifted over the dark walls and thick bars, the glass separating everyone.  “This is a place for—”

“Criminals?”  Clint looked like he was ready to break the glass and beat the older man’s ass. “Criminals, Tony.  I think that’s the word you’re looking for, right?”  He nodded towards the other cells, his eyes eventually landing on your dejected form.  “It ain’t used to mean me, or Sam, or Wanda, or your fucking daughter.  But here we are.”

Tony tensed up even more, if that was even possible.  He was purposefully not looking back at you, even though you knew he knew you were there.  “’Cause you broke the law.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t make you.”

“The law. The law,” Clint mused as he began to pace his cell, his brows furrowed.

Tony leaned his hand against the frame of the cell, staring in at the man that he was certain was going mad.  “You read it, you broke it.”

“The law. The law.  The law.”

He rolled his eyes, a perfect reflection of the eyeroll you’d done earlier.  “Alright, you’re all grown ups.  You got a wife and kids.  I don’t understand.”  He scoffed as his hands dropped and clapped against his legs.  “Why didn’t you think about them before you chose the wrong side?”

“Just like you thought of your daughter when you let them lock her in here?”

You narrowed your eyes at Clint, shaking your head.  Baiting your father would only make things worse.  And it also pissed you off that he was flipping back and forth on whether you were getting special treatment or not for being a Stark.

But Tony’s jaw just clenched as he gritted his teeth.  He began to move on and Clint called out, trying to get one last word, “You better watch your back on this guy.  Chances are he’s going to break it.”

“Hank Pym always said, ‘You can never trust a Stark,’” Scott said, his eyes narrowed. But you knew him and knew he wasn’t as tough as he was trying to seem.  He caught the way your glare fixed on him and he at least had enough decency to look a little bit sorry.

“Who are you?”

The man sighed deeply as he let his head hang, Tony moving past him to stand in front of Sam’s cell.  “Come on, man.”

“How’s Rhodes?” Sam asked, his voice quiet.  It broke your heart, knowing how guilty the man felt about his friend’s injury.  It didn’t matter if it wasn’t his fault. You knew he’d be feeling that guilt for a long time.

“We’re flying him to Colombia tomorrow.  So… fingers crossed,” he said after a long pause.  His eyes roamed over the man’s face, taking it all in.  “What do you need?  They feed you yet?”

At the mention of food, your stomach grumbled, though you hoped no one heard it. They hadn’t fed you since getting there a day ago, and you highly doubted you’d get much after your father left. It was a prison, after all.

“You’re the good cop now?” Sam mused, shaking his head as he turned away.

Tony stepped closer to the bars.  “I’m just a guy who needs to know where Steve went.”

You perked up at the sound of your…  well, whatever-he-was’s name.  Sam’s eyes flickered over to you, his heart dropping at how desperate you were for any word on the man.  “Well, you better go get a bad cop, because you would have to go Mark ‘Terminal’ on my ass to get information out of me.”

Your father looked down at his watch, bringing it up so the other man could see. “Oh, I just knocked the ‘A’ out of their ‘AV.’  We got about thirty seconds before they realize it’s not their equipment.”  He shoved the watch closer, pointing at something on the screen.  You got to your feet, hoping to hear something, anything, of use.  “Just look.  Because this is the fellow who was supposed to interrogate Barnes.  Clearly, I made a mistake.”  He took in a deep breath, the air in the room suddenly a lot heavier.  “Sam, I was wrong.”

“That’s a first.”

“Cap is definitely off the reservation and he’s about to need all the help he can get.”

You pressed your hands against the glass, your e/c eyes wide.

“We don’t know each other very well,” Tony said slowly, his voice low.  “You don’t have to—”

“Hey. It’s alright,” Sam said, effectively shutting the other man up.  His eyes met yours against the room and he nodded slightly.  “Look, I will tell you.  But you have to go alone and as a friend.”

“Easy.”

Their conversation went even quieter, leaving you to wonder what was being said. No matter how much you strained, you couldn’t catch more than a few broken phrases.  More than once, Sam would peek over your father’s shoulder to look at you, as though he was trying to encourage you, reassure you that it was going to be okay.

Tony finally nodded and stepped away.  He walked by Wanda’s cell slowly, but when she glared at him he just kept moving, coming to a stop at yours.  His hands were folded behind his back and you knew he was trying to remain stoic and unbothered, but the shaky breath he took in said otherwise.

You looked up at him, your hands trembling nervously.  “Got myself in some trouble, dad,” you muttered, blinking back tears as you looked down.

“You’re a Stark,” he said after a long moment.  His voice was soft, fond, even.  “And I raised you to think for yourself…”  The laugh that came from him felt choked, teary.  “Even if it goes against me.”  You looked up at him in surprise, but he just continued, “Though I would like to know when you and Cap became a thing.  That would’ve been nice to know.”

“We’re not,” you said, turning away once again.  But your mind was filled with memories of shitty hotel rooms and holding each other until the sun rose.

“Y/N,” he said, placing his hand against the glass through the bars.  He took in how worn down you seemed, how tired.  “He almost died because he didn’t want to leave you.  That’s not nothing.”

“Do you really want to talk about boys?  Now?” You countered, a little confused as to why the hell he was trying to bring all of this up.  And also, why it had to be in front of some of the nosiest people you’d ever met?

Tony sighed as he glanced down at the ground.  “Guess not.”  He bit his lip as you placed your hand against the glass where his was.  “You’re not getting out of this, you know.  Just because you’re my kid doesn’t mean you can break the law.”

“Wasn’t expecting to.”

He leaned his forehead against the bars, and you could see the way he was shaking. When he finally opened his eyes a few moments later, he took one last look at you before letting his hand drop. “I’ll see what I can do about getting all of you out of here,” he said.  The room went completely silent as the door shut behind him, leaving you all alone once again.

You let yourself sink down against the wall, leaning your head back.  “Hey, Clint?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t think I’m getting out of time out.”

You smiled up at the ceiling as you heard his familiar chuckle, knowing that things between you and the older man were okay.  “Shut up.”

You weren’t sure how long you sat there for.  It could’ve been hours.  It could’ve been days.  Time passed differently when there was no natural light or clocks.  All you had was the LEDs shining down on you, not even turning off for you to sleep.

Most of the time you spent lying on your bunk and staring up at the wall. The mattress was hard a lumpy, making it impossible to get comfortable, let alone sleep.

Sometimes one of the others would say something, and that would initiate a conversation for a few minutes, but it always eventually died out.  On what you thought was the second day, Scott finally spoke up.

“So, uh, what is going on between you and Captain America?” He asked, and the men in the cells on either side of him lost their shit laughing. Sam had his head thrown back and Clint was doubled over, his face going red.  Scott raised his eyebrows at the others before turning back to you.  “Seriously.  I’ve been wondering since Tony came and… you know.”

“Nothing is going on between us,” you said insistently, though your cheeks went a dark red.

Wanda laughed weakly from the cell next to yours.  “I don’t have to read your thoughts to know that that’s a lie, dragă.”

“We’re just friends,” you said, but even as you said it, you knew it was a lie.  You and Steve Rogers had been dancing around each other for three years.  From the second you’d gotten back from college, there’d been a sort of raw energy between you.  It felt dangerous and forbidden—your dad would’ve killed you if anything happened.

Sam chuckled as he leaned against the glass, looking out at you. His arms were grossed over his chest and his lips pulled up in a smirk.  “Babygirl, I’ve seen a lot of things in the world, and I can tell you that man looks at you like you created the universe.”

“There’s nothing going on between us,” you said.  A blatant lie.  You were pretty sure you still had a hickey on your chest to prove it, too.

“Are you trying to convince us or yourself?” Clint asked, and you couldn’t help but sigh.

You didn’t reply, just choosing to let them think whatever they were going to.  It’s not like you could change their minds or whatever.  Because the truth was, you didn’t even know what you were.  It had been three years of nothing only for everything to come to a head when you went on the run.  And now… back to nothing.  You had no certainty, no answers.

You felt like a stupid little girl with a stupid little crush, only it was much more than a crush.

You looked up in surprise as the door opened for the first time in days, a familiar figure coming through the door.  Everyone immediately got to their feet, the tension in the air palpable.

“Long time, no see,” Steve said as he came to a stop in front of Sam’s cell.

Your mouth went dry as you saw the man that had been occupying your thoughts for days.  You drank him in, your eyes running over him.  He hadn’t shaved, which you were grateful for since you were a big fan of the stubble that was starting to coat his jaw.  But the bags under his eyes worried you.

The man inside just smirked, shaking his head in amusement.  “’Bout time you got here.”

“You’re breaking us out?” Scott asked, his forehead pressed to the glass.

“Well, I didn’t come here just to visit,” the blond said as he began typing into the passcode for Sam’s cell.  It opened with a soft hiss, and the men embraced each other.  “Buck is waiting in the quinjet.  We gotta get everyone out.”

The others were out within two minutes, and the only one left was you. He’d even gotten the collar around Wanda’s neck off.

But he began to head for the exit without so much as a glance in your direction.

“Steve!” You shouted, confusion on your face as you banged on the glass.  There was no way he’d just forget you, right?  You were right there.  “Steve, get me out of here!”

He stopped in his tracks, his head hanging low as he let out a heavy sigh. “You’re not coming with us, Y/N.”

Everyone else froze, staring at him in shock.

“What…  What do you mean?” You stammered, your heart pounding.  Your fingers squeaked against the glass.

“Cap, we can’t just leave her,” Clint said, sounding just as confused as you felt.  All the anger towards you from earlier had disappeared.  You knew it was just because he needed someone to blame and you shared a name with the man who’d put you in the Raft.

Your e/c eyes desperately flicked over his face, trying to read him. “Steve, let me out of here.”

“You’re safer here.  With your dad,” he said, a tone of finality in his voice that made your blood run cold.

“Steve—”  Sam stopped, closing his mouth as his best friend shot him a look.

Wanda and Scott were looking between the two of you, not exactly sure what was going on or what to say.  On one hand, they wanted to bring you with them.  On the other, you were sort of the baby of the group and the urge to protect them was causing them to lean towards Steve’s side.

“Steve, come on,” you said, your voice cracking.  You didn’t want to beg but you weren’t above it. “Please.  Steve, let me out of here.”  He didn’t say anything, his fists clenching at his sides as he stared straight ahead towards the exit.  Hot tears were coursing down your cheeks.  “Would you at least fucking look at me,  you—you coward?!”

Steve finally turned to look at you, his heart clenching inside his chest. He wanted nothing more than to punch in the code for your cell and bring you with him, but he knew that it wasn’t the right choice.  He couldn’t steal you away from your father in the dead of night.  Couldn’t subject you to a life on the run, unable to contact anyone from your life before, just because he…

He shook his head, willing himself to not cry.  “This is for your own good,” he said, before turning and walking out.  The others trailed behind him, glancing back at you uncertainly.

The last thing he heard before the doors closed was your sobs, your broken voice calling out his name and begging for him to come back.

Natasha hummed as she stood up from the co-pilot seat on the quinjet, heading towards the back.  “Want anything to eat?”  She called back as she opened the fridge, pulling out two bottles of beer.

“’M Fine.”

She opened up the small cabinet and winced.  All they had was a few cans of tomato soup, a half-gone box of popcorn, and two things of Ramen.  Yeah, they’d definitely have to get groceries next time they stopped.

The redhead moved back up to the cockpit, being careful not to wake up Wanda, Vision, and Sam, who were all sleeping further in the back. She collapsed back in her chair and held out a beer for him, but he shook his head.

“What’s the point?” Steve asked, raising his eyebrows as he eyed the beer.  “Not like I can get drunk.”

“It’s the idea of it,” she said with an exaggerated eyeroll. She popped open the cap and took a long swig.  “And besides, you can get drunk off of Thor’s Asgardian shit.”

The blond laughed a little as he took the extra bottle, despite the fact that it wouldn’t do anything.  “Well, we don’t have any of Thor’s mead, so I guess this’ll just have to do.”

“Atta boy.”

He finished off half the bottle in one gulp before slamming it back down beside him.  The beer inside sloshed around, a few drops landing on the sleek controls.

“Hey!” Nat chided, wiping away the little bit of alcohol.  “This is the only quinjet we’ve got, we gotta take care of it best we can.”

He didn’t say anything for a few minutes, choosing instead to sip on the beer.  It’d been a long few months since he’d broken everyone out of the Raft, and it hadn’t been easy being on the run, especially after he’d left Bucky in Wakanda.  His thoughts had never left you for a moment, always going back and forth between regretting leaving you and knowing it was the best thing for you.  He still wondered everyday how you were doing, if you hated him.

He’d started a million letters to you, but never had the courage to send them.  He knew that Natasha called Tony a few times, only talking long enough to let him know that everyone was okay.  He hadn’t had the courage to ask how you were doing, terrified that the assassin would say you hated him and never wanted to see him again.

Which was ridiculous, but his anxiety was never logical.

They settled back into their silence, staring out at the night sky in front of them.  They were flying over ocean and without the light pollution of cities, they could see what seemed like a million stars laid about in front of them.  Natasha nursed her beer, Steve having finished his within minutes.

“Are we ever gonna talk about her?”

“What?”

She sighed, swirling the amber liquid around in the bottle. “Y/N.  Are we ever going to talk about Y/N?”

Steve suddenly really, really wished he had more of that Asgardian mead.  He knew that this conversation would come up eventually with her, but he wasn’t looking forward to it. “What about it?”

“Steve,” she said tentatively.  She was doing her best to choose her words carefully.  “Would you please talk to me?  What happened between you two?”

“We, uh…”  He shook his head, trying to figure out how to phrase it.  “When we went on the run, we would, uh…  We’d stay in the same bed.  A lot. And the night before Berlin…”

“The night before Berlin?” Natasha prodded, growing a little frustrated as the man trailed off.

He had the decency to look a little ashamed, his cheeks heating up as he look down at his lap.  “We…  You know.”

“Steve, if you can’t even say that you had sex, you shouldn’t be doing it.”

“We didn’t mean for it to happen!”  His fingers ran through his hair, gripping the now-shaggy strands. “It just…  I don’t know.”

Nat stood up and moved to grab another few beers, knowing that this was going to be a long night.  “And by ‘I don’t know’ you mean that you two finally acted on three years of disgusting, pent up feelings?”

He stared straight ahead determinedly, gripping the controls. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t try that shit with me, Rogers.”  Natasha slid back into her seat, popping open yet another beer. “You two did nothing but stare at each other with big ass heart eyes and pine after one another like the rest of us couldn’t see you.”  She tipped her bottle towards him, starting to feel some of the effects.  “You two…”  She smiled down at her bottle as she thought back on the times when everyone had been together, everyone had been happy.  “You’d always make her coffee in the morning after your morning run, and she’d always make sure Tony’s assistant got that natural, organic peanut butter you like.  You two always gravitated towards each other, like magnets.  If you two were in the same room, you were always next to each other.” She pulled her knees up to her chest. “Not to mention how protective you are.”

Steve chuckled, fond memories flashing through his head.  “Yeah, I, uh…  Didn’t do a very good job at hiding it, huh?”

“So why’d you fight it for so long?”

“You mean other than the fact that she’s Tony’s kid?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow.

The redhead rolled her eyes, shoving him.  “Yes.  Because I always thought you two were stupid to not act on it.”

“To be honest with you,” he said, feeling his shoulders droop a little, “I thought I was going to ruin her.”

“Ruin her?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, Rogers, what the fuck does that mean?”

Steve glared at her, though there was no real heat behind it. “Natasha, she was twenty-one when she got back from college, and I’m a hundred years old.  You can’t tell me that’s not weird.”

She took another sip of her beer.  “Y/N’s a Stark, she’s grown up around weird.  Plus, she’s dealt with her dad almost dying enough times that I’m pretty sure she’s mentally fifty by now, so you’re good on that front.”

“Really, though, Nat,” he said, relaxing back in his seat. “She’s got her whole life ahead of her. I didn’t want to weigh her down.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.  “And even though I was going to the VA about my PTSD, I couldn’t saddle her with that. She deserved to live her life.” He opened his eyes again, a little teary.  “And then I ended up stealing her away from her dad and ruining her life anyway.”

“Steve, you didn’t steal her away or ruin her life,” she said, a look in her eyes that clearly said, ‘Why do I have to live my life dealing with dramatic ass superheroes?’  “She made that decision for her own.  You know, because she’s a grown ass woman.”  Natasha looked at the now empty bottle of beer and sighed.  “Alright, so what happened when you guys went on the run?”

“Hey.”

Steve looked up, smiling faintly as he saw you standing in the open door.  You were in his t-shirt, looking absolutely delicious, and it took everything in him to not drag you back into the hotel room that you’d just come from.  “Hey.”

You bit your lip as you watched him turn back, watching the skyline.  It was a little chilly out, not that you minded, but you were worried about him.  “You okay?” You asked as you timidly walked over to him.  You stood far enough away that you two wouldn’t be touching, just in case.

“Yeah,” he said, reaching out for you.  He pulled you over to stand in front of him, his arms around your waist, and you weren’t sure if he did it on instinct or choice.  Either way, you weren’t complaining.  The super soldier was like a heater and you relished in the warmth that came from his embrace.  “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your hair.

“I woke up and you weren’t in bed,” you said, closing your eyes as you relished in the feel of having him close.  Who knew that all it took for something to happen between you was betraying your father and becoming a fugitive?  “Got cold.”

His arms tightened around you as he brushed his lips over your shoulder.  He was a little surprised at how much he loved seeing you in his clothes, but then again, he’d realized that three years ago when you’d started stealing his hoodies.  But this was different.  Intimate in a way that neither of you had experienced yet.

You stared out at the city with a soft smile, watching the little yellow lights flickered in the darkness.  “Reminds me of home,” you said quietly, your fingers interlacing with his.  “Growing up in the city, I could never see the night sky unless there was a blackout.  And when you live in Stark Tower, those don’t happen.  Ever.”  His thumb gently rubbed against the back of your hand.  “So the city lights became my stars instead.”

And that caused a pang in Steve’s chest, because once again, he was reminded that you had run away from home for him.  You’d left your father, your work as an Avenger, and everything else behind. And he couldn’t pretend that it wasn’t because of him, because you’d straight up said when you got on the quinjet, “I’d follow you anywhere.”

“Let’s go back inside, sugar,” he whispered against your neck.  He shut the glass door behind the two of you with a soft click and couldn’t help but blush.

Sex still hung in the air, scenting everything around them.

But you didn’t seem to notice or care as you crawled under the covers and peeked up at him with those stunning e/c eyes.  The ones that always got him to do whatever you wanted.  “You just gonna stand there all night or are you gonna come keep me warm?”

And even though you’re literally asking him to join you in bed, he took a long moment to just take it in.  Your hair was mussed from sleep, a red line on your cheek from the pillow.  Your eyes were blinking sleepily at him and you just looked soft.  It was a truly beautiful sight and he wished he had his sketchpad.

“You coming?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, moving to crawl into the bed next to you.  “I’m coming, sugar.”

And curling up against you feels so good that it almost hurts.  You’re tucked into his chest, his hand having slipped under the shirt to trace your back.  He bit his lip as his mind wanders, going back to what you two had been doing in this bed just a few hours before.  Images of your mouth in a soft ���o’ and your eyes rolling back, the little whimpers that drove him crazy falling from his lips.

In all his days, he’d never imagined getting to have this, even if it’s just for a moment.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re staring.”

His lips pulled up in a soft smile as your legs tangled with his.  “Am I not allowed to?”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, watching him with narrowed eyes.  “You’re thinking.  And we’re supposed to be sleeping.”  But when you saw the look in his eyes, you dropped the teasing and sat up.  “What’s wrong?”

“Promise me,” he said, barely audible.  “Promise me that no matter what happens tomorrow, you’ll stay safe.  You won’t put yourself into any unnecessary danger.”

“Only if you don’t,” you said, your fingers running through his hair soothingly.

He rested his head on your chest as you leaned against the headboard.  The steady beat of your heart helped to soothe him, despite all of his anxiety about what would be happening when the sun rose.  He could feel the weight of his team’s lives on his shoulders.  His team that was spread out in the hotel that was way too nice for them to be staying in while they were on the run.  “You know I can’t do that, sugar.”

“Then I can’t promise either.”

“Y/N.”

“Steve.”

He turned his head to look up at you, his fingers intertwining with yours.  “Y/N, I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” you said, with a matter-of-fact tone that reminded the blond of your father.

He pulled away, sitting up so he could look you in the eyes.  Taking in a deep breath, he took your hands in his.  “I need to know that you’re going to be careful out there.  You can’t die.  If you get hurt, I…”  His grip on your hands tightened.  “I can’t lose you.”

Your eyes softened as you swallowed around the lump that had formed in your throat. “I promise.  I promise I’ll be careful,” you stammered, allowing him to pull you close to his chest.  “But you have to promise me, too.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, his fingers running through your hair as he kissed your forehead.  “I promise.”

“She’s here,” Steve said, his heart pounding as he looked at Bucky for some kind of guidance.  They’d just gotten to Wakanda a few hours before, other Avengers joining them for the battle that was to come.

Bucky looked at his best friend with an incredulous look. “After all this time, you still have no idea how to talk to women,” he said with a harsh laugh.  The time he’d spent recovering had done him good.  With Shuri’s help, he’d been able to undo HYDRA’s programming, meaning he’d never become the Soldier ever again.

He rapidly shook his head, all composure going out the window. “I didn’t know she’d be here.”

The brunet couldn’t help but smirk down at his hands.  “She showed up here about two months ago.  Her and Princess Shuri get along great.”

And well, if that wasn’t just fucking dandy.

“When were you going to tell me this?” He demanded, his eyes locked on where you were talking with Shuri in the lab.  You had a new suit, something he was sure was highly upgraded from what you’d had before.  Your hair was pulled up in a messy bun and you looked so serious but you were just as beautiful as the day he’d left you in the Raft.

“It wasn’t like there was a number I could call you at, Steve,” Bucky reminded him, rolling his eyes.

“Does she…”  His tongue darted out to wet his lips, finding his mouth suddenly dry.  “Does she hate me?”

“No, she doesn’t hate you, punk,” the other man said.  He was just about ready to beat his best friend’s ass for being such an idiot.  You two had spent a lot of time together over the past two months and gotten rather close. You treated him like a normal guy, and it made him not feel so much like a monster.  You were kind, compassionate, funny, and one of the smartest people he’d ever met.  He could see why Steve was so crazy for you.

But he’d also seen how much he had hurt you when he left you behind.

You’d forgiven him, of course, because you weren’t cruel and you knew his intentions were good, but he still caught you crying when you thought no one was looking.  You’d be curled up in a ball, sitting on one of the hills overlooking the village, or on the windowsill in your room, and you’d just cry.  And it hurt him, knowing how devastated you were.

Steve practically jumped out of skin as he heard Natasha’s voice behind him.  “I don’t know if now’s the right time to have a reunion, but we are about to go into battle.” She fixed the blond with a steely look. “I’d suggest talking to her.”

But he shook his head, turning towards the ground.  “No.  Like you said.  There’s a fight coming.”

Both of the assassins watched him walk off, sighing and having the same thought.

He’s a god damn idiot.

“Nat!”

The now-blonde turned and a wide grin spread across her face as you launched yourself into her arms.  “I’ve missed you,” she said, holding you tightly.

“I’ve missed you more,” you said, the sound muffled as your head was buried in the crook of her neck.

The rest of your reunions with your teammates were just as sweet, but you didn’t fail to notice that one person in general was avoiding you.

“Is he really not going to talk to me?” You asked Bucky, your hands on your hips as you watched the man in question speak with the king.

“I told you, whenever you’re tired of him being a dumbass, my arms are wide open,” he teased, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

A giggle erupted from your lips, though you missed the way the object of your affections turned to look at you with big blue puppy eyes. “Buck, we both know that the world would burn if we ever dated.”

“A man can dream, can’t he?” He teased, throwing a knowing smirk towards his best friend.  He knew the other man would get jealous, and he was hoping it’d be enough to cause him to fucking talk to you.

But it was to no avail, as Steve just gritted his teeth and turned back to T’Challa.

Before you knew it, the battle was raging around you. You barely had time to think as you fought off the weird alien creatures that tore across the beautiful fields of Wakanda.  It seemed to go on and on and on as the creatures just kept coming.  You’d almost gotten your ass handed to you multiple times, and if it hadn’t been for Natasha and Okoye, you wouldn’t be breathing.

But a conversation you’d had with Steve about a year before kept coming back to mind, his words ringing in your ears.

You can’t die.

You can’t die.

You can’t die.

As you offed one particular alien that had been giving you trouble, you whirled around, looking for your teammates.  Some of the fight had bled into the surrounding forest and you began to run in that direction.

You had gotten fairly knocked up in the fight, blood caked on your forehead and bruises littering your body.  You were sure that you’d broken at least one finger in your body, but that didn’t matter.

You had to get to your team.  You had to make sure they were okay.

You slowed down as you saw Thor standing in a clearing, staring down at his axe.  You stood at the edge of the forest as a feeling of dread seeped it’s way into your bones.  Something wasn’t right.  Something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

Before you could say anything, Steve ran up, frantically scanning the clearing.  “Where’d he go?  Thor. Where’d he go?”  He was looking everywhere for Thanos, but he’d disappeared.

“Steve?”

All three of you turned to see Bucky turn into ash.  Your heart twisted inside your chest and all you wanted to do was scream, but nothing came out.

Everything felt fuzzy.  Like when that staticy feeling when your foot falls asleep, only it was everywhere.

“Steve?” You called out, though it sounded muffled and distorted.  “What’s happening?”

If it weren’t for them turning towards you, realizing you were there, you wouldn’t have thought anything had actually come out.

“Y/N,” he said, running towards you.  Tears were already staining his cheeks.  At his horrific look, you knew.  You knew your fate had been sealed.  His hands cradled your face and you relished in the feeling, despite knowing that was about to happen to you.  “Y/N, stay with me.”

“I’m sorry, Steve.  I’m so sorry,” You stammered, your hands moving up to hold his face.  As the two of you held each other, you began to panic.  You felt it before you saw it.  The sensation of feeling your lover’s beard against your skin disappeared, and then about five seconds later, your hands started to disintegrate.

You were turning to ash.

All you could think about was how you’d promised him that you wouldn’t die and you were breaking that promise and fuck, you’d never gotten to tell him you love him.  “St—"

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve x you #steve x reader #steve rogers fic #eliza's 5k challenge

[quant-um-fizzx]

This is When

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Summary: Reader has liked Steve from afar and, when an opportunity finally arrives, her efforts to be what she thinks he wants have consequences.

Prompt: I don’t know what you want from me/So careless in my company/Oh, if all that you say is true/There’ll be no getting over you (Tearing Me Up – Bob Moses)

Word Count: 6700 (yikes.)

Warnings: Unrelenting Angst. Reader makes poor choices, consistently. This starts several weeks before Endgame, so expect there to be character death mentions. Referenced Steve x Peggy. Mildest smut.

The bad guy isn’t always so easy to spot. A villain, the very last person you expect.

Steve stands, looming larger than life over the disused conference table. Five years of recently unearthed dust still visible on the far corners. Brittle paper rustles as he unfurls an antique, camel-colored map, apparently routing modern comparatives. It’s just him, a screen, and some papers. Despite that, the room feels full, fit to burst. You opt to leave before it does. Turn tail, spin on the ball of your foot, and leave him undisturbed.

“Nope,” you say, pursing your lips and shaking your head as you return to where Nat sits, legs up and feet crossed on her table across the compound.

“No?” She says, surprised and speaking a little slowly around a mouthful of peanut butter. “He won’t do it?”

Your face scrunches up; eyes close not wanting to see her reaction. “No, uh...nope. I sorta couldn’t ask him to.” It sounds more like a question. One eye peeks open while the rest of your face probably looks like you’ve sucked down a crate of lemons.

She plops her half sandwich down dramatically, makes a show of brushing crumbs. “You know,” she begins, eyes twinkling, “I once watched him microwave a can of tomato soup. In the can.”

“I fail to see how that’s relevant here.” It was probably right after he first came to this century, too, you think defensively on his behalf.  

“I’m just surprised you’re intimidated.”

You scoff. “I am allowed to be intimidated. For crying out loud Nat, he punches aliens.”

“I punch aliens.” Her eyebrows lift in challenge, enjoying this too much.

How long has it been? Years since you met him once in passing. Never any real interaction. He may not even recall your name. Sporadic appearances in heavily-crowded rooms, and no mutual dealings before...well, before half of everything went to Hell.

Not much opportunity now, he lives off-site, always gone leading therapy groups and the occasional mission. Still, every time the past few years you’ve heard Nat mention he’s come around the all-but-deserted HQ, butterflies.

Lost in thought for a moment longer than innocent, you spot Nat smirk knowingly.

This is when you decide shit needs to change. Steve Rogers needs to notice you.

“Fine!” You head back out, arms waving near your head in mock surrender.

Striding up behind him in the conference room, you clear the nerves from your throat and, from the subtle flex near his shoulder blades, it’s clear he knows you’re there - that someone is there - but he’s unfazed. He certainly doesn’t notice you. Being unnoticed by Steve Rogers is a skill you’ve unwittingly, unwillingly mastered.

In fairness, he notices you as much as he would most everyone else that’s left. No one’s exactly sneaking up on history’s greatest soldier.

You suspect it’s more of an instant evaluation and subsequent, triaged dismissal: Nondescript person. Location appropriate attire. Behavior within expected parameters. Sufficient security clearance relative to location. Threat level low.

Surely, you’re no threat at all, to him. To yourself...jury’s out.

“Captain Rogers?” You step across the table from him.

He looks up, briefly. Enough to be courteous but remains focused on his project. “How can I help you?”

Suddenly, your lips dry despite the strawberry Chapstick they’re always coated in. “Nat wants me to find out if you’ve made a decision about helping escort the groups next week?”

He leans slightly and braces both arms on the table. Not looking up, he sighs out, “I want to help, but trotting out Captain America doesn’t seem like the way to do it.”

Without thinking, you say, “Hadn’t really been looking for a super soldier to take a bus load of orphans to the museum. Just Steve Rogers: Certified Driver’s License holder.”

A ghost of a smile. He looks up. “Fair enough. Count me in.”

As you leave, practically bouncing from this positive first real interaction, you call over your shoulder, “Though, after you’ve tried to wrangle 150 kids for lunch, that superhero bit might not seem like such a bad idea.”

You hear a faint laugh as you exit.

“You know,” Nat says, right after you tell her Steve’s decision, “I used to suggest dates to him all the time.” She looks wistfully out the window, to a past more than a world away. “He never bit. Maybe that was for the best back then. I was just throwing out names. Trying to get him out.” She says that, but takes a beat. She knows, we both do, that’s not quite it. Not to get him out. It was really trying to help him fit in. “But, yeah, never seemed interested. Made me promise to stop. Stop suggesting. Stop having women bring him coffee, bump into him in the elevator, what have you. So, I promised.” You watch her twist the plastic bag around a loaf of bread and shove it to the back of the counter. “Now, I’m not so sure.”

You look over to the doorway that leads back toward the conference room he’s probably still in. “That seems like a good thing. Probably making him uncomfortable for the sake of a few dates.”

“True. They were good people, not good matches.” She shrugs, a small hitch - one that you only recognize from logging hundreds of hours around her - shows she’s only feigning casual. Quite suddenly, you understand this is a dead-serious talk. “I never regretted making him that promise until you came along.”

You swear you hear an actual record scratch.

“Wh-? What on earth would make you say that?” You look down at your faded t-shirt and - oh, you hadn’t noticed - threadbare yoga pants. Your standards have devolved into If It’s Clean, It Gets Worn. You know your hair’s in disarray, face bare. Not exactly Steve’s button downs and starched jeans.

“C’mon, your ability to adapt? That might be an actual superpower. You both operate on the same compass. Don’t know how to stop putting others first. No compromise. When I saw your letter to Secretary Ross bullet-pointing everything wrong with his stupidass Survivor Mandates? An admin who commits career suicide by telling off the Secretary of State?” Nat shakes her head. “That’s right up there with airport rumbles and jumping outta planes without a chute.”

You really don’t know what to say to that.

Of course, you’d fantasized something happening between you and Steve. Look at him.

Plus, he’s a good guy. THE Good Guy. The Embodiment of morals and decency.

Your room currently has several drained Jameson bottles, at least three weeks’ worth of dirty laundry, a fist-sized hole in the wall from when you received your first reply from Ross, and simply scorchingly filthy porn on an incognito tab. (As a precaution, you’d searched a few vanilla sites too, hoping if anyone ever went snooping through your browser history, they’d be satisfied with that and not dig deeper to find the banned-in-several-states stuff.)

You were more likely to listen to Steve Miller or, heck, even Roger Miller, than Glenn Miller.

You’re convinced you’d turn him off in a heartbeat. Based on what you know of him anyway. A lot can be discerned reading about his life and choices. He is just so closed off - red, white, and blue brick walls. So much in the past.

None of that matters though. It doesn’t matter if you never actually get his attention in the first place.

Looking past Nat at your reflection in the window, you have to wonder how you’d keep it if you ever got it.

Honestly, maybe you shouldn’t even try. Life is barely hanging on. People are either so broken they don’t function or so good at compartmentalization that they don’t move on and just keep trying to resuscitate it, to maintain it.  

“How’s your housing proposal coming along?” Nat breaks you out of your thoughts. “Is it too much? You’re already doing that food program revamp plus the international incident monitoring.”

“Nah, I got it.” You have to. You want to. Anything you can do that allows Nat time to track down her best friend and maybe, just maybe, someone will find a way to bring everyone else back, too.

The skeleton crew that remained at Avengers HQ after Wakanda, after Thanos, had drifted away within weeks. All with broken families and lives that needed stitched up, pressing wounds that demanded them more. All but you and Nat.  Nat had no one and you had no one worth going to. You’d been just another worker bee before, trying to make things right, doing the best you could for the best people so they could actually accomplish things.

Life is full, brimming with grey mourning and chalky despair, and you really don’t need a distraction. Even if it’s as amazing as Steve Rogers.

You almost convince yourself that’s true.

**

The outing goes smoothly. All kids accounted for and - it shouldn’t be the highlight, but it is - Steve has spoken with you most of the day. Usually about the kids and their needs. Interspersed, he asks where you’re from. Who you lost. Where you were when it happened. All the sorts of things everyone has learned to ask so they don’t trigger a breakdown.

“Who did you lose, Steve?” It’s common knowledge, but you ask anyway.

He seems surprised to hear the words. Waits a beat before answering. “This time it wasn’t everyone.”

Near the end of the day, outside the giftshop, you spot him deep in conversation with a rather pretty guide. She scoots a little closer every few moments and he allows it. Her hair is brown, soft waves pulled back in a barrette. Dark red lips. Neatly tucked uniform, pencil skirt.

Huh. Okay. He is very much in the past. Even further than the rest of us.

This is when the idea hits. It’s all at once, a lightning strike forcing it to life.

On the way home, you stop by a drug store and make a solitary purchase: semi-matte, red velvet lipstick.

**

You’re determined to focus on work and not go chasing after him or concoct schemes to run into him. You’re not some errant child running after him like he’s a clanging ice cream truck. You are a mature person with goals and obligations and willpower and if you’ve recently developed a raging interest in the 1940’s, well, that’s pure coincidence.

You are not going to seek him out.

You cave two days later.   

Container of freshly baked (by someone, not you) cookies in one hand, you find yourself waiting for a break in a VA meeting he leads. A curious smile pulls at the corner of his mouth when he spies you leaning against the doorframe.

“Well, let’s take a break. Back in five?” He jogs up to you, eyeing the cookies.  “What’s this?”

“Oh,” you say, holding them up as if you’d forgotten they were there, “These old things?” While you speak, you notice his gaze go to your dark lips. His brow furrows slightly, then back to your eyes. “I just thought maybe your group would like treats?” Suddenly, you feel silly. As if you’ve mistaken combat veterans for kindergarteners in need of snack time. “Do you serve refreshments?”

His rare smile is blinding. “We do now.” Grabbing the cookies, with one last glance that doesn't quite reach up to your eyes, he returns to the group.

As you turn to leave, he calls after you, “Wait, let me introduce you. Please, stay. We’re almost done anyway.”

You position yourself at what you hope appears to be a respectful distance for the remainder of the meeting.

He’s very good, you realize. Gets everyone to open up, encourages them to share and then to move on. Somehow managing to come across as opening up, but never revealing more about himself than any history book contains.

After, he thanks you again.

“It was nothing really. Happy to do it.”

“You baked and came all the way down here with cookies for people you’ve never met?” That isn’t accurate, but you don’t correct him. “I wouldn’t call that ‘nothing.’”  He rubs the back of his neck. “So...I should probably see you home safely.”

Trying to seem not-ridiculously overjoyed, you shrug. “I made it here on my own. I can probably make it back.”

“You stay at HQ, right?”

“Sure do.” “You don’t, uh, have anyon—anywhwere, some place in the city?”

No, you don’t. You shoot your shot. “That’s a story. Wanna hear it over coffee?”

He tilts his head. “Yeah, I could do that.”

Until 2:00 a.m., over cold coffee, you end up talking about pretty much everything except any real details about yourselves.

After you slide out of the booth to leave, he appears deep in thought, runs a finger over the lipstick smudge on your cup.

**

Three days after shared coffee, and roughly eight hours of big band and WW2 research, you paint your lips and slide on a skirt for the first time in years.  

Steve is due at HQ today and, though you don’t know his mission, you are going to find a reason to be in his vicinity.

“Hey, lady,” Nat whistles, “are you trying to seduce your way past Ross’s assistant? Because that skirt might do the trick.”

You run your hands over invisible wrinkles, “Something like that.” You hope Steve makes an appearance soon, because you’ve been so preoccupied that going there had slipped your mind.

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain ca-”

“Shh!” You cut her off as Steve enters. He nods to you. Your cheeks warm as his eyes follow down your skirt.

“Wheels up in 10, Natasha.”

“Think we’ll be back before dinner?” Nat teases.

He gives a withering look. “Maybe dinner next Thursday.”

Now or never. “I was going to make chicken fricassee soon. I could, maybe, do it when you both get back?”

Nat looks at you as if you sprouted two heads. “Uh, sure? Not gonna turn down a home cooked meal.”

Steve follows her lead. “Not sure Romanoff has ever completed a mission report without Chinese take-out, but we can give it a go.”

Nat elbows him and exits, still looking at you through narrowed eyes.

Figuring out how to cook in a few days shouldn't be that hard.

**

It was that hard.

You end up baking a ham instead. The air swirls in brown sugar and cinnamon. Nat, winking, invents a reason to leave immediately with her apple crisp.

Steve watches the common area door shut behind her. “You know, for a spy, she isn’t very subtle.”

“True.” You shrug, busying yourself putting leftover ham slices on rye bread that you’ll insist he take home later. “But maybe there’s no place in this world for subtlety anymore.”

He looks at you, the lipstick you’d touched up earlier, your hair pulled back. Nods softly.

“Steve, would you like to go on a date with me?”

This time he nods a little harder. “Yes. Yes, I would.”

**

Steve’s schedule is only open on the many days you give dance lessons at the orphanages. After some shuffling, you get them postponed.

It takes a few tries, but you start to get the hang of this new look.

Little things at first. Subtle. Small. Glossy clear lips exchanged for matte red. A knee-length dress here and there. Belts to accentuate your waist.  

You try doing your hair differently. It seems somehow too much. Too obvious. Too...her. You know about her, everyone does. You know who she is. It’s a present, tangible thing, his love for that remarkable woman. And she was remarkable, utterly deserving of Steve, if any woman is. Or, was. They’re far beyond star crossed lovers, displaced by glacial ice and merciless march of time.

But you’re right here and, determined.

You can hear the echoes of your grandmother and countless wise women, “Don’t change yourself for any man.”

Oh, but Gram, Steve Rogers isn’t just any man.

At your third dinner, a band plays standards. Several couples get up to dance. You drop hints like rainfall. “Sorry, I...I don’t dance.” He shifts in his seat uncomfortably.

“Oh. Oh, that’s okay. I don’t really either.”

**

His place is spartan. Walls dull grey, painted in longing. A few framed sketches. Stunning, beautiful. He says nothing when he notices you linger on the one of her the longest. It’s gone, tucked away somewhere, the next time you come over to cook dinner.

A few weeks in, over potato soup that turned out pretty good even if you were craving sushi instead, you begin to wonder if you’ve miscalculated this whole thing. You’ve held hands out walking. Hugs linger a little longer. Nothing more. Stagnant.

Maybe he just...can’t. Move on. Move on. Move on. Decade-long mission. Try to move on. Make the best of it. Going through the motions, a caricature of himself, of who he’s supposed to be.

Maybe that’s what you admire the most about him. He just keeps getting back up. It’s not that he won’t break - he seems so very, very impossibly unbroken. Too stubborn from a lifetime of fighting that he won’t surrender tethers to his past.

Whatever it is, or isn’t, you can’t stay away.

Sometimes, he eyes you skeptically.  When you’ve done perhaps too much, channeled a smidge more housewife than prudent (and you do question why you’ve taken this tact but he keeps seeing you so you barrel ahead) when you’ve silently, voluntarily rearranged and back-burnered your own work and interests.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, but you really don’t have to go to all this trouble,” he says one evening, setting the table.  

“Oh, it’s no trouble.” It is. “I enjoy doing this for you.” I enjoy doing things for you, but not so much this. “Besides, what else would I be doing?” Cleaning my apartment that I never let you see for many reasons. Actually completing projects. Wearing stretch pants. Work.

He sets a plate down. “What would you like to be doing?”  It’s an innocent enough question, asked innocently enough. It’s only you that makes it feel more like I find it hard to believe you want to be doing this.

This is when you realize you’ve convinced yourself these changes are improvements.

Surely, he - who stands eye-to-eye with gods and monsters, who observes the world from a vantage point that quite literally no one else has - wouldn’t be interested in your mundane, day-to-day work. Not the minutiae of clerical work, grant proposals. Wouldn’t endure your ironic love for hair bands that is pretty light on the irony or backtrack on that whole no-dancing rule.

He’d definitely be leaving a Steve-shaped exit hole in the wall sprinting in the opposite direction of the porn you haven’t peeked at in weeks.  

You venture another look. His face is earnest. You recall something you’d always meant to do.

“Well, I think shelters want people to come pet the cats.” Oh, god. What if he hates cats? “Dogs, er, dogs and cats. Animals.” Smooth.

He smiles, a little wider than you could’ve anticipated, and resumes placing silverware.

“If you’re free Saturday, let’s go.”

The questions start again during dinner. Having things done for him, his disquiet is palpable, like his skin itches and stretches over knitting wounds. Forgotten scars busted open.

“You do realize it was never like that for me, right?” He says. “There wasn’t pot roast on the table and a newspaper waiting for me. I grew up in the Depression. It was a mug of hot water instead of tea and getting sent to bed so early we didn’t notice we’d missed dinner.”

You had realized that. You hadn’t realized he knew you were catering specifically to him.

“This is how my grandparents raised me. I miss that sense of home, that sense of...comfort?” You fiddle with a spoon, your reflection elongated, distorted along its curve. “Steve, just because you didn’t get it, doesn’t make it right.”

His head draws back, taking you in. An unreadable look in his eye.

“I know you didn’t get what you deserved,” you chew the words, “back then. I just want to help you get it now.” Fidgeting, words feeling too...accurate. “Or, the closest thing to what you...we deserve.”

His hand covers yours, wraps fingers together, entwines. Gives you a tailored version of his VA coaching. Tells you that the world is what we make it. That it can be good and right. That he knows you’re holding back, holding something back, but admits he is, too, that he isn’t sure he knows how not to anymore. “Please,” he starts, squeezes your hand gently, “what aren’t you telling me?”

Slipping your hand out from under his, missing the warmth immediately, you start without thinking. “You’re here and I’m here and making the best of it. Have you felt…” you stop for a moment, realizing something you hadn’t let yourself think before, “...have you even felt real in years?”

The back of his chair squeaks as he leans back against it. Concedes. “Not very often.”

“I’m tired of it, weary of just getting by. Aren’t you, Steve? What are our lives for, if not for something better than just seeing if we can make it to another sunset?”

This is when you think it’s all gone to Hell. Maybe you’ve overstepped.

Wordlessly, never taking his eyes off you, he folds his napkin, pushes his chair back, stands up and comes directly over to where you sit. Bending his knees until he’s at eye level, he runs his hand along the side of your face, thumb tracing your skin, and slowly, slowly places his lips on yours.

You can’t help the smile that overtakes you mid-kiss.  He pulls back and smiles, too, color in his cheeks.

It’s all very sweet and proper. Nice.

Then you notice the slightly darker tint to his eyes and you, for lack of a better word, lose it.

“C’mere.” You grab his collar and crash your lips to his. His eyes fly open and you almost laugh but you use this element of surprise to propel yourself out of your chair and twist until he’s flat and you’re straddling his chest.

Hovering an inch above his pleasantly, openly shocked face, you breathe out, “Wanna start living in the moment, Mr. Rogers?”

He does. Three times, all the most polite missionary orgasms in history. No complaints. You do a No-Shame-At-All-Walk back to HQ the next day.

**

It’s gradual, but somewhere along the line, he starts talking to you. Really talking. About his mom. Drawing. Losing Bucky again. And again. The Strike Team’s betrayal - his team for over a year - acute and somehow still raw.

Days become mutual, together. Not alone. The kind of unalone so stark and bright, like daybreak rain, that it highlights how alone you’ve both been. Like you’d hoisted the cellar door and crawled out of its dank depths.

One night, a man from his groups doesn’t make it. Car wreck.

“Go, Steve. It’s okay. They need you.”

“It’s strange now,” he sighs. “To have death come suddenly, in such a… normal way.”

“Us normal folk don’t often get epic send-offs,” you joke, lamely. Apologize with your eyes. His brow tightens like he didn’t really want to contemplate that.

“The group wants to grab a few drinks,” he says. You know he means you’d be bored, since this version of you doesn’t drink. “I don’t know how long...” His voice is the slightest tinge hopeful.

“Just go,” you say softly.

You wait at his place. Answer overdue emails, start to catch up. Feel more like yourself.

Sometime after midnight, you fall asleep on top of his bedspread. Later, he slips in, curls up around you. Tucks you below his chin. He smells of soap and something distinctly Steve. You stir and turn to him, palm flat on his chest, press a soft kiss above his heart.

“You stayed.” He kisses your fingers.

“Of course,” you say, sleep-slurred.

Before sunrise, he buries himself inside you, tilts your hips, angles in. It’s slow sweat and sweet, limbs tangled and swallowed breaths. Holds your face, hands woven in your hair as he rocks in you. Never says a thing, his tongue curls into your mouth, pushes your secrets back in.

And you fall a little further each passing night. It feels foreign, but warm. Like remembering something you never really knew.

What should be joy is horror. You’ve never been more scared. Even when you’d watched everyone on your bus disintegrate, driver’s hand gone to soot.

Late one weeknight, you burn the ever-loving shit out of your hand on the stove. A string of creative curse combinations leaves your mouth for a full forty-five seconds. It’s all very incongruous with the frilly apron and (useless) oven mitts.

He looks gloriously scandalized before laughing until his eyes water.

He takes you bent over the island and it is anything but polite. Positively revels in you. Reveals spots you didn’t know you had. You scream his name.

Ragged breaths behind your ear. “You’re so close...I want it.” His words push you over, as you clench he loses rhythm, follows.

Panting, pressed against cool granite, confessions carved into stone, you hear yourself whisper how much you love him.

He has propriety enough to act like he didn’t hear you.

**

This is when it gets awkward. Two steps forward, three miles back.

You barely speak the next day. And the next. Then, it’s the most days without seeing one another since this whole mess started.

On day four, you slide out of your sweats and into a dress, paint on your face, and go lean on his apartment door to wait for him.

Being alone with one’s thoughts is never a great exercise, but certainly not for someone who has been play-acting for a few months. Mentally, you scroll through all the deadlines you’ve missed.

Nat’s voicemail replays in your head. “Hey, I know you might think this isn’t my business, but you’re my business and those kids are my business and, frankly, Steve is my business. You’ve lost perspective and, again, frankly, I didn’t think you’d be like this with him. Please call me. Or, come to work. Both. Both would be good.”

You look up at the ceiling and breathe out. An unblinked tear escapes.

You miss Steve approaching. “Hey, are you o-” he starts, then chews his lip for a moment.  “We need to talk.”

“I’m not so sure we do.” You stare blankly at the walk ahead. “I think I’m just gonna go.”

“Is that what you want?” “It’s what you want that’s at issue here.” Another traitorous tear slides down your face. “I know I’m not genuinely what you want.” “Damn it,” he huffs, mostly to himself. “Just come inside. We shouldn't do this in the hallway.”

You move off the door and he goes in, pulling you in at first, then looks to where he holds you and drops your arm as if burnt.

“Sorry.” “You don’t really have anything to be sorry for Steve, except maybe avoiding me for a few days.”

He runs his hands over his face. “I just don’t think I can be what you need. I thought I could, but I just don’t think I’m...capable of that anymore.”

“Capable of what?” You know. But you need to hear him say it, to rip it off like a bandage left too long, gauzy fibers soaked, enmeshed with tissue. If you finally hear it, then you can...you don’t know.

“Oh, shit, this sounds so bad. I want to. I want to love you. There are moments when I think I could, that it could happen, but it just...doesn’t.”

This is when you break.

No rebuttal comes. Your mind sparks but fades. You can’t help but try to hang on, dig in, your fingers clawing at the dirt. “It’s okay, Steve. I didn’t mean t-” “It is definitely not okay! None of this is okay. I don’t want to hurt you or waste your time.” He shakes his head. “I can’t ask you to compromise like that.”

“The whole damned world now is nothing but compromise and it sure as Hell didn’t ask.”

“We’re better than that,” he says, frowning. “We deserve real.”

“Are ‘we’ better than that? You...you are. Me? I don’t know.” You try to laugh but it just chokes off. “The planet used to be stuffed with twice as many people and most of us - I sure as Hell was, weren’t you? - were very much alone.”

He sighs. Brushes a tear from under your eye. “Part of me...part of me is always going to be someplace else.” This isn’t news. You blow out air slowly. “How I feel isn’t going to change whether you feel the same or not. I don’t want you to send me away because you think you know better.” You aren’t crying anymore. You’re mad. “I want to be with you, regardless.”  A blind rage, mostly at yourself. Probably all at yourself. “It’s my choice and I damned well think you’re worth it.”

His face is genuinely stunned.

**

You both really do try. Make the best of it.

Things change though.  

Resigned that, whatever he feels, it’s not love. It’s affection adjacent. If a thin line exists between love and hate, then it’s a thick metal girder between love and like.

You double down. Desperate, every word rehearsed, every aspect honed to perfection. Let me have these pieces of you in exchange for pieces of me.

In the throes, one night, you hear him stop himself from saying it. He doesn’t mean to, you know it. He can’t help himself any more than you can. It’d be fighting oceans and tides and lightless moons.

On your knees, in stockings and red-lipped, before him. “Peg-...Pe-...Please...don’t stop.” The pain squeezes your heart, musculature seeping between its dead, cold digits. You swallow it down along with him.

On top of you, wrapped up around you, his hoarse puffs beside your ear. They all sound like the beginning of her name.

They all are.

You could pretend it’s your name, a name for what you’ve become. Placeholder. Placebo. But even that’s not accurate. You’re pure medicine scorching through his veins. You’re this century’s super serum, burning up under the hot lights and sterile space a Stark made for him. You’re on fire, searing away trying to be what you think he needs - but, he didn’t need anything to be good, never did - all the while, over the chaos, Peggy shouts to stop.

You signed on for this.

Because you faked it so well, you’d fooled yourself.

Messy. Misaligned. Reckless love.

You take to crying in the shower. Searching every piece of you, you don’t know what more you can change or give or swap out like spare parts, to finally, finally, be enough/real/alive.

In the fogged mirror, you look. Truly look. A collection of cobbled together bits and limbs. Someone else’s lips and hair and clothes. All yourself and your work amputated.  A zombie pantomime of by-gone ideals and remembrances.  

You wipe away the fog again. There, smeared and broken among the watery trails, it is all too obvious why he cannot love you. You do not love yourself like this. A monstrous visage, the good parts ignored to decay, just a stitched-up collection of dead things.

He catches you crying sometimes. Swears to leave you for good and you beg him to stay. Every time. Holds you tight to his chest and whispers he’s sorry and promises to stop hurting you because he cares, he really cares, but you don’t think he knows exactly who is to blame.

He is late getting to his place one night so you start the record player. Sway, arms wrapped around yourself as Billie Holiday sings “You Go to My Head.”

On the refrain, Steve comes up behind you. Places his lips gently on your shoulder, runs his hands down your arms.

“Dance with me, Steve,” you say, facing away. Hold yourself a little tighter.

You hear his short gasp.

“God, please give me this, Steve. Please, just dance with me.” You didn’t ask, but I gave up everything for you.

Wordlessly, he turns you and draws you to him. Sways until the notes fade away.

**

Your heart might not beat for a solid minute when the words “Time Travel” first come up.

It’s the end. Steve doesn’t realize what he’s going to do, but you do. Given half the chance, there’s no doubt.  

“Hey, Doll.” He pulls you into his chest. “It’s going to be okay. This is what we do.”

You nod against him. No doubt they will be successful. Mutely, you pull out of his embrace. You cannot leave fast enough, this place where all these gods and angels stand.

Your last mistake is not going to your room.

While the solitary bird flits around where you sit in the courtyard, a concerned Steve overrides security to get into your quarters to comfort you.

When you get to your room, Steve is there. Looks so out of place, like a dog on its hind legs. His face is flat, eyes cold. Silently, he turns your digital photo frame toward you. Each photo stripping away another lie. A photo of you with your parents, another in your toe shoes, two at recitals, tongue out and drunk at an Ozzy concert. Not one looks like you now. Not one.

Jaw squared, he looks to the kitchen where printouts of old recipes litter the counter.

“Steve,” you say, starting to reach for him. He puts a hand up. “Steve, let me explain.”

“You know,” his voice is steel, “I didn’t go out with you because you reminded me of the past. I went out with you because you asked me.”

“Steve, I just wanted to…wanted to…” “You wanted to what? Read about me in a textbook and try to be - what? - fake it? Ugh, God.”  He rolls his eyes, body half-twists away.

“It’s not like that.” Except, it is.

“It’s not? Oh, well then please tell me. Enlighten me. Because from where I am right now, it sure fucking looks like you took things you thought were special to me and just, what? Wore it like a suit to manipulate me?”

Near numb, you shake your head.

“It worked...it worked so well and you let me feel guilty about it!”

The shame pushes your legs out from under you. “I just wanted to make you happy.”

“Me? You can try to tell yourself that. No, you did this for you.” Holds the picture frame in both hands, the colors reflect in his eyes as they change. Under his breath, he says, “I don’t even know you.”

Steve nails you with his gaze. “Do you even realize what you’ve stolen from me? What you guilted me into? What I saved and I can never get back?”

Billie Holiday echoes in your brain. The song, the dance. Like a miracle, you hate yourself more.

You are carved down, scoured out, brittle bones bleached in the sun.

He shakes off his anger slightly. “I knew you were holding back, but this?” He points to a stack of work you’d let languish. Detailed housing plans, nutrition guidelines, research and half-complete presentation charts. “I can’t understand why...why wouldn’t you include me in this? Were you scared of not being enough? Too much? Of being you?” He sighs out. “Everyone can have those thoughts, that’s understandable. But, you didn’t trust me with you.”

You desperately reach for him, hold his arms. “I do trust you. I do.”

He scoffs. “The problem is you let me care about someone who doesn’t even exist. Who never existed. You kept “you” secret from me while I opened up to you. You think I let anyone else ever know how fucked up I feel?”

He looks at you in a way you never wanted. With grief.

“Damn it - Goddamn it all. I let you in.” I expect him to punch the wall, but the air just leaves him. He deflates. Smaller than ever seemed possible.  “I fucking let you in.”

**

Everyone comes back. Except Nat. All you have left is her voicemail.

There’s no more times together. Nothing.

It’s always been beautiful, pulsing nothing.

Bleeding out every pore.

In a makeshift office miles from decimated HQ, you bury yourself in her projects and try to resurrect your own until it’s time for Tony’s memorial.

You’re not sure why you’re going. Apart from Tony hiring you, you don’t really know anyone else there except Steve. But, Tony gave you a chance and, while you’ve mucked it up spectacularly of late, you go to honor him as best you can.

You try to stay in the shadows, so you’re surprised Steve finds you nonetheless. Even more surprised he tries.

Looking out over the water, he asks, “Are you going to be okay? Did you find a place to stay?”

“Yes.” No and yes.

“I’m so very sorry Steve. I just wish, I just wish…”

“Don’t, okay?” He blows out a sigh. Hands in his pockets. “If you didn’t trust me, I could work to make you. If you didn’t trust yourself, I’d help you learn to. But you didn’t trust either of us and there’s nothing I can do about that.  And that’s a damned tragedy.” He turns and starts to walk past you.

“Steve! Steve wait!” You cringe, your voice echoes over the serene lake. He keeps walking.

“Steve.” You sniff. “Please.” He takes a huge gulp of air and turns partially toward you, staying in profile. Shaking his head softly, jaw askew, he lifts his hands and lets them fall as if to say, “What do you want from me?”

“Can we just try again? Start over?”

How did we meet? How did we meet back when I was real?

“Steve, I’m...I’m so sorry. You’re right. I was more than guarded, I was trying so hard to be good for you. I took what I knew and what you showed me and tried so hard to mold myself into what I thought you’d want. I know that was so stupid now. But I know you. I know you! And I just want a chance for you to know me. I...I...I like metal bands and R&B. I’m a cat AND dog person. I used to tap dance. There’s photographic evidence! They let me back on the orphan program and we’re using it as a template for veterans.  I have yelled in the face of the Secretary of State. More than once. My grandparents didn’t raise me but I spent summers with them.” You choke back more tears. “I am actually a bit of a pervert. That’s who I am. I screwed up. I just want a chance to show you ‘me.’”

You cough and through blurry vision it almost looks like he starts to reach for you. Then, his arm pulls back.

“But what I felt - what I feel for you is so real. I’m absolutely in love with you, Steve Rogers.” You wipe your sleeve across your wet face. “I know I screwed up and I hurt you and I have no excuses, but I am b-begging you to give me a chance. Just let me start over.”

He doesn’t move, still looking out over the lake.

“Steve, please, I just want to show you who this girl really is.”

“She sounds amazing,” he says, toneless. Walks past you toward the platform where a case full of gems and a magic hammer wait.  “I wish I could’ve met her. I would’ve loved her.”

This is when you know. You’re the bad guy in your own story.

#steve rogers x reader #Steve rogers smut #eliza's 5k challenge #quantumfizz writes fic #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfiction

[jetsetlife138]

Lofty Cries With Trembling Thighs

This is my submission for @youngmoneymilla​ Eliza’s 5K Challenge (Which turned out to be 15K - Oops)

Song for Inspiration was Purity Ring by Lofticries

Summary: After Loki’s attack on New York, the mischievous god takes you hostage and you find yourself in a very compromising situation. No one said being Tony Stark’s sister was going to be easy. 

Paring: Loki x Reader

Warnings: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Smut, Language, Stockholm Syndrome, Attempted Sexual Assault, Sex Under A Spell

Loki took an apprehensive glance around his familiar surroundings. Not so long ago he was held captive in the same type of cage made of impenetrable glass and iron. The god smirked to himself as the memory of his elder brother's helpless face entered his mind as he vindictively pushed the button that dropped the cage from the aircraft, which at the time held only his brother. He had left Thor to fall to his doom… or so Loki had hoped he would. 

S.H.I.E.L.D. promptly rectified their previous mistakes and created a new, similarly built holding cell so that this time there was no chance of escaping as he was once again be held here against his will in their flying headquarters. Loki admitted to himself that he was genuinely surprised that they would detain him here considering how he had so easily escaped the last time with the help of his cohorts.

Loki released an exasperated sigh of frustration. His plans had been so quickly ruined. Midgard domination was so close that he could taste it. Something that seemed so easily attainable was no longer in his grasp. Or was it? Oh no, this was a major setback, of course, but by no means did it mean that he would lie down like a dog and accept their retribution. He would not allow himself to be dragged back to Asgard, humiliated in front of the subjects that he once lived among as a prince, only to become their inferior. Little did S.H.I.E.L.D. know that the worst thing they could have done was left Loki alone to his thoughts, for he had already begun to plan his next attempt to rule at any cost.

---------------------

"Stark! For the last time, that is property of S.H.I.E.L.D. and you do not have clearance to touch that!" bellowed Fury, clearly losing his patience with the billionaire, playboy philanthropist also known as Iron Man.

"Relax, I'm giving your outdated equipment a much needed upgrade. Are you aware that your missile reactor has cross-wired with your sub particle beam?" Tony asked airily. He looked expectantly at Fury for a reply.

Fury narrowed his good eye at him before responding. "I'll have someone look into that, but for now I need you to meet for the debriefing of the attack on New York.” 

"Okay, fine," Stark replied sardonically. "But if this ship disintegrates when you apply the sub particle beam to the interlock core, I will not hesitate to trip you to be the first to escape."

Fury fought back an eye role. "Duly noted. Now, please sit down, Stark."

Stark saluted Fury mockingly before taking a seat among the other remaining Avengers. Exhaustion and exhilaration was thick in the air from their triumph of defeating an entire galactic army from taking over the world.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. is working on damage control around Manhattan. We will take care of all the publicity surrounding this as well. The Council disagrees with my decision to leave the fate of Loki to you, but clearly I don't give a damn," Fury stated bluntly. "We have enough to worry about without the god of mischief still around headquarters. Do any of you have any ideas on how you will handle this situation?"

Thor was the first to speak. "It is of no question. Loki will return home to Asgard to await judgment. It is clear that Earth is not capable of detaining a god. He will accompany me when I travel back."

No one bothered to argue. It was an unspoken relief that Loki would no longer remain on Earth where the possibility of escape was easier than it would be on Asgard.

"Does anyone disagree with that?" Fury looked around at everyone's tired faces knowing that no one would oppose. "Then it's settled, Loki will return with you."

"When will that be exactly?" asked Steve, still in his dirty and torn Captain America suit.

"As soon as possible,” Thor replied. “With the Tesseract it will be a quick ascension into Asgard."

Fury rubbed his eye frustratingly with his hand. "The Council is not going to like that you are taking the Tesseract, so let's just keep our mouths shut about it until you're gone, got it?" Thor nodded in response. "The Cube is being held in Level 4 under Selvig's surveillance. I will see what I can do to clear it for removal. Until then, the rest of you get cleaned up; you're a mess. Refer to Level 2 for medical treatment." 

Before Fury exited, a thought occurred to him. "Thor, you may want to take a team and get your brother some medical treatment as well. I'm not saying that watching him bleed to death would be tragic," Thor gave him a hardened look filled with warning, "but if you want him to return to your realm alive, he will need medical attention."

With that, everyone took their leave - Fury to Level 4, Thor to the detainment level, and the rest of the Avengers to Level 2.

"Clearly this is not going to work," you grumbled in frustration. "Dr. Banner, you cannot lose your temper with me. I know you don't like it, but if you want me to close that gash, you're going to need to stay calm and stop arguing with me. I kid you not, if you even start to turn green I will feel no guilt when I plunge this needle in your neck to knock you out!" Of course you were lying. you would feel guilty and you knew that if Dr. Banner started to transform they would all be in serious danger to the point where a simple needle of anesthesia would do nothing.

"I'm not arguing with you. I'm just trying to tell you that it will heal on its own. Stitches are not necessary and they won't last." Dr. Banner had to be the most patient man you had ever met, unlike you who had run out of patience hours ago after treating what seemed like endless patients from the attack on New York. 

"Fine, Bruce. Then get out of my chair and let me do my job for people who really need it." Your tone was playful, but you were truly exasperated. Bruce was familiar with your way of bossing people around when you felt overwhelmed, so he didn’t take it to heart. 

He chuckled as he lifted himself from the chair and his spot was quickly replaced by your brother, Tony Stark. "How are you holding up?" he asked, concerned, knowing you were working diligently so that you could quickly get to everyone you needed to.

Dismissing his concern, you replied, "My dear brother, your humanity is showing. Quick, cover it up before anyone sees!"

"I'm serious," he insisted, though the corners of his mouth lifted slightly into a grin. "I know you've been working around the clock and I don't like-"

"So have you, Tony,” you interrupted. “I'm not the one who risked my life out in the streets of Manhattan to protect the world from impending doom. Though, if we're being honest, I think you're getting old. You were really slacking out there. It took you longer than an hour to solve the problem. That’s not like you," you teased. You two were too much alike. It was a treat for others to see someone give Tony a taste of his own medicine. 

"Just shut up and stitch me up, you irritating-OW!" he cried as you stuck him with a numbing needle.

You smiled menacingly with a facetious tone. "Oops, sorry, Tony!" 

He mumbled insults under his breath until you had finished. Once you and your medical team had completed your work on Tony, Natasha, and Clint, you sat down and never wanted to get up again. It had been non-stop patients for the past couple of days. "Is there anyone else that needs to be seen before I pass out?" you called out, hoping that you finally had time to rest.

"Just one if you do not mind." Thor spoke from the doorway. "It seems that my brother needs medical assistance."

He entered the room with a team of S.H.I.E.L.D. soldiers surrounding the wounded god. You had seen him on the news and information screens throughout headquarters, but had yet to stand in his presence. He was clearly exhausted and refused to meet your gaze, instead searching around the room with his piercing green eyes. His hair hung in a mess loosely around his face and his clothes were torn and bloodstained.

Distracted by your distaste for the Norse god, you hadn't realized that you had not given Thor an answer. "Miss Stark?" Thor urged to gain your attention. Instead, the attention he had received was from his brother as he snapped his head up with interest. 

" Miss Stark?" Loki questioned with an acidic tone. His eyes then met yours with a challenging stare, freezing you in place. He smiled wickedly, an idea quickly forming in his head before speaking, "What a privilege it is to meet you, Miss Stark."

Refraining from responding with sarcasm, you had instead nodded at Thor, and motioned for Loki to sit so that you could exam him. His gaze seemed to penetrate your soul as he studied you. In his opinion, you had somewhat of a dull appearance. Your facial structure resembled that of your brothers, though you appeared to be much younger. You had hair that was lifted into a binding contraption to be kept up out of your face in an unkempt manner. Your eyes were slightly red from exhaustion and you leered at him with loathing, a look that he was quite used to. 

He was also attuned to the fact that there was also a slight hint of curiosity in your eyes as your gaze held his. It seemed as though you were searching for something in his harsh features. Not that you would find anything. Loki was quite talented at keeping his emotions and facial expressions limited. He was the god of mischief after all. What fun would it be if he so easily displayed his true feelings?

You felt uneasy as the god sat for his examination. He didn’t frighten you per se, but you could not deny that he intrigued you. There were so many questions that you wanted to ask, and yet you could hardly stand to look at him, let alone listen to him speak. He was the reason your home was destroyed. He was the cause of the hundreds of deaths in the past several days. You had never met him before now, but already you detested him. Regardless, your opinion of him did not stop you from doing your job, as much as you secretly wanted to refuse his need for medical attention.

Thor stood awkwardly in the doorway watching his brother intently. "I am needed on Level 4. If you are alright, I will take my leave until he is able to return to the detainment facility." You simply nodded your head in agreement, focused on the task at hand.

Loki watched with interest as you scribbled notes onto a clipboard and then proceeded to snap white rubber gloves onto your hands. He could not deny that though he found the human race to be repulsive and unworthy of existence, their ways of living were fascinating to observe. It was like watching ants in a colony. Everyone played their part as they were trained, but their lives were unnecessary and could easily be eradicated with a little force.

His cruel thoughts abruptly ceased when you approached him and without warning placed both of your hands on the side of his face, inspecting his wounds. He instinctively flinched away from your touch, for he was not used to such close interaction with humans. For a brief moment your eyes met, causing a stir within you, and you looked away quickly, which elicited a smirk from the god.

You walked around the room gathering items that you needed to clean and close the wounds. It was difficult with all of the security in the way and you were beginning to feel claustrophobic. "Okay!" you finally snapped. "I need you guys to get out! Please, I cannot work this way! For the love of god, just wait outside!"

One of the soldiers immediately protested, "Ma'am, we do not have clearance to leave the fugitive alone. He needs to be under 24 hour surveillance."

Huffing in response, you replied, "He’s not going to be alone. I will be here. He is restrained and I'm not saying you have to go all the way to the other side of the ship - just outside of the room. You can keep an eye on him right from the door. I am not joking when I say that one of you is going to get stabbed or sliced with one of these tools if you don't clear out!" It wasn’t normal for you to lose your temper so easily, but you were overworked and hadn't slept in the past two days. The cramped quarters were getting to you, and it didn’t help that the source of all of the slaughter was sitting right next to you. 

They exchanged glances with one another, finally agreeing to step outside so long as they could see Loki clearly from the glass, which wasn’t an issue with the large windows lining the walls of the room. You could finally breathe once they filed out, giving you the space you needed to work. 

Loki remained seated, silently observing his human healer. His eyes widened in surprise as you approached him with a steaming wet cloth and brushed it over his face without any explanation to your actions. "What do you think you’re doing?" he snapped, bemused and irritated.

"I can't tend to your wounds with your face being this dirty. It needs to be cleaned," you replied as you once again swept the cloth over his face.

He noted that you were not being rough with him as others had been. You had a stern, almost angry expression on your face, but you washed his face carefully. "You have a gentle touch, Miss Stark," he remarked placidly.

Confidently, you replied, "You won't be saying that when I'm sticking needles into you." Loki laughed aloud, taken aback and amused by your comment.

After a few more moments of cleansing him, Loki decided to do what he does best, and attempt to get a rise out of you. "So," he began suggestively. "Tell me, Miss Stark-"

"Y/N. Just call me Y/N," you interrupted, pulling the stitching material out of a drawer.

"Very well then," he continued with another wicked smile. "Tell me, Y/N , what is it like living in the shadow of your brother, the genius?" 

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you replied sarcastically, "It's rather cold, actually. I never get to see any sun."

The god chuckled at your quick-witted response. He was beginning to find you to be quite amusing. "I would imagine so. He certainly has everything one should desire to obtain in this life. Wealth, admiration from your kind, power, love…" he trailed off, raising his eyebrows at you, pushing for a response.

Unfazed, you didn’t bother to meet his expectant gaze. Instead, you were focused on the cut on the bridge of his nose as you applied the numbing cream to prepare for stitching. "Yes, my brother is quite the lucky man," you replied flippantly, brushing him off. 

You had a close relationship with your brother, but there was no jealousy between the two of you. The things that were important to Tony weren’t important to you. You didn’t really desire wealth, or admiration, or power, or even love for that matter. You found solace in doing your job and living freely without any restrictions. 

Foolishly, you thought it would be a good idea to antagonize him further. "You're one to talk, Loki. You should know better than anyone what it's like to live under a shadow," you commented smugly. You knew all about his vendetta against his brother from what the others had told you. "Thor is much bigger than my brother, so I would imagine it’s got to be a much bigger shadow than the one that I’ve supposedly been under."

"Mind your tongue, girl," he snapped. The rage building in his eyes was apparent and frightening as you stared into them. "You know nothing."

"I know enough to understand what kind of man… correction, monster you are, Loki. Don't presume to think you know anything about my life. I have no interest in casual conversation with you. I'm here to do my job, so please, don't make this any more difficult than you already have."

Loki would not stand for being talked down to and he was not about to let her speak to him with such arrogance. "Do not treat me like a child.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from giggling at his wording. "What about this conversation do you find to be humorous?" he asked, annoyed at your nerve.

Still laughing, you answered, "All of it." You noted his puzzled expression as you began stitching his nose, admittedly impressed at his pain tolerance. He did not even flinch as you stitched. Though you should have known, seeing as it would take something equivalent to the Hulk to make him feel pain. "It's just amusing how much power you think you have over people while you're sitting here, restrained and waiting to go back to Asgard with your tail between your legs. You have no power over anyone anymore, so excuse me while I find amusement in your berating."

Loki was stunned; completely speechless, not from surprise, but from complete rage. How dare you. His fists were clenched so tightly he had lost feeling in them. His lip quivered involuntarily as he fought back harsh, cruel words in order to maintain his facade. Oh, you would pay for your insolence, but it would be slow, deliberate, and so painful that you would be down on your knees begging for death, and only after you had pleaded enough and suffered to his liking, would he grant you your wish in the most excruciating way possible.

His lack of a comeback both astounded and unnerved you, though you would never admit it. You couldn't help but briefly wonder what thoughts were cascading through his mind. You had immediately regretted your taunt as soon as you had said it. The worst thing you can do with a psychopath is put yourself on their radar, and you may have just accomplished that.

You had just snipped off the remaining stitching material, finishing your work. "Your words are your best defense, aren't they?" you asked, truly curious about his answer.

"No. Though a worthy and entertaining defense, it is not my best."

"Do I dare ask what your best defense is?" you asked as you began putting away your tools.

" This is my best defense," he whispered directly into your ear, making you jump. It happened in a matter of seconds. You turned your attention towards Loki who had somehow escaped his restraints and stood directly in front of you. You leapt backwards in surprise, not noticing the other Loki behind you, still sitting on the examination chair. While the other Loki distracted you, the real Loki had somehow frozen his chains that were binding him, making it easy for him to break through them with his godly strength. 

The moment the double Loki appeared, security had rushed into the room, but Loki was too quick for them. As they had their eyes set on the double next to you, the actual Loki had approached you from behind placing one forceful arm around your neck and the other around your arms, locking you in an iron grasp.

"Surrender now or we will shoot!" one of the soldiers yelled while the others took aim at both gods. Too stunned to fight, you found yourself gasping for air due to his too tight grip around your neck.

"Now," Loki whispered threateningly into your ear. "Humor me, Y/N. Remind me of how powerless I really am."

You had no response as panic started to take hold of you. Loki’s cold, green eyes darted from the soldiers pointing their guns directly at him to the woman he was tightly gripping in his arms. A cunning smile was plastered across his face at the feeling of being in control once again. His double had dissolved into the air, so there was no longer any confusion as to which of the two Loki's was the real one.

"I said, stand down or we will not hesitate to shoot!" the soldier called out once more.

"Give it your best attempt, I urge you," Loki replied calmly. He knew that they would not attack while he held the sister of Tony Stark.

Loki leaned in to whisper in your ear once more, making you shiver. "You see, power is not difficult to acquire. You simply need to know when and where to make your move." Anxious to make you suffer, he grabbed your arms even tighter knowing how easily humans bruised. "I ask you, do you now find me threatening?"

"Take your hands off of me," you hissed in retaliation, fighting the urge to cry out from the ache in your arms. To your dismay, you felt the unsteadiness in your voice betraying your effort to sound brave.

He laughed darkly at your feeble demand. "I would love for you to make me."

"Loki, do we really have to do this again?" asked a familiar voice from the doorway. Loki's attention snapped from you to the man layered in shades of red, white and blue.

"Your ability to sense trouble never ceases to amaze me, Captain Rogers. Do tell me how you easily seem to make an appearance when trouble arises."

"Threats are everywhere, all the time. You just have to know where to look," Steve remarked casually.

A slight jab on the top of his foot distracted Loki for a brief moment. He smiled when he realized what it was. "Did you honestly presume that stomping on my boot would cause me enough pain to release you?" he asked you, highly amused.

Your lack of response confirmed his suspicions. He chuckled before addressing you, "You're going to have to try a lot harder than that. I am a god , you ignorant dullard. I am practically invincible to you pathetic mortals, and you think you can escape my grasp with a weak attack of your heel? Pitiful," he finished with a sneer.

You knew that  it was a useless attempt, but you were far from ignorant. What Loki did not consider was that you had no intention of hurting him - but to instead distract him, which you had successfully accomplished.

As Loki scoffed at your endeavor, Steve motioned for one of the other soldiers to leave for backup, hoping it would go unnoticed by the god so that he would be caught off guard.

Once Loki's attention was turned back to the soldiers, Steve urged him once more to surrender, which went quickly dismissed by the god. "Haven't you learned anything by now?" Loki asked angrily. "I will surrender to no one. I am not one who easily falters. I refuse to lie down and be driven into the ground by such a low race of beings. You will be under my rule and I will be king of this world. You do not have the means to contain me forever. There is not a single doubt that dwells in my mind that you shall all fall to my glory, beginning with this wretched excuse for a life in my grasp," he spat as his gaze fell on you.

"You can go to hell," you retaliated against him, though still in immense pain from his grip.

He pressed his face against you so that you could feel his smile against your cheek as he whispered, "What you fail to realize, Y/N, is that I have already been there. You know nothing of hell, but I promise you this…," he murmured as he leaned in impossibly closer to you. "You will."

You hadn’t considered Loki's presence to be truly terrifying until that moment. With those words your blood seemed to turn cold as your breath became shallow and hitched as you remained stiff against his body. He was pleased as he took notice of your fear and laughed silently to himself.

Glancing towards the soldiers, you had wondered if they had heard Loki's cruel words, but by the confused and intrigued face of Captain Rogers, they had not. 

Pleased with the desperate expression on their faces, Loki slowly removed his hand and brought you closer to him. Groaning in refusal, you tried to lean away, but you were no match for his strength. He wanted to get a rise out of Captain Rogers and in doing so, he slowly bent down to gently place his lips on your neck, kissing it softly, eyes never leaving the Captain’s enraged face. 

Upon feeling the god's lips on your neck, you ripped away, revolted. He pulled you back abruptly, laughing wickedly. "Your courage is short-lived, mortal. Tell me, do you fear death?"

Ignoring him completely, you were too focused on Captain Roger’s bemused expression, which wasn’t what you were expecting. It was as if he was not even looking at you or Loki, but past you both through the window. As much as you wanted to, you didn’t dare glance behind you in fear that you would give away whatever it was that caught his attention.

Unfortunately, Loki had a keen sense and was very aware of his surroundings, immediately taking notice that he no longer held the attention of the group of soldiers. Intrigued, he took a moment to turn around to observe what the others had been so captivated by.

He did not even get the chance to fully face the direction of the distraction. A sudden large blow to his head caused him to release you from his grip. A blunt object had shattered through the glass behind him, pushing him with such force that he fell through the hard walls of the room. Irritated, he pulled himself out of the debris and brushed off his clothing as he faced his assailant.

Iron Man stood before him, guns blazing with Captain America by his side, his own shield raised in defense. Loki tightened his lips together in displeasure as his eyes wandered past them to observe you, quickly being pulled to safety and guarded by the other soldiers. 

"I was beginning to think you would fail to make an appearance, Stark," Loki huffed.

"I wouldn't miss an opportunity to battle with the Rock of Ages," Stark sneered, trying to cover his anger with humor.

"By all means," Loki smiled, attempting to provoke him into action, "Enlighten me with your combat expertise."

"I plan to," Stark stated simply, signalling for the other soldiers to remove you from the room.

Loki watched intently as his eyes followed the soldier escorting you out into the hallway. He was nowhere near finished with you yet and would surely see you again soon. It was his new mission. 

The moment the two of you had left the room, Loki was blasted back into the wall by an explosive to his chest. He growled with vexation as he once again crawled from the debris. With a sly smirk, he quickly multiplied himself into at least twenty different Loki's scattered all over the room, laughing menacingly. Steve seemed to be fighting empty air as he punched through them, searching for the real Loki.

Stark turned on his heat sensor to scan the room to find the real Loki. Before it was complete he was assaulted from the back of his head, causing his suit to spark from the impact. He quickly turned for a counter attack, but never got the chance. Following his attack on Stark, Loki was cursing and squirming for he had been apprehended and was being held tight within Thor's arms.

"Release me, you ignorant brute!" Loki bellowed, seething in his grasp.

It hardly seemed to be a struggle for Thor to keep Loki locked within his iron grip. "Be reasonable, brother. This is for your own good as well as everyone on this ship."

"You do not actually believe that, do you?" Loki argued against Thor, still trying to separate himself from him. "We are gods ! I should not be treated so lowly! These humans think that they can contain me with their contraptions? They will soon learn otherwise!"

"Take him back to the holding cell," Steve demanded. "We'll maintain the twenty-four hour surveillance to watch over him in case he tries anything else.

Thor held Loki in position while one of the soldiers bound his wrists in chains. Loki sighed in irritation as he refrained from struggling any longer.

He allowed Thor and a team of soldiers to escort him back to the cell he had come to know so well. On the walk back to his prison, his eyes wandered to a room where you were being inspected by the rest of the medical team to ensure you weren’t compromised. When your eyes met Loki's he gave you a wide, wicked smile before he winked, providing an unspoken promise as he passed the room and continued to his holding cell.

---------------------

Hours later, much to his annoyance, Loki’s cell was surrounded by the Avengers. He eyed his visitors, pleased at their frustrated, brooding gazes. "What have I done that deserves such an audience?" he asked with false innocence.

Fury stepped forward with a stern gaze. His posture was noticeably stiff as he spoke. "Your attempt to kidnap a civilian was a futile attempt to escape. I cannot begin to wonder what goes on in that head of yours, but did you really think that your plan would work?"

Loki tilted his head back and barked a low, vigorous laugh. "That was not an attempt to kidnap one of your kind. My gesture was a simple greeting and a promise."

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?" asked Fury, suspicion evident in his voice. Loki's lips peeled back from his teeth to reveal a sinful smile for a response.

Tony, still in his Iron Man suit, less the helmet, walked toward the glass that was imprisoning Loki. "And now I have a promise for you; If you even so much as think about laying your hands on my family again, I'll kill you. That’s a promise that I intend to keep." His face was livid, his upper lip curling in loathing at the god.

Steve and Natasha gave Stark a look of warning in response to his provocation, which he either didn’t notice, or blatantly ignored due to being too focused on Loki.

"Such a temper, Mr. Stark." He paused for effect and also to relish in Tony's look of frustration. "I have plans for the rest of you, but for her… she will suffer in ways that you cannot even imagine; not even in your worst nightmares."

Tony punched the glass with the suit, causing the entire cage to shake, compromising its hold. Steve and Clint grabbed Tony to drag him from the room as he shouted profanities, which were drowned out by Loki's maniacal laughter.

Once Tony was out of earshot, Fury turned towards Loki tiredly. "I do not have the patience to sift through your head of craziness to find out what you’re really up to right now, but we have a lot of time. Get comfortable, because you're going to be in here for a long time." He slowly walked out of the room, followed by Natasha and Bruce, leaving Thor alone with his brother.

"Have you no remorse, brother?" Thor asked heatedly with an underlying sadness.

Loki sneered with annoyance. "I have little remorse for those who are so far beneath me."

"You think yourself above them?"

"Well, yes," he replied in a matter-of-fact tone. "I assumed that much was clear."

Thor took a moment to contemplate before asking, "Do you think yourself above me ?"

"I do," Loki simply stated. "You are arrogant, you are reckless, and you do not have what it takes to be a King."

"Tell me, Loki. What are the qualities a true King should possess?" Thor questioned, his anger becoming more apparent. "Is it greed? Selfishness? Pride? If those are indeed the requirements for a King than you truly are well on your way."

"Do not criticize me," Loki warned. "It takes power, insight, strength, knowing your place, and understanding the role of those beneath you."

"You are so blinded by your own jealousy that you cannot see the truth!" Thor shouted, masking his heartache with rage. "Loki, this is madness!"

"Is it madness?" Loki snarled, his lip quivering with rage. "You can keep me locked in this mortal-made contraption as long as you see fit, but you know as well as I do that it will not keep me. The Tesseract may have the power to return us to Asgard, but for how long? I will rule this realm and there is nothing that you, nor any other being can do to stop it. It has been written in the stars, and I will do what I must to ensure my rightful place on the throne." His voice had become a growl and his body shook with fury as he slowly approached the glass in front of Thor.

"You wish to know if I have remorse? You will soon discover how little remorse I have, brother," he spat at the last word. "Now, remove yourself from my presence," he demanded as he turned away from Thor, indicating that the conversation was finished.

Thor sighed, his heart filled with grief. "I shall not give up hope for you. I believe that one day you will come to your senses and willingly reclaim your place amongst us in Asgard - your home."

"Leave me!" Loki demanded, still turned from his brother.

He waited a moment before he heard Thor's heavy footsteps leaving the room, shutting the large door behind him without another word.

It was not long before he heard the door open once more, softer footsteps approaching his cage. "I will not say it again!" he shouted angrily. "I am in no mood for your lecture!"

"I didn't come here to lecture you," replied a smooth, calm voice.

Loki whipped around, surprised to see you standing alone before him. He eyed you carefully before speaking. "What has possessed you to speak with me if not to lecture me?"

"I'm a curious person. I have questions," you answered simply.

"And you presumed that I would hand them over to you without any fuss?" he asked in return.

A slight smile graced the corners of your mouth. "No, which is why I thought I would use my charm and wit to obtain them."

"You're as arrogant as your brother," Loki scoffed, meaning to sound harsh but instead came across as amused.

"And you're selfish, unlike your brother," you pointed out flippantly.

Loki fought the urge to roll his eyes. Instead he held your gaze patiently, waiting for you to avert your gaze in discomfort at the intense eye contact. When you didn't, he stepped closer to you, curiosity overcoming his psychological tactics. Breaking his focus, his eyes fell to the bandage wrapped around your wrist that he had apparently injured when he held you. You took notice and lifted it up to give him a better view. "You didn't break it," you began. "It’s just a sprain."

"I know," he plainly stated.

"You know?"

He nodded.

"What was the point? It hurt like hell, but you’re back to where you started, so I really don’t see how hurting me did you any favors," you stipulated. 

Growing bored of the discussion, he quickly changed the subject. "You spoke of questions you sought answers to. Do not waste my time any further. Ask them," he demanded.

You were slightly taken aback by his somewhat compliant demeanor, but didn’t dwell on it too long. "Why didn't you kill me? You could have done so easily. Why didn't you?"

Loki huffed, already irritated with you. "Was it not obvious? I needed you as leverage to escape."

Still watching him carefully, you took a moment before replying. "Liar."

"Take care how you speak, girl," he warned.

Stepping closer towards the glass imprisoning him, you continued, "If you were so intent on escaping you could have done so much more easily than hiding behind me like a coward."

"I am no coward!" he bellowed, coming forward, rage evident in his piercing green eyes. "I am a god, and I fear nothing ! Especially fragile, pathetic mortals."

Swallowing thickly, you felt uneasy, but stood your ground. "Why is power so important to you?"

He growled and began pacing around his cell trying desperately to maintain his sanity. "You need to leave," he snapped.

"You haven't answered any of my questions," you protested, not at all happy with how abruptly the conversation came to an end.

To your surprise, he then threw himself against the glass, fuming. "You damn fool! I did not kill you because that would be too easy and too quick! Your lack of respect for me is insufferable and you shall pay for your insolence!"

The grin you had on your face fell the more he spoke, true terror arising within you. "It will be my dearest pleasure - my sincerest delight to make you suffer. I crave to see the look in your eyes as I am ripping the skin from your bones, you intolerable quim. That is why I did not kill you!"

He relished in your frightened expression as you stepped back from the glass, the shock of the situation evident in your movements. "As for power, I do not seek it, I deserve it," he hissed. "I was born to be a King, and with that comes power. I am burdened with glorious purpose, something that you will never understand." When he was finished, he was breathless, panting due to his emotional outburst.

Still taken aback by his violent and threatening words, you prodded your cheek with your tongue in thought. Just like your brother, you were nothing if not persistent, and though you feared for your life, you were not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. "Well," you spoke airily before turning around to walk out of the room, "I'm sure that in the end you'll get everything you deserve, Loki."

He knew the true meaning behind your words as you exited, but said nothing. He quickly grew tired of this game and needed to put his plan into action. It was time for him to break free of this absurd cage and begin his new life as King of Midgard.

Once finally back in your suite, you didn't waste any time in heading for your shower, turning on the hot water, undressing and stepping in. You exhaled a sigh of relief as the steaming water engulfed you, finally able to wash away all of the grime, blood, and dirt that had gathered on you over the past couple of days.

As you cleansed yourself, you heard someone calling your name distantly. Irritated by the interruption, you stuck your head outside of the shower to answer. "I'm in here! What do you need?" you called out.

No response.

Shrugging your shoulders, you continued with your shower. Not even a minute later, you heard your name again. The voice was low and soft, sounding close by. Once again you shouted out, "Yes? I'm in the bathroom. Who's there?"

Once again, there was no response.

Huffing impatiently, you quickly rinsed so you could find out what was going on. You stepped out of the shower carefully into the steamy room, wrapping a towel around yourself. Walking past the mirror, you noticed something odd in the foggy reflection. Pausing for a moment, you wiped away the steamy layer covering it. Staring at your reflection, you froze in shock. Red liquid was falling from your eyes in small droplets, leaving trails of scarlet down your face. Hesitantly, you touched your fingertips to your cheek and pulled them away to view the liquid substance that you now understood was blood. There was no denying it; you worked around it every day.

Beginning to panic, your breath quickened as your heartbeat thrummed faster while you looked from the blood on your fingers to the streaks on your face, all the while more blood was falling from your eyes.

Hyperventilating, you turned to grab some tissues to dab them on your face to wipe away the blood, but when you inspected the tissue, there was no blood.

Glancing back to the mirror, your sanity came into question as you realized that you were no longer crying blood. Stunned, you blinked your eyes several times to make sure that everything was alright. Clearly you had become deranged from lack of sleep and mental exhaustion. 

During your panic, you heard a familiar chilling laugh echoing softly throughout the bathroom. Whipping around to investigate, you tried to determine where it was coming from, but saw no one. That's when it occurred to you what had just happened.

Outraged, you hastily clothed yourself with a tank top and shorts before stomping your way out of your room and across the ship to the containment facility holding the mischievous god.

Bursting through the doors and fuming with annoyance, you addressed him bitterly. "What the hell kind of game do you think you're playing?" you questioned furiously.

He smiled crookedly before replying in a mocking tone, "Do I look to be in a gaming mood?"

"How dare you!" you roared, your loud voice bouncing off of the walls in the large room. "How the hell did you even do that? Your powers are supposed to be contained in there! And what was the point? What, you think by messing with me I’m going to race in here and just let you out? You’re not as crafty as you think, Loki! You’re not Shawshaking your way out of there."

"I am unfamiliar with your references," he replied, eyes boring into yours. "But you should not have made the mistake of underestimating me."

"What is it that you want from me?" you asked, your rage quickly diminishing into exasperation. "Why do you find the need to keep torturing everyone around you?"

"Your torture has only begun," he promised as he seethed from behind the glass.

"Stay the hell away from me, Loki."

"I plan to do the exact opposite, Miss Stark," he replied with an acidic tone.

Preparing a snappy retort, you opened your mouth to respond, but before the words even left your mouth the room went dark. It was pitch black around you, and you couldn't even see an inch in front of your face. A loud bang rang through the room and the floor beneath you started to shake. You quickly turned to try and run to find your way back to the door, but you were violently grabbed from behind. Before you could try to scream your mouth was aggressively covered by a rough, cold hand. The chilling sound of Loki's low voice started to whisper words into your ear that you couldn’t even begin to decipher. It took a moment for you to realize that he was speaking in another language. Moments later, your mind went hazy and your consciousness started to slip away as you unwillingly drifted off into a deep sleep.

The involuntary shivering of your body is what woke you. Scrunching your forehead and eyes fluttering open, you fought to regain clarity as your mind recollected what had happened before you passed out. Forcing yourself to sit up, you groaned aloud in protest of the soreness of your body. When your vision cleared, you outwardly gasped at your surroundings. 

You were lying on a king-sized bed with a canopy overhead, so comfortable that you almost didn’t want to get up. Looking around, you noticed that you were surrounded by regal decour in a large room. There was a fireplace on the wall opposite you with fancy, velvety couches in the middle of the room, facing each other with a small table in between. Vintage damask green and gold designs lining the walls with a golden trim along the dark, plush carpet. What held your attention most of all was the fact that there were no windows or doors of any kind - only solid walls. 

A shiver ran through you again, causing you to instinctively wrap your arms around your shuddering form to try to retain some warmth. Where were you and how the hell could you have gotten here?

"Hello?" you croaked out due to your dry throat.

No answer.

Clearing your throat to evoke some volume, you screamed at the top of your desperate for someone to acknowledge your presence.

"There's no need to raise your voice to such a level," responded an intense, velvety voice.

Turning to your left in the corner of the room, you saw the mischievous god, sitting casually in a chair, legs crossed, watching you intently. "Loki!" you snapped, your chest tightening at your situation. "Where the hell did you take me?"

“I believe that I had promised to make you suffer, my dear. To break such a promise would undoubtedly prove to be imprudent, would it not?"

Still shaking, you forced yourself out of the bed and onto your feet, daringly stepping closer to your captor. "Tell me where we are, Loki," you demanded. 

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly into an arrogant smirk, which irritated you. "Our current location is irrelevant, for you will be begging for death soon enough."

The malice in his voice was evident, which only encouraged you to be more aggressive. "You're even more insane than I thought."

He stood up then, his movement graceful and unnaturally fluid. Walking towards you in gentle strides, he seemed to glide towards you, his black and green robes flowing as he moved. When he reached you, you stood your ground, too upset to think clearly. His hand snapped forward, roughly wrenching your face closer to his, earning an involuntary groan of protest. You could already feel the bruises forming on your cheeks due to his fingers gripping you so tightly.

"Take care how you speak," he threatened dangerously as he relished at your exclamation of pain. "Allow me to make this perfectly clear; you are going to expire here, Miss Stark. I have brought you here to ensure your much-deserved anguish. Your outbursts and insults have been uncouth and not at all appropriate for your future King. I shall use you to set an example for all those who believe that there is hope. I intend to not only break your spirit, Y/N, but your earthly body as well. When I am finished with you, I will return your corpse to your dear brother so that he may see my good work. Do you understand me, mortal?"

The malevolence in his eyes as he spoke shook you to your core. His words were venomous and cut through you like daggers, and the weight of them prevented you from thinking of anything to say in response…

So you spat in his face.

He pushed you away with so much force that you fell backwards onto the floor, taking the opportunity to crawl back as far as you could to distance yourself while Loki made noises of disgust. You didn’t get very far since the large bed was right behind you. 

"You foolish wretch! Where do you find the audacity?" he bellowed, wiping away your saliva from his face. "You're more trouble than you're worth," he complained as he picked you up, tossing you over his shoulder as if you were a rag doll. 

You landed with a thud as he threw you onto one of the sofas in front of the fireplace. With a wave of his hand, you found your wrists and legs bound together in rope while a cloth forced its way around your head in front of your mouth, preventing you from speaking clearly.

You stared daggers at Loki, not missing the way he grinned as he inspected your, admiring his handiwork. Your protests and explicatives were muffled due to the cloth, and sadly uninterpretable. 

Loki chuckled as he stood over you, extending his arm to brush back the hair that had fallen forward when he carried you. "I very much prefer you this way," he commented on your inability to speak.

The glare you gave him could have destroyed even the hulk if it had any power behind it. However, he wasn’t fazed in the slightest. "I am truly curious as to what you're attempting to say, dear Y/N. Please, enlighten me," he cooed deceptively, snapping his fingers.

Relief quickly turned to embarrassment as you released a quiet sob once the gag was removed. Loki's lips peeled back into a satisfied grin, making you want to slap it right off of him.

He moved closer to you, his posture stiff with his hands held behind his back in an elegant stance. "For one who seems unable to control her tongue, you seem to be at a loss for words," he teased slyly.

Instead of bellowing slurs like you had originally wanted, you simply laughed, causing Loki's forehead to crease with curiosity. "You know, Loki," you took a moment to pause while you released a frustrated sigh. "You think you're so superior to me and to humans in general, but if you would take a moment to consider it, we're not so different."

"Your theory is fascinating," he retorted with mock interest.

Not commenting further, you interpreted his intense gaze as an indication to continue. "It's evident that you're in search of something that you aren't getting in your realm, wherever the hell it is that you're from."

"Asga-... Jötunheimr," he nearly spat with distaste.

"Okay, fine," you continued. "Like a lot of humans, you seem to want the impossible. You may have powers and supernatural strength, agility, etcetera, but you're still a lost soul, trying to find your purpose in life."

Loki's eyes narrowed dangerously causing a chill to run through you, but you continued regardless. "Additionally, you, like many humans, are selfish, cruel, and ruthless. The only difference, is that even underneath all of that, most humans have an underlying sense of decency and goodness. You, on the other hand, will never be more than a conceited child - throwing fits and demanding attention. So, before you put yourself on a pedestal, recognize where you stand among every race of beings that you've encountered. You're hated by humans, gods, and from what I can tell, also by any other creature you have come across. You are no better than them. You're not superior to any of us."

Involuntarily, you found yourself cowering slightly as Loki’s expression went blank, slowly reaching for your face. Just as before, he painfully jabbed his thumb and finger into your cheeks as he brought your face closer to his own. His upper lip quivered with rage as he seethed at you. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he spoke dangerously lowly. "I will show you just how different we are, Miss Stark."

Still holding your gaze with his own, your eyes widened when his emerald green orbs slowly started to change from the light color to a pool of red and black. Captivated by his eyes, you did not even notice his skin changing color as well into a frosty blue until he brought his other hand towards you to hold your throat tightly enough so that it was difficult to breathe, but not so harshly as to cut off air completely. 

Regardless of his actions, you were awestruck by his appearance. He was unlike anything you’d ever seen. It was known that he wasn’t biologically Asgardian, but you had never pictured him to look this way. He looked menacing, sure, but there was also a mystifying factor and even a sense of beauty about him. It was strangely mesmerizing. 

He quickly resorted back to his familiar coloring as he continued to clutch your throat tightly. "I easily grow tired of your senseless rants, mortal. Perhaps I should permanently resolve the issue," he said as he gave your throat an extra squeeze before viciously thrusting you back onto the couch, releasing his grip and standing over you once more. 

Clutching your throat and coughing at the intrusion, you couldn’t contain your facial expression as you looked him over.

"Do not pity me," he snapped.

Surprised that he knew exactly what you were thinking, you replied, "You make it hard for me not to pity you, Loki. You have such misplaced rage and it’s just… it’s very sad.”

A surprise shriek escaped you when he unexpectedly wrenched you from the couch. One of Loki's hands gripped the hair at the back of your head tightly and the other was positioned around your waist, pressing you close to his form. "Let go of me," you grunted as you pushed against his chest.

He was like a solid rock against your attempts to create some space. You shivered as his raspy voice came close to your ear. "One way or another, you, you will show me respect. Even if I have to rip it out of you as death envelopes you, I will have it. It would suit you well to accept that now rather than later."

Before you had a chance to respond he dropped you to the floor. You released a painful grunt as you hit the ground hard, eliciting a frustrated sigh from the god. "Your incessant mewling is pathetic and I can no longer tolerate it."

"Oh, excuse me for not handling being kidnapped and thrown around like a champ," you snapped, earning yourself an exasperated eye roll from Loki as he bent over to effortlessly pick you up, uncharacteristically being more gentle than he had previously as he carried you in his arms and tossed you onto the bed. 

“I must take my leave,” he mumbled, turning away from you. 

“What?!” you all but shrieked. “You can’t just leave me here! For fuck’s sake, what do you want with me?”

“All in good time, Miss Stark,” he promised with a wink. 

With your hands and feet still bound, he left you to your thoughts as he snapped his fingers and faded into nothing.

---------------------

Heimdall could watch no more. He turned his gaze away from Loki, stricken by his actions.

"Good Heimdall, what troubles you?" asked a soft, regal voice.

"My Queen, I fear that I have only remorseful news to bring you."

Frigga placed her hand upon Heimdall's large shoulder and looked kindly into his eyes. "Tell me, Heimdall."

With his alert eyes meeting Frigga’s expectant blue ones, he responded as thoughtfully as possible. "It is Loki, my Queen. He is unyielding in his search for power and his scheming knows no end. I do not yet know of his plans, but he is adamant on supremacy and revenge. He has recently taken upon himself to indulge in the captivity and torture of humans, one in particular."

The Queen’s eyes were tired and filled with grief. "Heimdall, I believe it may be time to take matters into my own hands."

"If I may be so bold, what is it you plan to do?"

Frigga stepped to the edge of the rainbow bridge where the Bifrost once stood and looked upon the endless galaxy before her, taking a moment of reflection before her reply. "I will provide Loki with what he has craved for so long… love and adoration from humans." She turned to meet Heimdall's curious gaze. "One in particular."

---------------------

"Tony, you need to calm down," Natasha urged quietly, demonstrating one of her many talents by power of persuasion. Unfortunately for her, Stark was not as easily swayed as her previous targets had been. 

Tony was leaning on the counter top, holding his head in his hands, and tightly gripping his hair in anger and frustration.

Bruce stepped closer to the hot-headed Tony Stark, avoiding the shards of glass spread across the floor due to Tony's fit of rage that was taken out on his own mini bar. "I know that what you're going through is difficult, but you're directing your rage in the wrong area."

"The big guy knows better than anyone," chimed in Clint from the corner, leaning against the wall, crossing his arms in an almost bored posture. “You should listen to him.”

Bruce fought the urge to roll his eyes. "I do know what I'm talking about. You need to separate yourself from the situation. Take a step back, and try to think clearly."

That made Tony’s head snapped up, his hair slightly out of place from his grip. His brown eyes darted around the room in a panic before they settled on Bruce. "How exactly do you expect me to remove myself from this outlandish situation, Banner?" He stepped around the bar, walking closer to the remaining Avengers, the glass loudly crunching beneath his shoes with every step. "Y/N is my goddamn sister. I’m responsible for her, and I failed to protect her. How can I step away from that?"

"Mr. Stark, with all due respect, Y/N is an adult. You are not her bodyguard and you are not responsible for what happens to her." Tony's head whipped around so fast it was almost unnatural, his glare now falling on the man dressed in patriotic colors, standing on the far left of the room with a somber look on his face.

"Tell me, Rogers," Tony nearly spat. "Who have you had to look after? You are responsible for no one but yourself. Everyone you knew or cared for has passed on. You have absolutely no comprehension as to where my responsibilities lie with my sister."

Steve's jaw tightened at Tony's harsh words. His thoughts immediately went to the last World War he took part in. He remembered the look in his friend's eyes as they widened with fear as he plummeted from the train into the dark, snowy ravine. He had failed to protect his friend. He knew all too well what Stark was feeling, but he had learned to cope with the loss by convincing himself that it was out of his control and no one was to blame.

"I think what we're all getting at is that instead of standing around arguing, we should come up with a plan and execute it. In order to do that, we need clear heads so that we can think reasonably," the soldier spoke with patience.

"What exactly are you insinuating?" Clint asked, still in his relaxed stance, arms still crossed. "A rescue mission? Because the last time I checked, no one had any idea of Loki's whereabouts and there's nothing that we have that will lead us to him. We have absolutely nothing to go on."

"That's not exactly true," Natasha advised, interrupting Clint's rant. "We have him ," she insinuated as she pointed towards Thor.

Everyone's attention turned towards Thor who had been waiting silently by the door, gazing out of the window lost in his thoughts over the situation they had found themselves to be in. Turning his gaze towards Natasha, he asked, "Me?"

"Yes, you," she answered. "You know Loki better than any of us. You know his habits and behaviors. Where is somewhere that he would go to hold someone captive and remain hidden?"

Thor's face was somber and he carried a sad, defeated expression on his face, which was not one he expressed often. "You forget that I have been estranged from Loki for quite some time. He attempted to end my life several times. The ties that bind us have been broken and I may not know him as well as I once thought. I may not be of any help."

"It's worth a shot," The Captain spoke sternly, nodding to Thor for him to continue.

Thor lifted his fisted hand to his chin, a motion he did when he was deep in thought. He sifted through his thoughts and spoke them aloud. "Loki is no fool, but he is a creature of habit. He will seek a place that is remote and not easily accessible."

Clint chuckled quietly in the corner. "Well, that's specific." His laughing was instantly silenced when he caught a glimpse of Tony's glare. "Anything else?" he asked, hoping to avert Tony's attention away from him.

Thor continued as if he was uninterrupted. "Loki does not take well to defeat. He will return with a vengeance, which is perhaps why he has taken your sister. He may have plans for her, or it may have just been a ruse to disorient S.H.I.E.L.D. Regardless, I know that he is plotting revenge, not only on me, but the rest of you as well." He paused as he gazed out of the window again. "I do not have Heimdall's sight, and I cannot return home without Loki, and even if I did there would be no way for me to return to Earth. However, there may be a way to contact Heimdall and he may lend us his sight so that we may find my brother. Until then, all we can do is wait and you must search for any abnormal occurrences throughout your planet."

Bruce sighed, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes in frustration. "That's easier said than done," he remarked tiredly. "This is a large planet."

"This is true," Thor continued. "But knowing Loki he will make an appearance and it will be drastic. He enjoys toying with other beings and he will grow restless if he is kept hidden for too long. He craves attention and it will not take him long to draw you to him, whether that is his intention or not."

"So basically your solution is to sit back and wait?" Tony accused angrily.

Thor nodded. "For now, that is all that can be done."

"That's bullshit!" Tony shouted, completely losing his temper. "I refuse to sit here and wait around for a sign that we may or may not catch! Are you aware that my sister could be dead by now?"

Fully turning his concentration towards Tony, Thor answered, "It is a possibility, though highly unlikely."

"I will not stand by and do nothing," Tony seethed. "I will find her."

Slowly, Thor walked over to Tony and placed one of his large hands on Stark's shoulder in a reassuring way. "My friend, your mind is clouded with anger. I am aware of your need to find your sister, but do you even know where to begin?"

"That's not the point –"

"That is the point," interrupted Thor. "I urge you to just allow us a day or two to sort this out."

Tony's jaw clenched with impatience. "It's been too long already."

"I know," said Thor dejectedly. "But please, just a bit more time."

Tony thrust Thor's hand from his shoulder, even more heated than before. "Am I the only one who's first concern is Y/N?" His behavior was close to hysterical at this point. “I’m going after her. Now.”

---------------------

Loki walked with a steady pace towards the bedchamber where you were being held. He was unsure of his feelings as thoughts raced through his mind as he walked. He should be content with keeping you here as his prisoner. He had all the leverage he needed with Tony Stark’s sister at his disposal, and yet he felt… unfulfilled. 

When he materialized in the room, his forehead creased in confusion as he saw you lying on the bed, contently singing to yourself. He had assumed that you would be in as much of a sour mood as you had previously been. Something wasn’t right. 

Sensing another presence, you had turned to see who had entered your room and beamed with excitement as your eyes rested upon Loki.

His brow rose in skepticism as you stepped down from the bed and approached him. Too stunned to react, he allowed you to wrap your arms around him in a tight embrace, sighing with contentment. “I’ve been waiting for you,” you murmured into his chest. 

Completely at a loss for words, he gawked at you, dumbfounded as you released him and stared into his eyes, not a single trace of malice or loathing found in them. "I've missed you," you cooed with an inviting grin before you leaned up towards him and placed your lips softly on his own.

Coming to his senses, Loki aggressively pushed you off of him, causing you to stumble backwards, though you managed to catch yourself from falling. He didn’t miss the fact that you looked truly hurt and confused.

"What's the matter with you?" you asked, the pain evident in your voice.

He swallowed thickly, his eyes transfixed on you in shock. What had happened to you? Could it have been the isolation? You couldn’t have been alone for more than a few hours. Were humans truly this delicate? Had he broken your mind? So many more questions raced through his mind as the silver-tongued god found himself at a loss for words.

You waited patiently for an answer, you own eyes searching his mystified emerald ones. A few more moments passed before he finally spoke. "Your mind is not your own," he finally decided.

“Excuse me?” 

He turned his gaze from you, and mumbled out loud, "Being around my power must have affected you more than I had anticipated." His fists clenched in anger as he continued to talk to himself. "This was not my intention. You were supposed to remain the same."

"Stop mumbling Loki, I can't hear you," you urged with frustration, puzzled by his behavior. You continued to edge towards him carefully until you were directly in front of him, close enough to feel his breath on your face. Placing your  hands around his muscular upper arms, you squeezed with reassurance. "You really need to relax. There's no need to get so easily stressed," you said softly as you placed another brief kiss on his lips.

Stunned that he once again allowed you to kiss him, his mind began to race even more so than before. This was not possible. Too much exposure to power would have left you broken and incoherent. It would not have changed your entire personality into one of a lovesick being. 

Of course! How did he not see this before? It was a game. You were toying with him in hopes of finding a way to escape. Not at all in imminent danger, you were eliciting a facade and now you were going to try to convince him that your disgust had been replaced with loving thoughts for him. What a clever girl!

He grinned with satisfaction as he put the pieces together in his head and finally allowed his eyes to lock onto yours. He would play your game… and he would win.

He slowly placed his hand on the back of your head to aggressively take a handful of your hair and force your lips to his. The brutality of his actions caused you to whimper in pain at first, but as the kiss deepened, your noises turned into small moans of passion. Together, your lips moved in a synchronized motion as Loki slid his tongue along your bottom lip, silently demanding entrance. He chuckled into your mouth as you quickly opened up to him and allowed him to explore your mouth with his hot, wet muscle.

He was slightly taken aback when you fought back against him for dominance, your hands reaching behind his neck and pulling yourself even nearer to him. Still not feeling close enough, you jumped up onto him, causing him to stumble back in surprise. Quickly, he released your hair and placed a hand on each of your legs, hiking you upwards so that you were now level with him while your feet no longer touched the floor.

Refusing to yield, Loki then carried you over to the bed. He roughly tossed you onto the bed, hardly giving you time to catch your breath as you landed with an "oof" before he was on top of you again, his lips capturing yours in a fight for dominance.

Turning your head to the side to steal a few breaths of air, Loki wasted no time as he moved his lips down your jaw to your neck and sucked lightly, eliciting quiet whimpers from you as you trembled beneath him.

"Loki," you finally managed to speak, your voice straining. He ignored you and continued to kiss and lick the soft skin tissue of your neck. Fighting to keep coherent, you complained, "Loki, wait a minute. Your armor is too heavy."

Loki ceased his physical exploration. He was winning at your little game and he could sense your retreat getting closer. Your odd statement was a request for him to remove his protection and leave himself more vulnerable to you. Though you were a mere mortal, too weak to hurt him even with his armor removed, he was skeptical as to why you did not come to that conclusion yourself.

He smiled deviously at you before his body began to emit a golden glow with bright rays forming around his armor before it faded away, revealing his slender form in a dark green robe along with black trousers. Sighing with relief as the extra weight lifted, you gave him a thankful smile in return.

"Is this better?" he asked, staring down at you, now even more alert than before. He was waiting for you to make your move and when you did, he would be ready for it.

"Much better," you answered, grinning.

"Excellent." Loki did not waste any time in capturing both of your hands into one of his as he held them in a tight grip above your head as he leaned towards you and continued to kiss you as he had before. He used his other hand to begin to explore your body, knowing that you would break soon. You arched your back, pressing your chest against his. He stilled for a moment, shocked that this was actually earning a slight reaction from him, causing a small bulge to form in his trousers. This would not do. He had to break you sooner than he had planned.

His hand made its way to your jeans and he quickly succeeded in unbuttoning them before slowly pulling down the zipper. Midgardian clothes were foreign to him, but it was easy enough to figure out how to work them. Hiking your pants down just slightly, it allowed himself enough room to give his large hands entrance to your most private of areas. He knew that you would never allow him to touch you there.

He cautiously edged his hand into your pants towards and waited. This earned a moan of desire from you, which caused him to halt completely. He removed his lips and hands from you before climbing off of you with a look of bewilderment on his face.

"Loki?" you asked breathlessly as you looked him over. "What's wrong?"

His teeth clenched, the feeling of defeat evoking rage. "Did you really think that this would work?" he seethed.

"What are you talking about?" you asked as you sat forward on the bed, buttoning your pants, figuring that your moment of intimacy was done for the time being.

He turned to stare daggers at you, his cold stare turning your blood to ice. "Did you really believe that I would stoop so low as to take a repulsive mortal into my bed? Your plan was poorly executed. You are a fool to think that you could deceit the god of lies!" He had risen from the bed, his armor had returned to his body and he was shaking with rage.

Gaping at him, you were unsure of what to say. Eventually, your anger got the better of you. "Maybe you should have thought of that  before you brought me here! My mortality hasn’t stopped you yet, so why is it such a problem now?"

His brows came together in annoyance and perplexity. "You cannot possibly think that I would fall for your far-fetched tale of ignorance!"

Standing up from the bed, not a single trace of fear evident in your face, you walked closer to him, your eyes blazing. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about. How dare you," you spat, causing his eyes to widen. "You've got a lot of nerve, Loki."

A thought then crossed his mind as he searched your eyes for a hint of a lie, but he could find none. Somehow, you had formed an alternate reality in your subconscious, one in which they were coupled and dwelled together in cohabitation.

He relaxed his shoulders a bit and released much of his anger in a long sigh, but remained cautious. "Humor me, Y/N. What do you remember about yesterday?"

You crossed your arms in annoyance at his request. He fought the urge to smirk at your childish stance. "You brought me here from S.H.I.E.L.D.’s Air Base," you finally answered. "You said that you had business to take care of and you left. I made myself comfortable and sat by the fire until I got too tired. Then, I fell asleep in the bed, and when I woke up, you were here."

He was baffled. Her memory was completely skewed from reality. You truly believed that is how yesterday’s events occurred. He hardly noticed your hand take hold of his own. The foreign feeling of tender skin-to-skin contact caused him to jerk back a bit, but he did not break the hold.

"Loki, what’s wrong? Please, tell me."

"I'm not sure," he quickly answered, not really considering your question for he was lost in his own thoughts. After a moment of reflection, he leaned in towards you, mere inches from your face and stared deeply into your eyes.

You were confused, but stayed completely still, frozen under his intense gaze.

Loki took a moment to memorize every characteristic in your blazing orbs before quietly asking, "Do you love me?"

Bewildered, your expression instantly turned into one of adoration as you smiled. Your eyes suddenly filled with such love that it almost physically hurt him, causing him to stumble back a few steps as if he had been hit hard in the gut. Before he stepped back too far, you grabbed him by his leather collar and brought him closer as you placed your lips on his unmoving cold ones.

As if you didn't notice his lack of response, you deepened the kiss, showing him just how much you loved him through this simple gesture. Loki's defensive shields started to crumble until he completely lost himself in the thought of your mouth on his and your hands reaching up to his neck to stroke the hair that fell over his collar.

He wrapped his arms around you, drawing you nearer to him as he deeply inhaled, enthralled by your scent. It was as if he couldn't get enough of you in that moment. He wanted to continue holding you until the two of you simply became one person.

As his mouth hungrily devoured your, his head was screaming at him. He was kissing a mortal; a disgusting, pathetic, and worthless excuse for a life. A creature that had he been successful in his attempt to enslave the Earth would have been dead the moment you insulted him for the first time. He may have even killed you simply for the fact that you were the sibling of his hated rival, Iron Man.

Upon these thoughts entering his mind, his lips froze in place causing you to notice his hesitation and pull back. Loki cursed himself for the moment their lips separated he wanted to draw you back to him. He craved you, and he loathed himself for it.

"Loki?" you asked, noticing his far away gaze as he fought with himself over his feelings.

Not a moment later, you felt yourself being crushed painfully into the wall behind you, Loki gripping your arms painfully tight. 

Refusing to wince in pain, you met Loki's challenging stare with a blazing one of your own. He was breathing heavily in anger, unable to tear his emerald eyes away from yours. Before he could comprehend his own actions, his mouth was on yours, hungrily devouring you.

Instead of refusing him as he had expected, you responded positively and moaned into his mouth as he plunged his tongue into your lips, tasting you, reveling in your deliciously sweet flavor.

Hungry for more, you grabbed the collar of his leather armor and shoved him back. Due to his complete loss of coherent thought during the kiss, he was caught off guard, baffled by your sudden abrasive actions. 

He soon realized your intentions as he saw the lust in your eyes and smirked at your obvious arousal. You glided forward and continued to push him lightly, guiding him until he reached the edge of an empty desk at the other end of the room. In an aggressive manner, you took it upon yourself to jump onto him, gripping his hips tightly with your legs as he wrapped his arms around your lower half, cradling your bottom in his hands as he held you steady. You tangled your hands in his hair and forced his mouth to yours, almost angrily.

As your lithe body writhed against him, he felt the urge to explore more of you. He turned around and placed you on the desk, leaving his hands free to roam your body as you continued to kiss lustfully.

His thoughts began to flash like static in his mind. He was repulsed, yet aroused, and his arousal was clearly overpowering his disgust. Loki wondered to himself how long it had been since he had bedded a woman. He had never taken a mortal into his bed, but if he were to choose a mortal to lay with, he could think of no better one than you. Whether or not he desired to bed you for revenge, or for his own personal needs, he did not know, but he wasn’t about to stop to consider it either.

Without breaking the kiss, Loki lifted you effortlessly into his arms and swiftly carried you to the bed. He gently laid you down on the sheets, immediately missing the contact with your skin. Still standing, he could do nothing but stare at you, dumbfounded as to what he should do next. He silently cursed himself as you watched him with an intense gaze. He was not a shy man. With women he had laid with before, he had no problems having his way with them, but he was unable to do so with you.

He licked his lips in frustration as he fought with himself as to what his next actions should be. He did not expect you to be impatient and was taken by surprise as you raised from your relaxed position into a kneeling posture and began to remove your shirt, suggestively locking eyes with him. Loki forced himself to remain steady with every piece of clothing you removed.

When the only clothing that remained were your delicates, you raised one finger and seductively urged him forward, biting your lip in anticipation. Forgetting his incessant need for dominance, Loki stepped forward hesitantly until he was kneeling on the bed. Agonizingly slowly, you began to remove his heavy leather and metal armor from his slender, yet muscular form.

Becoming impatient, Loki began to help you with the removing of his clothes until all that was covered was his own private area. Instead of attempting to remove it, you glanced upward into Loki's intense gaze. Even while you were both kneeling he towered over you. 

Lifting your hand to lightly stroke his cheek, you then placing both hands in his hair to draw him towards her so you could kiss him lovingly. Loki began to push himself into you, causing you to lie down on your back while he hovered over you, anxious for more. 

With his godly strength, he ripped away your bra and panties, leaving you bare before him. He then wasted no time in removing the last of his clothing as well, revealing his obscenely large cock, prominently jutting forward for attention. 

Loki returned to planting kisses on your neck, sucking gently as he made his way to your breasts. You whimpered as he took both of the peaks into his fingers and squeezed gently. He then settled his mouth on one of them, flicking his tongue all around the hardening flesh. Biting your lip, you tried to contain the screams that were building up from his actions. Unable to contain them any longer, you lost control the moment his calloused fingers slipped into you. 

The pace was maddening as he continued to thrust his fingers in and out of you while his thumb rubbed in vigorous circles against your clit, all the while his other hand working your breasts. Incoherent syllables escaped you as he continued exploring your body. When his fingers were replaced by his tongue in your core, you could feel the blood circulation leaving your hands as you gripped the sheets with all your strength. Writhing against him, his tongue pumped in and out of you before moving up to lap at your clit while he pressed his fingers inside of you once again.

Before you went completely over the edge, you pushed him off aggressively. He pulled back, perplexed by your sudden change in demeanor. Your expression was animalistic as you dug your nails into his arms and pulled him around so that you could straddle him and imitated his moves from before by kissing your way down his neck, occasionally nipping softly, making him hiss in arousal. Sliding down his body, you looked from his pleading eyes to his throbbing member right in front of your face. 

Taking his cock in your hand, you began by running your tongue up and down his slit as you felt him tremble against you. Settling your mouth around the tip of his girth, you sucked gently, letting your tongue flick and swirl all around it. You almost came at the sight of him after you looked up to see him close his eyes and open his mouth slightly, lips quivering and gasping slightly every time your tongue slid across his slit. 

You took all of him into your mouth at that point. He threw his head back and groaned loudly with satisfaction. With each thrust you bobbed your head, occasionally grazing the underside of his cock with your teeth. His fingers tangled themselves into your hair, forcing you further onto his shaft. You hummed against him, making him cry out even louder. You sensed he was getting close so you removed yourself from him, eliciting a whine from the god. 

You smiled playfully at him, which earned a forceful change of position while he grabbed you and laid you beneath him once more. He kissed you softly before pulling away and begging you with his eyes for entry. You nodded and pulled him into another kiss as he slowly entered you. Whimpering into the kiss, it was a slow adjustment as his shaft pushed all the way into you. 

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you kept him inside of you for a moment, letting your head loll back as you acclimated to his size. When you allowed your body to relax, he took it as a sign to pull back and enter again, but with a little more force. You cried out in bliss with every thrust as they became harder each time he entered you. Resting his head in the crook of your neck, he showered it with kisses as he lunged harder and faster. Your arms found themselves around his neck as you held on for dear life.

As he continued to thrust at a maddening pace into you, your back arched in pleasure as he reached down and rubbed your clit. The sensation was overwhelming in the best way. Your entire body tensed up as the orgasm pulsated through you, wave after wave of euphoric bliss. 

Your nails raked down his back as he continued his assault on your leaking cunt. Moments after, the pulsing feeling around his cock was more than he could take. He released himself inside of you and cried out in bliss as his seed lined your cervix. 

When he was spent, he rested on top of you only for a moment, panting heavily before kissing you tenderly, which you reciprocated with enthusiasm. When the kiss broke, you leaned into Loki, causing him to roll over and lie down facing upwards. Turning on your side, you propped your head up with one hand while caressing Loki's long hair with the other.

For the first time in a very long while, Loki was at a loss of what to do. He could not think of anything else but you, for you had enveloped his mind and captured his desires. He would curse himself tomorrow for letting himself fall into you this way, but for the moment, he savored the feeling.

As you stroked his hair he took it upon himself to explore your Midgardian body. His rough fingers traced your cheek, jaw, and neck. As he moved down over the swell of your breast and onto your hips, Loki could not help but ask, "Y/N, what caused you to become so enamored with me?"

You grinned with both contentment and amusement before replying. "What, you mean besides your charm and wit?" He smirked at your answer, but sought more from you. You sighed, wracking your brain to try and figure out how to put your feelings into words. "I see you, Loki. I see who are between all of the bullshit. You exhaust yourself trying to attain something that’s always beyond your reach. You’re not a monster. You’re just someone who needs to be loved."

Upon his stunned silence, you leaned slowly towards him to place a soft, tender kiss on his lips before you lay your head on his chest, wrapping your arms around his abdomen, quickly drifting off to sleep.

Silvertongue was at a loss for words. Not knowing what else to do, he absentmindedly allowed his arms to wrap around your sleeping form. He had not had close contact such as this in far too long, and it satisfied him.

Dismissing the internal questions and maddening thoughts, Loki allowed himself to fall asleep, feeling more content than he had in all his existence.

#eliza's 5k challenge #loki #loki x reader #smut #writing challenge #fanfiction

[amberandmetal]

Are you strange like me?

Written for: @youngmoneymilla​s 5k challenge Squares filled: First kiss for @buckybarnesbingo and Touch starvation for @marvelfluffbingo (there is fluff at the end, I swear that counts!) Prompt: “I think there’s a flaw in my code/These voices won’t leave me alone/Well my heart is gold and my hands are cold (Gasoline – Halsey)” Pairing: Bucky x F!reader Warnings: Angst O´hoy. There are PTDS elements, anxiety and panic etc but not too much (and there is fluffy flufflfuff at the end because that’s just the rules, mkay?), mentions of war and being kidnapped, touch starvation mentioned. Rating: Teen and up Word count: ca 3,5 k Summary: After the war you need somewhere to belong, and The Avengers need someone to make them look good. A/N: Yeah, this got a life of it’s own. Not really how I initially planned it but I’m happy with how it turned out. I’m surprised at myself for keeping it clean (seriously, who am I?) I have little to no knowledge of military jargong and workings so if there are any mistakes please let me know and I will fix. English is my 2nd language and this is unbetad so all mistakes are mine.

    Tony’s brown eyes felt just as enigmatic and piercing even through the television screen, whiskey and liquid intelligence peering at the interviewer from behind thick sunglasses slid down to the tip of his nose; and on the side of him, smaller, grey, bland, were you, looking every bit as uncomfortable as you had felt.

You grabbed the flesh between clavicle and chest, kneading and scratching the skin where the weight of your medals had hung only hours ago, where the echo of them still made it hard for you to breathe.

    “She’s a perfect addition to the team and she’s been adapting beautifully. We’re really proud to have another veteran amongst our midst,” Tony clapped a proud hand on your shoulder and flashed the camera one of his legendary PR-smiles “we’re lucky to have her.”

    “Ugh.” You clicked the TV off and turned around on the couch, laying with your face towards the cushions.

    The Avengers had been in deep water after the latest attack on New York, more and more of the masses forgetting what they’d done for them — and where they would be if they hadn’t. Acting- and calling them out for the destruction and desolation. Anger fueled by fear leading them in a search for a focus point to target their pain. The team needed to make a move to get in the people’s good graces again.

    And then there were you.

    After the war nothing had been the same. Before when you closed your eyes there had been darkness and calm behind your eyelids, an ethereal vastness that relaxed you, allowed you to breathe before opening them again. A refuge in your daily ongoings.

    After there had been nothing but gunsmoke and ash, billowing from the depths you stared into each time you closed your eyes. Wretched stench of putrefied flesh simmering in the smoke and seeping into your skin from behind your eyelids, digging tunnels in your fibers, filling your nose and mouth with dry sand and bile.

    You gasped, back shooting out from the couch as if you could escape the waking nightmare sticking to the inside of your skull. It burned at your temples like electricity.

    The official statement was that you were a normal soldier, a gunner, that had been captured and held captive, then somehow managed to not only break yourself out, but the other seven soldiers stuck in that hellhole beside you as well; and you’d gotten mighty decorated for it.

    You scoffed. Decorated, sure, and forced to lie.

    There had been nothing normal about you, or what happened. No one spoke a word of the special ops you’d been a part of, or that the people that had held you captive had neither been Al-qaeda or even the Taliban. It had been Hydra. The Nazi science division that you’d been told in school had been taken down by Captain America.

    Cut off one head, and two will take its place. Uh-huh, yep.

    That was not the only lie you’d been told, or been forced to tell. The seven other captives were more like hundreds, hundreds of lives that you’d left behind when you managed to flee with only a small group as the others were left being tortured and experimented on. Their screams stayed with you, a never ending echo in the hollow of your mind.

    The other seven —among them a woman named Grace, a fellow american with black hair and even blacker eyes, and a smile that refused to be beaten down— had been taken down during your escape. Grace had clutched her chest as the blood from it sprayed across your arm, she’d fallen, roaring at you to go, to run, to ‘fucking save yourself, damnit!’. You’d gotten out with only a bullet wound through your right hand and left shoulder, and a newfound weight in your chest.

    According to your Officer the public didn’t need to know that the people you saved didn’t survive, only that you had freed them.

    “Remember, Sergeant. You gave them the gift of dying free. That’s quite something.”

    Yeah well, they didn’t look free, and it sure as hell didn’t feel like a gift.

    Survivor’s guilt your shrink called it. Whatever.

    You kneaded the spot where your medals had hung. The Medal of Honor and the Prisoner of War among others. You shuddered; revulsion tumbling in your gut. It was a torment wearing them- but it was, as they say, a necessary evil.

    When you’d returned you couldn’t, just as many others, get back to your normal life; a decade of training and war had taken a toll and you weren’t the same. The trauma clung to your spine like a ball and chain slowly turning your vertebrates into lead. It had made a home for itself there in your back, cozying up in the hollow where neck meets skull, safe where you couldn’t reach.

    You had been tethering on the edge of insanity when you’d finally broken down and pleaded with your Captain to let you back out there, and thankfully, blissfully, he had —albeit a bit reluctant— agreed. But it wasn’t the same. Suddenly you couldn’t work with your group, too on edge, too hyper aware and too concerned by your teammates safety. Once you were back your team had started out on a small mission, delicate but nothing you couldn’t handle — or that’s how it should have been. You had once been like a well oiled machine and now you were falling apart. So you got discharged, told it just wasn’t a good fit anymore, which was a “real shame considering.”

    So The Avengers needed too look good, and you needed a place where you could belong. And nothing gets you back into America’s good graces as a decorated veteran.

    So here you were.

    Here you were..

     ~~~

    The sound of opening and closing doors followed by laughter made your ears perk up. Steve and Bucky back from their morning run, from the sounds of it. Steve’s laughter easy and full and Bucky’s quieter, more of a chuckle —  deep and tense. Always so tense.

    Bucky had adapted relatively quickly to life at the compound, but he still kept mostly to himself. Steve, of course, had made it his life’s mission to draw the old Bucky out, teasing and joking with him, taking him back to Coney Island, practically dragging him out of his room for Team bonding nights (usually movie nights, but sometimes you played video games, and one particularly memorable evening Clint had persuaded the entire team into playing Twister. He lost. Every time), yet it never felt sincere from Bucky’s side. He did try. You could see it in the shape of his stance, the frustration burning in his eyes in spite of the broad grin he managed to apply for Steve. Still it looked less like two friends hanging out and enjoying down time together and more like a frightened animal trying to appease it’s rescuer.

    You had no idea if anyone else noticed it, but you had a pretty big clue that Steve had caught on. Every once in a while Bucky would look away, trying his damndest to laugh at one of Tony’s jokes, and something arduous would set in the blue of Steve’s eyes like stone.

    Both men came through the doors, sweat darkening their clothes and making them glisten in the morning sun.

    “Good run?”

    Steve almost jumped.

    “Oh, hi Y/n. Yeah, Bucky still aint got shit on me though.” he laughed and shook Bucky’s shoulder playfully. Bucky flinched slightly at the contact, but quickly managed to correct himself, quirking the corner of his mouth in a half smile and raising his hand in greeting.

    “Language,” you admonished with a wink before letting your eyes land softly on Bucky and offering a small smile “Morning, Buck.”

    He huffed a little, a twitch in his smile: a mirroring sensation in your chest.

    Steve looked between the both of you with a raised brow.

    “Yeah, okay. Gotta hit the showers! You too, punk— you reek.”

    Something light flashed in Bucky’s eyes and his smile grew almost sincere.

    “Do not gimme that, you’re the punk. Always were.”

    “Yeah, but that was before I hit my growth spurt!”

    You snorted at the same moment Bucky did, sniggering under your breath.

    Steve looked absolutely delighted.

    “Some growth spurt..” Bucky mumbled following Steve towards the elevators.

      ~~~

    The anxiety was a physical thing. It was birthed out of every patch of skin where you had been touched, ebbing out like crests until you were covered in it — sticky and suffocating, viscous and disgusting, and you were painted from tip to toe.

    You cursed yourself under your breath for not thinking it through. The PR-people had of course wanted you to wear your dress uniform and you had simply refused, thinking ‘no, no anything but that. Going naked would be better than that’ and after some coaxing from Tony and Miss Potts they had relented. What a mistake it had been.

    Now there you were, locked in your room in a gorgeous gown that showed more skin than not, after a night of having been passed around like a basket of breadsticks.

    Smile for the camera.

    Oh hi, hello, why yes I am she, yes I did save those soldiers.

    Handshake.

    Anything for my country.

    Laugh.

    Oh yes, they have been treating me real nice.

    Hugs.

    Touches.

    Gooseflesh.

    Panic.

    Bile.

    Two hours were all you could take and when Pepper had called to a toast you saw your chance and took it. Now your clothes pooled in a trail on the floor leading to your bathroom as you hurried into the spray.

    The daffodil-yellow loofah quickly worked up a lather, the sudds slightly pink and smelling of strawberries and cream, a welcome softness after the sharp and biting too harsh reality of the party. Scrubbing up and down your body your muscles started to untense, the coating of dread coming off like shedded skin. A sigh escaped your lips: you could breathe again.

    Of course, you had agreed to all of this, to help, to be this shining face and PR circus for the team, because it also meant that you in fact were a part of said team. Skillset-wise you were absolutely up to par with both Barton and Romanoff and they all seemed genuinely happy to have you. But this.. facade, was the price you had to pay, and you gladly did — did not mean it didn’t hurt to do it though.

    Hair washed and every inch of your skin thoroughly scrubbed pink you got out of the shower, wrapping yourself in a big fluffy robe, sighing at the comforting slide of cotton against your bones.

    You exhaled loudly, slumping down on your bed, ignoring the trilling ringtone of your phone in favour of the fluffy pillows that gave way for your weight like a hug. Pepper would have to wait.

     ~~~

    Tap, tap, tap.

    A soft knock on your door snapped you out of focus. Not in the mood for company you hesitated, even though knowing fully well who was on the other side of that door. Metal on metal gave a much sharper sound than flesh.

    “Bucky?” you opened the door ajar.

    He looked a bit sheepish and apologetic, hunched in the empty corridor.

    “Hey, Y/n… you okay?”

    You shrugged, but then looked him over. He was doing a good job of holding it together but you could see the signs: the nervous tapping of his fingers against the wall, his skin a shade paler than usual and his eyes flickering from point to point, not stilling for more than a few seconds.

    “Are you?”

    Abalone eyes flitted to yours — so bright, so sharp.

    “Of course,” he tried for a smile “I just wanted to check on you. You kinda took off like somebody burned ya.”

    You huffed.

    “Yeah, well.. I wasn’t as prepared as I thought I was for-.. for everything.”

    Nodding he ran a hand through his hair, a scent sent wafting. Your skin turned effervescent.

    “You wanna come in?”

    There was no mistaking the gratefulness softening his gaze.

    You backed up to let him in, careful to lock the door behind him.

    He sat down on your bed, his eyes snapping across your room and his fingers tapping away at his thigh.

    “Howd’ya manage to make it so… homey so fast?”

    You followed his gaze to your walls, the paintings and curiosities covering them, the shelves with figurines and too many plants, the bookcase littered with books and notebooks and the deep teal coloured couch with more cushions than actual space for sitting.

    You plopped down next to him, careful of keeping your robe from slipping.

    “I don’t know, I just can’t stand cold walls.”

    A beat of silence followed, hardening the air. Always this damn feeling when he got close, every time.

    “You write?” he asked, pointing at your notebook lying open on your nightstand.

    “Sometimes,” you hesitated “mostly to clear my head. My shrink down at the VA suggested it.”

    “Oh, that’s right.. I forgot - Steve told me but I guess it slipped my mind. A lot o-”

    “of new information.”, you finished in unison.

    He chuckled and scratched at his neck, making strands the shade of dark rosewood fall and shield his face. The close proximity made your skin tingle.

    “May I?”, he gestured toward the open pages “or maybe you can read me something?”

    There was something vulnerable there, something sweet and wistful — somber.

    You reached for the notebook and scooted closer and Bucky shot up like he had been burned.

    You peered up at him.

    “Why do you do that?”

    “I- fuck, I’m sorry. I-”

    “Why? I mean I’ve seen you.. even when Steve touches you, you flinch.”

    Bucky looked taken aback for a second but then seemed to slump, a tired exhale leaving his lungs like it had been forced out of him.

    “It’s that obvious?”

    You backed up a bit.

    “Tell me.”

    “Why do you care?”

    “Because I do.”

    He looked hesitant for a second.

    “I haven’t been touched in a.. positive way, in a long time. Truth be told I’m starved for it, all I want is to feel that connection, I mean it’s all I dream about when it’s not the nightmares.. but-”

    “Then why?”

    “- but when it’s sudden, when I’m not ready for it. It burns. It’s too much, too fast and it’s unsettling. I hate it. It’s like getting what you want but not on your own terms and the sensation on my skin gets overwhelming.. and.. fuck, yeah I think that’s the gist of it,” he wrought his hands together, looking away “I’m sorry, I’m still adjusting.”

    He looked so beautiful, even like this. Even in pain and confused his presence took up the room, changed the atmosphere into whatever it was that was Bucky. The scent of him in your nostrils, bergamot and cedar, and the heavy weight of him dipping your bed, and you so badly wanted to inch closer, to reach out and touch, feel if he’s as warm as he looks, giving him something of that that he craves, being a balm to soothe, to hush, to lull.

    “So.. if you were ready for it?”

    His eyes blinked up to yours.

    You got closer, sitting on your knees with an outstretched hand, close enough to touch without in fact doing so.

    “…if you know I’m going to touch you, if you can.. ready yourself then maybe, it won’t feel like that?”

    His eyes got soft then, filled with something you couldn’t find a word for, and he turned on the bed to face you fully.

    “That’s very sweet of you, doll— mind if I call ya that?” you shook your head “mind reading me some of your texts?—  is it poetry?”

    You smiled, shy and full lipped.

    Spreading open the book, you flipped to where you had been writing last and pulled it into his lap, careful as to not touch.

    “Here.. it’s kind of morbid but..”

    “Yeah, hush. No self deprecation, that’s my thing. Let me make up my own mind about it.”

    You chuckled but conceded.

    “MJ?”

    “Mary jane.”

    You chuckled at the confusion still present on his face.

    “Marijuana.”

    “Ah.”

    You looked on closely, nervous as he read once, twice, three times.

    “You hate it,” you said “I get it, it’s a bit extreme and maybe not what you’re used to but it’s just my thoughts going haywire and shit you know a-”

    “I like it.”

    “Huh?”

    “I like it. Is this how you feel? The PR thing? Everything?”

    “Basically, but it’s just thoughts, words on paper. Emotions. It’s still worth it.”

    He nodded, going back to read it a fourth time.

    “It’s unusual, I’ll give you that but, it’s .. beautiful in it’s strange way.. and very- very relatable,” he looked up, face suddenly so earnest and open it was almost startling “especially the last part,” he huffed and a hint of bitterness momentarily crept into his voice  “I can safely say I know what it’s like to feel like there’s a flaw in my code..”

    A breath. Shaking himself out of it.

    “I don’t really write myself but, I can see myself in this. In your texts. A lot of this- I mean I’ve had similar thoughts,” he smiled.

    The hard air around you grew thick, hanging around your heads like cottony molasses. You looked up from your text, eyes scanning the shape of him. Something urgent took root somewhere close to your solar plexus.

    “Can I touch you?”

    He was stock still for a moment or two, but then he nodded.

    You scooted a little bit closer, your movements slow and cautious; tentative. The back of his hand was a contrast of soft and rough against your palm. Soft hairs and raised scars.

    A deep yet quiet groan sounded from somewhere buried inside him —  you looked up just in time to see something in his features breaking.

    “Is it too much? Should I stop? I -”

    He shook his head.

    “No.. please.”

    Your heart sped up — a cassette set on fast forward. You opened the cuffs of his sleeve and set to gingerly and very slowly roll them up to his elbow. His breathing turned heavy and deep: an odd mixture of tension coupled with relief.

    Stretching your fingers you splayed your hand out over his skin, calmly stroking: his hand, wrist, forearm. You were so close now, so near, the warmth of him was a tangible thing against your exposed skin. A crescendo beat hammered in your chest.

    “Can I kiss you?”

    Surprised, you met his gaze. Abalone shells, sea glass beneath water, thunderclouds and liquid silver and every other simile that came to mind and none of them did his eyes justice. A chilled tingle enveloped your skull and flooded down your spine. You nodded.

    “Let me.”

    You slowly moved, put your hand on the side of his neck, revelling in the sigh you got in return, gasping when he mirrored you.

    His lips were dry, plump, warm. A soft cushion against your own. You opened to let his lower lip in between yours, letting your tongue taste for the first time. Salt and metal, twilight and heat.

    His metal arm came up behind your back, pulling you in with a metallic whirr until you were flush against him, and you gave out a sharp whine.

    He immediately let go.

    “Shit! Did I scare ya? I didn’t think—”

    You blinked at him, then heat flushed your cheeks.

    “Yeah, no.. not what happened, Barnes.”

    He quirked an eyebrow, and you simply grabbed his arm and put it back around you, allowing a tiny moan escape your lips to get your point across.

    The chuckle that elicited from him was deep and disbelieving.

    “Better than scared I guess.”

    “You guess?”

    He grinned and surged back to claim your mouth; the smile growing against your lips genuine enough to taste.

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #flangst #marvelfluffbingo #buckybarnesbingo2019 #eliza's 5k challenge #bucky barnes #fluff

[leftenantsparkles]

and we kissed (as though nothing could fall)

Summary : James Barnes went to war. He lived it—survived with all his limbs intact and his heart still beating… But Bucky never came home. [ao3]

Pairing : Bucky x Femme!Reader ; background Bucky x Reader x Steve

Rating & Warnings : Rated M for canon typical violence, fanon typical language, and intrusive thoughts. Buckle up for a little smut, a lot of angst, and some smutty angst. 18+

Notes : This a meditation on grief and memory that I wrote for the incomparable @youngmoneymilla’s 5K challenge. I also wanted to write some Jewish!Bucky, so I’m pretty hyped with how this turned out. I hope you enjoy and a big congratulations to Eliza for this well deserved milestone!!

Prompt : Oh, we can beat them, forever and ever // Then we can be heroes just for one day  Heroes // Gangs of Youth 

Word Count : 7060 

It plays in his head like a night at the pictures back in the day—twenty five cents a head, if you can believe that. The shadow looming inside the ticket booth greedily takes the coin as the door parts moments later.

 He’s not even sure how he finds his seat. All he knows is that he’s out of the cold.

 When the film reel whirs to life, he can’t imagine how he could’ve gotten it more wrong.

 Bucky can feel the biting chill as he watches the Howling Commandos wait for their train, his eyes narrowing on the cable meant to carry them all across.

 “Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?”

 Steve follows his gaze. “Yeah, and I threw up?”

 “This isn’t payback, is it?”

 “Now why would I do that?”

 Phantom voyeurs jeer in anticipation beside him. All he can do is sit there with them in silent agony, same as he has every other night. He’s locked in the memory… there’s no changing it now.

 You come onto the scene with worry on your brow and a curse under your breath.

 Even exhausted in a war zone, you’re the prettiest thing he’s seen. Your hair is a mess, already spilling out of the pins you’d only just put in that morning.

 “Need some help with that, Agent Sunshine?”

 You look to him, momentarily distracted from your panic. “What’s that?”

 He nods at your hair and you sigh. The ghost of a smile catches as you fish the errant pins out.

 “All this damn hair’s a menace,” you tell him pointedly, handing them over. “You boys are lucky like that.”

 “C’mon on, doll. You an’ I both know if you cut it all off today, you’d be hard pressed to find somethin’ else better to whine about tomorrow.”

 A shrug. “Well you’re not wrong…”

 Turning away from that smug face, you catch a glimpse of Steve and Gabe on the radio sifting through static. Every uttered sound out of that thing put you on edge… It made your skin burn and your throat close up.

 He pulls you from wreckage of your mind, those deft fingers working you over. Teasing you. Healing you.

 “There’s no shame in sittin’ tight, you know.” His voice is low in your ear—his words just for you. “We’ll be quick. In an’ out. You won’t even have time to miss us.”

 He concentrates his efforts on pinning down your locks. The silence is forgiving as he gives you the space you need to collect yourself.

 “Who said anything about missin’ you?”

 His eyes wrinkle a touch as he beams down on you. All the affection and hope someone ought to feel for another person… There was a time you thought you could drown in it.

 This is the last time he would see you alive. He’s watching you like he doesn’t know.

 “I’m serious. Stevie an’ me…”

 He trails off when the warmth of your palm blooms over his cheek. You surprise him, turning before your time with a playful roll of your eyes.

 “You boys ain’t never been quick a day in your life.”

 He leans into your touch, a sharp inhale filling his lungs.

 “Ain’t no shame in it,” you agree with a solemn nod. “But walkin’ away from a fight? Not my style, Sergeant.”

 He holds you there with him for a beat, lacing his fingers with yours.

 He turns your hand in his own and kisses it so tenderly…

 And before he can blink, the moment’s gone.

 Steve’s passing off T-bars to everyone, laying down parameters of the mission.

 “Alright, this is a very short—very fast train. We’ve got a ten second window, tops. Mistime it, you’re a bug on the windshield.”

 Dugan raises his watch and taps the face. “Better move it, bugs.”

 Bucky scratches at the wooden arm on the seat, his shaking fingers begging for purchase as he watches you disappear down the cable after him…

 He watches you board, watches those bastards get the jump on you.

 He’s helpless as a hole is blown out the side of the train. You pull him to safety, shoving him from the danger.

 He watches you fall.

 He watches his lips wrap around your name as he screams for you to come back to him…

 He wakes on his own, throat still aching over forty years later.

On the nights Bucky can’t sleep, he’s in the lab. It beats just laying there. Staring at the ceiling and praying things are gonna be different by the morning doesn’t do it for him anymore.

 He comes here to use his hands—to think. There’s a sterile tranquility when he gets his groove going. So when he’s got some company in there with him, he knows it.

 “What are you doin’ home, kid?”

 “I could ask you the same, you know.”

 The younger Stark pushes off of the door he’s leaning against, coming closer to inspect his Godfather’s handiwork. His voice moves around the lab in what feels like an endless stream of questions.

 Was it another one… How bad was it tonight… Is there anything I can do…

 It’s not right and he knows it’s not fair… but every lingering syllable is an itch under his skin. He just wants to be left to his own devices so he can scratch himself raw.

 Bucky’s eyes narrow on the wire transfer he’s got going on as he tenses over his workspace.

 “Really not a good time, son,” he warns. “I’m sorry… Just not the best for company.”

 Tony sighs, more than a little disappointed. “Whatever you say, Howard.”

 He takes a breath. Bait or no, that shit smarts.

 And the poor kid almost looks guilty. Hopping off the bench, he shuffles out of the lab. Bucky stops him before he can get too far, though. He doesn’t even have to get up to do it.

 “Your old man ever tell you about Azzano?”

 “Azzano…” he echoes. “Italy, right?”

 Bucky nods, attentions back on his project.

 “During the war?” Tony asks tentatively.

 “They ran experiments on me—pumped me full of… fuck if I know, somethin’ else.” He shrugs, “I mean, it sure as shit wasn’t what Erskine had gone and gave Sonny an’ Steve.”

 Tony’s quiet for a beat, brows furrowed trying to make sense of the unfathomable. “Then what happened?”

 “Steve happened. He brought us home.”

 Moments pass in silence. Just a man and his tools clashing with metal, tiny sparks flying contained.

 It’s a good while before either moves to break it.

 “Dad only ever really talks about him when he’s been drinking… Sometimes he’ll namedrop if I’ve been an extra disappointment.” Tony looks down at his shoes, kicking at some lint on the floor. “Then Aunt Peggy’s out because I refuse to make her cry again.”

 “Why not just come to me?” Bucky tries to hide the hurt in his words. “Not enough of a leading expert for you, Mr. Stark?”

 “I don’t know… Deductive reasoning?” he asks rhetorically, almost contrite. “Figured you didn’t want to talk if you can’t even tell me what’s eating you up at night.”

 Shit.

 He puts down his tools and peels his gloves off in an inelegant snap. Bucky gestures for him to sit so he does, scrubbing across his face.

 “You’re not gonna find any of this in the history books, alright? So don’t go runnin’ your mouth to impress some so and so.”

 “Lay it on me,” Tony challenges.

 “What do you want to know?”

 “What happened?” He doesn’t even miss a beat. “Why did he crash the plane?”

 Bucky’s eyes shoot to the ceiling, a little laugh on his breath. Tony frowns.

 “You don’t have to talk if it’s too painful.”

 “No, no. You stop that,” he waves him off. “This is what they call a teachable moment, right?”

 “So what happened?” he says again.

 “When Steve went down… Man alive, Tones. I can tell you, I’ve never been more angry at another living soul.” He scratches at his jaw, shaking his head. “So he’s on the comms, hollerin’ out the words he knows are gonna be his last—some shit, like he didn’t have a choice?”

 He was hurt and tired and so, so furious. He just wanted to take him home and leave the war behind… Maybe take him over his knee for scaring him so bad, but he never got the chance.

 Steve had to play the hero and save everyone.

 —C’mon, Stevie… I just lost my best gal. You really gonna make me go at this all alone over you, too?

 Bucky looks at his hands, hoping for answers—begging for release. These hands of his that could’ve done more for the people he loved.

 “We were partners,” he says, devastated. “If he had a deathwish, he should ah’ told me. But he just—he left before I could have a say… He died alone when I could ah’ been right there with him. How is that right?”

 “No.” His voice is thick and Tony has to shake his head. “It’s not.”

 His gaze returns to the boy, remembering who this was all for.

 “There’s always a choice, Tony. Don’t you forget that.”

  After the war, he doesn’t leave service… Not right away.

 He was tired. He just wanted to go home and see his Ma, have a good cry… But there was still work to be done.

 He toured with the Commandos some, but it was never the same. They knew it. He knew it. But they got the job done—that was all that mattered.

 No one acknowledged that a quarter of their team was missing in action.

 No one breathed a word about their hopes or their fears—all of them united by trauma, but forever alone to it…

 No one talked about the fact that Bucky had barely aged a minute since V-E Day.

 Then came the day they couldn’t hide it anymore. The day the Commandos retired.

 It was at a pub in London that they had their long goodbyes. He remembers the night so vividly, their glasses raised high as they toasted eulogy after eulogy… Didn’t make a lick of difference to anyone how much time had passed. Memories flowed in tandem with the booze in their glasses.

 Time had made superstitious men of them all. They didn’t want to chance bringing anything more than their wrinkles and pains home with them.

 “For Cap… Cap and Sunshine,” Dugan starts off. “For getting all of us sorry bastards into this mess all those fuckin’ years ago.”

 Echoed sentiments erupt across the table.

 “To Cap and Sunshine.”

 And for the first time since you died, he felt like he could breathe… Like he didn’t just dream you up and lose you in the night.

 Steve was real. You were real. He had loved you… You and Steve, Steve and you… Bucky loved you both.

 Sometime’s you gotta take the loss with all that love. And it hurts.

 But he couldn’t bare part with you.

 If his choices were suffering while remembering and moving on without you or Steve, he’d choose you every time. There were times the pain was so bad it was almost blinding. But he needs those reminders. He needs to know that it really happened, that it was real.

 And it was. What you had together was real.

 They all went home to their wives and mothers—shame buried on the other side of the war, heavy embraces slung around the necks of their brothers in arms.

 He went home and kissed his Ma. He had that cry. And for a while, he was done… There’s a part of him that knows it was never going to last.

 Peggy sought him out, offered him a position at the organization she built from the ground up.

 She brought out her sales pitch. She called him James and told him it’s what you would have wanted—but he doesn’t even know if that’s true. You’d been gone so long, the years apart far outweighed your time together. He doesn’t know what you would have wanted.

 He still jumped at the opportunity with such an urgency to leave.

 Before SHIELD came to collect him, he was living in a purgatory of his own making. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder for the ghosts in his head. Not when his life expectancy was so up in the air.

 With nowhere else to go and no better reason to say no, Bucky paired off with Howard for a minute. He lived in his guest room, worked in his lab… He put as much distance between himself and Brooklyn as he could stomach.

 And it was good for a time. That is, until Howard found himself in the family way.

 It’s an amicable separation. He was even able to maintain lab access with 60% of profits off any future patents. So, you know, not too shabby for a shayna punim from The Borough.

 Between grad school and work, he kept himself fairly busy through the sixties and seventies. By the time the eighties rolled around, the money was so good he got himself a studio in DC so he might live out his sleepless nights in some semblance of comfort…

 They send him where there’s a need for his skill set. He doesn’t go digging. He doesn’t ask questions. Bucky can only keep his head down and pray for world peace when praying for rest might just be too tall of an order.

  The dream starts the same as any other. He pays the toll. He finds his seat. But when the film comes alive, it’s a far cry from the bitter cold of the Alps.

 The scene laid before him is soft and so damn warm… The room is flush with the pastels of a Parisian hotel ravaged by time and circumstance. Building’s probably just as gone as everything else, he expects.

 His breath catches as you slowly fade into view—tangled in silk sheets, limbs akimbo with lips smeared red and bruised by kisses. It’s a sight he thought he’d have to die to see again.

 There’s an old record on in the background. The needle crackles as one song bleeds into the next, but he knows it’s not quite right. You look on with a lazy sort of hunger, almost breaking the fourth wall with him…

 You hum softly as you watch him, watching you.

 Non, rien de rien, non, je ne regrette rien…

 Bucky watches a gentle touch trace the slope of Steve’s nose as he sketches you both on the bed. His fingers. His touch.

 …Ni le bien qu’on m’a fait, ni le mal… Tout ça m’est bien égal…

 Without even thinking, his legs are moving of their own accord. The seat snaps shut behind him as he makes his way towards the screen… He’s all too desperate to bridge the gap that separates you.

 …Non, rien de rien, non, je ne regrette rien…

 He watches himself kiss a trail down the column of your neck, staining your skin something filthy with whatever shade of lipstick he stole from you. When he finally disappears under the blanket, you arch into his touch. Your brows are knit as you palm the sheets in search of purchase.

 …C’est payé, balayé, oublié, je me fous du passé…

 Bucky’s hand spreads against the wall of screen, the fragmented projection washing his skin with yours.

 …Avec mes souvenirs j’ai allumé le feu… Mes chagrins, mes plaisirs…

 He wants more than a wash—what he needs is a damn soak… With all the red on his ledger, he could easily drown himself in the sight of you just to feel clean.

 …Je n’ai plus besoin d’eux… Balayé les amours avec leurs trémolos…

 He rests his head on the wall. His eyes fall shut against the sounds of the three of you together after so long… A merciful lullaby. A soft epilogue.

 …Balayé pour toujours… Je reparts à zéro…

 He wakes mid-flight, somewhere over the Adriatic Sea. The year, 1989.

 You feel closer today than you did yesterday. But there’s a mission on and he can’t afford to think about it just yet.

 If he wavers, he dies.

 He’s been tracking a top ranking assassin for years now with next to no leads. Bucky has yet to see him in the wild. Some dispute their very existence.

 Up until recently, the intelligence community’s been keeping mum on the subject. Months of radio silence.

 It started small, just a murmur at first. Then it picked up traction on the underground servers. Hardly a hit on the guy, but it’s enough to tip SHIELD off.

 His flight’s en route to Berlin. What they’ve got is a source going into witness protection in exchange for information. Simple extraction, in and out. No time to get in his head about this.

 Bucky won’t stop until he’s silenced the fist of HYDRA.

 He digs a carton of Whitehorse and a lighter from his pocket—

 And maybe the thought should scare him… the desire to end a human being. It should bother him.

 —he lights up, really breathes it in. His shoulders drop the slightest amount as he shuts his eyes on the exhale.

 Should.

 The illusive fucker he’s been after might not have been the one to end your life, but they were sure as shit about to return the favor.

 If he dies in the process, that’s just as well. He wants to be with you. With Steve. A good rest never hurt anyone.

 He looks out the window with another drag in his lungs. However the lampshade swings, events are already set in motion. There’s nothing he can do now but wait and see.

  Bucky clocks his witness from outside the restaurant. She sits on a stool at the bar, hunched over her drink as she keeps to herself.

 It’s a slow night, almost dead. There’s no one around to bother her. Still, the girl’s  clever enough to speak out… She’s gotta know there’s a target on her back.

 So he pops his collar and lowers his shades, heading inside. He nods at the bartender, already fixing him up with a shot. Bucky hands him a fist of cash for the drink and his discretion. He’s been with SHIELD for some time now, he’s good people.

 Taking a seat two stools over, he keeps his eyes forward.

 He doesn’t say a word until they’re alone.

 “Wunderbares wetter heute.”

[Wonderful weather today.]

 This is the point where she would give him the go ahead… She’s no spy, but she’s hardly a civilian either. It’s one of the simpler codes on the memory…

 But still, she says nothing.

 “Ich kenne… Es ist nicht so toll,” he offers apologetically. “Das Letzte, was ich tun möchte, ist, deine Muttersprache zu schlachten.”

[I know, it’s not great—the last thing I want to do is butcher your mother tongue.]

 Silence.

 “Wenn es sich nicht um eine Zumutung handelt, ich könnte Englisch sprechen, wenn Sie lieber.”

[If it’s not an imposition, I could speak English if you prefer.]

 Eyes fixed beyond the bar, he makes out a lull of her head from his periphery. It’s the most she’s given him since he sat down.

 Definitely a start towards building trust.

 “I know you’re probably scared,” he says under his breath, lifting the glass to his lips. “Hell. I’ve been there, myself.”

 He downs his drink. Winces a touch.

 “But you work with me here? I swear to you—together? We will work this out.”

 He sets his glass facedown with a firm tap.

 It hits him like a ton of bricks when he spots her virgin shot seated shoulder to shoulder with his own.

 Her glass has been full all along.

 He turns slowly, reluctant to look on the dead woman beside him.

 “Shit,” Bucky sighs. He beats his palm against the top of the bar… “Shit!”

 That’s where her fingers rest, idle as the rest of her. Defensive wounds sheath her knuckles like a pair of lace gloves.

 Bucky runs a hand through his hair, just wanting some goddamn peace for a change.

 “Fuckin’ fuck,” he hisses.

 Her eyes are heavy lidded and locked on nothing. He closes them with a shaking touch, wishing he could have done more for the woman.

 He hangs his head. “I’m so sorry…”

 There’s a moment.

 And then… bam.

 She’s spread across the bar with a bullet in her before he can even think what to do with the body.

 Fuckin’ sniper. 

 He stands at attention. He follows the direction of the shot—past the shattered glass, over the neighboring businesses. Another lands by his feet and this time, he’s prepared.

 He spots the fucker on the roof, reloading their gun. They wisp from one spot to the next, donning a sexless uniform in head to toe black. There’s a silver glint where their other sleeve should be.

 Bucky tucks inside an alley and jumps to the fire escape. Up and up and up, and he’s finally able to make sense of it. He crouches low, watching the figure slip through a door on a rooftop two buildings over.

 He takes off running after them. Screams from below hit his ears as attention draws to the scene he’d just abandoned.

 Once the buildings are cleared, he has to catch his breath before passing through the door—he draws his side piece, swings it open.

 It’s a long hallway with doors lining either side and he has to strain to hear it. Faint sounds in the distance, something metallic… footsteps rushing down stairs, three at a time, maybe four… He finds the door leading to the stairwell and gives into the chase.

 Down, down, down, ‘til he reaches the bottom.

 When he opens the door, he’s met with a gun trained on him and it’s only reflex that has him tossing his gun to disarm them… He’s wanting in time and patience at the moment—ain’t enough going around to spare on a goddamn standoff.

 Bucky pushes his assailant until their back meets the wall with a grunt. They kick his chest, he catches their calf and shoves them a beat harsher than before.

 He moves to rid them of the balaclava masking their identity. But they double down, blocking his arm away in a sweeping motion… knocks their heads heads together, too. But Bucky catches on quick, pulling on a generous amount of exposed hair.

 A whine—sharp and feminine. The sound pierces his ears like a freezing tub of water on a cold winter’s night.

 He uses this window to take the mask. He rips it clean off.

 She turns… His face falls… Time slows—

 “Sunshine?”

 “Who the hell is Sunshine?”

 —and he chokes.

  You raise your metal fist and flex it around the target’s throat, neutralizing the threat.

 “Who the hell is Sunshine?”

 His response is a garbled mess of broken syllables and dangerous looks.

 You back him into the rod at the center of the boiler room you’ve found yourselves in. You could have moved him with your flesh hand with what little resistance he was showing you.

 Fuck it. This intel might just prove to be useful.

 You release your hold on him.

 “Answer me, American,” you order him.

 “American?” He coughs out, touching at his neck. “You were born in Chicago, you big asshole!”

 “I have no business in Chicago.”

 He’s rendered slack against the pole.

 “Fuckin’ A,” he nods in realization. “So I’m gone, too. Is that it?”

 “Don’t make me hurt you, American.”

 His face twists in anguish.

 “My name is James Buchanan Barnes. You know me.”

 You slap him. “No. I don’t.”

 “The fuck did they do to you?” his voice is so small, you wonder if he knows he spoke the words out loud. “Sunshine—”

 —Need some help with that, Agent Sunshine?

 You grimace. “Don’t call me that.”

 “It’s what I’ll call you ‘til the sun goes dim and the sky turns black.” He looks up at you, his eyes defeated. He swallows. “It’s your name.”

 “Stop it,” you warn him.

 When he looks as though he’s about to advance on you, you push him back against the pole. You step away, desperate to put some distance between the two of you.

 “Sonny, please. This isn’t you.”

 Your fist slows his approach, but he just keeps coming for you. You need to shut him up.

 Shutting your ears to the noise, you shake your head. “You don’t know me.”

 “We can beat this.” He grinds his words with mortar and pestle—it’s a desperate plea on his tongue with emotion you don’t give yourself permission to name. “We can beat them.”

 An animalistic scream wretches its way out of you, your eyes hot and itching as you rage at him. You throw yourself onto the target, locking him in place with your thighs.

 You strike him. Again and again and again, until you’re both leveled. And he lets you do it, he lets you hurt him.

 Something twists inside you. He won’t last much more of this. You’re sure he’s thinking the same.

 “Fight back…”

 And still, he refuses you.

 He aches to touch you. That much is obvious. Even as his body bleeds by your hand, it’s all he wants just to have you here with him.

 You don’t understand him, this man at your mercy.

 You don’t even know him… You’re sure it’s only his face you’ve seen before and it’s barely that. His hair is longer than the man from your dreams. He looks battle worn… Lost.

 Nothing like the charming soldier who stole your heart when you had your wits about you… Your head’s pumped full of code and strategy as the serum corrodes your veins, but you know this man. You know his eyes.

 Try as they might, they could never burn them out of you.

 Blood mars his mouth and cheeks as he lies on the ground. He watches you on his back, looking at you like you meant something to him… like you mean everything.

 You find yourself drawn to those pouting lips, wanting nothing more than to abandon the mission and get some answers out of them.

 That’s when you hear it.

 …Quand il me prend dans ses bras… Il me parle tout bas… Je vois la vie en rose…

 Visions of this man invade your senses as music plays from a distant memory, not made for you.

 …Il me dit des mots d’amour… Des mots de tous les jours… Et ça me fait quelque chose…

 His tongue is inside you as another man holds you in check. This man, blond hair with faraway eyes, wipes the sweat from your brow, whispering filthy nothings in your ear. He holds his head against your own as you chase your release.

 …Il est entré dans mon cœur… Une part de bonheur… Dont je connais la cause…

 Your charming soldier emerges from between your legs, so smug. He drags the back of his hand across his face, smearing his stained lips even further.

 …C’est lui pour moi, moi pour lui dans la vie… Il me l’a dit, l’a juré pour la vie…

 You flush as you come back to yourself.

 Is that what these are—

—what they’ve been?

 Overcome, you pull back from the blow… Your metal arm leaves behind a crater in the naked slab of concrete where his head would be if you weren’t so weak.

 Your flesh fingers curl around his bruised face, forcing him to meet your eyes. You narrow your gaze on him, fury and shame building up inside of you. “Stay the fuck out of my head…”

 “Oh, Sonny.” He frowns. “Not me… ‘M not the one in your head.”

 You sink down onto his chest, head resting uncomfortably on his tac vest. Your training takes over when you feel fingers at the small of your back and you’ve got his wrists pinned, seconds later.

 There’s a charged beat between these bodies, the pair of you a panting mess.

 “So what’s it gonna be?”

 Your head tilts to the side in silent curiosity.

 He breathes into his aches and pains and he’s almost smiling at you. “Still wanna kill me, doll?”

 You shut your eyes, worrying at your mouth. You can’t concentrate when you know he is who he says he is.

 “Still weighing my options,” you fire back.

 A pained nod. “How’s it lookin’ on my end?”

 You can’t concentrate when you still don’t know… When you know enough to know his eyes, but can’t place the rest of him.

 You roll your hips over him like it’s an answer… You’ll tell yourself all sorts of lies later about centering yourselfand gaining control of the situation.

 Чушь собачья.

[Bullshit.]

 He betrays the mission, same as you… Betrays his countrymen, same as you.

 But at the end of the day, you’re the one on top of him.

 You work him over because you want to.

 You fuck him because you want to watch him come apart—

—sleep with him because you want to dream…

 And when the night is through, you leave him bloody and broken outside the remote home of a civilian doctor because you’re not ready for this to be over.

  The sounds of a German broadcast tickle his ears as he comes to. Bucky doesn’t open his eyes just yet. It’s all he can do to lie there, focused solely on his breath, repeating his mantra over and over.

 …To die, to sleep—to sleep, perchance to dream, for in this sleep of death what dreams may come…

 He slept like the dead. Nights like these are even worse than the times he’s powerless to save you. A night without you is a day without the sun.

 “I know you’re awake.”

 It’s a voice that puts ice in his veins and a heat in his chest.

 You’re on the chair, sat beside the bed in a flannel top that doesn’t fit you right. Your hair is short—shorter than he’s ever seen it, resting just below your chin. You’ve got a split in your lip and a bruised look in those eyes focused intently on him.

 All this on, and you’re absolutely gorgeous.

 “Last time I saw you, you threatened to cut it all off.”

 Self consciously, your fingers go to your hair. He’s so sore, every move is working against him. His hand meets yours and he’s so, so gentle.

 “It suits you,” he says.

 “I don’t remember,” you admit softly.

 He pulls back with a sigh. “That’s ‘cause it hasn’t happened yet.”

 You watch him, so confused.

 “What are you talking about?” you ask him carefully.

 “This.” He gestures around the room, so tired he lets his eyes fall shut. He scrubs a hand across his face as he struggles to find the words. “The dream.”

 You’re stunned to silence.

 “This is a good one, y’know… Can’t say I’ve had this much free range before. Not this side of the century, at least.”

 “This isn’t a dream.”

 He has to laugh at that. Otherwise he’s gonna make himself sick later with liquor and tears. “Says the spider to the fly…”

 “You think I’m lying,” you say, almost hurt. You know you’ve no rights to his trust. Doesn’t stop those stabbing pains from gutting you from the inside out.

 “Can you tell me I’m asleep right now?”

 You shake your head fiercely. “No.”

 “Then yes.”

 There’s a huff on your breath as you push up from the chair to pace around the room.

 “Unless what you’re saying is true and I’m not sleeping…” he starts.

 “You’re not.”

 His face falls. His head sinks back onto the pillow, resigned as he stares at the ceiling. If this is his Hell, he’s gonna at least make himself nice and comfortable.

 “So I’m dead, then.”

 He wants so badly, so desperately, for this to be real. But if it’s real… that means he’s gotta take it all with him.

 Last night.

 The mission.

 The fucking train.

 If this is real, that means he left you. He left you in the cold, bleeding and dying, waiting for some fucker to pick you up and make you a human weapon.

 He left you when he could have saved you.

 So, yeah… He’s good with being dead for now and it’s a blessing when you don’t argue.

 You’ve got your arm crossed over your chest as you stare out the window. It’s the first time he gives himself permission to look. You’re not wearing it now, but he knows it won’t be long before you put the arm back on. It looked so heavy when he saw it up close—felt heavy when it was beating his face in.

 Bucky has spent so long praying you back to life. He went back to Temple every Friday for you and Steve, both. He said your names. So many times, in so many words…

 But he never wanted this for you.

 “Who was she?”

 The question pulls Bucky from his reverie. Those three little words dry his throat and force him out of the delusion.

 “You called me Sunshine. Who was she?”

 He’s not ready… but Steve would have his hide to make you wait so selfish like this. You’ve suffered enough.

 A number of shaking breaths later and he’s finally talking.

 “I’m a lot older than I look, same as you. I went to war. And Stevie…” God, where to start with Steve. “Well, he wanted it, too. He needed to be with the fight. That I’d ah’ been there with him was a happy accident. Kismet, y’know? The army needed bodies but they just weren’t taking him. And it’s not just that he was small, which he was.”

 Bucky smiles remembering his little love… then he looks at you, remembers that you can’t. And then he wants to cry all over again. He doesn’t. Just a little sniffle and the clear of his throat because this is what you need from him right now.

 “But he had health problems, y’know? Probably would ah’ taken a shorter list to write up what wasn’t wrong with him. So they said no. Figured he’d ah’ been more trouble than he was worth.”

 “Then what happened?”

 “He’s a persistent little shit’s what happened. Got himself in too deep with some government types, and they made him big,” he says like that’s a thing that happens to people. “You were the agent assigned to his case. The SSR gave you the last of the serum before they sent you in to keep tabs on him, paradin’ you around as a USO girl.”

 It’s quiet for a beat. And then you laugh.

 “I can’t even dance,” you simper, more than amused by the idea of yourself in those little outfits singing about freedom.

 “Can’t claim to have seen you in action, doll. ‘M afraid that was before my time.”

 “And when was that?”

 “When Steve saved me. You both had a nasty habit of doing that.”

 You don’t understand his words. Just last night, you were trying to end him… But there’s that name again and curiosity wins out, clawing at your throat like a mad dog for scraps.

 “Is he the other man?” you ask, incredulous. “The man from my dreams?”

 “Depends.” He shrugs on the bed, scratching at the shadow on his jaw. “What sort ah’ dreams you been cookin’ up in that head of yours?”

 You stall, feeling a surge of insecurity. You hate how vulnerable this man makes you feel.

 “Did you ever take me to Paris?”

 Hand in his hair, he looks you over as your face starts to heat. It’s a long while before he speaks. When he does, you almost regret saying anything at all.

 Almost.

 “See, I wasn’t sure last night. But now I know you’re trying to kill me.” He lays his head back on the pillow, spent.

 “What were we?”

 “We were together.” His voice breaks on the word. “We were in love…”

 You shake your head. “That’s not me. I’m not that girl anymore.”

 He frowns, mood effectively sobered for the day.

 “No.” In that moment, he looks so sad for you. “Not anymore.”

 The radio clamors for his attentions again and he nods at the next room over. “They talking about us in there?”

 Your lips twitch as you cross the room. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

 “Seriously,” he presses. “It’s not like we have a mutually exclusive extraction plan here. They gotta have Commie APB after us. Why are we sitting ducks right now?”

 You go to turn up the radio—of course he wouldn’t know, he’s been asleep…

 “The Wall fell last night. No one’s coming.”

 He blinks at you, shocked as you leave. “What?”

 […and therefore we have made the decision today to institute a regulation, which permits every resident of East Germany to depart the country through any border crossing of the GDR…]

 You cross the room to sit next to Bucky on the bed.

 “What will you do?”

 “Do?” You cock a questioning brow in his direction. You’re so wiped you kick your feet up before realizing that puts you fully in bed with him. “I wasn’t aware that anything needed doing.”

 “Can’t imagine your higher ups are gonna be too happy with what happened here,” he points out.

 “Nothing happened. I completed my mission.”

 You say it so cavalier that you can feel him staring at you. Disbelief radiates from his spot on the bed.

 “They’ll never be happy,” you deadpan, slinging an arm across your face. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

 “You sayin’ you’d lie for me?” he asks, unsure.

 “I’d lie for me… There’s a difference.”

 “You do that a lot in your line of work?”

 A knowing smile betrays you. “As much as any other woman today, I’d like to think.”

 “You thinkin’ ah’ going back so soon?”

 Who said anything about missin’ you—

 You lower the arm and crane your neck towards the window. “We’re holed up here until the press dies down. You want to take advantage, be my guest. That’s not my style.”

 —Ain’t no shame in it… but walkin’ away from a fight? Not my style, Sergeant.

 He must hear it, too. You make out the hitch in his breath as he sits, worked up and shaking so bad… You reach out for him, your thumb brushing over the back of his hand.

 “You really don’t remember. Do you.”

 That it’s not a question when he says it breaks your heart.

 “Fragments… Bits and pieces,” you say weakly. “I remember feeling the warmth of two bodies next to me. It helps… It gives me something to hold onto when they try and clear out those defective parts that tell ‘em no.”

 “Ever enough to walk away?” he asks, all too hopeful.

 You look down at the hand wrapped in yours as you burn stars and stripes over his skin with your touch. He already knows your answer.

 He shakes his head into your neck. “I’m so damn sorry.”

 You place a deft kiss onto his shoulder without even thinking. All you want to do is soothe this broken boy… give him anything he wants. Not because he’s asking for it, but that he’s showing it’s possible at all.

 “You could render me unconscious,” you offer. “Just knock me out. Then I’d have no choice in it.”

 “No.”

 “If they see that I’ve openly defected, there’s nothing stopping them from coming after us. We’ll never know peace.”

 “No,” he argues. “There’s always a choice. You’ve had enough ah’ that taken away from you in your time.”

 He puts both hands at either side of your head. You’re eye to eye now, there’s no other option than giving him his say. “If we do this, we accept the consequences…”

 You shut your eyes and think of Paris. You savor it. 

 It’s a good dream, you think to yourself. The best so far…

 “Besides… You asshole’s are always savin’ me. Let me wear the tights for a bit and play hero for a change, yeah?”

 Your stomach burns. Your heart aches. Tears prick at your eyes as you try and picture this life they had, this life of love. It’s a life your very existence spoils like a plate of fresh fruit turned to decay.

 Wasted potential and bygone promises. That’s what his life with you on the run will be. And he’ll do it all.

 He never said it was for you.

 “You must have really loved her… Your Sunshine.”

 He stares at you like he doesn’t know all that you’ve done… As if the only answer to a question never even posed should be so natural, so glaringly obvious.

 “I love you, dummy.”

 Damn him.

 You collapse beside him as much as you can collapse in a bed. You press his forehead into your own, all of the tension leaving your body in one foul swoop.

 You’re left behind a quaking heap of emotion, tears clouding your vision.

 “I’m so tired,” you cry out.

 Those fingers thrum soft against your scalp, his calloused thumbs flexing to dry your cheeks. He drops a kiss on your hairline and holds you close. What remains of the broadcast lingers in the background—the last vestiges of an old world adapting for the new, just like the wavering of a chrysalis ripe for rebirth.

 “Listen to me,” he whispers against your temple. He rakes your hair back as he goes. “Listen. You don’t have to fight anymore. I’m gonna make this right and I’ll spend the rest ah’ forever makin’ it up to you.”

 There’s a beat of silence. His promises should scare you— 

 You look up at him. “Together?”

 “Together… Forever.”

 —but all you can feel is the warmth of his body and the beat of his heart.

 He’s alive. 

 You both are.

 Silence falls around you as your breathing steadies in his arms.

 …I, I will be King… And you, you will be Queen… Though nothing will drive them away… We can be heroes just for one day… We can be us just for one day…

#eliza's 5k challenge #youngmoneymilla #bucky x reader #bucky x reader x steve #marvel fanfic #mine #also on ao3 @happhys #can you tell i miss the hoe-t3?? #my fics

[no-champagne-socialist]

Here in the dark

Prompt: “Here in the dark you fool me/Stuck in a daze and I can’t get out” (Sweet Melodies - Lizzy Land) - song linked here. Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Word Count: around 2500.

Warnings: This is basically smut. With the tiniest bit of plot. And mostly angst. This did not end up as a happy story, but I kind of love it. Some hints of dom/sub situation (but nothing serious), a hell of a lot of cursing.

A/N: This is for @youngmoneymilla‘s 5K Challenge. That is a hell of a milestone, congratulations (again)! I’m pretty content with how this guy turned out so I’d love to hear what you all think! 

His hands are everywhere.

His rough and calloused palm grip her hip, pressing her body against his own, pressing her tight against him. His other hand, the one that is cool to the touch, grips the base of her neck. He applies the slightest amount of pressure with his metal hand, an unnecessary reminder of who is in charge. She knows; she always knows. He groans against her lips when his covered erection brushes against her thigh.

“God, I missed this.” His breath is hot against her skin. She simply whimpers in agreement, using her grip on his broad shoulders to tug him closer to her. “Did you miss me, baby girl?” he murmurs, pressing his lips to her cheek. He trails a line of quick kisses down her jaw, nipping the soft skin of her neck. “Tell me you missed me.”

“Yes,” she finally says, her voice breathy and completely filled with want. “I missed you.”

Both of his palms settle on her hips and he turns her around, pulling her body so that her back presses against his hard chest. She sighs softly at the feeling of his hardening cock pressed against her, her sighs quickly turning to moans when his metal hand rests against her neck and collar bones, his thumb running along the sensitive skin.

“I want you to go to the bedroom.” His voice is serious, leaving no room for argument or questions. “I want you to strip. And then I want you to lie on your back. And wait for me.” He presses a soft kiss to her shoulder. “Can you do that for me, doll?” She nods hastily, her hands coming up to grip his metal wrist. “You know how this works. Use your words.”

“Yes,” she agrees. “I can do that.”

He turns her between his palms again, this time pressing his lips against hers. The kiss is anything but soft. It is teeth and tongue and a promise of everything he plans to do to her tonight. He breaks the kiss, grinning when she chases his lips. “Go on then.”

Her legs feel completely unsteady as she steps away from him, like a baby deer testing out its legs for the first time. But she makes it to his bedroom, immediately pulling her t-shirt over her head and pulling her pants down her legs. Bucky had been gone for three weeks. Three weeks on a mission that had originally been given a week at most. She had been sour that she had not been chosen to join the group, but their captain had insisted she stay behind and prepare herself; he had a mission for her when they returned. The night before Bucky left, he had asked her to go to his room, where he proceeded to fuck her into his mattress, ensuring he had completely ruined her - not only for that night, but for any other man.

As she lays on her back in the middle of the bed, a shiver runs down her spine at the memories of her last night with Bucky. It was dangerous and it was wrong, but she absolutely craved him when he was gone, when they were apart. She craved the feeling of metal on flesh and his mouth on her body and his palms on her hips, fingers pressing into her curves as he rutted himself against her. She couldn’t have dreamed up a better fantasy than that of Bucky Barnes; his entire demeanour oozed sex appeal and dominance.

When they were first introduced at the Tower, she remembers how unsure he was of himself; how he lacked the easy confidence he had now. He had come so far, had become so comfortable in his own skin, and in turn, had become comfortable with the people around him.

She remembers their first night together so vividly. He had been nervous, unsure. For the first time, he was control of his body and in control of his pleasure in a way he never realized was possible. They had taken their time, exploring each other, placing boundaries. She remembers the night they agreed to keep their relationship purely sexual. Their line of work was far too dangerous to allow romance or feelings to get in the way.

She had gotten lost in her thoughts; so lost in her memories that she’s surprised to see a pair of bright blue eyes watching her from the doorway of his bedroom. His gaze is serious, unwavering, but when he speaks, his voice is soft.

“You alright?”

“I’m fine.” She gives him a smile that she hopes reassures him. He nods, indicating he hears hers.

“Do you still want this?”

He seems unsure for the first time that evening. His blue eyes are searching, questioning, wondering if this is too much, if she’s hit her breaking point with him. He’s told her more than once that he wonders if he is too rough with her, too uncaring. This time between them is therapeutic for him; it gives him a chance to focus his aggression. But she doesn’t tell him that this is a form of therapy for her too. Just as his curse is to live a life without choice, hers is be in control.

“Baby,” he murmurs, pulling her attention back to him. ‘Baby’ is not a pet name that often slips from between his lips, but she responds nonetheless. “Where are you tonight?”

She closes her eyes, just for a brief moment, forcing the shadows back into the deepest recesses of her mind. “I’m here.” Easing herself to rest on her knees, she reaches a hand out toward him, palm facing upwards. “I’m right here, Bucky.”

He closes the distance between them, his warm hand enclosing her offered one. He remains standing, staring down at her as he raises his cool metal hand to cup her flushed cheek. Bucky is unable to hold back a soft smile at the sight of her nuzzling into the palm of his hand.

“We don’t have to do this now,” he says to her. Her eyes snap up to meet his, a hint of rejection swimming in her normally eager eyes. “Not that I don’t want to,” Bucky quickly interjects. “I - I always want you.” His cheeks warm as if he’s admitted a secret.

She wraps her free hand around his metal wrist, pressing her lips to his palm in a gentle display of affection. “Please.” Her voice is soft and Bucky is sure that if not for his enhanced hearing, he would struggle to hear her. “Bucky, please. I need you.”

Her heart constricts the tiniest bit at the realization that her words could not be more true. She needs Bucky. Needs him to breathe the air into her lungs and fill the spaces between her ribs with his fingertips; needs to feel him between her thighs, pressed tightly against her. And that realization is absolutely terrifying.

She releases her grip on his hands to raise herself closer to his level. Her fingers thread through the hair at the base of his neck as she tugs him closer. Her warm breath tickles his mouth as she murmurs, “I need you to fuck me, Bucky. Please.”

The low groan that escapes him at her pleading is completely primal, and Bucky meets her in a rough kiss, nipping her bottom lip between his teeth.

“Okay,” he says, breaking the kiss and pulling away from her. “Okay. On your back.”

She returns to her original position, settling onto her back and keeping her gaze on Bucky. She visibly sees the dominance take over his features as he stands there.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me, doll?” His voice seems to drop an octave lower as he lays his body next to her. He reaches out to smooth a hand down her thigh, watching as the goosebumps appear on her skin in the wake of his touch. “I just want to make you feel good. Are you going to let me do that?”

“Yes,” she moans, desperate for him to touch her. “Yes, Bucky. Please.”

Bucky eases her legs apart, settling himself between them. Without any preamble, he uses his thumb and forefinger to open her up to him, his tongue immediately flicking out to press against her clit. A low whine slips through her lips at the contact. Bucky’s eyes travel up to her face, watching as she traps her lower lip between her teeth, realizing that he has not said that she could make any noise.

“It’s okay,” he tells her. A heavy breath escapes her when he presses a single finger inside her. “I wanna hear you. I wanna hear how good I’m making you feel.”

He attaches his lips back to her clit, sucking the small nub into his mouth. As he slips another finger inside her, she suddenly feels completely overwhelmed by the feeling of Bucky; the feeling of his tongue and fingers working in tandem to help her reach her peak, wanting nothing more than to bring her pleasure. She is all breathy moans and sighs, and the moment Bucky feels her flutter around his fingers, he immediately stops all movement and removes himself from her.

“Bucky,” she whines instinctively at the loss of contact, her hips bucking up, searching desperately for the friction he had been providing her. She cracks her eyes open to see Bucky now standing at the side of the bed, in the process of pulling his shirt over his head, before shucking his pants and boxers to the floor. His cock slaps hard against his lower stomach as he straightens his body. His eyes roam over her naked figure; his metal hand fisting his cock, pre-cum starting to leak from the angry, red tip.

A pair of strong arms wrap themselves around her torso and lifts her from the bed. Bucky sits on the bed and settles her onto his lap. His normally bright blue eyes are dark, his pupil completely blown with lust and desire as he searches her features. A hand cups the back of her neck, gripping her tightly as he presses his lips against hers. “I want you to ride me, baby,” is what he murmurs against her lips. “Use me. Fuck yourself on my cock. Will you do that for me?”

A small nod is all he receives in reply, but this time he doesn’t bother to tell her to use her words. There is a heavy tension that has settled around them, different from the intense and almost carnal lust they had felt when she knocked on Bucky’s door that night. Somehow, a degree of something more serious has enveloped them.

His eyes bore into her own, watching the pleasure on her face as she begins to lower herself onto him, as she slowly takes every inch of him inside her. When he is fully seated inside her, a sigh of contentment slips from her lips. Her hands curl into fists against his shoulders as she adjusts to the feeling of being so completely full. Bucky always fills her so fully, she swears that no man has ever satisfied her like he has.

She quickly finds herself a rhythm, grinding her lower half against him, moaning in pleasure every time his cock brushes against the sensitive spot inside her. Bucky tangles his flesh hand in her hair, giving her locks a soft tug to bare her neck to him. He’s murmuring against her flesh, whispering the most filthy words to her - how deep inside her he is, how good her cunt feels around his cock, how good she is to him - so good, doll, so good.

Arousal takes her over completely and she loses herself in the feeling that is so purely Bucky, her hips working to get her to that peak. It’s when he drops a hand between their bodies, between her legs, his thumb working in quick circles on her sensitive nub, that she breaks.

Clinging to his broad shoulders, a whine slips through her lips and both of Bucky’s hands return to her hips, fucking her through her orgasm. Her body goes lax against him, a shiver running down her spine because Bucky is still hard inside her. She can still feel him pressing against all the sensitive places in her core. He flips her onto her back, his metal arm holding most of his weight off her body. It’s her turn to whisper words of encouragement in his ear.

“Cum for me, Bucky,” she begs as he continues to thrust relentlessly . “Fill me up, baby. Cum inside me.” It doesn’t take long before Bucky is cursing in her ear and spills himself inside of her.

He allows himself a few moments to catch his breath as he softens and she can’t help but groan as he slips from her. Bucky flops onto his back next to her, his warm hand reaching out to rest against her flushed skin. They lay on their backs, basking in the silent afterglow.

She’s the first to break it.

Rolling to her side, she pushes herself upright, lifting her arms above her head to stretch out the muscles. Bucky takes this as a cue to follow suit, moving to a sitting position. He clears his throat before saying, “you’re taking off?”

Without looking at him, she nods. “I probably should.” She pretends not notice to the soft sigh that leaves him at her words. She squeezes her eyes shut briefly in a desperate attempt to squash the voice in the back of her head that is begging her to lay back down with him.

Ever the gentleman, Bucky walks her to the door, his hands pushed deep in his pockets and a part of her wishes he would reach out into the space between them. She lets him press a kiss to her forehead and turns to leave, but finds herself teetering at the threshold.

“Are you-”

“You may not see me around for a little while,” she blurts out, cutting off his question. She tries to ignore the way his brow furrows, or the way his eyes shine with concern and confusion at her words. “Just for a little while,” she repeats.

Not for the first time that evening, his blue eyes search her face. Not for the first time that evening, she wonders what he’s looking for.

“You’ll be safe?” He finally asks after a pregnant pause.

Words fail her as she opens her mouth to respond, instead she nods slowly. Bucky seems to be less than satisfied with her response, but nonetheless he presses his lips to her cheek. “Please be safe, doll.”

Something about his pet name for her being used outside of the bedroom sends a shiver through her. Part of her wants him to wrap his arms around her, beg her not to go, beg her to come back to bed, beg her to stay even if just for the night. Bucky Barnes makes her feel whole and that in of itself is a terrifying fact.

Instead, she lets him kiss her cheek and turns on her heel, walking away from the man that holds every piece of her heart.

#one shot #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #writing challenge #eliza's 5k challenge #youngmoneymilla #marvel

[moonbeambucky]

Addicted (Part 1)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 5731 Warnings: smut, angst, minor fluff

Summary: Hearts break under the weight of buried feelings, longing for the chance at repair no matter the consequence.

A/N:  This is my submission for @youngmoneymilla Eliza’s 5K Challenge. My prompt was “Quit You” by Lost Kings. Thank you as always to my Sam 💕 @buckyofthemyscira for beta reading! gif not mine

ADDICTED MASTERLIST

The rain hasn’t let up for days. Grey clouds invaded the sky, not letting a glimpse of sunshine through as they drowned the city in misery.

Puddles of murky water fill the divots of crooked streets and cracked sidewalks, splashing with every step taken. Annoyed grunts and scoffs fill the ears of those not walking fast enough, coming from those around them that quicken their strides to get ahead of them.

Y/N moves at a snail’s pace, agonizingly slow as she struggles to put one foot in front of the other and advance her journey. Her boots are heavy, cement encased leather or at least that’s what it feels like.

But it shouldn’t feel like this. The burden on Y/N’s heart that weighs down every part of her soul. Droplets of rain have mixed in with the tears that burned their way to her eyes, leaving fiery hot streaks down her face. Unless someone looks close at the bouquet of veins blossoming in her eyes they won’t be able to tell the difference.

Rough fingers swipe away at her cheeks. She doesn’t want to cry, not tonight, not in front of him.

Orange flashes, a hand from the street sign at the edge of the sidewalk.

Don’t walk.

A car anxious to make the light zooms by, the tire slams through a pothole. Dirty water splashes at her shins, soaking her legs.

Everything is telling Y/N to turn around and go home.

Don’t walk.

She doesn’t listen.

Her feet carry her to his door.

Bucky’s apartment is his sanctuary, the one place in the world he can take a break from his life as an Avenger and be himself.

At the Tower he was surrounded by cameras and AI, and teammates encroaching on his space, everyone constantly up his ass asking how he’s doing. He put on a show, for Steve to show him that he’s improving, for Sam so he could shut up and stop bothering him, for everyone so he could just be left alone.

There was emptiness inside of him, a gaping hole that burned in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t know how to fill it or how to heal but he knew it couldn’t be done like that.

Bucky was suffocating under the weight of his lies so he began searching for an apartment, assuring Steve that his therapist recommended it would be helpful in finding his identity.

Ironically, his therapist was right. For the first time in a very long time Bucky was excited at the prospect of doing something for himself. He scoured the internet for apartment listings, scanning through photo after photo of different layouts and design styles, and finding his taste through the process.

A smile spread across his face as he found the perfect apartment, emailing back with his interest only to find a confusing response in return. It was a scam Sam had informed him, and most of the listings he found ended in the same result.

Tony suggested a realtor take him around, someone who could show him actual listings and be discreet, something Bucky hadn’t considered when he first began his search. If he thought the Avengers were bothering him imagine what would happen if civilians knew where he lived.

It had been just over a year that he met a realtor who found him the perfect place where he could relax. The top floor apartment in a Pre-War building with wooden floors that Bucky feels strangely akin to; something old but beautiful after a bit of resurfacing.

That was his life, beaten down by Hydra, stepped on and used over and over again until he was stripped of the layer they put on him. The asset, the soldier, a stain that needed to be sanded away to reveal the raw soul that was James Buchanan Barnes. Now like the floors below his feet he is complete again, mostly.

The apartment had been updated but it wasn’t too modern. Bucky has had his fair share of sleek furniture from Tony’s decoration, and though his mind was blown away with Wakandan technology, he was a lot happier in his hut by the river, letting nature soothe his mind.

His kitchen was small but not too cramped, with more cabinets than he would ever use. The bathroom had enough space for an old clawfoot tub that reminded him of the one he grew up with. His face scrunched at the memory of stubbing his toes against the cast iron foot, an unfortunate incident that happened more than a few times.

The bedroom was his favorite room in the apartment. A simple steel bed frame was placed against the rustic brick lined wall, with dark curtains and metal caged vintage lighting accenting the room. His bed was a mess of grey and navy blue, plush pillows and a soft comforter strewn across without care.

His mattress was comfortable, really comfortable and Bucky’s been blessed to have many nights of good sleep on it but never has it felt better than when his back is pressed against the softness of his sheets as he stared up at the beautiful woman riding him like there’s no tomorrow.

His apartment provided many things, peaceful reprieve from life in the spotlight, a space to stretch out and his biggest secret.

Y/N’s finger shakes as it pushes the buzzer with force before the door unlocks and lets her inside towards the staircase. The first steps are slow and shaky, unsure and full of insecurity and she grips the railing for support. This isn’t what she wanted. This can’t go on.

Common sense is abandoned on the flight up. The closer Y/N gets to his door the more excited she is to see him and by the time she’s reached the top of the steps she had long forgotten any feelings of reservations in the first place.

Bucky’s door is open slightly and she sees him standing there, arms stretching towards the top of the frame. His shirt rides up, revealing a peek of skin, solid muscle with a path of dark hair that leads down like a rainbow to a pot of gold. Piercing blue eyes stare right through her and that sinful smirk makes her knees buckle.

Y/N wishes she could run to him, throw her arms around his neck and show him her brightest smile, the one that matched the openness of her heart, letting her feelings pour out without restraint. But things aren’t like that with Y/N and Bucky.

From the moment they met they saw the sparks in each other’s eyes, felt the buzz of electricity when their hands touched for the first time. The tingling went straight to Y/N’s core and she had to pull herself together and remember why she was there. Bucky needed an apartment and it was her mission to help him find one.  

As he walked around each apartment checking out the place, Y/N was checking out the way thick thighs filled his jeans, or the stretch of his shirt against sculpted muscle. Her teeth scraped against her bottom lip as she watched metal fingers brush along the countertop all while thinking how incredible they would feel rubbing against her.

She was unable to tear her gaze away from him. His chestnut brown hair was pulled back into a bun at the base of his neck with a few messy tendrils tucked behind his ear. She envisioned her fingers running through his locks, loosening the strands with her grip as his face was nestled between her thighs.

As Bucky pictured himself living in the space Y/N pictured him sliding in and out of her heat, fucking her until she couldn’t think straight. Her tongue licked her lips as she stared at the large bulge in his pants. It was a safe bet she wouldn’t be walking straight either.

Lost in her own fantasies she was unaware that Bucky had been staring too. Every time they went out together he noticed more things about Y/N. Her beauty was obvious and Bucky was nearly tongue tied when she had first asked him what he was looking for in an apartment. Had he let his mouth actually speak the words he thought he would have answered, “You.”

Bucky would always take note of how incredible Y/N looked. No matter what she was dressed in it suited her figure perfectly. She looked so proper in her professional attire it only fueled his desire further to want to rip it off and take her on the nearest table.

It was getting harder to deny the way they felt about each other. When there were no listings that met Bucky’s expectations Y/N took him out anyway, to see an apartment he would never go for but none of that mattered. The need to see Bucky was too great and he did not object.

In an overpriced apartment staged to fit the needs of an entitled trust fund elite Bucky crashed his lips to hers. The figures painted on the fine art that hung on the decoratively paneled walls watched scornfully as Bucky lifted Y/N up, hitching up the fabric of her dress so it was easier for her to wrap her legs around his solid frame. His lips attacked her body, leaving a trail of kisses down her neck, sucking and nipping at her skin. Pulling whimpers from her mouth as he soothed the marks he left with his tongue.

Y/N’s hands cupped his cheeks, feeling the roughness of stubble scratch against her palms as she brought his lips to hers once more for a hungry, passionate kiss. Her lips parted for his tongue, meeting her own in a dance that sent an ache between her legs.

Smooth metal fingers tugged at the zipper of her dress and Bucky set Y/N gently to her feet so he could continue to remove her clothes. With the zipper loosened she pulled her arms out of the sleeves, letting the fabric pool to the floor.

Bucky rubbed himself, adjusting the stiffening of his pants as he worshipped her with his eyes, like fine art you were supposed to look at and never touch, but Bucky has never been one to follow rules.

A strand of pearls hung above her breasts, the pale iridescence standing out beside the black lace that adorned them. Stepping out from the dress at her heels she turned around, fingerprints blemishing the polished surface of the baby grand piano she leaned against to tease him and show off the matching panties.

Y/N was taken by surprise by the firm slap against her ass, letting out a whimper that drove him wild. Arching her back she prepared herself for another slap, begging for his hand to smack against her cheeks again. A warm hand landed on her flesh another time, moaning as she chewed on her lip, rubbing her thighs together for some relief.

The heady scent of her arousal flooded his senses, the throb of his dick, the voice inside his head all screaming for him to get a taste of her. He couldn’t take it any longer.

On his knees Bucky pulled her panties down quickly. His fingers were rough as they grabbed her legs, spreading them apart so he could feast upon her. Cries of pleasure fell from Y/N’s lips as his tongue worked wonders, licking and sucking at her glistening folds.

A cool metal digit rubbed against her clit sending shockwaves throughout her body as she gripped the piano for purchase. Her legs trembled as his ministrations continued, the attack of his skilled mouth on her lips, taking her further and further towards the edge.

Bucky hummed against her as she soared with pleasure above him, grinning as her leg still trembled as she came tumbling down. He had tasted the forbidden fruit, his chin glistening with her nectar and it only made him crave more.

His lips crashed to hers again, a messy kiss of teeth and tongue with the taste of her branded on him like a mark. Her hands made quick work of his belt, cupping him through his jeans before pulling them down.

Y/N’s eyes grew twice as wide at the size of him, hungrily swiping her tongue across her lips for a taste of her own. But Bucky couldn’t wait any longer, he needed to be inside her, to quell the ache he’s been carrying since they first met.

He lifted Y/N to the nearest table, her body shivering against the cold surface as he pulled his shirt off as fast as he could. The clang of something fell to the floor but neither of them cared. Bucky rubbed himself against her pussy, coating himself in her slick before sliding in. She moaned as he slowly stretched her inch by inch until he was fully sheathed inside.

Adjusting to him was momentary, just enough time for him to unclasp her bra and toss it off before he began to pump his hips, watching her breasts bounce with every thrust. His fingers pinched the hardened peak and he reveled in the way bliss washed over her face.

“Ohh... fffuck, Bucky,” she cried breathlessly.

His lips were on hers again, swallowing every moan she offered him. His breath was heavy against her skin as he lifted one leg over his shoulder, reaching deeper inside and that had her seeing white hot flashes of light behind her eyes.

Bucky grunted along to the snap of his hips, the rhythm drawing out moans and cries, a beautiful melody of ecstasy until he and Y/N reached their peak together. She came first, tumbling down from the heights of rapture and Bucky pulled out, painting his own pearl necklace across her breasts.

Strands of hair stuck to his sweaty forehead and he pushed them back, catching his breath as he watched her do the same. It made his cock throb again, the sight of her marked by his seed and trembling with aftershocks.

He leaned down to claim her lips, delicately this time, soft and sweet; and as she began to pull away he went back for more, needing one more kiss before he went to clean her up. His lips still tingled with the feeling of Y/N’s against him and Bucky felt a shift within himself.

Like a drug he became hooked, instantly addicted to Y/N; to her smile and the lightness of her laughter, to her body and the way he felt inside her. His problems disappeared, his fears were no more. The pit in his stomach was sated and filling the void was her.

Stepping inside Bucky’s apartment felt like home. The familiar smell of leather and sandalwood invades Y/N’s senses. The locks click behind her as she sets her bag off to the side, sensing Bucky’s warmth behind her.

“You’re wet.”

His words came out like gravel and he cleared his throat. Still, she wondered if he meant that as a statement about the weather or if he could tell she was already soaked for him; the mere sight of Bucky causing her body to flood with desire.

Bucky doesn’t do much speaking when he’s alone, and though his phone is near him for emergencies he never picks up unless he has to. Steve knows not to bother him with anything unless it’s important, knowing how much Bucky’s deliberate seclusion means to him. If only Steve knew the full truth.

He leaned in to press his lips to hers, not caring about the damp jacket against him. Running his tongue along the seam of her lips they part open, craving his entry but he pulls away teasingly, leaving her wanting more. He smirked and she shook her head smiling at him.

“Long day at work?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Y/N nodded, softening her gaze.

Bucky leads her to the bathroom where he leaned over the tub to turn on the faucet. The cabinet under the sink squeaked slightly as he opened it to pull out a familiar blue package, half empty from what Y/N could see which made her lips pull into a smile; it was a gift she had given him.

A few months back Bucky had returned from a mission, badly bruised and sore all over. Even sex had him wincing through heavy moans and Y/N suggested he take a warm bath to soothe his muscles. He refused, thinking that was not something he was supposed to do. Antiquated ideas aside, she purchased foaming bath salts marketed for men, the blue color somehow making it more acceptable.

Bucky trusted her and gave everything a try, and now he looks forward to a quiet soak in the tub; the light musky scent of the salts filling the air as he treated himself to some relaxation.

Two large scoops went into the water and white foam began to fill the surface. Bucky turned his attention to Y/N, helping her out of her jacket and hanging it behind the door. Holding onto him for balance she got out of her boots one foot at a time, feeling the cool tile beneath her feet.

It was soft and slow as Bucky unzipped her dress as she ran her hands up his broad chest and over the curves of his shoulders, feeling the shift beneath the material as solid muscle became smooth vibranium plates. Bucky didn’t like people touching his arm, especially not at the junction where the metal had been fused into his flesh but when Y/N touched him things were different. Delicate fingertips traced lightly over the raised scar tissue, soft kisses soothed the eternal crimson stain of his skin. The horrors of his past washed away at her touch.

Her hands found the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward to pull over his head. The remainder of clothing was thrown to the side; his socks, her bra, his pants, her underwear and in between he had tested the temperature of the water, wiping his flesh fingers on his boxers that came off next.

With the faucet turned off and all of their clothes now removed Bucky held Y/N’s hand as she stepped over the high edge of the tub, waiting for him to join her. Bucky sat down first, pressing his large frame against the back of the now warm tub, waiting with open arms for Y/N to sit in front of him.

Frothy water sloshed around as she sat between his legs, feeling the press of his already half hard length against her back. Bucky couldn’t help it, and Y/N really never minded. The tub was cramped together and Y/N’s legs had to bend so she could fit, the tops of her knees were above the water but she didn’t care, as long as they were together.

Wet hands pushed her hair aside as Bucky kneaded the stiff muscles of her shoulders, knowing how desperate she was for a massage. Bucky knew her well, as intimately as he knew himself. That sort of thing happens when you spend as much time with someone as they have. He swallows a harsh lump, ignoring the gentle flutters of his heart that remind him about the feelings he claims he doesn't have. This is just sex.

Y/N melted into his touch, releasing all of the tension she had been holding onto all day. Bucky made her forget about everything, annoying co-workers, demanding clients, everything faded away when they were together and there was only him.

Sinful moans of relaxation left her lips and though Bucky’s dick twitched at the sound he ignored it, leaning in to press a kiss to her collarbone, smiling with satisfaction in knowing she felt better. His arms traveled through the warm water to wrap around her stomach, pulling Y/N closer to him. She leaned back against his firm chest, placing her arm across his.

Small talk filled the void of silence, things about her day, things about Bucky’s. Even though he can’t give many details he mentions the Avengers going on a mission he chose to sit out on, one he’s certain will require follow ups that he’ll surely have to be present for.

Craning her neck back Y/N shuts him up with a kiss, reaching her hand up to cup his cheek. He knows she hates when he’s away, risking his life for the sake of the rest of the world. It’s dangerous, he knows it, but there are also parts of her job that make him nervous too, Like when she runs an open house without a co-agent; anyone can walk in leaving her alone with them, strangers who are potential threats, at least that’s how Bucky sees them.

The furrow of his brow relaxes as her tongue slips into his mouth and Bucky’s hands travel up her chest, cupping her breasts and rolling her hardened nipples in between his fingers. Y/N’s body squirms against him as he sucks on her neck, letting his metal hand roam lower.

Metal digits dip between the heat of her folds and she gasps as his thumb brushes against her clit. It becomes too much very quickly. His tongue laving at her neck while his hands play her like an instrument. Y/N’s moans flow like music echoing off the walls. Expert fingers have her singing his name at her peak. Her lips find his again as she comes crashing down, body still shaking, chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath.

It isn’t long before she’s turned around to face him, two hands gripping his length and twisting in corkscrew motions up and down. She’s desperate for his lips; the kiss is messy and hungry, wanting to devour him like he’s the first meal she’s had all day.

Y/N nips at the stubble on his neck, flicking her tongue teasingly over his nipples, kissing a path down until her lips meet where her hands have been working him but now it was time for more.

Bucky stands up to make it easier for her, watching as his cock disappears in her mouth. His hips rut in rhythm with her pace until she takes him to the furthest reaches of her throat. He licks his lips, letting a sweet moan escape as he’s swallowed by the warmth of her mouth.

In that moment Y/N looks up at Bucky and he struggles not to come at the sight of her; large eyes filling with tears as she chokes on his dick with the hunger for more present in her sultry gaze, her lips wrapped around him, stuffing his cock as far back as she can take.

She pulls back releasing him, gasping for breath while her hands still jerk him off, massaging his velvet head with gentle fingers that disrupts the string of arousal connected to her mouth. When Y/N’s ready she takes him again, gripping his thighs as Bucky fucks her face, his body stuttering as he comes down her throat.

Two hands of different temperatures help her to her feet. Bucky presses her body against his as he kissed Y/N again, sensing the tang of himself still on her tongue. He stepped out of the tub first, grabbing a towel that he wrapped around his waist and then handed one for her to do the same.

She left the bathroom feeling dirtier than before, with her hair out of place and her makeup smudged a bit under her eyes but Y/N didn’t care. In Bucky’s bedroom they towel dried each other which only served as a precursor to sex. Thanks to the serum Bucky’s was ready to go again, a side effect which has often led to marathon nights of wrecking her body with pleasure.

Muscular arms brace him above her as messy dark hair curtains his face. Y/N’s hands come up to tuck the strands behind his ears, running her thumbs over the flush of his cheeks.

“You’re beautiful,” Bucky said as he leaned down to connect his lips to hers. His eyes close as he pushes inside her again ever so slowly, gently rolling his hips to languidly fuck her, letting her body take its time to build up to the next orgasm.

It’s a sweet reprieve from their previous rounds. First he had slammed into her from behind, snaking his arm around to rub her clit in a demanding bid for her pleasure. Then Y/N was on top, bracing against his chest as she sunk down on him. She set the pace rocking above him, his hands roaming everywhere they could; her bouncing tits, grazing her hips, intertwining their fingers as she trembled above him.

He spills into her, fills her up with everything he has. Hips stuttering as she milks every last drop of him as she clenches around him. Heavy breaths fall from his lips and their mouths are connected again, tasting the salty sweat on kiss swollen lips.

Y/N is thoroughly spent as she lies in bed to catch her breath. They’re wrapped in each other’s arms soon after, with Bucky being a gentleman and taking the part of the bed with the inevitable wet spot. He hardly gives any attention to it, instead focusing on how quickly she’s fallen asleep against him.

His lips linger on her skin as he kisses Y/N goodnight, he dares not speak the words he feels in his heart but they echo in his mind; I love you. It keeps him up for a little while longer as his mind and heart silently wrestle until he finally succumbs to sleep.

Sunlight forces its way through the dark curtains with little avail. Bucky prefers it that way on most days, blocking out the world to keep his room dark and cave-like, except when Y/N’s there. He wished the sun was shining in, illuminating her beauty through its warm kiss.

She’s still asleep, hair mussed wildly against the pillow. He watches the rise and fall of her chest, syncing himself to match her calming tempo. She awakes shortly, blinking her heavy eyes a half dozen times before they finally stay open, sucking in a deep breath and sighing out with a smile.

Through the dim haze she finds Bucky facing her, his eyes were soft, his lips pulled gently at the corners. Of all the times she’s seen Bucky smile mornings like this were her favorite. It was a rare moment when she felt like she was connecting with Bucky, the real Bucky, the one not bogged down by an overactive mind, haunted by his past.

“Good morning,” she whispered softly, with a bit of rasp in her voice.

His fingers reach over towards her eyes that shut on instinct and Bucky gently picked away at flakes of crust from the corner of her eye. Y/N’s heart flutters at the gesture, something so caring that bonds her deeper than the sex had.

A lump sits at the back of her throat as she thinks about how often she’s with Bucky even though she’s not with him. How whatever he defines their relationship as is anything but an actual relationship, but it feels like so much more. She knows she has to mean more to him than just a hole to get his dick wet. Her heart breaks at the thought.

Maybe she doesn't mean much to him, despite how he acts when they’re together. Maybe he’s ashamed of her. Is that why she’s a secret? Why they’ve been sneaking around for nearly a year? She’s Bucky’s dirty secret, the one who comes running at his beck and call.

It’s pathetic, she thinks. She’s pathetic, but she couldn’t help but hope that maybe this time he’ll get over whatever is holding him back. That she’ll step out from the shadows together, like the couple they practically are just not in name.

Y/N’s phone buzzes with an alert and she reaches over to see to it. It’s time to start the day even though she wanted to stay in bed with Bucky until he was no longer ashamed of her.

“Time to go?” he asked, as her attention was focused to the illuminated screen.

“Yeah, you know how busy Saturday’s are.”

Bucky stares at the bare skin of her back as she sits on the edge of the bed. Another stretch of her arms as she thinks about where she left her bag. By the front door she remembered, dropping it down before Bucky whisked her away.

These are the awkward moments, when Y/N has to leave the bubble of lust and face the real world again. Wearing the mask of a stranger to the man she knows inside and out. Well, not completely. Bucky gives most of himself to her but there is a part he shuts her out of; the last piece of his heart, the one that would say the words she wants to believe he feels, the one that would proudly show her off to the world.

A tear falls down her cheek but she doesn’t wipe it. Bucky is behind her, still lying on his bed, the one they had christened together the day he moved in to the apartment she found him.

Quick on her feet Y/N leaves the bedroom, wiping the stray tear away as she retrieves her bag and goes to the bathroom. It doesn’t take long to make herself look presentable.

Hair products help revive her hair, her travel toothbrush makes its appearance again and she can’t help but think how much easier it would be to leave it in his bathroom. Makeup wipes help erase yesterday’s mess, and a few products help her put on a fresh face, complete with a perfect smile; a bright and cheery mask that hides the ache behind it.

Clean clothes make her feel better instantly. A different dress, new accessories, the same boots because it was easier that way. She gathered yesterday’s clothes from the floor, taking her dress from the floor and rolling it to place in her overnight bag.

The smell of coffee floats through the air as Y/N leaves the bathroom. Bucky is in his kitchen, dressed in a soft cotton shirt and grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. Two mugs are set aside as he waits for the cups to brew, turning around ever so casually to look at her.

His eyes glance briefly while his mind screams at him to tell her how beautiful she looks. He doesn’t listen. That’s not something he can say now, not when he isn’t hiding behind the veil of sex. He can’t open up without that layer of protection because if Y/N sees him without it she’ll see how he really feels and Bucky can’t let that happen.

Instead he pours the now ready cup of coffee and hands it over. Clearing his throat he steadied his voice, asking a question with perfected nonchalance. “Were you coming over again tonight?”

Y/N freezes as the cup reaches her lips.

She wished he didn’t ask her. He never asks her. It’s always a text– “Want to come over?” He texts that a few nights a week, only when the sun has gone down, never earlier. They both know what it means. She slips out of the shadows to meet him and fuck, to leave her common sense at home and live a lie.

Tonight was different. Tonight Y/N had plans, plans she wished she didn’t have now that he asked her to come over.

“I can’t,” she finally answered him.

As the coffee reaches the back of her throat she decided to tell him why, in the hopes it would push whatever it is between them in to some sort of direction. Maybe he’ll step up and finally call her his.

With a nervous gulp she speaks again, “Someone asked me out.”

Bucky is silent as he takes in what she’s said. Someone asked her out. Her exact wording. Not, that she has a date but that someone asked her on one. Beneath a calm surface his body is quaking as he silently screams at himself.

The thought of losing Y/N claws at his soul but Bucky knows he can’t give her what she wants. It’s what he wants too, deep down, but it’s not possible and it never will be.

“Have a good time,” he said, light and carefree, not a hint of sarcasm or malice within the syllables.

He sips his coffee casually as if she hasn’t just shattered his world. Y/N’s own mug had nearly slipped from her grasp, just as Bucky was slipping away in front of her.

“Cool. Thanks,” she replied, not knowing what else to say; barely able to choke those words out without crying.

She doesn’t finish the coffee. She needs to get out of there. The mug is left on the counter as Y/N grabs her things. She doesn’t kiss Bucky goodbye, it’s not like that was part of their routine any way. Their routine was her coming over, rushing to him like a dog to its owner. Pathetically responded to his call for sex when she wanted love, but she settled.

Y/N left like she normally did, a quick wave, an awkward goodbye; saving her breakdown for a better time.

As soon as she was gone Bucky abandoned his coffee for alcohol, a liquid breakfast that will never be strong enough to give him the courage to say how he feels or take away his pain. He drove her into the arms of someone else, pushing her out of his life and he hates himself for it. Another reason for self-loathing on the seemingly never ending list.

Her perfume lingers in his room and Bucky feels like he’s been transported to a field of wildflowers surrounded by summer fruit, wrapped in warm vanilla. It’s perfectly Y/N, light and sweet yet alluring and passionate.

He drinks until he passes out, in his bed surrounded by the torturous scent of the woman he loves because he doesn’t have the strength to tell her he’s not worthy of her.

Y/N walked away from Bucky’s apartment contemplating the date. It was nice to feel wanted, even if that attention wasn’t coming from the person she really wanted it to come from. Opening her phone she sent a message to the person who asked her, agreeing to go on a date with Steve Rogers.

PART 2

A/N: Thank you for reading! Reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated :)

Perm. Tags (open): @all1e23 / @asphalt-cocktail / @badassbaker / @bibibucky / @borkystank / @breezy1415 / @buckybabybaby / @buckybarneshairpullingkink / @buckyofthemyscira / @bvckybarnes / @california-grown / @chameerah / @chrevastan / @crazyfreaker / @crazyinspiration / @driftingtonystark / @emotionallysalty / @fandom-addict-aesthetics / @hana1379 / @his-paradox / @holland-stan-posts / @jaamesbbarnes / @jamesbvck / @jbuckbrnes / @kentuckybarnes / @kenzieam / @majesticavenger / @miraclesoflove / @mizzzpink / @neoqueen306 / @nerdypisces160 / @notimetoblog / @novaddictx / @palaiasaurus64 / @prettyyoungtragedy / @royallylazy / @sexyvixen7 / @sgtjbuccky / @stanclub / @stevehesaidabadlanguageword / @supernaturaldean67 / @survivalistflowers / @suz-123 / @teamcap4bucky / @the-wayward-robot / @toongtii / @tropicalcap / @undyingart / @valhalla-ally / @wintersoldier1017 / @wintersxsoul / @wonderlandmind4 / @wonderless-screwup

Addicted Tags (open): @annathesillyfriend / @dahkness / @dreamer821 / @guera31 / @hardygal69 / @inquisitor-selvala /@its-bucky-barnes-bitch / @jessieray98 / @kiki5283 / @lostinthoughts23 / @marvelfansworld / @mrsfox79 / @mypassionsarenysins / @n3rdybird / @notyourtypicalrose / @p-marie-sp / @rainbowkisses31 / @sad-af1121 / @starksrhodes / @supernatural-strangerthings-1980 / @thorfanficwriter / @whyugottabsorude

Strikethrough means I couldn’t tag you!

#Eliza’s 5k Challenge #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes smut

[shreddedparchment]

Heavy is the Hand You’re Dealt

Part 3

09/04/2019

Pairing: Steve x Reader, Thor x Reader         Word Count: 9,980

Prompt: Imposter - Bearson

Masterpost          Warnings: angst, smut, unprotected sex, canon level violence

A/N: This is the chapter where canon goes out the window. This is again, for @youngmoneymilla ‘s 5K challenge. It was supposed to be two parts. Now it’s gonna be four. I don’t know why I even try to limit myself. I suck at short stories. Anyway, I hope you like this one. More fun parts in this one I hope. Let me know what you liked. If you reblog, thanks for reblogging! xoxo

“Where is she?” Sam asks, eyes scouring the digital map for your unique frequency.

“Somewhere in Germany.” Bucky points, showing Sam the unique pattern of captures.

“Man, that was our mission.” Sam complains.

“Hey, if it keeps us home, I’m not going to complain.” Bucky counters.

“She should have just taken the shield then.” Sam continues to gripe.

Bucky looks down at the base of the map, thinks for a second, then with the knowledge of being broken, the forever etched reality that sometimes there is no coming back from certain types of heartbreak, he shakes his head.

“She’s not ready for it yet.” He tells Sam and they look at each other, both reliving the exact same moment for what must feel like the hundredth time.

~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky looks out towards the water, the ghost of his sad yet grateful smirk falling away as he spots the old man on the bench.

“Sam.” He calls out, knowing somehow that it’s him.

Sam approaches and he smiles. Strange to see someone that only moments ago looked young look aged, a long and happy—by the looks of that smile on his face—life lived.

“Cap?”

“Not for a long time.” Old Steve tells Sam and slowly Sam sits.

“How-?”

“I stayed.”

Sam’s smile suddenly falls away and he looks back towards the house and Steve knows what he’s thinking.

“She didn’t take it well.” He says sadly. “I’d forgotten how bad it was…”

“You heard?” Bucky’s made his way over, stopping at the other end of the bench. “I didn’t think you’d go through with it.”

“I found my home.” Steve tells them and they exchange a quick glance.

“Here.” Steve reaches over by his right foot and brings up what must be his shield wrapped in a leather protective sleeve. “This is for her. She knows how to use it. I taught her. And she’s-”

“She’s not going to take it, Steve.” Bucky shakes his head and old Steve turns to look at him, his withered face looking suddenly tired and sad. “Not now.”

“Someday she will.” Steve assures him.

“You don’t know that.” Bucky argues.

“It’s hers.” Steve insists. “She’s the right choice.”

“Steve,” Sam begins. “I don’t know if you really grasp what you did here.”

“You take it. You’re a good man, Sam. I trust you. You’ll take good care of it.” He tells Sam, placing the shield in his hands. “Until she’s ready.”

“She might never be ready, Steve.” Bucky counters.

“She will be. I know her. She…” Steve sighs, it almost seems taxing on his entire body to breathe in and out.

“What do you know?” Bucky suddenly says, suspicious.

“Thor will leave.” Steve says, throwing them off.

What does the God have to do with anything?

“It’s important that you give him a reason to come back. Two years.” Steve holds up two wrinkled fingers and looks at Bucky and Sam in turn. “In two years, don’t forget to bring him back.”

“Why?” Bucky asks again, sounding a little more upset.

Steve stares out at the water, and with the last rays of the sun dancing along sending golden flecks of glitter across his face, he shakes his head. Disappointed.

“I messed up. Just once.” He confesses.

“Steve…” Bucky frowns more deeply, growing angrier by the second.

“I came back.” Steve explains, voice weak and feeble. “I mean, I will come back. To her. Because I regret it. Peggy and I have trouble…we were trying to have kids, but Peggy wouldn’t get pregnant so, I got very low.”

Bucky looks away from his friend, turns towards the water then leans his elbows on his knees and buries his face in his hands, sliding them up until he’s pulling slightly at his own hair.

“You’re gonna come back?” Sam asks, shocked too.

“I stayed—will stay for only a week, and it’s very important that Thor is here.”

“Why would you come back?” Bucky demands, lamenting at the thought as he looks at Steve then over at the house and back.

“Peggy is pregnant when I get back home. It is important that I go back.” Steve explains and Bucky scoffs, shaking his head as he gets to his feet.

“So, you’re not worried about what your coming here does to Y/N but rather the fact that Peggy is already pregnant, and you need to go back for her.” He’s so upset, and Steve can see that.

There’s nothing that Steve can say that will explain the complications of his new life. His chosen life. He can’t regret coming back to you, even if it was too late. He does regret having you as an option again because just a few more encounters alone where he might have penetrated that outer shell, then maybe you would have taken him back and maybe he would have stayed and maybe he wouldn't get to have lived the life he had with Peggy, but he would have had you.

You, who’d torn him up inside in ways that he hadn’t known were possible. Yes, he loved…loves Peggy but she couldn’t touch what you had. Two separate loves. Both deep. Both had seen him through a war, but yours had given him so much more.

Your love had seen him through the age of no hope. Peggy’s had been another hopeful light amongst the many in the fight against Hydra and the Nazis. Everything had seemed possible back then. Not easy but attainable.

You had put him back together when there were no possibilities left. When all hope had faded and all the two of you had was a broken, shattered, emptier universe.

He’d had you. And he had been damn lucky.

He knows what he did…he knows that he should pay for it. For how he hurt you.

“Can I see her?” He suddenly asks, looking back towards the house with such a yearning. His old heart, having lost Peggy, wishes for you. Wants you. But he’s old now. He’s got nothing for you.

“What?” Bucky asks, incredulous.

He doesn’t know if it’s luck or maybe fate, but as Steve looks back at the house again, the front door opens, and you descend the stairs by the porch looking just as pretty as ever. Young and beautiful. Your eyes are swollen and red, tear stains on your perfect cheeks. Your ever so kissable lips are pale and bitten through. Chapped but probably just as soft as Steve remembers…

You hadn’t let him kiss you that last time. He’s ashamed he had even tried.

You breathe in as you walk down, breath shaking as if you’re still sobbing it all out.

You have your shoulders slumped, drawn down and in against the world. The despair in your pretty eyes tears Steve’s heart to shreds.

His own pain, the memory of leaving you, is a ghost in comparison to the fresh cut you must feel. It’s been years for him. A lifetime. For you, only what? An hour? Two tops?

Despite the way he’d ripped out your heart, he can still see your softness. Those gentle, sweet hands that had coaxed him out of his own dark pit of despair when the Snap and its consequences had weighed heavy on his own shoulders. Even though you’re not smiling, he can actually picture it. Your honey smile so warming and soothing. Your laugh…that laugh…that soothing chuckle that had comforted him over and over.

Like this, even though you’re sad, he can still picture you eased beneath him, so open and his. All his.

His old heart feels the sting of jealousy as he remembers what’s to come.

It’s a strange and overpowering sensation because he hasn’t felt jealousy with Peggy in years. So many years. She'd been completely his and yes, he’s grateful…but you’re right there…and he gave you up.

Voluntarily. Idiot.

He gets to his feet, surprisingly spry for his age, and turns to look at you as you walk down the slope towards the driveway, keys in hand. His old car. Your car now.

You’re wiping your cheek with the heel of your palm, sniffling as you come close and as Bucky and Sam both rise beside him, Steve watches them draw your eye.

For a split second you almost smile. He recognizes the twitch of your cheek muscles but then your eyes fall on him and you halt.

It takes you a moment, but you recognize him. You see through the aged exterior and your lip trembles.

Steve can’t stand it.

It had been a bad memory for him. Something that crept into his dreams and gave him nightmares. The day he left one future behind to build another in the past. It had all been within reach and he’d left it behind.

Yet, here you are, feeling it all for the first time and it’s all made fresh for him. He wants to apologize and give you the world but he’s…he’s lived his life. Without you.

And that must be what you’re thinking too because your lip tremble goes away and he can see this truth, the truth that he’s lived his life in full without you having kids and getting married and finally giving up the responsibility of saving the world for someone who isn’t you.

What you'd once asked him for, “Let’s just go, Steve. We'll move out to the country like Tony and Pepper and we can start a real life together. We’ll have each other and if…if it happens then, maybe kids?”

Steve has been almost fast asleep and he'd hugged you close in his arms and dreamt of that future but he never mentioned it again and neither did you. He knows now that you never stopped wanting it. And Steve gave that to someone else.

All of that passes through you and he sees the hardness sets in.

This hardness he’s seen before—or rather the one he will see in two year’s time. This is the moment that sets it in place and he only just now realizes it.

“No.” He says, pleading with you to keep your heart open because he doesn’t want to do that to you.

He’s already done so much…not this too.

You look at your keys and because it’s his car, you drop them and head for the road to walk home.

You’re still so obstinate and if Steve wasn’t so worried about the pain you’re in, he’d be smiling because he knows, that’s my girl.

“Bucky-?” Steve begins, turning to his best friend.

“I’ll go give her a ride.” He tells Sam then looks at Steve. “You should stay away for now. Go home.”

“Bucky…” Steve repeats, feeling a twinge of sadness that even his best friend is upset with him.

Bucky doesn’t respond right away. He walks a few steps then stops and breathes out a huff of air. No matter how upset he may be with Steve for leaving you and then having the audacity to come back because things aren’t going as smoothly as he’d hoped, it’s Steve.

“Make sure you send me your address, Steve. We’ll catch up.” Bucky softens, nodding at his own idea. “I wanna hear every last bit of it.”

Steve smiles.

~~~~~~~~~~

With Fury back, you were able to relinquish your duties and with his permission, signed back onto the new S.T.R.I.K.E. team. But then you went rogue and left them after only a month and you’ve been on the move ever since.

You still receive the missions, Fury isn’t opposed to you getting them despite Sam and Bucky’s pleading. You always go alone. Dangerous. Reckless.

You don’t live in the tower or, hell, they don’t know where you have your figurative hero cape. They only know that you switch on your tracker when you’re on mission and back off when you’re done.

Bucky disapproves though he secretly hopes that you’ve found yourself someone.

Sam is annoyed about it by now. Especially since you keep intercepting their assigned missions and don’t even have the courtesy to invite them to go with you.

“She’s going to get herself killed.” Bucky sighs, quietly. Frowning, he looks at the date and leans back in his seat.

“What is it?” Sam asks, knowing that look on Bucky’s face well.

“It’s two years in a month.” Bucky points out, gesturing at the date with his chin as he crosses his arms over the tight red t-shirt he’s wearing.

“Yeah, so?” Sam asks, then he remembers. “Oh, right.”

“Do you have a way to-?” Bucky begins to ask, but Sam cuts him off.

“One God of Thunder, coming right up.” With that he leaves the room to contact Thor and get him back on Earth.

You’re pulled back in. To the newly renovated tower. Where he’d once been. Ages ago. When friendship was all you had.

He’s on that couch where the two of you sat and watched a movie. He’s on the counter where he leaned in close and rubbed shoulders with you and made you fall for him even more. He’s by the sink where the two of you washed dishes and splashed each other in a rare moment of sweet playfulness because Steve had always been worried. Always thinking of everyone else.

He’s at the meeting table, staring at you though back then you didn’t know what it meant. He’d wanted you, just as much as you’d wanted him. Picturing him pounding into you right up against that exact same spot and now you know he’d been imagining the exact same thing.

This place is full of him and his voice, all those faded memories of yearning and friendship, forever trapped in this space where the Avengers have returned. A haven for them. For you, hell.

You hate being here.

You shift in your seat, staring across the way at Thor who’s dozing with his head thrown back, mouth fallen open. He’s snoring lightly, his tangle of blonde hair less dirty, wavier, and still long. His beard is also left long but he seems to have adopted the braided beard permanently.

He’s still chubby. No…that’s not the word. He’s thicker. His stomach still rounded but a little less than before. He looks tighter. Strong, like a rhino.

He’s been here longer than you have and has changed into a pair of jeans and a plain olive colored t-shirt. It looks old, fits him loose around the neck exposing bronzed peach skin.

You tut, turning to look for Bucky or Sam. What did they want?

Thor snores loudly and sits up, startled.

“One more drink.” He spouts drowsily, before his eyes fall on you.

You watch him with a slightly furrowed brow, arms crossed over your chest as you assess him neither disapproving nor happy to see him. You’re just here.

“Oh, sorry. I guess I dozed off.” Thor sits up straighter, reaching up to rub at his eyes. “Haven’t been getting enough sleep.”

“Out drinking?” You guess.

“No.” Thor smiles, shaking his head, then stops and think. “Well, actually yes. I was fishing for information. There’s a man or…he might not be a man but he’s going from planet to planet selling what he claims are infinity stones. Fakes I think but…”

Your heart beats a little faster, “Better safe than sorry.”

“Yes.” He agrees, then he shifts and smiles at you, warmly. Like he’s happy to see you. “How have you been since…since…that day?”

“Busy.”

“What have you been doing, if you don’t mind my asking?” He probes and then gets up and moves around the coffee table to sit beside you.

You shift in your seat to face him a little better, drawing your leg up—or you begin to before you gasp near silently and lower you leg back down slowly.

“What?” Thor asks, concern immediately etched on his face.

Damn, you thought you’d hidden that reaction well.

“Nothing.”

“Let me see.”

“No, Thor. I’m fine.”

“You are not fine. Let me see it.” He orders, sounding more and more like the God of Thunder that you remember.

“I said I’m fine.” You gripe.

“And I said you’re not. Let me see your damn leg or I’ll go and get Dr. Cho and have her sort you out.” His threat is real, and you can see it in those sparkling eyes, one amber, one stunning blue, that he means it.

You resent him for a moment. You don’t need his help. Or anyone else’s. You don’t need anyone.

Reluctantly you pick up your right leg and turn towards him. You hesitate.

Thor gestures for you to lay it on his lap and with your heart full of trepidation, you do it.

“What did you do to it?” He asks, feeling it through your old and in great need of repair and a wash uniform.

“I hit it.”

He looks at you, eyebrows raised.

“On some goon’s face.” You explain.

You half expect him to fuss but instead, Thor surprises you. He huffs a laugh, the concern on his face still there but there’s also amusement. A sparkling eagerness behind his eyes.

“I hope you hit your leg hard on this goon’s face.” He says, feeling just below your knee.

“I shattered his jaw, so yeah. But he got me with a metal pipe he was holding before I did.” Guess, there’s no reason to hide the truth from Thor. He seems relaxed enough that you don’t feel like you’ll be chastised. You reach down and take hold of his hand. Sliding it up along your knee to mid-thigh. “Not there, here.”

“So, the pipe is what hurt your leg?” Thor realizes, eyes trained on your thigh as he gives it a gentle squeeze.

You gasp, wincing, breath stolen as the pain shoots through you.

“You should not be walking around on it.” He tells you, concerned, not chastising.

“I’m okay.” You assure him.

“Only you know your body’s limits.” He nods, looking back up at you. “But it would be better if you stayed off of it.”

You frown at him, irritated instantly. “And I said, I’m fine.”

“You clearly aren’t.” Thor argues.

Funny thing is though, even though he’s fighting you on this, it doesn’t sound like he’s judging you or…feeling sorry for you. Like Bucky sounds. He’s not getting mad, like Sam does.

You take your leg off his lap and limp around behind the old bar that has since been converted into a small kitchen, to the coffee maker.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” You tell him.

“Yes, I do. I have fought many battles. Injured myself countless times. Trust me.” He says with a smile in his voice. He’s having fun arguing with you.

Jerk.

“I don’t know if that’s something you should really be bragging about, God of Thunder.” You tease, still bitter.

Then you growl.

“What?” He asks with a chuckle, amused at your irritation.

Why does Thor leave his shit laying around?

“Thor…” You sigh, grab the handle, then limp back over towards him. “I’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t leave your stupid hammer sitting around.”

You hold it out for him, and he stares at the large metal head with slightly disbelieving eyes. He follows the butt of the hammer to the handle then his eyes take in your fingers deftly wrapped around the black leather handle.

As he stares at it, you look at it again too. This hammer…could it be? “Is this the one that St…that he used?”

You faintly remember him carrying it around at the funeral, keeping track of it.

“No.” Thor says dully, still dumbfounded. “This one is new. I-I had it remade.”

He gets to his feet, towering over you as he continues to stare down at the weapon.

You give it a shake. “Oh, good. Take it. I want coffee and it’s in my way.”

“How-?” He asks, stunned but he takes the handle and relieves you of its weight.

You move back into the kitchen—no limp—and set to making yourself a cup of coffee.

“Do you want some?” You ask him and when he doesn’t answer you turn to look at him, and squeak to find him right behind you.

Face to chest. You follow his sturdy build up to his face, and blink. He’s all lit up with excitement. The smell of ozone permeates the room, but it’s sweetened by the smell of a coming storm and that ever floral scent that seems to follow him around.

It smells good. He smells good. And his heat, he’s standing so close, it feels right and like you haven’t been this close to anyone in years. Your mind is assaulted with scandalous images because this also reminds you that you haven’t gotten any in just as much time.

“What?” You ask, startled by him and your own thoughts, the counter digging into your lower back.

“I want to train you.” He states, so excited he’s almost vibrating with it.

“What?” You ask confused, thoroughly distracted from the comfort that his closeness is bringing you. “I don’t need any more training.”

Stupid man.

“Do you not know what you just did?” You shake your head. “You lifted my hammer.”

“Yeah, so?” You wonder, looking down at the hammer still held in his right hand.

“Only the worthy can lift my hammer.”

“Worthy? Worthy of what?” You ask confused.

“I was able to re-enchant the hammer and keep what made the first special and you are worthy, little dove. I cannot believe it, but you are worthy.” He assures you. “I mean, not that you being worthy is anything to be surprised at. You have always been sweet and kind and giving. You’re the only one who still believed me in me when I myself didn’t feel like I was worth-”

His words fade into a deafening hum, meaningless noise as you come apart.

Something about those particular words and the way that he’s gazing down at you and the closeness of his large body combine to fill your chest with an ache that you’ve been desperately trying to run from.

It catches up with you here in the tower where he is everywhere, with Thor pressing down on you, smiling at you like he’d smiled at you at one time. Thor tells you that you’re worthy when everything that happened two years ago tells you that you are evidently unworthy of many things.

His love for one. You hadn’t been worthy of his future and so he’d left you and here’s another man, pretending that you’re worthy because it probably suits the time and he’s lying too because he wants to use you like the other one did. He’ll leave you too and break you more and you can’t handle that again.

He’ll use you until he’s done and then be gone.

Thor’s hand slide down along your right bicep, along your elbow and forearm until his hand is able to grip yours.

The heat of his touch snaps you back from your grief and you rip your hand out of his grip.

“Don’t touch me.” You snap. “Don’t lie to me.”

“What?” Thor’s confused puppy face almost moves you, but you know it isn’t real. Everything he says is just a trick. Another lie. They all lie.

“I’m not worthy.” You spit.

“Little dove…” He begins and makes to grab hold again but you slide out from between him and the counter.

“I have a mission to get to and…just stay away from me, Thor.” You back away, heart absolutely clenching with agony. “Stay away.”

Okay, so you gave in. Mostly because Bucky kept begging you to just do the training.

“Think about it, sugar. It’ll be a whole new weapon for you to use on mission. And isn’t that what matters most?”

He knew what buttons to push to get you to agree. You’d be lying if you said that having Mjolnir 2.0 with you on mission wouldn’t be useful. So, you knocked on Thor’s bedroom door and with a heavy sigh you gave in.

“Fine.” You’d grumbled. “Train me.”

Thor’s smile had been blinding.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Hit me again, little dove. We will not stop until you can channel the lightning at full strength.” He urges you, staring at you from across a grassy field. Small yellow flowers shift in the wind that whips your hair.

“Did I ask to stop?” You retort, hating the way he seems to know you’re a little tired.

Thor’s pulled his hair up into a top knot that makes him look disgustingly delicious and you hate yourself for even thinking it because you shouldn’t, and you’ve worked so hard to make all of this okay. You’ve strived to be good alone.

You are good alone. Focus.

Channeling this energy through your body is exhausting. You’ve been working at it for two weeks and you’re still struggling with the power that courses through it.

Bruce had told you that Steve had been able to do it easily.

He’d lifted the hammer and summoned the lightning and it had all just fallen into place.

For you…why can’t you do it?

Thor chuckles at your squabbling. “Come on, little dove. Once more.”

You growl, mustering up all the strength you can and swing the hammer up into the air. The sky grows dark, waves of black cloud swirl and smoke, thunder rumbles, churning and growing louder before lightning splits the sky and flows down through the hammer into you in a dazzling show of blinding strobe.

It feels warm. Heated electricity that comforts and soothes. It makes you feel good. Like it’s been missing your whole life and now that you have it everything is just as it should be.

You turn to face Thor, bringing the hammer down as you watch him squat in his stance. You turn, swinging Mjolnir towards him and release it. It flies for him, followed by the searing white of your lightning and he’s blown back off his feet. The hammer he catches, but the surge of electricity is able to knock him off balance.

The sky continues to thunder, a previously unknown confidence swaying your hips as you strut towards him and stop only when you’ve reached his feet.

He’s laughing, Mjolnir held against his chest. He’s really laughing. His belly is bouncing with it, his t-shirt dirtied from flying through the dirt and grass, small yellow flowers litter his hair.

“What’s so funny?” You ask, thrown off guard by his easy mood. The sky overhead growling.

“You were born for this, Y/N.” He looks at you and fixes you with a look of such admiration that your heart begins to tremble. It aches but, in a way that you haven’t felt in so long.

You think back to the moments that stand out in your history, the ones where you felt exactly like this. Staring at Steve across from you at the gym. On mission, wishing you could follow him out into the fight. Sitting beside him at the little restaurant he’d sneak you to before you two got together and absolutely itching to reach over and grab his hand. The torture of listening to Nat try and fix him up.

Just like then, you long to reach out. You want to hold your hand out to him, help him to his feet. Kiss him.

Wait…no.

You shake your head, pushing these thoughts down as far as you can…it isn’t far. Your limits of denial are shrinking. Since Thor has come back, your life has begun to change again. Turning into something you’ve been desperate to avoid.

Over the past two weeks, it’s become harder and harder to ignore the way you’re feeling for him. Every moment spent with Thor has been more frightening than the last. Like a nervous cat, you jump and startle when he catches you off guard.

Your mind shoots to your post training ritual, when he takes you down to a small lake nearby. He sits with you and he shares with you the things he’s done. Adventures in space, chasing rumors of the stones if only to double-check. He’s traumatized too, in a very different way.

The broken parts of him come out then, laid out for you to pick and prod at. At first, you’d only sit beside him, relishing in the silence but as you spent more time with him, you wondered about the God sitting beside you. The one who’d been in tatters the last time you’d seen him. He doesn’t deny you the curiosity you feel when you’re truly alone with him. He seems to welcome it.

Despite his openness with you, he never asks you about Steve. And you’re grateful. Everything about Steve and your time with him still stings. It was your life. A whole future you’d wished and hoped for. After years of wanting and loving him, for him to just up and leave? Where do you go from that?

Thor can see you coping, and you can see him noticing. He’s very gentle with you, and very patient. You’re grateful. It only makes your heart waver and you hate him for being so nice. You wish he’d be repugnant and demanding and chastising like Sam. Relentless like Bucky. Pushing and pushing until you want to scream.

But Thor smiles at you when you sit beside him at the lake and he waits. He waits for you to speak. Waits for you to ask. Waits for you to sigh. You have a sneaking suspicion he’s still waiting for you to cry. To unload.

So, when he sits right next to you by the lake being patient and sweet and heartbreakingly open, you’ve begun to lay your head on his shoulder, and he says nothing. He doesn’t draw attention to the gesture. He sometimes leans his head against yours too.

You’re thankful because you’ve missed the comfort of contact.

This is what you’re fighting against. This is what you try not to think about when you’re with him. You push it away and focus on your training.

“When are you going to teach me to take a hit then?” You ask him, determined to ignore the way that he seems to fit right in with the wild grass and swaying golden flowers.

He stares up at you, considering you.

“Right now.” He booms, his hand shooting up into the air and the whistle of Stormbreaker pierces the air.

You reach out and call for Mjolnir off his chest and it comes flying up into your hand, just as Thor’s lightning comes raining down from the sky to singe the grass where you stand with an earthshattering boom as partner.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you alright?” He’s asked you like a million times already. Your clothes are fine. Your hair is fine. Your skin is…a little charred, sure, but only lightly dusted in black and only in certain spots.

“Yes.” You grumble, hating the way he fusses. You’re also really regretting asking him to forgo the lake session. You felt too tempted and you’re trying to resist.

He’s in your bedroom, to make sure that you aren’t exhibiting any aftereffects from wielding the hammer. You’re not enhanced like Steve had been. You’re just human. And you’re fairly sure he started out the lake sessions for this exact reason.

You’re made stronger by the hammer but when you aren’t wielding it, you’re just you.

He’s quiet, and you forget that you’re trying to keep your emotions—and to an excruciatingly sharp degree your body too, because, damn it. You want Thor—at bay.

“Hey,” You begin inquisitively, suddenly remember seeing Thor change from his regular clothes to his Asgardian armor in the blast of his lightning when he’d wielded Mjolnir years ago.

“Hm?” Thor asks, plopping down on the end of your bed—Sam forced you to take a room in the tower. A room that Fury had previously prepared for you in case you decided to come back into the fold.

Thick plush baby blue blankets with canary yellow sheets. The room is painted with rich plums and pinks, the ceiling dark espresso oak.

You keep your back to him as you open your drawers and pull out a new t-shirt and some pants to throw on when you get out of the shower.

“If I do that whole clothes changing thing that you do with your lightning,” You begin, pulling your workout thermal up and over your head leaving you in your plain black sports bra. “Will I also get some Asgardian armor? Or is that just a you thing? Because it would be so fucking cool if I could get some Asgardian armor. Ooh, can I pick the col-?”

There’s a sharp hiss behind you and you turn quickly to see what’s happened, your shirt still wrapped around your forearms.

“What?” You ask, startled.

Thor gets up from your bed and moves to you, turning you around forcefully so that he can look at your back.

“Is this why you’re always wearing pants and shirts with sleeves?” He asks.

Fuck. Oh, well. This is your new reality. He was going to see it eventually. Still, your mind is in overdrive, analyzing everything he’s saying because you did the same thing with Steve and you hate yourself for being like this. For hoping when you know you shouldn’t.

For your own sanity, you need to let this go.

“It’s nothing, Thor. They’re old.” You assure him, unashamed. These are your battle scars and they are true to who you have become. If he sticks around long enough, maybe you’ll explain it to him someday?

He takes one heated finger and traces several six-inch-long scars at the center of your back. The puckered skin long since healed. He presses against the tiny ones. The ones where bullets went in. One of his hands wraps around your side and moves up along your ribs feeling for the exit scars. He finds them and presses his palm to the largest while his other hand moves on to trace the largest of your scars. It starts at the center of your back and moves up over your right shoulder, stopping just at your collarbone.

It’s wide and long. This one was the one that almost killed you. And Thor is suddenly holding you. Both arms pulling you back against him.

“These are not nothing.” He grieves.

“You should stop touching me.” You tell him, very aware of the pounding in your chest now.

For a second, his hands lift from your skin, hovering like soft feathers against you, barely touching.

“Why?” He asks defiantly, putting his hands right back where they were. He almost sounds like he could be pouting but you’re too afraid to look.

“Because…” Now you hesitate, knowing that this is a road you shouldn’t travel. This is something that should stay buried. You’ve been great alone until now. And yet, you confess, “It feels good.”

Thor’s hands grow firmer, splayed out along your war-torn skin. Your war, but a war all the same.

“And I shouldn’t. I can’t.” You sigh.

“You should.” He whispers, his lips now hovering over the shell of your ear. Hands tracing your sides. “Let me take this grief from you. Let me show you that it can be good. That things are not lost. Let me comfort you. Let me lo-”

“No.” You almost sob. “Don’t.”

You know what he’ll say, and you don’t want to hear that lie again. Never again.

“Since the moment in the hangar when you saw past the shattered man I’d become and gave me that seedling of hope…I’ve lov-”

“Stop.” You gasp, again refusing to hear that lie. “You don’t even know me.”

“I’ve known you for years, little dove. But you’ve been distracted.” When Thor’s lips find the skin of your neck, you melt back against him.

Your body wants this. It wants his touch. And the fear in your heart is fading fast.

Thor’s hand slides down along your side, lovingly tracing your scars as he goes around to your front and down along your tummy until he finds the waistband of your pants and with his nails softly raking against your skin—it’s so good it makes you shiver—he slides his hand down to cup your mound, his middle finger sliding up and down your suddenly pooling folds.

“You’ve been alone for too long, little dove.” He whispers and he’s right, but you wanted to be alone because this…

“Wait…” You shake your head, snapping out of the lust your body demands. “No. You’ll—”

Thor moves his hand out of your pants and turns you around slowly, hearing your ‘no’. Why does he have to be so good to you?

His long blonde hair is still wrapped up tight on top of his head, his beard tickling the nape of your neck until he’s got you facing him.

“Why must you fight it?” He licks his lips and pulls you closer, his hips now pressed against you.

“You’ll leave.” You tell him, and it’s the fear talking. Fear that like Steve he’ll go, and he very well might.

Thor, more than any of the other Avengers except maybe Carol, has left Earth for years at a time.

“You’re right.” He nods, staring down at the shadows of uncertainty in your eyes. He smooths his thumbs across your cheeks, caressing the sides of your face slowly as your heart falls with his admittance. “I will leave.”

You look down at his chest and shut your eyes, fighting the new wave of sadness that threatens to shift into barbs. Wild and steel made to cut and build that wall back up to make them all keep away.

Why can’t he just drop it? Why is he trying?

He’s like Steve. He doesn’t care. He’ll abandon you.

“And when the time comes for me to return to whatever I might need to do, I will take you with me.” He says, almost amused by the look on your face.

Your eyes shoot open, searching his own for the lie.

“But you-”

“If you would let me speak, then I could tell you that I have wanted to be with you since the moment you kissed my cheek and told me that you would always believe in me.” He sighs, reaching down to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you against his full belly and broad, once again tight chest. “I’m a sucker for a sweet woman who believes in the best of me.”

“I’m not ready for this, Thor.” You sigh, feeling lighter than you have in a long time but worried and sick to your stomach with fear. “I need time.”

“Then time you shall have.” Thor nods. “So long as you know that this is where I stand. Waiting. Impatiently. Can I kiss you now?”

You almost smile because he’s been anything but impatient.

You really want him to do more than kiss you, but you nod. He leans down smiling and eager. You press his beard down against his neck to keep it out of the way as you push yourself onto your toes to meet his softened, pink lips.

He tastes like honey and wine and his kiss is out of this world.

Thor stares at you, eyes wide open as your own stare right back into his. The two of you are laying on his bed and he’s got his hands crossed over his chest while yours are wrapped around your knees, folded up as far as you can get them.

Today is a hard day. It’s been two years exactly since things went wrong.

No. Not Steve.

Yes, that had been life changing and it had destroyed you but that wasn’t when the destruction had truly started…

“What do you remember best about her?” Thor asks, his voice as gentle and warm as he can make it.

You think for a moment, staring at him because if you look away, you might fall to pieces like you did last year.

“Mmmm, I remember the way she saw things.” You smile, a sad, weak little thing that makes Thor smile too.

His is encouraging and it helps give you the strength to finally talk about this after two years of wishing that things had gone differently.

“When I first met her, she asked me why I wasn’t out in the field.”

“Why weren’t you?” Thor asks, curious.

“I wasn’t as well-trained as I am now. Back then I had a tendency to make small mistakes. I learned. I’m better now. Much better. When I told her that, she shook her head and I remember she holstered her gun, looked me right in the eyes and said, ‘We all make mistakes. Just make a few more and eventually you’ll make the right one.’”

Thor smiles a bit wider.

“Did she shrug?” He asks. “I can almost picture her shrugging as she said it.”

“She did.” You nod, smiling more genuinely. “She-”

You hesitate, staring at his inquiring face with a small bit of fear. You haven’t had this conversation yet.

“What is it?” He asks, reaching out to take your hand. “Tell me.”

“Before Steve and I…before he went on the run with her and Sam and Wanda, she knew how I felt about him. She saw right through me. Asked me why I hadn’t told him.” You look down at his chest, avoiding his stare because you don’t know what you have left over for Steve in you.

Apart from the anger, there’s a reason your heart still aches when you think about him.

“Why didn’t you tell him how you felt?” He wonders, no sound of judgement or jealousy in his voice.

“He’d told me once—or rather, he told her that I wasn’t his type. But I was right there, in front of him.” You can feel the weight of his words settle over you again.

You should have known back then. When he’d said that, he’d been telling the truth. You’d been the closest to his type maybe? The second choice. You weren’t Peggy and clearly she was his type. You should have believed him when he said it and saved yourself all this suffering.

“I should have believed him and not kissed him that night.” You lament, turning your gaze back on Thor finally. “I knew better. He’d said it himself that I wasn’t what he wanted but I kissed him anyway and the Snap brought him to me. Out of desperation and because I was all that he could get.”

Thor’s face darkens, eyebrows drawn close, chin flexing as your voice begins to break.

“Of course, he’s going to leave me the first chance he gets.” You sob. “What I don’t understand is why he kept it going for so long.”

You sit up, pulling yourself together as best you can as you push his blanket down a little so that you’re not so covered.

You’re in your sleep shorts, refusing to get out of bed on this second anniversary of Nat’s death. Shorts you wear only when it’s just you and Thor. He doesn’t judge your scars and they’re on every inch of you because you’d been reckless for too long in your battles before the needs of others became more important than burying your sorrow.

And here it comes, pouring out of you now, because you finally have someone that will just let you release it without making you feel bad or weak for it.

“I wish she was here. I miss her. I miss her voice and her counsel.” You explain as Thor sits up slowly to scoot closer, arm resting beside you but not touching you yet. “She knew him best and I wish she could explain it to me so that I can understand because-because…”

You should stop. You shouldn’t tell Thor this.

“What, my dove?” He asks, this time wrapping his arm around your waist as he scoots even closer.

“I-” You feel heavy tears fall onto the blanket, dull thuds against fabric and mattress. “I went back to the apartment last week. Where he and I…I was looking for some of my old clothes. Things to move in here. And I…I…”

You sob hard but keep your voice low, a whisper as you shake your head before you bury your face into your hands, refusing to say it.

Thor reaches up to grip your wrists and pulls your hand away easily, exposing the raw weeping face beneath.

“Tell me.” He coaxes.

“I f-found a r-ring.” You gasp, breathing in then out comes a quiet keening. Only Thor will hear you. “H-Hidden in his sock drawer.”

Had his love for Peggy really been that overwhelming that he’d planned a future with you? Hoped and dreamed like you had that there would be more to this life with you then abandoned it when the opportunity had presented itself?

You meet Thor’s eyes, biting hard on your bottom lip as you choke on your grief. Grief held in. Grief that you’d buried. Grief that you’ve clung to. Time to let it go.

You also don’t want to need Thor. You don’t want to need anyone, but you know that without Thor, you would still be chasing the mission. Chasing the high of a capture. Chasing the violence because the wreck inside you needs an outlet.

You do need Thor. Trying to deny that is not going to change that fact.

“I w-wasn’t enough.” You cry.

Thor shakes his head, reaching to wipe at your tears as he pulls you in to kiss him. Again, and again. Long pecks.

They’re searing, heated kisses made to chase away your sad thoughts and it works.

“You’re enough, little dove. You’re almost too much.” He jokes and you sob and laugh at the same time.

“I wish she was here.” You cry, renewed grief making you cry a little louder. “I miss her so much, Thor.”

“We’ll go see her.” Thor tells you, meaning the gravestone that had been erected for her. Even though her body isn’t there…she’s there. “As soon as you’re willing. We’ll go.”

His consideration only makes you cry harder and he kisses you more. He tries to chase it all away with his lips and at first it doesn’t work like it did moments ago.

Until it does, and your sobbing subsides.

He wraps both arms around you, twisting to lay you down gently against his pillows.

You’re breathless as he pulls back to yank off his shirt, his pot belly taut, smaller than before, but still there. His pecs have hardened, his arms are still massive and bulging. He waits with it off. Waiting for your rejection or acceptance.

“Don’t stop.” You gasp up at him, sitting up to pull your own shirt off then laying back down.

“I won’t.” He promises, excited by the go-ahead, then reaches down beneath you as you arch your back for him to unhook your bra and throw it with the rest of your clothes onto the floor.

It takes him seconds to get you completely naked. He makes a quick pass of his lips across every scar on your body as he slides back and off the bed. He stands to strip away his own pants as he admires your naked form.

Your own eyes roam his new perfection. His cock is huge, peach and swollen, throbbing as he climbs back over you.

He kisses along your ankle, up the inside of your calf, your knee, and thighs. Here he sucks gently, marking your flesh with his love bite before he delves between your folds to taste your soaked cunt.

Too long. You’ve been wanting this for too long. Alone for too long. He was right to tell you that before.

He’s lapping up at your clit, suckling gently on it as his hands slide up along the bottom of your thighs, pushing your bent legs up higher until your hips are almost lifted off the mattress so that he can get a better angle at your entrance.

His tongue dances along the edge, nose nudging your clit before he worms it along inside, tasting you.

You gasp, reaching down to cling to his long blonde hair as it falls around him. He grunts at your tugging but he’s gentle with you, stripping away at your protective layers until your undulating beneath him.

Your grieving sobs have turned into nectarous whimpers and Thor is absolutely frantic on your cunt as he races back up to your clit to lick and bite, coaxing your body into the most powerful orgasm of your life.

You fall to pleasurable pieces there with his head between your legs, your hands locked in his hair, toes curled, body trembling.

He eats you out until you’re overstimulated, twitching, and your moaning has subsided. Then he kisses your stomach, once again pressing his lips to those bullet and knife scars, stopping on the one that had almost killed you at your clavicle, where he licks and leaves another love bite.

“How did you get this one, my dove?” He wonders, your body still recovering.

Breathless you look down at the scar he means as he traces it with his fingers, his chin and beard shining with your arousal. You wipe at his face, embarrassed by how wet you got…but it had been a while!

“I um…I was in Japan. A village called Kiso. I didn’t realize I was walking into a trap. T-two guys had really, really long blades. They got me from both sides. One from the back—that one I couldn’t stop. One from the front which I blocked after he cut me a bit. I killed them and I almost bled out, but some villagers found me and got me to a hospital.” You run your hand along the back of his head as he rests it on your left breast, tracing the scar with his finger still.

“I should have come back sooner.” He laments, looking up at your face.

“I wasn’t ready for you then.” You tell him. “I’m not sure if I’m ready for you even now.”

Thor pushes himself up, staring at your face for a moment before he looks down at your breast and while he turns his eyes back on you, he opens his mouth to take in your perked nipple.

He sucks on it softly, tongue lapping around it in circles.

You gasp, overcome by desire again. You fist the hair on the back of his head then pull him up to kiss you.

Tasting yourself on him is intoxicating and empowering. Here he is, marked as yours.

You push against his shoulder and he rolls over until he’s on his back and you’re settled on top of him. Rocking your hips back until his cock pokes against your cheeks.

“You’re ready for me now, aren’t you, little dove?” He asks, slowly rubbing his hands along the tops of your thighs.

You reach down between your bodies, line him up, and slowly sink down on him until you’re absolutely full.

Thor’s hands are vices on the tops of your thighs, and he groans as you take him in his entirety.

You cry out, your walls stretched and out of practice. You can feel him throbbing within you and your walls are velvet waves against him.

“You’re so perfect, my dove.” Thor says, almost in shock, throwing his head back against his pillows as you’re wrapped around him. “So perfect.”

Slowly you begin to rock your hips, feeling the splendor of his massive cock slide in and out over and over while his hands explore the curves of your body, one hand squeezing your breasts while the other thumbs your clit.

“Thor…” You whimper, trying to move faster but already your legs are numb. Still recovering from your first orgasm.

He suddenly sits up and places his hands on the curve of your ass and helps to pull you back and forth faster. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss him hungrily, moaning into his mouth as he leads you to fuck him.

You come hard and fast, breaking the kiss to bite into his shoulder as your body goes rigid and then continues to tremble as he keeps going.

“That’s it, little dove. Let me make it better.” He says happily, then turns you over to lay you down on your back once more.

He settles over you, pelvis to pelvis, his mouth open against yours as you gasp and moan into him while he pumps himself in and out in long smooth waving thrusts.

“Doesn’t that feel good, my dove?” He asks, and you nod, still riding your high.

“Yes.” You whimper, tracing the shape of his shoulders as he dips his tongue into your mouth.

He licks and kisses along your chin, down your neck as he moves faster, thrusting hard. He pounds against your nub, that band in your pelvis tightening and moments away from snapping again.

Thor’s movements become more frantic as he chases his own climax. His hands grasp your shoulders, holding your body flush against his own as his lips find their way back to yours.

He pulls back, staring into your eyes for two long seconds as your body tightens once more.

“I love you.” He whispers, and your heart sears painfully in your chest.

Your stomach is in flutters, nervous, excited, terrified, as his words register. Your lips open to respond. To return his feelings. To tell him that you feel the same. You love him too. Yes.

You do. You see that.

But you can’t say it.

The band in your pelvis snaps and your body is yanked into euphoric pleasure once again as Thor’s last thrust explodes within you.

He groans, mashing his lips to yours and you kiss him back eagerly, returning his love in the kiss because you can’t say it…you can’t tell him.  You love him. But this is all you can give him. For now? Forever?

What if he leaves you?

He breaks your kiss, his lips gliding down along your cheek to your ear as both your bodies tremble together.

“I love you.” He whispers again. “Always.”

In the aftermath of your first night with Thor, he becomes less platonic with you in front of the others.

He doesn’t outright kiss you or hold your hand when they’re around, but he shows it in some subtle and not so subtle ways.

His more subtle ways include him serving your food first or giving you first choice of drink. He makes sure that you have a blanket when you state that you’re cold. And he brags to Stephen and Wanda about your skills with Mjolnir. For those really watching, it’s hard to miss. But everyone is living their own lives and they don’t have time for your drama.

The day that everyone actually finds out, you get up from bed and pull on a plain gray tank top—you’ve been less careful of your scars since that night with Thor—that you tuck into a pair of loose pink and white striped pants. They’re tied up with a matching sash, casual and easy for a lazy day in the tower.

“Where are you going?” Thor asks, rousing from his slumber, rubbing at his eye with his large fist. His hair is a mess, a nest of golden hair that needs brushing. His beard is already braided neatly, fastened with a thin, tiny black band.

His large shirtless body is scrumptious in the late morning and you move to the bed to crawl over him and kiss his lips, smoothing the worst of his bedhead.

Here in the safety of your room, and occasionally his, you can be open with your affections. You don’t worry about the stares that the team might give you or the questions that might follow.

You don’t want an audience to this if Thor is going to leave you in the end. For now, you’ll enjoy this for what it is. You’ll keep it quiet. Thor doesn’t seem too worried about letting them know either so…you’ll keep it to yourselves.

“I’m hungry.” You tell him.

“Stay here, I’ll go get you something.” He springs out from under you, shifting to the edge of the bed to pull on his pants, t-shirt quickly pulled on too.

“I wanna go.” You counter, and because it’s what you want, Thor doesn’t protest.

“I’ll come with you.” He says, getting to his feet, yawning.

“You’re still sleepy.” You point out and he moves around towards you, pulling you in for a long-held hug. Last night’s debrief had been a long one. New bads making a name for themselves up north and it’s starting to look as if the entire team will be needed.

“I am.” He agrees. “But I’m hungry too.”

You’re about to protest but if he’s hungry too…You head out, pulling out of his arms but when you turn, he reaches down to grab hold of your sash.

Like a puppy on a lead, he follows you through the hallway, into the elevator, down the steps of the upper deck, and down to the lower common room holding onto your sash.

This gesture draws Bucky and Sam’s gazes, their breakfasts abandoned. They stare, slightly openmouthed, while Rhodey sits back in his chair, observing curiously as he sips his coffee. Wanda covers her mouth, smiling underneath while Peter beside her drops his bottle of water on the glass table loudly where it splashes and makes a mess.

Stephen, already standing at the kitchen counter, looks from your easy expression to Thor’s hand as he clings to your pants and follows you behind the counter. He says nothing however, just watches.

“Are there any pop tarts?” Thor wonders, just to you, but everyone can hear him.

You push yourself up onto your toes and pull open a cabinet to look inside. An unopened box of unfrosted strawberry pop tarts sits waiting for consumption.

“Yep.” You grab it and hold it over your shoulder for him while you reach in with your other hand a little deeper in search of the box of breakfast bars you’d bought last week.

Thor releases your sash and wraps that arm around your waist as he leans down to kiss your neck, taking the box of pop tarts from you.

“Thank you.” He says so that only you can hear, and your nervous heart flutters.

He’s kissing you, holding you, in front of everyone. You’re terrified of it but also ecstatic because it means this is real…but how real? Will he leave you? Will he break you?

You turn back to look up at him, searching his soft smile for a sign that he’ll change his mind. That he’ll rip this away from you and leave you, just like-

“Steve?” Wanda asks, her voice speaking your mind.

You turn away from Thor, twisting in his hold to look at Wanda in confusion. Can she read minds now?

But her eyes are trained on the upper floor, at the top of the stairs.

Everyone is already looking up, Bucky is on his feet, hands clenched into fists. He looks angry.

You follow their gaze and you very nearly faint at the sight of Steve in a pair of dark brown high-waisted pants, and a light blue button up, staring down at you with glistening blue eyes. A million questions for you because you’re still in Thor’s arms.

“I’m back.” He tells you—because he’s only looking at you—and he waits, while the shock wears off in you and something else takes its place.

Support me on Ko-fi

Forever Tag List @jessieray98 @crist1216 @rainbowkisses31 @xxloki81xx @the-wayward-robot @quokkatrash @tiffanynguyen03 @basementcafe @kind-sober-fullydressed @moli1497 @badassbaker @awkwardfangirl2014 @shield-agent78 @supernaturaldean67 @sea040561 @jewelofwinter @this-side-of-midnight5 @sebbystanlover-vk @just4muggles @death-unbecomes-you @lilulo-12 @whosmarisaaarw @hiddles-rose @pandazlazykid @alagalaska @theonelittleone @xlittlestarling @moonlessnight14 @natura1phenomenon @pineapplebooboo @spaghettirogers @dsakita @sincerelytlh @booklover2929 @lovefreylove @just-trying-to-survive-marvel @vulpecula-minor @fallinginlovewithqueue @babytrollgirl @wildefire @fairislesheets @mother-of-fire-snakes @xrosegoldwolfx @queenoftheunderdark @mrsdeanwinchester19 @thefridgeismybestie @mcuwillbethedeathofme @peaceinourtime82 @baebeepeach @teller258316 @juustpeachy420 @libbymouse @avxgers @septixtrash

Heavy Is the Hand You’re Dealt @jennmurawski13 @musingpredilection @greyeyedsmile14 @beautybyfire @voltage-my2dlove @marvelouspottering

Steve Taglist @patzammit @darkdragonpheonix @lostinthoughts23

#eliza's 5k challenge #thor x reader #steve x reader #thor x reader fic #thor x reader fanfic #thor x reader fanfiction #thor x you #thor x y/n #thor/you #thor/reader #thor/y/n #steve x reader fic #steve x reader fanfic #steve x reader fanfiction #steve x you #steve x y/n #steve/reader #steve/you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader fanfic #steve rogers x reader fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel au #captain america x reader #thor odinson x reader #heavy is the hand you're dealt pt03 #heavy is the hand you're dealt #avengers x reader

[friday-ocean]

Riding A Good Time

Summary: Your day is a complete failure. Bad luck, bankruptcies and breakdowns accompany you. To relax you go to a well-known club to buy something very special. But a big, unfriendly man stands between you and your new world. Or maybe not?

Paring: DrugSeller!Bucky X Reader

Warning: Drugs, SMUT

Authors Note: This is the contribution to @youngmoneymilla writing assignment. Congratulations again for the 5.000! You will surely have doubled the number soon!

Based on the song “Ride A White Horse” by Goldfrapp

MASTERLIST

~*~*~

Wrong foot. Black cat. Broken mirror. Salt spilled. 13. Bad luck. Fate. You can call it that, but you don't have to. In any case it brings bad mood, at least to you.

The day starts almost an hour late - your alarm clock has died silently in the night and you owe it only to your inner clock not to wake up later. The next thing you must notice is that the night before you forgot to load the wet laundry from the washing machine into the tumble dryer. There are now two possibilities: either to wear the uncomfortable, sexy underwear and the much too tight skirt to work, or the comfortable, but damp ensemble. Worried about a bladder infection and the constant uncomfortable feeling of peeing in your panties, you'd rather choose the uncomfortable outfit.

In the restaurant you work in, things shouldn't get any better. Although your colleagues tried to hide your delay from your boss, he had somehow managed to get wind of your absence. He will gladly deduct the hour from your wages...

Around noon almost all the tables were occupied by hungry guests and you could hardly run as fast as people asked for you. Heavy trays of hot food, cold drinks and strong coffees were carried around by you. Despite the hustle and bustle, you managed to meet each guest with a friendly smile. All the greater was your disappointment when you counted the meagre tip. All that fake smile - for nothing!

At the latest at the evening business a thought slowly matures in you. A colleague had drawn your attention to the dissatisfied guests at one of your tables. Without "hello", "please" or even considering your person, they complained directly about the too warm water, the cold food and other little things. With pinched lips you apologize, knowing full well that this is only a bad trick to get a free dessert at your expense. But do you have another option than to take the order and pay for it? Hardly. What is 10 € against the danger of a cancellation?

With sluggish steps you can complete the last tasks of the day. Just tidy up and lock up and you'd finally be off work! The bad luck of the day and the stress of the day urgently needed a drain valve. It's hard to imagine how much worse your bad mood could get...

You open your locker with a sigh of relief. Move quickly and you could start into the evening. Hectically you search the small cupboard. Didn't you always have a T-shirt in here for emergencies? Deo, chewing gums, a thick pantyhose, a towel and felt hundreds of hair bands, but no T-shirt! Not even an old, sweaty one. You slam the door shut with a bang. And now what? A white blouse and black skirt were now inappropriate for your planned trip. In this outfit you have the charm of an incompetent undercover policeman. Inconspicuously, it's different...

Under the white blouse you wear only the uncomfortable, black bra. (Sad, if you consider that not even the one who gave you more tips.) Black skirt, black bra, black shoes... Your eyes fall on your black leather jacket, which you quickly put on in the morning. Actually, you only wear this gem at events, like a dinner or date, but on this cursed morning you just didn't find an alternative. Just wearing your jacket over your bra would be daring, almost obscene, but almost perfect for today's project. Plus, if you wear the jacket almost closed, you'd even keep a little self-respect.

With new self-confidence you leave the small restaurant and turn towards the city centre, towards the colourful lights and the pulsating life. Your goal is a rather unknown club, popular with those who really want to dance and enjoy the music rather than be in the spotlight. A small bonus of this special audience is the great choice of ways to create the evening. Well, you prefer to "ride a white horse".

The doorman looks at your outfit with interest but refuses to comment. That's right, you think bitterly. A sexist saying and you would have ripped his head off with cold anger. The evening is still young, so far there are only a few night characters at the bar and on the dance floor. But to your joy the person you are looking for is sitting at the bar: Sam Wilson, known as "the contact".

With a wide smile you cross the dance floor and slide onto the bar stool next to Sam. His dark eyes only wander briefly over your body, but then get stuck on your face. A broad smile lights up his face as he recognizes you. "Hello sweetie! Long-time no see. How's it going, how's it going?" Sam's good mood is directly contagious, and you give him a little smile: "I hope the day gets even better today". You wink briefly, but Sam understands you as well.

"Well, I'm sure I can do something," Sam's gaze is almost caring as he bends over to you. "I have a new boyfriend like that", his voice only a soft whisper against your ear, "Pale, dark hair, blue eyes, big - should shave again. Wears a hoodie and a denim jacket. Sits in the back of the VIP area and spreads bad mood." You shrink your eyebrows, but don't ask Sam any more questions.

The seller's description is not very friendly, but very accurate. You discover the unfriendly, badly shaved big man immediately. He sits on the red leather sofa, leaning back and his legs wide open, a bottle of beer in his big hand. Next to him sits Steve, a salesman you already know.

Deals are always the same: Sam sits at the bar or stands at the edge of the dance floor. If you want to buy something, you must pass him first. He checks everyone, filters out potential undercover cops and traitors before passing the serious buyers on to the sellers in the club. The sellers change regularly, sometimes even on the same evening. Steve, Natasha, Clint... Familiar faces where you've bought your Winniebago in the past.

Without waiting for an invitation, you settle down next to the tall man on the sofa. "Hi! Long-time no see, Steve!" "Hello little one. Well, how can we help you?" Steve's smile could come directly from a glossy magazine. "I had hoped you could send me to a beautiful new world?" Steve shoots another smile at you: "Of course, little one. My friend Bucky here will be happy to help you!

Your gaze wanders over to the tall figure next to you. Bucky, as you now know, apparently didn't look at you during the whole conversation. He briefly hits his thighs before he rises and leaves the small VIP area. A friendly smile to Steve and you follow his big friend. With long steps he crosses the club again. You have trouble following his fast pace, but at a door leading into the club's internal area, he waits for you. Like a gentleman, he holds the door open for you and you step into the narrow, dark corridor.

Goosebumps spread on your skin and you try to swallow the heavy toilet in your throat. Even if this is not your first purchase, you cannot suppress the growing restlessness in your stomach. "Why do you want to buy something?", the dark voice of Bucky makes you roar around, the eye brown pulled together. His dark, imposing figure is only a few centimetres away from you. The door has closed behind him and the only light in the entire hallway is a single, naked light bulb that creates long shadows.

Although you thought you always had a perfect eye on your surroundings and noticed every interest in your person, you didn't notice Bucky's piercing look. You weren't his first buyer, not even that night. Your whole figure amazed him. Although your outfit is sexy and provocative, you also radiate a certain elegance, with your upright walk and straight shoulders. Dark eyelids speak of a strenuous job, but your eyes sparkle in the colourful light of the spotlights - unlike the veiled eyes of the addict. But much more fascinated is the one of your skin: radiant, soft and a soft redness spreads over your entire chest. Bucky really had to pull himself together to follow the conversation between you and Steve and not stare at your exposed skin.

With a shrug you try to give him an honest answer: "I just... want to relieve stress, relax. The world around me... Feel..." "And for that you need cocaine?", his eyebrows rise and for the first time that evening you see him directly in his ice-blue eyes - his gaze seems to beat you right through marrow and leg. Again, you try to swallow the toilet in your throat before you answer: "It goes so faster. Easier. Cheaper." Another step and Bucky stand right in front of you, his own scent of tobacco, wood and sweet orange surrounds him. "More dangerous?" You wrinkle your nose and raise your gaze: "There are hardly any alternatives."

Bucky's hands hold your upper arms tightly, pushing you against the wall of the hallway. Your lips almost touch, your breath mixes. The blue of his eyes has given way to the black of his enlarged pupils. Is he on cocaine himself? Heroin? Or do you trigger this greedy, animalistic expression in him? "Should I let you feel the world? Bucky's voice is just a rough whisper, but you can hear his seriousness.

"On your knees', Bucky lets go of your upper arms, but his big body continues to press you against the wall. Bucky answers your indecisive facial expression again, this time more emphatically and louder: "On your knees! His piercing gaze and firm voice leave no room for interpretation. You press yourself firmly against the wall and slowly slide down it. Your knees land hard on the floor, you sit with your ass on your legs. His lap floats in front of the tip of your nose, a clear bump stretches out towards you.

Bucky quickly opens his pants and pulls them down with his underpants until his penis is free. You raise your eyes, blink through long eyelashes up to Bucky. The look out of your innocent, big eyes completely upsets Bucky. How could such a beautiful, elegant, immaculate woman have such a desire for something as dangerous and dirty as heroin? An almost animalistic grunt is created in Bucky's throat. He would show you a whole new world.

His big hand lies on the back of your head and before you can even protest, he presses your lips firmly against his limb that he is holding out with the other hand. Shocked, you open your eyes and try to push yourself away from him. But his grip on the back of your head doesn't let up. He keeps pressing his limb against you, stroking your lips with the glans. Intuitively you finally open your mouth, the pressure against your lips too compelling.

The top of his shaft slides in your mouth, bumps against your tongue. You gasp, but Bucky doesn't penetrate any further. Your teeth close around the tip of his penis - a second flickers the fear you might bite over Bucky's face. But you relax your jaw and Bucky can feel your warm, tight and wet mouth.

Slowly, you notice Bucky's very own taste. Salty, a bit bitter, but above all... primitive. An unknown feeling stirs deep in your intestines - a pulling, tingling sensation that slowly spreads inside you. Involuntarily your tongue flickers over the tip of his tail - the bitter, salty taste intensifies. You raise your eyes and look for Bucky's eyes. His gaze from his shining eyes is caught with yours. He had expected to see fear, disgust or disgust in your eyes, but instead your eyes are dark and expectant.

His long fingers begin to draw small circles on your scalp, confusing your long hair. Again, your tongue flickers, but this time it strokes his glans, feeling the soft and sensitive skin.  Bucky supports himself with his other arm against the wall and presses his hip towards you. Slowly you breathe in through your nose, relax your jaw even further and Bucky pushes his penis even deeper. His penis is even thicker swollen, now completely stiff. Your mouth gets wetter and wetter and you stroke the saliva over its length. The tingling in your body flares up - your head starts to fog. There are only the flames in you and the original taste on your tongue. Moisture spreads between your legs, your inner muscles cramp for nothing.

Your hand surrounds his tail just above his testicles, slowly letting your head slide back and forth until your lips touch your hand. Bucky exhales sharply - this isn't his first blowjob, but only you can make the world spin. Your tongue glides over his tail, you feel every protruding vein. A demanding sigh arises in your throat, the vibration shakes Bucky. He closes his eyes and moans; his long fingers massage your head. His face shines with complete bliss. You have never seen a more beautiful sight for which you are responsible. Through the closed door the bass of the music roars, pulsating deep in your chest, your belly, between your legs. More demanding you suck, closing your lips even tighter around Bucky's cock. His muscles cramp, the dark colours around him begin to shine. Presumptuously, your hand embraces his eggs. Your fingers begin to gently massage his sack, in rhythm with your lips.

Suddenly Bucky explodes - his abdominal muscles cramp together and his hot, bitter juice shoots into your mouth. His moaning makes you tremble inside, you swallow every drop like sweet nectar. His tail becomes noticeably softer after the last drop, but you keep your lips closed around him, looking at Bucky only through big eyes. He opens his heavy songs as if after a long, restful sleep. Your sight makes him shudder - you on your knees, your hands on his sack and tail, full red lips. But you have a glitter in your eyes, life, strength, hunger - rosy cheeks and confused hair. Pure ectasia.

Bucky takes a small step back and lets his tail slide out of your mouth. Saliva glitters all over his length and on your lips. You swallow the bitter taste, already now with the desire for more. You still stay on your knees, close to Bucky's crotch. He pulls up his underpants and trousers again, looks at your saliva like a hard-won trophy.

"Show me your new world again."

 ~ Fin ~

#my writing #bucky x reader smut #bucky barns x reader #bucky barns #marvel #marvel smut #marvel another universe #another universe #eliza’s 5k challenge

[buckyownsmylife]

💜

Yay, thanks for asking me for a writer recommendation!

I recommend you check out @dollslayer's masterlist, and you should start with In the Dark. Eliza actually wrote this for one of my challenges and I was immediately fascinated with their talent, particularly with their ability to take a seemingly straightforward plot and give it a spin that's completely unexpected!

I trust you'll love it!

Send me a 💜if you want me to recommend you one of my favorite fanfic writers and come celebrate 5k with me!

#eyre talks #author recommendations #fics recs #eyre's favorite stories #miraclesoflove

[phatjosh180]

The Joshbys 2017: Friends & Family Winners

** EDIT: I thought I pushed PUBLISH a couple of days ago. I did not. So here you are. **

I have been doing The Joshbys now for 12 years. I laugh that this has lasted this long, because — I started it as a tongue in cheek way of labeling my favorite siblings. But, I get asked about it every year around November and December. Especially when a friend felt slighted from the previous year.

But, as the years have gone by the meaning has changed — slightly. Sure, there’s still a tongue in cheekness to it, but really this is a way for me to acknowledge the people in my life — family and friends. I grew up with the belief that you show gratitude for the people in your life and celebrate them often. That’s really what The Joshbys are about. And, that’s what they’ll always be about.

Anyways, earlier this week, I released the list of nominees for the family and friends category, and now here are the winners.

So without any further adieu, the winners …

Friend Category 2017

Best Friend of the YearDavid Stuart Dave is the friend of all friends. He’s always willing to hang out, go get food or even run to Walmart on a Friday or Saturday night. You won’t find a friend as loyal, understanding and encouraging as Dave. 

New Friend of the YearLizzi Ashby Lizzi has reminded me of the importance to fight for what you want in life, and the need to constantly challenge the limits of your comfort zone. I have become a better person because of her example and friendship.

Inspiring Friend of the YearRobert Merriman I have known Robert for over 3-4 years now and you seriously can’t find a better, kinder friend than him. He is right there encouraging and helping others along life or the trails. With his current fight with cancer his example of courage, fearlessness and faith has been inspiring to those know and love him. Keep fighting Robert! #FightLikeRobert

Cyber Friend of the Year Spencer Myers There are many times I sit at my computer and just laugh out loud from the exchanges me and Spencer have on social media. He’s a genuinely funny guy. Everyone should follow him.

Running Friend of the YearZack Winters I have had some awesome adventures with Zack — whether it was finishing the AF Canyon Run Against Cancer, beasting through the Tmp Elk Run or running The Haunted Half — I’ve been truly inspired by Zack. He’s a great kid with great ambitions and goals. I see so much of myself in him and can’t wait to see where he goes in life.

New Running Friend of the YearRussell Hutchings I am in awe of Russell and his passion to run. Not just for pure records and PRs, but with his dad and the AIIA team. This kid has a heart of gold and is always looking for ways to serve others. I can’t wait to see him tackle Squaw Peak 50 in 2018 along with the many other goals he has set out. Keep it Little Man!

Out of State FriendJill Gabica I sadly give Jill this award. Last year she wasn’t even eligible. But, after moving to Boise in June my weekend running buddy is gone. We still had many awesome adventures — namely Jackpot — and we have many more planned in 2018 — again, mainly Jackpot (possibly others). I’ve always valued and cherished Jill’s friendship — from Chuck to now.

Friend Mom of the YearAmanda Bjarnson Um, Amanda is a total badass (it’s true, I gave her a Joshby for it). She ran pregnant pretty much right up to the time she popped. And, she’s already itching to get back out there. I have the utmost respect to not just pregnant runners, but mother runners — how they balance their running with a family amazes me. It also really reiterates the fact that guys would make horrible mothers.

Friend Dad of the YearBlu Robinson Ever since I met Blu back in 2015 I have looked up to him not just as a friend, but especially a dad. His frankness, sensibility, insight and sense of humor is something I hope I can pull off when I become a Dad someday.

Friend Kid of the YearMiles Bjarnson This wasn’t very hard, I practically named this kid. I just hope Amanda knows that when I have a kid, one of them will be using this name as well (my wife won’t have a choice in the matter). May I suggest Fartlek for their next child?

Friend Couple of the YearBlu & Marissa Robinson This was a very difficult category for the committee to award, because there are so many great couples deserving of this award. But, this is very deserving to the Robinsons. Not only is Blu deserving of Dad of the Year, but — and, I am sure Blu would echo this — he wouldn’t be deserving of that without Marissa. Not only are the Robinsons a great couple and team for their family, but the community around them as well with Addict II Athlete and their work. I am a better person because of their dedication to each other and the team.

And, here is the family category …

Family Category 2017

Family Member of the YearTatum Rex Snow Minson This was a difficult category, but the award once again goes to Tatum. How can it not when the kid is always excited to see me with an enthusiastic “WALLA!” yell? That can’t be beat. I love this kid. He makes me smile and my day better every time I see him.

New Member of the Year Eliza R. Stallings Sure, she was the only one eligible in this category, but she would have won it anyways. This kid is cute and her personality keeps getting bigger and bigger. I will always remember getting news of her birth. I just DNF’d my first race and as I was heading back to my car I turned on my phone and got numerous texts and pictures announcing her birth. She redeemed what could have easily been a horrible day.

Family Baby of the Year Tatum Rex Snow Minson As mentioned above, this kid has my heart. All of my nieces and nephews do, but we’ve had a special bond since he was born not yet two years ago. His loving, caring and funny personality is ever endearing and makes me excited to be a dad one day.

Family Kid of the Year Maya Faith Hansen It’s hard to believe that this kid is 9 years old. I remember the day she was born. I made the trip along with my mom to Seattle and waited all night in a small hospital waiting room watching Elmo movies. Fast forward 9 years later this kid has grown into a smart, sweet and goal orientated young woman who loves running and has done a couple 5K races with me. Something we’re planning on doing again this year.

Cousin of the YearMariathy Valavanis The best part of my 15 day trip to Europe was meeting my family in Greece after years of online correspondence. I couldn’t have asked for a better trip being able to meet my family, especially my cousin Mariathy. I loved the time our family was able to spend with her and my other cousins and it was much harder to leave, but I promised her that I will come back to run the Athens Marathon with her soon-to-be husband in 2019! 

Family Mother of the YearJessica Stallings After many years waiting to become a mother, that reality came to fruition this year with Eliza’s birth. Jess is such a great mother and I love seeing Jess in the role she’s yearned for, for years. I am beyond happy for her and Scott. 

Family Father of the YearScott Stallings Just like Jess, Scott has waited years for this role. And, Scott is such a great dad to Eliza. I love watching his social media feed of him and Eliza — it’s no wonder she’s a happy kid. Scott is very deserving of this award.

Sibling of the YearJenny Minson I have a special bond with each of my siblings. But, this past year I have really bonded with Jenny — it helps she mothers Tatum. But, Jenny has one of the biggest hearts and takes after my Mom in that regard. She has been a great example to me on doing the right thing when the moment arises.

Sibling In-Law of the YearKelli Hansen I get along with my in-laws, but Kelli and I just have a very special bond. Being practically the same age helps a lot, but we really bonded during our European vacation. I am excited for Kelli and Ben and what 2018 will bring them and our family. 

Congratulations to all the winners of The Joshby Awards. Again, this is really a celebration about YOU and the impact you’ve made in my life. I feel so blessed and lucky to have so many amazing people in my life.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. Here’s to a great 2018!

The Joshbys 2017: Friends & Family Winners was originally published on PhatJosh | My Life Running.

#Awards #Family #family and friends #Fitness #friends #health #Joshbys #love #The Joshby Awards #The Joshbys #wellness #winners

[apsbicepstraining]

12 Ways You Can Use Your Smartphone For Fitness Inspiration

Everything you need for a great fitness program is actually in the palm of your hand. Smartphone apps can help inspire your routine, track your progress and keep your nutrition sorted. Need to wind down after a tough bootcamp class? There’s an app for that too.

Here’s a schedule of HuffPost editor recommended apps, Instagram-based those programmes and more. Put those little machines to good exploit!

For whether it wishes to track your progression:

Artur Debat via Getty Images

Prepping for a range? Don’t forget the app that tracks it.

1. MapMyRun, MapMyRide& MapMyWalk

“This has best available UI[ user interface] of all the running apps I’ve used in the past. One app to keep track of all your leads and enters. It even syncs with your device’s music library for workout playlists.” — Justin Block, associate athletics writer

“I really like MapMyWalk. I aimed up taking a ton of gaits when I firstly had my son because I couldn’t work up yet and only needed to get out of the house. It truly facilitated add a bit arrangement and data to something that I would have been doing anyways and often pushed me to move forward, stroll longer.” — Kerstin Shamberg, editorial partnerships chairman

I affection the MapMyRun app! It’s extremely reliable and motivating to see how I’ve been progressing. — Kira Brekke, video writer

“I really like MapMyRide and MapMyRun. They are both heavily GPS based, but keep track of everything, speeding, separates, elevation. And the app has internal( patron based) objection that let you acquire real booties. They have great social phases too.” — Troy Dunham, art administrator

2. Nike +~ ATAGEND

“I really, truly hate lope. But I desire maps, and I affection experiencing when I’m making progress, and this delineates it all out for you — during your workout you can see your tempo and how far you’ve led, and after your run for your lives obstructs racetrack of ALL your flows, so you can see your betterment( or need thereof, in my suit ). My favorite fraction is after the lead, a celebrity player congratulates you on finishing( and I’m missing the years when Tim Tebow was in the spin, because that cleared me laugh after every pas ). ” — Kristen Aiken , executive editor, meat and mode

For when you need a reminder to keep it moving:

Jupiterimages via Getty Images

Many apps will show you how setting out at home.

3. Couch to 5K

“It’s a great system to gradually get moving more over such courses of a couple months, is the beginning with super easy operates and get harder as you go. I enjoy Seargent Block who is one of the articulations on it … you feel like you’re in the Army! He’s no joke! ” — Megan Robertson, director of video

4. Fit Bolt

If you’re a desk jockey, Fit Bolt will remind you to get up, strain, do a few climbing jacks, booze more water or just breathe. I think everyone should use it. — Jade Walker , overnight editor

For when you want to use your wearable:

Betsie Van der Meer via Getty Images

Awearable canhelp you track and take stock of what you’re already doing.

5. Workout by Apple

“I use the ‘Workout’ app on my Apple watch, because it lets me select the kind of workout, tracks my heart rate and distance I pass, and syncs with my other apps, like Health and Virgin Pulse.” — Tyler Kingkade, senior editor/ reporter

6. Jawbone+ UP app

“I adore my Jawbone bracelet and the UP app associated with it. Because I define aims for myself, I push myself to construct them and I can see my advance over duration. It’s what remains me in line with march, exercisings, and sleep.” — Candy Bigwood , mobile skill head

“I use the Jawbone wearable and their app’s ‘smart coach’ leaves informative informs and gratuities about your sleep+ fitness.” — Justin Block

For when you want to sync up diet with activity:

Dirima via Getty Images

Studies show that nutrition accounts for 75 percent of weight loss.

7. MyFitness Pal

“My favorite one is MyFitnessPal, which integrates with FitBit and gives you track meat and calories throughout the day. It’s truly a great path to track task and how many calories you’re consuming, and smacked weight loss goals.” — Megan Robertson

“It’s an awesome aid for counting calories, and you can use it to lose/ sustain weight with or without exercise. You can put in your target heavines and it’ll tell you how many calories you can eat each day( within a health minimum, of course) to lose those pounds. Genuinely helpful for someone like me who’s not into ‘superfood’ and simply wants to keep their heavines in check.” — Andy Campbell, reporter

“I’d say I’m( sadly) a recreational fitness app user at best. I open them a few times per month when I’m either seeming like a) a boss for completing a killer workout or b) the laziest being in the world. Nonetheless, I like ensure that they are able to sometimes check My Fitness Pal when it comes to nutrition because I’ve received they have a fairly significant database for eateries and dinners and the measurements are pretty on detail. It’s one of the only apps I’ve applied preferably routinely in the past few months.” — Lindsay Holmes, deputy health writer

8. LoseIt

“I failed 12 pounds for my marry exploiting it! ” — Sara Wald, collaborator studio

For when it is necessary take occasions down a notch:

ZenShui/ Laurence Mouton via Getty Images

Yes, fitness also incorporates mindfulness.

9. Calm

“I applied it on as background interference when I’m doing yoga or reflect, and they likewise have short navigated musings as well! ” — Mallory Moyer , spouse studio program director

For when you need a little brainchild:

A video posted by Kayla Itsines (@ kayla_itsines )~ ATAGEND on Apr 30, 2016 at 4:57 am PDT

10. ATAG 29 TTZombies Run

I hate to exert. Detest it. But this awesome story-telling app about a zombie holocaust gets me moving. — Jade Walker

11. ClassPass

“It has allowed me to diversify my workouts and try brand-new class I wouldn’t have otherwise, if I had to pay a separate fee. You put in your location and you can find really great classifies within. 5 miles or three miles or however long you’re willing to travel. Plus, formerly you’ve started employing it, it will start recommending first-class for you based on the ones you’ve taken.” — Ashley Reich, administration weddings and divorce writer

12. Instagram

Instagram is great for fitness motive/ new exercising themes because there’s so many fitness leader out there on Instagram, perpetually posting videos of their workouts. I always go to Instagram when it’s time for me to switch up my workout. It’s all right there in front of you! — Stephanie Petchers, associate creator for HuffPost Rise

In particular, parties affection @Kayla_Itsines :

“On Instagram, I adore Kayla Itsines, the Australian fitness superstar. I desire the before and after photos of women who have gotten fit on her platform and how encouraging and person positive she is. Even if you’re not on her platform, it’s amazing to encounter what people can achieve in a few weeks.” — Megan Robertson

“She has a stellar Instagram presence with truly positive messaging and enormous ideas on person likenes. I do her guides! ” — Eliza Sankar-Gorton , audience increase

We want to help you feel stronger, happier and more empowered. Sign up for our newsletter and meet our 30 -Day Move More, Feel Better defy. We’ll deliver tips, challenges and admonition to your inbox every day.

Use our defy calendar below to stay on track — it can even sync to your own schedule and mail reminders to your phone :

The post 12 Ways You Can Use Your Smartphone For Fitness Inspiration appeared first on apsbicepstraining.com.

from WordPress http://ift.tt/2kpm9va via IFTTT

#IFTTT #WordPress