#also if it isn’t clear reader is purposefully laying it on thick through this whole thing

[paimonial-rage]

cocky bastard vibes - zhongli

ship: zhongli x reader

synopsis: in which reader shares their free thoughts on the liyue statue of seven

notes: standalone snippet part of the bookkeeping!verse

It was a beautiful day in Liyue. The grass was a luscious green and the birds were singing a beautiful song. After a nice stay at the Emerald Maple Inn, you and Mr. Zhongli decided to have a cup of tea next to the Statue of the Seven before heading on your way to Qingce Village. You were to accompany him to pick up supplies for the next funeral rite, and with the way the morning was going, you knew nothing would ruin this peaceful day.

"So how much do you want to bet that Rex Lapis was hot and knew it?”

You ignored the choked sound that came from your side as you gazed up at the picturesque statue. Though your companion would probably consider your question quite out of the blue, you couldn’t say it was the first time you wondered such a thing. Whenever you passed by one of them in Liyue, the thought always plagued your mind for a few hours after. Judging by Mr. Zhongli’s reaction, though, it seemed he did not share your sentiments.

"Ehem… That… certainly is an interesting thought. I can’t say whether or not previous records touched on such a topic."

You hummed, gazing up at the statue. Really? That couldn’t be true. Why wouldn’t anyone talk about a statue looking like that?

“Well there are many reasons why I’d say I’m right. First off, his outfit. He has a hooded cloak on while also being shirtless. There’s absolutely no logical reason to dress like that unless they’re from the deserts of Sumeru, wouldn’t you say? It obviously was a conscious fashion decision. If you pair that with the seductive way he’s sitting, I’d be inclined to assume he’s quite clearly feeling his look.”

Silence came from your side. Hm, Mr. Zhongli still wasn’t convinced? Then you would go on.

“You do see it, right? His posture is relaxed, yet confident. Not to mention the way he’s looking at that cube in his hand with practically bedroom eyes. His knees are apart too. My friend from Sumeru told me that when a man sits like that, he’s displaying his dominance.”

Still silence.

"You can't sit in a seductive pose like that without on some level being aware you look good doing it. I mean look at him! He's shirtless and everything! I've heard even macho fishermen say that they pray to the statue for a good night before coming home to see their wives. You can’t blame them, right?"

A hesitant cough.

"I-I'm sure it was a younger time when those statues were sculpted."

You groaned.

"Maybe, but you’re not even looking! If you did, you’d agree with me that Rex Lapis is clearly exuding such massive 'cocky bastard' vibes!" You countered.

For some reason, the more you spoke, the more flustered he became.

"C'mon, Mr. Zhongli! Why are you so embarrassed? It's not like I'm slandering his good name! I mean, if Rex Lapis didn't want us talking about him like this, maybe he shouldn't have made a statue with abs clean enough to eat off of!"

Okay, maybe at this point, you were piling it on a bit thick. Could anyone blame you? His face was in his hand as if he had a headache, and were his ears tinged the slightest hint of red? It was an interesting sight. Never had you seen him look so completely flustered. Sure you were rather blunt, but you didn't think your words were that provocative. Mr. Zhongli really was practically a 65 year old man.

"I thought you respected the Geo Archon…" He muttered weakly.

You gasped in offense.

"I do! I’d even consider my words the utmost of pious behavior. In Mondstadt, the sisters of the church consider themselves married to Barbatos, the Anemo Archon. So finding the Geo Archon to be a sex god is pretty much the same thing, right?”

“No, it is not.”

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #zhongli #zhongli x reader #in which the author converts their first thought upon seeing the liyue statue of seven into written verse #like legit why he sit like that tho #like i’m not the only one right? #why is he sitting like he wants to seduce someone #there’s no logical reason anyone would sit like that unless they thought they looked damn sexy doing so #also if it isn’t clear reader is purposefully laying it on thick through this whole thing #it’s their turn to be amused they deserve it #he’s put them through enough #this is the dumbest thing i’ve ever written but i’m also not sorry #this is my magnum opus not the fischl one uwu #milk u made me finish this how dare you #bookkeeping!verse

[shortythescreen]

A Champion’s Blessing.

Warning(s): Transman reader, so the use of he/him pronouns when appropriate is present! Words used to describe parts in narration and by characters differs. In narration cunt/pussy/clit are used, but in dialogue cock/dick is used! Sex in public, AFAB Bloodhound!! Brieefff mentions of alcohol usage but nothing crazy. 

Pairing(s): Bloodhound/transman reader. 

Author’s Note(s): Another commission for anonymous! Purposefully went with their headcanon of Bloodhound, hence the reason it differs from my usual description! Also went with the he/him pronouns when needed for commissioner’s request! Always a pleasure working with you, darlin’. 

You and Hound don’t usually do the whole friend outing thing.

Not that either of you don’t have them. The Legends welcome you both with open arms. Elliott is always inviting you two to his bar for happy hour, Ajay is always offering to check out some new restaurants nearby with the two of you. You’ve even had Wraith invite you to go camping with her. Your friends are never too far away, always trying to include you both – as a couple, and as individuals. It’s just rare that you join them.

Hound likes their solitude, needs breaks even from you somedays. So usually, you decide together if you have the social battery it takes to be around more than each other, then tell your fellow Legends whether you will be joining them.

This holds true one night when you’re in Hound’s cottage. Normally, you two spend your time in your apartment, which has the luxuries of AC and television. Tonight, they asked you to join them and watch the stars and before you knew it, it was too dark for you to travel safely back to Solace City. You lay in bed, staring at the group text you’ve been added to, the starter message that you’re sure is about to start a shitstorm in your phone.

“legends drink free tomorrow after the game!” Reads the text, accompanied by a bunch of nonsensical emojis – including a ghost. It’s typical Elliott, and you already see some affirmations cropping up in the chat.

“Hey Hound?” You call, turning your head but keeping your eyes on the phone. Your gaze flickers away and instantly, your eyes flit over Hound, over their muscular shoulders, over the towel wrapped around them from the chest down.

“Yes elskan?” They ask, their red curls dripping wet. You bite your lower lip and they smirk at your distraction. “Yes, elskan?”

“Elliott’s inviting everyone to the bar tomorrow for drinks,” you say, forcing your eyes back up towards theirs. They lean their shoulder against the wall, tilting their head. “You wanna go?”

“Do you?” Bloodhound asks and you stick your lower lip out, thinking. You know Hound will be tired after the game – but drinks with the others sounds good, especially since it’s all going to be on the Paradise Lounge…

“Yeah, that would be nice,” you say and Hound hums, pushing themselves off the wall to approach you. They reach down, sliding their fingers through your hair, smiling softly when you push your head into the curve of their palm.

“Then we will go. If I change my mind, I will tell you,” they say, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. “Now, I am going to change. Unless, of course, you would like me not to.”

“Hm…. Wouldn’t I?” You say and they smirk, one of their knees sinking into the mattress beneath you. You wait, watching them crawl over you, their eyes flickering over your face, plump lips parting. Their canines are sharp, threatening, and your thighs clench together.

Bloodhound leans down as though to kiss you, but instead their head tilts and they find your throat, warm air puffing over your quickening pulse. Their teeth rake over the fragile skin and the hair on your arms stand up, warmth clenching your abdomen. Their towel falls open and the press of their breasts against your chest makes you shudder, part your legs. Their lips wrap around where their teeth just were, sucking hard on your throat. You bite your lower lip, arching your neck up.

You want it. Want them. Want them to go down on you, devour your cunt then force you to taste yourself on their tongue before they take their own pleasure, make you their fuck toy with the cock you two switch off on using.

But…

“After the match tomorrow.”

“Hm?”

Instantly, Bloodhound lifts their head. Already, their eyes are swallowed by their pupils, staring at you with desire that makes you second guess yourself. How can you tell them no when they look at you like that?

Still, Hound always makes it worth the wait.  

“Win the game tomorrow,” you say, resting a hand on the nape of their neck, scratching your nails delicately over the little hairs. “Then I’ll give you a champion’s reward.”

Hound stares down at you. They’re unnervingly silent, letting your offer hang in the room. You begin to squirm beneath them, fingers of your other hand opening and closing on the thick furs that Bloodhound uses for blankets, your toes curling as you wait with bated breath.

“Okay.” They say and the air whooshes out of you.

“Okay?”

“Okay, elskan,” they murmur, “but I must ask… Am I allowed to have you how I prefer, should I win?”

“However you want, babe,” you tell them, reaching up to stroke their cheek with your thumb, smiling. “I’ll safe word out if it’s too much. Promise.”

“Then I will win tomorrow,” they murmur, turning their head to press a gentle kiss to your cheek. “So, I may takka my reward.”

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

The next day’s match comes and goes. You’re not actually a competitor in the game – you just help lay out the gear days before, making sure that items that will be the hot zone are placed in the correct location, that areas that are typically considered high-tier loot are properly stocked. Still, Elliott often makes you apart of whatever tabs he makes for his fellow Legends – whether it’s because he’s afraid of Hound or likes you, you can’t say.

Wraith, Bloodhound, and Revenant are announced the winners. Revenant doesn’t join you at the Paradise Lounge, of course, but when you enter, you do spot Pathfinder, already in a booth, roped off by red velvet. You stop on your way over at the bar, ordering a round of drinks for the table, and the chick tending it today nods, telling you it’ll be over as soon as possible.

“Hi friend!” He waves and you smile back.

“Hey Path. Where is everyone?”

“Oh, they should be arriving shortly! Unfortunately, most of them needed to ‘wash their asses’, to quote Ajay!”

You throw your head back, laughing as you climb into the booth. Pathfinder chatters to you about the game – how excited he was to be working with Elliott and how if Wraith had been on their squad, they surely wouldn’t have landed a measly third place. You nod, listening closely, your cheek in your palm.

The Legends file in, Anita accompanied by a chattering Ajay and Octavio. You greet them warmly. Shortly after, Bloodhound enters with Wraith, both listening intently to whatever story that Natalie is telling them. They’ve dressed down tonight, wearing a cloth mask that covers their nose and lips, though their goggles have stayed in place, obscuring their eyes. The long sleeved, red shirt that hugs their muscular torso makes your thighs clench together and you’re almost positive when you look at their crotch you can see what looks like a bulge.

Your eyes shoot up to theirs, trying impossibly to decipher their expression. A packer? Or a strap? When did they even have time to put one on? Probably when they changed, your brain helpfully provides, which really isn’t all that helpful at all because thinking of them changing and making sure to put something like that on makes you wonder what they have planned for you.

They slide into the booth next to you and they incline their head. “Elskan.”

“Hound,” you say through a cracking boice. You clear your throat, trying to remind yourself of where you are. “Congratulations on the win today.”

“I am humbled to have honored the gods,” they say.

“You sure honored them when you PUT A BULLET THROUGH MY HELMET!” Octavio crows, making Ajay shake her head and Natalie laugh. It isn’t long until everyone that would join does and your little booth is packed with raucous legends, eagerly discussing the game of the day.

You’re quiet, watching Bloodhound’s profile. Their hair is plaited away from their face, neat and smooth and lovely looking, and you still can’t see their face. You bite your lower lip, waiting until another roar of laughter comes up to creep your fingers inside of their thigh.

Their head tilts but other than that, they do nothing. You lick your lips, fingers curving further inwards, smoothing over their cargo pants. Your fingertips hit something silicone, rubbery – and when you move them a little further up, your palm brushes the telltale ridge that makes you realize that Hound is wearing a strap-on.

Your throat bobs and you try to look at them again, decipher what’s going on in their head. They lean into you, their cheek resting on top of your head.

You drag your fingers down, blunt fingernails digging into their thigh. Bloodhound’s arm twitches against yours but other than that they don’t flinch and you watch the Legends interacting in front of you, oblivious as you slide your hand back up to cup their strap through their pants.

Suddenly, they begin speaking in their native tongue.

You vaguely understand the Icelandic Bloodhound grew up with. They use it enough around you for understand some key components, to know some verbs and nouns. You’re the only one at the table that would aside from Pathfinder, though, and the cheerful MRVN is currently declining Elliott’s challenge for an arm wrestling match.

“Follow me… Wait…” They say and that’s. That’s sort of all the understanding you need, especially when they finally turn their head to look at you and even through their goggles, you can sense the heat in their gaze. The reminder of what you promised them. How ever they wanted.

You nod subtly and they turn to Wraith, quietly asking if they can be let out. Wraith cocks a brow, purses her lips, but scoots out obediently, and you watch them go, making their way towards the restrooms.

You wait to follow them, as you’re almost certain they instructed you. You watch Elliott and Pathfinder set up, Elliott leaning over the edge of the table to meet a sitting Path. He’s grinning, gloating about his soon to be win and you shake your head.

“I can’t watch,” you say, “I’m going to the restroom.”

Wraith glances your way but scooches out, obediently letting you free. You don’t meet her gaze, let her plop back down as you try to make it look like you’re not rushing to the restrooms.

The second you open the suspiciously unlocked door of the gender neutral restroom between the men and women’s rooms, you’re snatched inside, pinned by your shoulders against the door.

A little ‘oof’ leaves you and you look up with big eyes at your partner, suspiciously maskless, their goggles pushed on top of their head so you can see their lovely eyes, the cobweb scars that line their face.

“I emerged victorious from the games today,” they murmur, their lips finding your cheek, then your jaw, and they quickly begin moving down the side of your throat. Your lips part to answer but they bite you instead, making your mouth fall open in a silent gasp. “I was promised a champion’s blessing.”

“N-Now?” You stammer and they growl, hands flying down to the backs of your thighs, lifting them up, up, until your legs are swept of the ground and hook around their waist. You whine, grasping at their strong shoulders as they grind against you. They must be rattling the door. They must be.

“Is that not what you promised me, Elskan?” They growl out and the insistent friction of their hips against yours makes your head spin, makes you scrabble around their shoulders. They turn away swiftly, marching towards the sink. You squeak, clinging to them, only for them to set you down with a thump against the countertop. “That I may have you anyway I please?”

You nod, helpless, heart pounding in exhilaration. Hound’s plush lips find yours in a mess of teeth, of tongue, and you moan against their lips. They run their hands over your flat chest, pausing to thumb at your nipples. They continue their descent over your stomach, one slipping around to grab at the globe of your ass as the other presses up against your interested cunt through your jeans.

“Hou-” You start to whine and they hum, working the heel of their palm in little circles against you. You don’t know how they know your body so well, can identify your clit even through your clothes, but your head falls back against the mirror with a muted noise. Heat spreads through you slowly, like it means to consume you bit by bit. “Fuck, Hound.”

“Is this what you wanted when you were touching me beneath the table, baby boy?” They murmur and the intensity of their eyes makes you close yours, unnerved, aroused. The hand on your ass swiftly finds your chin and they force your face towards them. “Look at me. Answer me.”

They suddenly move away from your trembling clit and your nose pinches with the loss, with the ache. Your eyes open and you stare into their gaze as their hand finds the button of your jeans, deftly undoing it.

“No,” you whisper, “no, just-just wanted to see if you had your cock with you.”

“Why’s that, Elskan?” They murmur and suddenly both of their hands on your hips, yanking your jeans down your thighs. You gasp, boxer briefs clinging to your cunt, sticky, wet, ready for far more than what they were doing to you. “Is that what you wanted? Wanted me to come in here, fuck you until you couldn’t stand? Until your pretty cock was trembling and red?”

“Fuck,” you whine out, watching Hound work down their own pants, pushing them down just enough to reveal one of their favorite toys – the coke bottle sized cock, thick enough for you to feel the stretch, to make you cum with a few well timed thrusts. “Please, Hound, please-”

“Please? Please?” They huff out, half amused and before you can blink you’re being flipped onto your stomach, your ass risen into the air, and they hook two fingers underneath the waistband of your briefs to yank them down your thighs. A sticky trail follows them and you shiver at the cool air that touches you. “You are here to please me, sweet boy.”

Their gloved hand finds your ass, parting it, and their other hand finds the slick hole just beneath, their faux leather glove sliding over it, gathering up the juice leaking out. You bite your lower lip hard and Hound chuckles, stroking their cock with your slick.

Holding your ass apart, they push their strap up, against the lips of your cunt. You bite your lower lip, thighs tensing, and you try to tip toe, to get them to push in.

“Look at you,” purrs Bloodhound, and the blunt tip of the toy breaches your shivering cunt. Your head falls and you squeeze your eyes shut, forehead pressing against the countertop. “Look at how you open up for me…”

As if to emphasize this, to make you realize just how well your cunt parts for them, they suddenly push their too-thick cock into your dripping pussy. You gasp, the noise rattling out of your chest and into the counter. They give you no reprieve, beginning to shove themselves into you over and over again, stimulating your sensitive walls.

“The noises you make will drive me mad,” they say and the hand that had been gripping your ass finds your hair. They pull your head upright, using their grip as leverage to fuck you harder, their hips smacking your ass with every harsh thrust into your cunt. “Keep it down, baby boy, unless you would like to be caught.”

Their other hand loops around, finding your clit and pinching it tight, making you whine, your left leg trembling as your hips dig into the countertop. “Unless… that is what you want.”

They hum, merciless in their assault, toying with your clit, rubbing hard circles around it that make your hips judder beneath theirs, only held in place by the merciless way they fuck you. “Is that it, Elskan? Why you grabbed me beneath the table, made me wait to have you, earn your cock? You want them to hear you, don’t you? You dirty boy.”

Your eyes roll back, and you swear to god you’re drooling as they hammer home, making your cunt tremble, your wetness gush around them, trying to ease their way. They lean over your, their back pressed against your chest and now they just barely lift their hips away from yours, cock angling downwards, making you moan out.

“Go-o-od, Hound!”

“Listen to you. Do you think they hear you? Do you think they will know what a dirty little slut you are for me? How you would whore yourself out for me, all because I have proven my skill in the arena?” They murmur in your ear, sharp canines finding the shell and god, yes, that’s it. The little thrusts inside you, grinding downwards, the insistent back and forth of your clit between their index finger and middle. You grit your teeth, so close, so close you can taste it.

“Cum for me, elskan. Cum, so I can watch you sit in it when we are back with our friends, watch you think about how filthy you were for me,” they whisper, and that’s all it takes for you to gush onto the toy, your cunt tightening, clit throbbing between their fingers. They sigh, sucking hard at the spot beneath your ear and god, that’s the second hickey they’ve given you.

They hum as you cum down from your high, panting, flushed with pleasure, with aftershocks. They kiss your cheek, chuckling lowly.

“Do not think I am done with you yet, darling."

#bloodhound/reader #bloodhound x reader #apex legends bloodhound #apex bloodhound #apex legends #apex lemons #apex legends imagines #lemon #nsft #shorty writes #shorty commissions

[trashmenofmarvel]

Interlude

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: After being separated for months, you take Bucky to Central Park on Christmas Eve to show him all the sights he missed in the last 70 years.

(For @bitchassbucky​ ‘s Holiday Writing Challenge! Thank you!)

Prompt: It’s snowing/raining and my hands are cold, so I’m gonna stuff them inside your jacket pocket.

Warnings: Mild angst, slightly unreliable narrator

Note: This can be read as a standalone or as part of the Devil’s Backbone series.

Word Count: 3k

AO3

The wet pavement crunched under your boots, damp from the snow that had been salted and washed away. Locals and tourists alike were free to traverse the sidewalks without fear of falling and bruising tailbones.

Not that you were in any danger of falling. Bucky had his arm looped around yours so tightly you felt your fingers starting to tingle from lack of circulation.

“We’re fine,” you reassured him for the fifth time since you’d left Stark Tower—or the Avengers Tower, as it was now colloquially called. “No one’s looking, no one cares.”

The unyielding angle of Bucky’s jaw told you he didn’t agree, his blue eyes wide and watchful as he scanned the busy streets for signs of danger.

You gave an impatient, fond huff and pulled him along. You were freezing and you wanted to finish your outing and make it back to the tower before it started snowing. Judging by the grey pregnancy of the low-hanging clouds, you doubted that would be a wish fulfilled.

“This isn’t a good idea,” he grumbled, keeping his head dipped down so his eyes were covered by the rim of his black ball cap. “In fact, it’s a stupid one.”

“We can’t stay cooped up forever,” you said with a gentle nudge of your arm. “And if you hover over Tony much longer he’s going to sic Dum-E on you.”

“Like to see him try,” he muttered under his breath. Despite the gruff and snark he doled out in equal measure, you could feel the tension in his arm ease. You were clinging to the right one, of course, as Bucky insisted he keep his left free and ready for any eventuality.

His paranoia wasn’t completely unfounded. He may have been exonerated, but there were still people out there who had unfinished business with the former Winter Soldier. National governments with grievances against HYDRA and looking for a scapegoat, not to mention surviving cells within the organization. Pierce had been only one head of HYDRA, and the rest were proving difficult to flush out of hiding.

And of course, there was Rumlow. That particular bastard had been hanging over your head like a black cloud ever since he had escaped from the burn unit months earlier.

You shivered, instinctively moving closer to Bucky’s side. He glanced down at you, a frown touching his lips, and he only hesitated a moment before placing his arm around your shoulders.

The warmth of his touch did wonders to chase away the chill that had nothing to do with the wintery air.

The expanse of Central Park soon lay before you, everything coated in white from the bare limbs of the trees to the wide footpaths. Dozens of ice-skaters had already taken to the Wollman Rink. Red and green and blue parkas stood in contrast to the stark landscape, the skaters circling like colorful ducks on a frozen pond.

But it wasn’t the people below you were watching, it was Bucky. The taut muscles of his face had gone lax, his eyes distant and far away with the interlude of memory.

“We used to go skating, me and Becca. Not here, this place didn’t exist, but on the Lake.” He slightly tilted his head, one corner of his mouth turning upward. “Steve was too delicate back then, couldn’t skate with us. Besides, with how many layers he would be wrapped in, he woulda looked like a penguin waddling on the ice.”

When you remained quiet, he flicked his gaze downward and found you already watching him.

“What?” he asked, moving his left gloved hand through his hair in a sheepish gesture.

“Nothing.” The little smile on your face couldn’t seem to disappear, even when you tried to squirrel it away. “Come on.”

You led him down the paths deeper into the park. With the previous day’s snowfall, everything was covered in a gentle blanket of white, looking every bit like you were in the middle of a fairytale.

Bucky had a deeply traumatic relationship with the cold, which was why you checked on him frequently, but his blue eyes were round with delight, not terror, as he took in the sight of the winter wonderland. Something loosened within you and you breathed a little easier, but you were ready to abort the mission at the first hint of panic.

Soon you were at the Carousel, nestled inside a squat brick building. You were relieved to see it was open—not because you thought Bucky would ever go for a ride, but because you wanted to see his reaction to the historical attraction.

As the ride came to a halt and the current riders began to disembark, he edged closer to the edge of the path, his head tilted at that curious angle again as he looked through the snow-covered foliage to the open windows.

“This… this is different. But also familiar? Am I… misremembering this?” He sounded unsure, his brows pulled into deep creases as his lips formed into a pout.

“Nope.” You slightly lifted your chin, unable to keep the slight pride out of your voice. “The carousel you remember burned down in 1950. This one used to be in a trolley terminal in Coney Island until they moved it here in 1951.”

The way his face lit up, his eyes brightening as his eyebrows shot up, made the whole trip worthwhile.

“The West 5th Street Depot! I remember it!” he said, a slow but excited grin blooming on his lips. “I miss those noisy old streetcars. Steve and I used to…” He trailed off, the lightness of his expression slowly vanishing, as if it had never been there to begin with.

“What?” you asked, suddenly afraid you had triggered an unpleasant recollection. You knew strolling down memory lane was a risk, but you’d thought the benefits would have outweighed the negatives. Now, you weren’t so sure.

Bucky turned toward you, but instead of his face being drawn and pale, he wore a self-conscious grimace.

“Here I am, going on and on about the past, when…” He haltered again and teethed at his bottom lip. You knew it was a nervous gesture, but it always made you a little hot under the collar. This time was no exception.

“What?” you prompted, forcibly pulling your gaze up to his eyes. “What is it? Something wrong?”

He shook his head with a rueful pull at his mouth.

“That’s just it.”

Bucky reached down and took your left hand in his right, looping his fingers through yours. The unexpected gesture made your heart sing like a bird.

“Nothing’s wrong.” His eyes softened, and you didn’t miss the flush of his cheeks. “Everything is… good. Too good to be true.”

Clearing your throat, you shook your head and said, “I haven’t even showed you the best part yet.”

His brows rose in a dubious slant. “That right?”

“Mmhmm.” You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth as you smiled. His gaze dropped toward your mouth, and the heat of his stare was enough to melt all of Wollman Rink.

With your hand still in his, you tugged playfully, pulling him after you. “It’s not far!”

Bucky’s lips were pressed into a deliberate line, but the laughter was bright in his eyes, unobscured by troubled memories or moments of self-doubt, and he tagged along after you quite willingly.

It was only when you were within sight of the skating rink that he slowed his pace, forcing you to shorten your own footsteps. You turned back to tease him for being such an old man, but the words died on your lips.

Bucky’s eyes were fixed on the frozen surface. You had been at a safe distance before but were much closer now, and you didn’t think you were imagining the pale shade of his skin.

“No skating,” you said, preemptively and firmly. When he appeared unconvinced, his jaw as tight as a snare, you wrapped your arm around his waist, purposefully pulling his focus to you. It worked; Bucky hard-swallowed but met your gaze, his eyes slightly wide.

“Promise.” You slightly squeezed him against your side. “You’re gonna like this.”

Bucky simply nodded his head, the implicit trust in his eyes more meaningful than any words he could have said.

With a small smile still on your lips and your gloved fingers still intertwined with his, you led him up a curve in the path to a small concession stand. Baby blue wood with painted white trim, it looked like something from a bygone era, much like the man standing next to you.

The smell wafting toward the cart, however, was familiar to you both. By the time you had finished waiting in line and both took your cups of hot cocoa, Bucky had gone red around the ears, no doubt remembering the last time the two of you had shared hot chocolate. The vivid memory forced you to duck your head and focus very closely on your steaming cup.

There were children around for Christ’s sake.

Still without saying a word, you carefully hooked your right arm around his left. Even through the thick fabric of his sleeve, you imagined you could still feel the cold titanium underneath.

Bucky eyed you out of the corner of his vision, his gaze reproachful but immediately forgotten when you pulled him down to sit beside you on a bench cleared of snow.

The view was impeccable, on a slight hill overlooking the rink, and beyond was the tree line with the grey clouds and skyscrapers framing the background. Even in the dreariness you could see the hulking outline of the Avengers Tower, rising and disappearing into the cloud cover like a dream.

“Wow,” Bucky breathed out, capturing your sentiment of the view perfectly. Except you weren’t looking at the skyline.

“Right?”

He turned his head and caught you staring, but all you offered in response to his raised brow was a half-shrug and a mischievous little smile as you tucked back into your cocoa.

As you sat in comfortable silence, just far enough from the rink for the sound of laughter and voices to be muffled and distant, it began to snow. Crisp flakes drifted down, just to immediately melt on the bend of your knee. The soft whiteness of the world around you was a comfort and brought up only fond memories. You wished that were the case for Bucky.

Despite his warm jacket, a tremor ran down his shoulders. You switched the cup to your left hand, and without hesitation, plunged your right deep into his jacket pocket.

Bucky gave a start, opened his mouth, and then closed it promptly when you pulled yourself closer, purposefully melting into the curve of his side.

“It’s snowing, I’m cold, and you don’t need this pocket. Thought I would grab it for myself.” A smirk pulled at your lips and you added, “Unless you want to share.”

Bucky’s deer-in-the-headlights expression would have been funny if it hadn’t tugged at your heartstrings so fiercely.

He brushed the tip of his tongue over his lips—you still couldn’t figure out if he knew the effect it had—and his Adam’s apple plunged as he swallowed.

“All yours.”

His cheeks had a ruddy tinge to them by time he averted his eyes and turned back to his steaming drink.

Despite your teasing, sticking your hand in his pocket and sidling up to him was as far as you were planning to go. It had been a while since… Well, your feelings hadn’t changed, but they might have on his end. Bucky had been on the run for months, and your time together before that could be counted in hours.

A very intense time, as short as it had been. A time when you had gotten to know the Winter Soldier almost as well as you’d gotten to know Bucky Barnes, and you couldn’t lie and say it hadn’t been a hell of a rough beginning.

You could also say you were moving slow for his benefit, and you were, but you also didn’t know how to bridge that divide created by time and distance.

Apparently, Bucky did.

He spoke your name, softly but without any of his previous nervousness. When you turned your head, opening your mouth to respond, he was right there, and you didn’t even have time to blink before his lips were on yours.

They were just as soft as you remembered, a heat behind them that could melt the deepest snows.

Hot cocoa forgotten, you parted your lips, an invitation, as you curled your fingers into his long hair.

Bucky’s strong arms were around your waist in a second, pulling you closer and lifting you into his lap. Your fingers tightened in his hair and he groaned low in his throat.

You didn’t care who saw, you’d let Bucky do whatever he wanted to you, right here in front of New York and God and whoever else wanted to watch because you needed him like you needed air, and it had been so long—

“Agent Williams?”

No, no, not now.

“Are you awake, Agent?”

No! Go away!

You rolled over onto your side, giving a frustrated groan into your pillow.

“Ah, good. Mister Stark wishes to know if you’ll be down soon. Shall I inform him that was a yes? Or a no?”

You mumbled into your pillow and realized the AI probably couldn’t understand your resentful utterances. “What time is it?”

“It’s eight thirty-six, ma’am,” Jarvis answered succinctly.

You gave another pained groan. It wasn’t his fault Tony couldn’t contain himself like a kid on Christmas… oh.

“God, right, I’ll be down in a sec.” You rubbed at your face as you pulled yourself into a sitting position. The dream clung to you like smoke and you couldn’t seem to shake it off.

“Mister Stark says, ‘If she’s not down in five minutes I’m gonna have Dum-E tear open all her presents.’ I believe he’s being serious.”

“I’m sure he is,” you answered with a tired sigh.

You got dressed while on autopilot, your thoughts drifting far away as you stared out the window at the grey morning light. It was snowing again, and a deep ache settled in your chest at the memory of snow settling into Bucky’s hair.

No, not a memory. A dream, but one so unfairly clear because it was based on a memory. You had gone through the same motions the day before… with Steve.

Not the handholding or the flirting (or God forbid, the kissing), but you had taken him to Central Park in hopes of showing him everything that had changed since he’d been there in the 40’s.

The difference between Steve and dream-Bucky’s reactions had been startlingly different. Steve had still told the story about how Bucky and his sister had skated on the lake while he had to be on the sidelines. He too had also recognized the old carousel from the trolley station.

That was where the similarities ended. Bucky’s tense vigilance had been absent from Steve’s face. Bucky’s aversion of the rink had also been fabricated in your mind; Steve hadn’t seemed to care at all, even though he too had been frozen in ice for a long, long time.

The outing with Steve had been enjoyable, especially when Sam and Nat had joined you later that evening to see the Christmas lights strung around the park, but you had never stopped thinking about the person who wasn’t there.

Even then, even when it had been eleven months since the events in D.C. and the last time you’d seen Bucky, you still looked for his face in the crowd and felt his absence in the hollow space beside you.

It had grown worse when you’d passed by the concession cart selling hot cocoa, the familiar rich sent sending you back to the safe house where you’d hidden with the man who had broken you free of HYDRA’s captivity. Bucky had only just started to emerge from the chilling persona of the Winter Soldier, and the scent of hot cocoa had been one of his first memories of his previous life as James Buchanan Barnes.

Steve had caught the pause in your step, noted the faraway look on your face, and had asked if you wanted to stop for some. You’d quickly shaken your head and moved on. It was stupid, really stupid, but you didn’t want to share that with anyone else. Not even the man who had been Bucky’s closest friend.

Eleven months with not a single sign. You’d figured out long before now that if he didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be. It made his absence hurt all the more.

You picked up your phone and scrolled through your messages as you did every morning. No strange or unknown numbers, just a few messages from the people waiting for you a few floors above in the common room.

T. Stark: You up yet? Im going to turn on the fire suppression system in your room

T. Stark: come on no one needs more than 6 hours of sleep get up

T. Stark: Im serious Williams your shit is my shit if you dont come up in 5

S. Rogers: Don’t worry about Tony. Take your time.

S. Wilson: Please save me from these man children

An amused smile crossed your lips before you could stop it.

There was one last message. There weren’t any words, only a single picture. Chocolate chip pancakes stacked ridiculously high, slathered in syrup and topped with sliced bananas.

You stomach immediately rumbled; Nat knew you so well.

You put your phone into your pocket, the smile slowly falling from your face. This was the first time you’d spent the holidays with people who treated you like… well, like a real family.

There was only one thing missing, and no matter how hard they tried, no one could fill the void he had left behind.

Someday, you told yourself as you left your room and crossed the hall to the elevator.

Someday, it won’t be a dream.

#abitchassholiday #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #the winter soldier x reader #devil's backbone #interlude #my writing #my fanfiction #reader fanfiction #angst #not much but it hurts #im really really sorry #just really sorry