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gloomwitchwrites · 5 months

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Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings: foul language, brief symptoms of PTSD, brief self-pleasure, obsessive / possessive Simon, suggestive themes

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: Part Four of Ink & Needle

Simon searches for you after you flee from Riot Room. Three years later, and your memory still has him in a chokehold.

Chapter Three // Chapter Five

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Then (Three Years Ago)

Gently, Simon guides you over one thigh. Once settled, he removes the condom and ties it off, tossing it into the nearby bin.

He is satiated. Happy. Every inch of him vibrates with pleasure. You are new and fresh, but so perfectly comfortable. Simon could stay like this forever.

Simon’s arms are around your waist, and his hands move in slow circles, caressing your body in gentle comfort. You are warm beneath his palms, and Simon focuses in how your skin feels against his.

It’s nice. Lovely. He could get used to it. He could get lost in you.

He nuzzles your neck, and discreetly inhales, imprinting your scent onto his memory. The two of you will linger here in this room for a bit. Once the euphoria of pleasure passes into calmness, Simon will suggest the two of you leave together. He wants you alone. Truly alone. He wants to take his time, and understand all the ways he can make you scream for him.

When you rip yourself out of his arms, it comes as a shock. Like a blow to the face or the burst of a hollow point on impact.

You stand on wobbly legs, facing the mirror. At first, all Simon can see are the backs of your thighs, and he has an intrusive desire to drag you to his mouth to suck on your supple skin. But he does not move toward you, he simply holds there, his arms extended like you’ll fall right back into them at any moment.

You tug on your skirt, putting it back into place. You adjust your top and smooth out the winkles. The movements are strange, and Simon doesn’t understand at first.

It’s like…

Are you leaving?

You slide a hair tie off your wrist and put your hair up into a messy bun. “I need to go,” you say sharply, grabbing your jacket off the floor and tugging it on.

Simon is silent for a moment, completely thrown off by your sudden declaration. Then it all comes roaring forward, and everything catches up in that moment. He tucks himself back into his jeans, quickly grabbing at his belt as you snatch up your purse and start to tug the folding chair away from the door.

“Wait,” he says, starting to stand.

The folding chair gives and you shove it aside. Your hand is on the handle in moments, pushing it open, striding through.

“Wait!”

You don’t pause or look back.

“Fucking hell,” says Simon as he almost catches some skin in the zipper of his jeans. He adjusts himself, and then his jeans are secure. He works the balaclava back into place and takes off after you.

By the time Simon rounds the corner, the basement door is slamming shut. He doesn’t make it there before it closes. Bursting through it, Simon takes the stairs two at a time, coming to a stop at the top. Scanning the crowd turns up nothing. The crowd has swallowed you up like a dark monster.

This is not what Simon planned out in his head. The two of you should be walking out of the club right now and to his flat. Once there, he planned on bending you over every surface and worshipping your body until the only thing you understand is his name.

Simon scans the dancefloor and does not see you. He doesn’t see your friends either which is just as irritating. You could be at the exit by now. You could be sliding into a cab at this very moment.

The thought of you leaving spurs Simon to action.

“Lt!”

Simon doesn’t falter. He ignores Soap, but the Scotsman steps into his path.

“Out of the way, Johnny,” snaps Simon with irritation.

Soap’s eyebrow arches slightly. “We’ve been looking for you. Where’d you go?” Soap’s mouth turns downward and he leans in, inhaling deeply. “Why the fuck do you smell like pus—”

“Piss off, Johnny,” mutters Simon, pushing past him and heading toward Riot Room’s front entrance.

Simon shoves himself through a dancing couple, not caring that they both give him nasty looks. He could give a fuck. Simon wants you. He needs you.

“Lt!” Simon ignores Soap. “Simon!”

He keeps going, descending the stairs even as Soap chases after him. Distantly, Simon hears Gaz and Price calling after him, but he doesn’t turn around to look.

“Simon,” says Soap, grabbing Simon’s shoulder in an attempt to stop him. It doesn’t work. Simon shakes him off, his gaze fixated on the cab that’s pulling away from the curb.

He watches you through the window. You’re looking right at him, and Simon suddenly feels incomplete, as if without you, his story is unfinished.

Simon rejects this outcome.

You. Are. His.

In the light, Riot Room is a bloody joke.

Simon observers the club from across the street, leaning against a light pole while he pretends to read the morning paper. Riot Room closed hours ago, and a few hours before that Simon was having it off in its basement green room.

You ran from him, and Simon didn’t even have the chance to secure your number. A first name and a face can go a long way, but if you’re not in a system somewhere, he might not be able to find you, and Simon is good at finding people.

He takes a long, final drag of his cigarette before putting it out and depositing it in the correct trash receptacle. Curling his fingers under the edge of the balaclava, Simon returns his mask to its proper place.

Tucking the morning paper under his arm, Simon glances both ways before strolling casually across the road. He does not walk up to Riot Room. Not directly. Instead of the front door, Simon heads for the alley where you made your confession.

The alley entrance to Riot Room is shut. The gate is in place and it’s all chained up, but that won’t stop Simon. Executing his mission and securing his goal drives him to break a few rules on occasion.

And you are the exception.

Moving like his namesake, Simon slides into Ghost, becoming one with the shadows. He hauls himself up and over the gate, landing quietly on the ground. The stairway to the basement is right there, and Simon takes it. When he arrives at the door, Simon tests the handle.

It’s unlocked.

Simon smirks behind the balaclava. The chained gate is a delusional sense of safety that makes people careless. And whoever closed last night is certainly that.

When the door opens, the overhead light flicks on. Removing his tools from his pocket, Simon starts picking doors until he finds what he’s looking for.

The security room is small, only big enough for the monitors and a small desk. Simon boots it up. But the moment it warms up, and its information is revealed to him, all his confidence goes out the door.

Over half of the cameras in this place don’t work. The ones that do all have grainy, almost indecipherable video. Simon checks each working camera feed, rewinding until he finds you entering Riot Room.

From there, Simon tracks your steps, but there is absolutely no fucking way he’s going to find a clear image of your face. In all the crowd shots, you are one with the masses. Unfindable.

The only other working camera is the one in the basement hallway, but even that is grainy. The few seconds your face is on the screen is when you were running from him, and your face is entirely blurry.

“Fuck,” mutters Simon. Then, louder. “Fuck!”

Growling, Simon downloads the videos. Once done, he goes back and erases all record of you from their achieve.

Simon holds the data in his gloved palm. He curls his fist around it, silently hoping that this will be the piece that leads him to you.

Now (Three Years Later)

When Simon opens his eyes, the wood panel ceiling of his bedroom grins back at him. The boards warp into a vicious, mocking smile and the nails are the teeth. Simon cannot look away. His gaze is glued to the ceiling, fixated as if obsessed with the slowly melting image.

Against the tips of his fingers, Simon senses something warm and wet. There’s a snort—a sound that seems so distant even in his room. Instead of the wood, Simon focuses in on the sensation against his fingers. It burrows, sliding all the way to his palm. His hand is lifted from the bed, and feeling returns.

Slowly, Simon’s fingers bend.

It’s a snout. A familiar one.

Bravo.

As if reading his mind, the all-black German Shepard whines. Simon blinks a few times and the wood panels in the ceiling return to normal.

“Hey, Bravo,” murmurs Simon, the raspy gruffness of sleep still clinging to his voice.

Using his head, Bravo positions Simon’s hand between his ears. Simon laughs and scratches the spot behind Bravo’s left ear that he loves so much. Oddly enough, it’s the same spot Riley always liked.

But Riley is gone. Has been for many years.

Simon hits a spot that sends Bravo’s tail into a whirlwind, spinning like a helo’s blades. The swirling tail kicks up the air and Simon shivers. He lightly tugs on the tip of Bravo’s ear which earns him a lick and a pathetic whine.

Shaking his head, Simon slowly sits up, groaning as he does. Everything fucking hurts. It always does in the morning. He sits up completely, leaning against the bed’s headboard. Simon runs his hand over his face before threading his fingers through his hair, tugging absently on the ends, reaching for his cellphone on the nightstand.

“Fuck,” he groans, and it’s for various reasons.

It’s early. Too. Fucking. Early. There’s still another hour before his alarm is set to go off. But that isn’t the only thing holding his attention.

Simon opens the unanswered text messages and frowns.

I had fun the other night.

We should do it again.

Below the texts is a half-naked photo of the woman he fucked a few nights ago. It’s a goddamn good picture, but Simon isn’t interested in her. They agreed on it being a one-time thing. It’s not like her or anyone else’s touch could ever replace what Simon truly wants.

It’s been three fucking years and yet Simon can’t get the fuck over it.

Simon locks his phone, deciding to deal with it later. He’ll politely—but forwardly—say that he isn’t interested. Because he isn’t. There are certain needs, specific urges that occasionally need to be satiated, but Simon never takes it further than that.

His right shoulder and upper bicep throb as if the burn scars aren’t scars at all but fresh wounds. They’re two years old now, and they healed well, but the nerves underneath still act up from time to time. The doctors told him the damage there might be permanent.

Other than his shoulder, his right leg is stiff and slightly swollen. It almost always is in the morning. This injury healed like shit, and Simon deals with it every day. He could take pain medication for it, but Simon isn’t interested in consuming narcotics.

Simon knows what that can do to a person. He’d rather be in pain than consume the things that made his father who he was. He refuses to be anything like that man.

Bravo’s wet nose pushes against Simon’s bare thigh. Simon tilts his head to the side and smiles. Bravo taps him again, the dog’s dark eyes nearly blending into his black coat.

“Ready to start the day?” Simon asks in a murmur, reaching out with his good arm to scratch between and around Bravo’s ears.

Bravo leans into the scratches, his eyes closing slightly with contentment.

Ever since Simon’s forced retirement, Bravo has been his constant companion. It’s not like Simon wanted to leave. Price, Gaz, and Soap didn’t want it either. But Simon took a beating—a bloody fucking awful one. He was out for months, and by that point, SAS was pushing for retirement.

The upside to that goddamn fucking mess is the tattoo parlor. The retirement package SAS offered Simon, along with a hefty incentive, finally convinced him to step back. SAS not only paid for the parlor and Simon’s flat, but the entire building.

He owns it. The property is his. And that has given him purpose again.

Simon tosses the blankets off his body and then immediately covers up the rager pointing up at him. “Fuck,” he mutters, slowly shifting to the edge of the bed.

Everything pops and cracks against each other. The crunching sound of his joints is loud in the quiet of his bedroom. Simon sits on the edge of the bed, both feet flat on the floor, hands on the edge, and his head down.

“Fuck,” he mutters again, not wanting to stand but knowing he has to.

Bravo jumps off the bed and pads to Simon’s side. He sits, head and ears indicating his alertness. When Simon doesn’t immediately stand up, Bravo lifts his paw and sets it on Simon’s good knee.

The corner of Simon’s mouth twitches in a hint of a smile. “I’m ace, Bravo. Promise.” Bravo removes his paw but stays by Simon’s side.

Simon sits up, hands on his thighs, and rolls his shoulders until they pop, releasing tension. It’s instant pleasure, and Simon repeats the process until the muscles in his arms move without issue. He does the same thing with his elbow and wrist joints, finally reaching above his head to pop his spine.

Once his muscles are warm and relaxed, Simon pushes up off the bed. At first, he limps, but once he’s in the bathroom, everything is fine. It’s a temporary blip. Simon scrubs his face and then grabs his toothbrush, popping it into his mouth along with toothpaste.

He’s so absorbed in it that when he straightens abruptly to stretch a spasming back muscle, Simon accidently smacks his erection against the porcelain rim.

“Fucking hell,” barks Simon, bending over slightly, clutching his toothbrush in one hand.

Bravo barks from the bedroom, and Simon sticks his head out the bathroom door.

“You don’t need my permission to take a piss.” Bravo’s front paws tap repeatedly against the floor, the nails clack clack clacking away. “You have a fucking door, Bravo. Go.”

Bravo bolts from the bedroom. Simon waits until he hears the flap of the dog door before returning to the bathroom. Sighing, he leans against the doorframe and palms himself. If he clears his mind, this will be over quickly.

Several minutes later and Simon is gripping the toothbrush so hard he might just snap it in two. He spits into the sink and returns the toothbrush to its home inside the medicine cabinet. What Simon is about to do is a last resort. Not that it’s shameful, but that he wishes for the real thing and not the simple trinket.

Simon steps back into the bedroom, his gaze falling on the dresser in the corner. Slowly, he strides across the floor, pausing once he’s there. His hands hover just shy of the handle of the drawer before he yanks it open.

What Simon seeks is right there, staring back at him. Simon reaches in and lifts the shredded, lace underwear. The image of it tearing away from your body as he pulled lives rent free in his head. He plays it on a loop.

The woman it belongs to is long gone, and not finding you again is one of the biggest regrets of his life.

Simon had one night—no. One night is incorrect. The two of you had only a moment together. An hour or two at the most.

No. Not a full night. If the two of you actually had a full night together, you would be in his bed right now. It would be your hand stroking him and not his own.

That is what Simon intended when he was inside you. In his head, he planned on taking you away from Riot Room and the crowd. To get you alone. To go somewhere private where Simon could fuck you properly without the fear of being interrupted. He wanted to understand your delicate lines, and where they ended. He wanted your harshness. Your attention.

The moment you bumped into him; you were his.

Simon still feels that way. In the dark, when sleep is an absent companion, Simon imagines what it would be like to possess you. To know that you alone belong to him.

But you are not his woman.

And you are not in his bed.

You are…wherever you are.

You ran from him, and Simon remembers every detail of that flight. The shaking of your hands as you adjusted your skirt bothers him still even after three years. In the moment, Simon thought he hurt you, but right before you left the green room, you glanced at him. And Simon knew—he knew—you wanted to stay with him.

But why didn’t you? Why did you run?

Simon rolls the delicate lace between his fingers. Your scent is long gone from the material. That is of little significance to Simon. The memory of you brands him. Like his scars and tattoos, you are amongst them, but under them, buried deep within his body. Every angle, every curve, every soft sigh and sound are their own ink.

Defeat is bitter. He tried. Really, he did. And maybe that’s what hurts the most about it. Not that you left him but that Simon couldn’t find you after. You evaporated like rainwater.

Simon will never be rid of you. You are a ghost. A haunting that dwells within himself.

He returns to the bathroom and leans against the doorframe, clutching that lace underwear in his fist. Simon recalls the encounter like it was only yesterday. He licks his lips, imagining your taste, and how he learned your flavor from more than just your mouth.

The groan Simon lets out as he finishes into his hand should only be for your ears. But you’re not here, and the reality of that settles over him as he washes off his hand. He dries off and pulls on a pair of gray sweatpants.

Simon exits the bedroom just as Bravo comes back in through the dog door. Simon’s flat is right above the tattoo parlor which makes his trip to work a short one. Bravo follows along behind as Simon enters the second bedroom. The space is now a personal gym, and this morning, Simon needs to rage.

Using his phone, Simon engages the Bluetooth speaker. Shredding, heavy metal comes blasting out of it and Simon sets to work on the boxing bag. When that doesn’t quell the burn under his skin, Simon takes Bravo for a run.

None of it helps. Not even in the shower when Simon has to jerk one out again.

Simon lies to himself. It’s the picture on his phone that has him worked up and not the remembrance of you. That is what he tells himself as he enters the kitchen and pauses at the dining table.

Resting on top is a small box. Simon received it yesterday. It’s open, and Simon reaches inside, smiling down at the note he holds in his hand.

Looks like you got that brag rag, Lt. Congratulations, you’re a winner.

“Cheeky bastard,” smirks Simon, tossing the plain, white notecard onto the table.

Inside the little box Soap sent is one of those cheap coffee mugs that you can get engraved with whatever you want. On this one, it’s a photo of Soap and Gaz doing a very serious thumbs up pose next to a snoozing Price.

At the bottom of the box is a magazine. UK Ink it reads at the top. On the cover is Simon. But not Simon. No. It’s Ghost on the cover. That’s the face of 141 Ink. Simon’s customers don’t know him by any other name.

In the photo, Ghost wears all black everything except the balaclava. The skeleton mouth at the bottom of the fabric is the only splash of color on him, but they have enhanced his eyelashes a bit, highlighting the paleness. Simon doesn’t mind the creative freedom.

It’s a special edition of UK Ink, and Simon won top prize of “Best Tattoo Artist.” It’s certainly deserved—Simon has worked hard over the past two years. While Simon appreciates the recognition, it’ll only add to his already busy schedule.

Stuck to the bottom corner of the magazine is a sticky note with another message from Johnny.

Make sure to sign this for me, Lt.

Simon carries the mug to the kitchen counter and makes himself his morning tea before setting Bravo’s breakfast out. The German Shepard munches contentedly while Simon chugs down a protein shake. The texture is shit and he doesn’t understand how anyone could enjoy it, but he has to drink them now.

Technically, Simon’s body is still healing. It’s a fucking shame, but at this point it’s simply a fact of life. He spent the first couple months of recovery trying to figure out where the fuck it all went wrong. It only got worse when SAS started pushing for retirement.

Simon believed he fucked up, and that they didn’t want him anymore. He passed all the psych evals and even some of the physical tests. But he didn’t pass all of them, and some he couldn’t do at all.

It was Price that convinced Simon to finally put his service aside and do something else.

My job is to look after you, Simon. Listen to me on this.

Simon rinses out the mug and heads back to the bedroom. He dons his persona, slipping into Ghost like a second skin. Bravo waits patiently in the hallway until Simon emerges, the two of them taking the back stairway into the parlor’s backroom.

Simon flips on the light and then steps through the curtain that acts as a partition between the backroom and main parlor. He disengages the alarm system and unlocks the three deadbolts. Once done, Simon opens the door, guiding the doorstopper with the toe of his boot. The shop is often stuffy in the morning, and the fresh air always seems to add a bit of lightness to the space.

When Simon steps away from the door, Bravo promptly makes a home in the early morning sun.

The aroma of coffee, freshly baked bread, and sugar form the bakery two shops down floats in from outside. It tingles Simon’s senses, and he briefly considers going down there to snag a chocolate croissant before they’re all gone. Bravo can watch the shop.

Opening his work laptop, Simon checks his calendar, taking note of all the clients he’s seeing today. Simon is the sole artist and piercer for 141 Ink. He’s been booked up for months, and him on to cover of UK Ink is only going to make that schedule even more cramped. A second artist or two would be helpful, but Simon doesn’t trust easy, and the process alone to hire someone is already a daunting task.

Simon opens up his business email and grimaces. The number of emails in his inbox doubled overnight. It’ll easily take him a week or more just to sort through it all, especially if more pile up on top of it.

Sighing, Simon pushes off from his desk and starts to set-up for the day. He checks through and tests all his guns, takes a quick inventory of his needles, and sanitizes all customer surfaces just in case he forgot the night before. He never does, but at this point it’s a habit.

Standing next to the tattoo chair, Simon sets a metal tray on top of his rolling cart. It clanks loudly and Simon winces, the sound sending a momentary spike of adrenaline through his body.

“What the fuck is wrong with me today?” mutters Simon, the agitation still lingering on his senses.

As if answering his question, the air in the room shifts. Simon freezes, his hand hovering just above one of his tools. Slowly, Simon turns, checking out the rest of the parlor, unsure of where this unease is originating from.

Bravo moved but that’s it. The dog is calm.

Frowning behind the balaclava, Simon pivots fully and the entire world comes thundering down around him.

There is a woman standing in the doorway. She clutches a coffee cup in one hand and a brown bag in the other. Simon can smell the butter from across the shop. Her eyes are wide, her lips parted slightly in surprise.

He knows those lips. He’s kissed them, tasted them, watched as they opened to swallow him down.

It’s you. And that is impossible. Of everyone it could be, how could it possibly be you.

Fuck thinks Simon. Bloody fucking hell.

You take one step back as Simon takes a step forward. His hands fall to his sides and his back straightens. Every muscle within him is coiled like a serpent ready to strike. If this is you, he’s not letting you go again.

Simon won’t allow it.

Everything about you is the same. The only difference Simon notices is the slight tiredness under your eyes. He wants to rub it away, to chase away whatever it is that kept you up in the night.

You shake your head and take another step backward.

Ghost takes two.

You turn on your heel, and bolt.

The moment you disappear, the moment you sprint past the door, Simon is off like a shot. Sliding onto the pavement, Simon pauses, the hunter in him focusing on his prey. Bravo barks but Simon ignores him.

Simon’s gaze zeroes in, and then he’s running, even when his bad leg screams out in protest. You round a corner, and Simon is closing in.

When he comes around the curve, Simon slams into someone. He ricochets off, the force of it throwing him into a nearby flower bush.

“Watch it you FUCKING WANKER!”

Simon growls and hurls himself to his feet, snarling as he brushes off leaves, flower petals, and tiny twigs. The person he ran into, the man who hurled the insult, immediately pales upon seeing him emerge from the flower bush. Simon doesn’t even apologize.

He searches the street in the direction you ran.

Nothing. You are nowhere.

Simon turns on the man and grabs him by the collar. “Did you see a woman?”

“What?”

“Just. Now,” growls Simon, growing agitated.

The man shakes his head and Simon drops him. Before the man’s feet hit the pavement, Simon is already jogging down the street, searching for any sign of you.

All he sees are houses, cars, and strangers’ faces. You have vanished yet again.

Bravo’s cold nose pushes against the palm of Simon’s hand. He glances down at the German Shepard. “You’re supposed to be watching the shop.”

Bravo whines and Simon turns his back on the street, questioning whether he actually saw you at all.

Chapter Three // Chapter Five

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@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @lialacleaf @sharkbitesblog @coffeecaketornado @wren5650 @aykxz98 @kayden666

212 notes · View notes

watermelonlipstick · 3 years

Text

Septic

This was written as a request for anon, who asked:

I was wondering if I could request one with Dean. The reader's injury gets badly infected and she gets a high fever and they are stuck somewhere and can't go to the hospital (maybe a cabin during a snow storm or something else if you want?). Anyway her condition keeps getting worse and dean is doing everything he can to keep her alive? As for their relationship it's up to you, whether they're dating or hiding their feelings...?

I hope this is something along the lines of what you were thinking. I decided to go with a ‘hiding from Leviathans’ angle because that seemed the closest to canon compliant to me. Thanks in advance for reading; I would love any advice or critiques!!

Title: Septic

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2124

Summary: Unable to go to a hospital for fear of getting trapped by Leviathans, Dean tries his best to manage the reader’s worsening infection and fever.

Warnings: fever, illness, swearing, implied threat of death, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff (maybe? if you squint)

“Dude, I have a fever, I haven’t been decapitated. Can you stop pacing? Sam’ll be back in a couple days, I’ll take some Tylenol and sleep it off, we’ll be good as new in no time.”

He glared down at you where you laid on Rufus’s couch with flared nostrils. “You’re shivering under every goddamn blanket in this place and it’s been 3 days already. We’re going to a hospital.”

You rolled your eyes at him and tried to hide the way you snuggled deeper into the woolen bundle. “So dramatic. As if we wouldn’t get made walking in the door. And if you’re so worried about me, why don’t you make yourself useful and get me a hot water bottle and some tea?” You tried to give him your most casual smile in reassurance.

Dean appraised you with a hard set to his jaw and a twinge of concern at his eyebrows for a moment before relenting. “Fuck, fine. One more day and if the fever hasn’t broken, then we’re going.” It was only a few steps to the kitchen, and you heard him putting a pot of water on to boil. “You sure I can’t just do coffee? I don’t know how you drink this stuff.”

Like it always did, Dean’s aversion to tea made you laugh. “It’s literally just mint flavored water—you act like you haven’t drunk all kinds of potions and hangover cures.”

“The fact that I have drunk all kinds of potions and hangover cures should show you how gross it is.” He tossed a hot water bottle covered in worn waxed canvas on top of your blankets and you shimmied it under your feet while he got the tea together. After a moment, he set the tea (and a plastic bear full of honey, which made you smile to yourself) on the coffee table next to you. “Can we at least watch something else? These chicks are driving me fucking nuts.”

That made you laugh hard enough to shake loose the blanket corners tucked in under your chin. “You might be able to trick Bobby into thinking you don’t like the Real Housewives, but I’m not buying it for one second.”

He shot you some side eye but didn’t protest, patting your feet in a signal to raise them so he could sit with your legs in his lap. You didn’t remember past the first few minutes of the next episode.

“Hey, come on, you gotta drink something.”

You squinted up at Dean, feeling the sickly stickiness of dried and re-soaked sweat in Dean’s stolen sweatshirt where it bunched around your neck. “You want me to sleep, you want me to wake up, pick a lane, asshole,” you tried to joke, feeling each word like a stab in your, well, stab wound. It took more focus than it should’ve too hold onto Dean’s face where he perched on the coffee table right in front of you.

“You’ve been asleep for 16 hours, Rip Van Winkle. And you’re sweating like a whore in church, gotta rehydrate.”

“Thanks, Nurse Ratched,” you croaked, carefully keeping your face neutral around the throbbing ache in your side as you sat up and accepted the bowl of broth from Dean. When his hands were free, he put the back of his hand to your forehead in a very maternal way that might’ve made you giggle if you weren’t in so much pain.

Dean’s lips pressed into a tight line and he breathed a hard “fuck,” as he sat back. “Lemme see it.”

“If you wanted to get me naked, all you had to do was ask,” you tried to joke.

“No slick shit, I’m serious. The fever’s getting worse.” There wasn’t even a touch of playfulness in his tone, tight chord of anxiety clipping his words.

“It’s going to be pink and raw like every other set of infected stit—”

“Cooperate or don’t, but my bet is there’s no way you can slip out of getting pinned right now.”

“Who knew you were so kinky, Dean?”

He didn’t rise to the teasing at all, the just-this-side-of-friendly banter you normally had, and it made the nervous bile rise a few degrees in your throat. You eased back and slowly flipped down the blankets, immediately started shivering as you pulled up your damp layers to show him your stomach.

It was worse than you’d thought it would be even before he tenderly pulled back the tape to see the injury itself, the gauze a mottled tie-dye of blood and greenish pus. The stitches strained against swollen, angry tissue oozing at the corners, and you looked away to hold onto a little denial that you weren’t completely fucked. “Jesus Christ, kid,” Dean murmured. He reached behind him for a bottle of rubbing alcohol and you didn’t even try to argue, hissing and grabbing his wrist when he poured it over the wound. Dabbing off the worst of the external mess with the moisture, you watched as his mind raced.

You decided to try to grab the reins of the situation before he locked you both into a crazy plan. “Help me up, I want to take a shower. I feel disgusting.”

“Can you even stand?”

You rolled your eyes at him exasperatedly.

“Roll your fucking eyes at me all you want, you look like Marvin the Martian. Can’t believe I let your dumb ass talk me out of taking you to a hospital.”

“I’ve got a much better chance of beating a little infection than I do the combined force of however many Leviathans are looking for us and the full force of the federal government. Now get out of my way if you’re not going to help me up, I need a shower.”

He pushed back the coffee table and watched you stand up, grabbing your arm and waist when you immediately swayed. “Goddamn it, sit back down, I’m getting your shoes.”

“Dean. I am not going to a hospital. Especially not before Sam gets back. Not a negotiation. I just—you’re freaked out, I get it. I just need you to please let me call the play for once.”

His jaw muscles tightened into firm balls and you could see the flare of panic behind his gaze as he flicked between your eyes. Ultimately he didn’t say anything, just giving you a tight nod and offering a hand to guide you up and to the bathroom. When you’d gotten there, he hovered in the doorway as you started to peel off layers, hoping that your leaning on the sink didn’t look as obvious as it felt. “Think I can take it from here, chief,” you offered, hoping he’d take the hint.

“Not adding a head injury to this bullshit stew, sorry.”

“No way, psycho. You’re not watching me shower.”

His face screwed up in a scowl. “I’m not going to watch you shower, I’m just staying in here while you do in case you get dizzy again.”

“Dude—”

“Not a negotiation,” he growled, spinning your words back on you. You held each other’s stubborn gazes for a long beat before you gave in, getting in the tub and yanking the curtain closed with the rest of your clothes on, shucking the rest of them off and dropping them outside the tub behind the plasticized shield and curtain. You turned the water on and held onto the dial for support, hearing Dean’s movement in the bathroom as he sat down on the lidded toilet next to the shower. Laborious as it was, it felt a lot better getting clean. You’d started washing your hair when he started to talk.

“You know what you’re asking me to do, right?”

“Let me take a shower in peace?” You didn’t want to acknowledge the elephant in the room—what was the point?

“If you’re not septic yet you will be in a day or two.”

“By which time Sam will be back and you guys can strong arm some vet into giving me antibiotics like the mafiosos you fancy yourselves to be.”

“Don’t deflect.” It was quiet but firm, and you blinked away the way your vision was starting to fuzz out at the edges. Something about it finally got you to drop the joking, if only for a second.

“I know what I’m asking you to do.” You hoped he could hear the resolution in your voice.

Dean was silent for a long enough beat that you thought maybe he hadn’t heard you, but you heard the roughness in his voice when he finally replied. “Please don’t make me?”

The shower washed away a hot, stupid tear when it shot out of your eye like a kamikaze at his vulnerability. “I can’t be the reason you guys get caught.” You were clean now, but something about the confession-style quality of the shower curtain and the way it was letting both of you say what you really meant held you in the stream of water anyway.

“I’m not—it’s going to fuck me up forever, you know that, right?” It was almost a grunt, the way Dean’s voice strained as he pleaded with you.

“Long as you guys are alive.”

He didn’t respond.

After a long minute you felt your legs start to turn to jello. “You have something out there I can put on?”

You heard him clear his voice, sticky and coarse. “Gimme a second.”

A callused hand shot behind the shower curtain with a towel before Dean’s footsteps got quieter, and you tried your best to dry yourself off without stumbling. Not 15 seconds later, a bundle of clothes came in the same way. You smiled to yourself at your underwear and yoga pants with Dean’s t-shirt; he would’ve had to deliberately go into 2 different bags to get the clothes, no way it was an accidental grab. When you were dressed, you tugged the shower curtain back and didn’t argue when Dean wrapped his arm around your waist to ease you out of the tub, let him guide you back to the couch and fussily rearrange your blankets and pillows before he got out his first aid supplies.

You watched his face as he worked on cleaning the wound again, knowing he just needed to be doing something, that he couldn’t just sit still and hope it got better. You could give him that, sat stock still even when it stung like a bitch and didn’t even tease him when he made you swallow a handful of vitamins as though that would help. Another cup of soup eaten silently and two mugs of tea later, your eyelids were beginning to droop again.

“Tired?” he murmured, messing with the cover of the hot water bottle before ultimately getting up to refill it.

“A little, yeah. Will you, um, will you sit with me?”

Dean mercifully didn’t acknowledge the shake in your voice, nodding gently and sliding himself beneath you on the couch, tucking you under his arm and onto his chest, burrowing you both into the cushions. You reached your hand out of the blankets to place your palm over his heart, feeling the vibrating thrum of his pulse under your fingertips and cheek. His hand shifted so that he was smoothing the drying hair back from your temple, and after a few beats he bent his neck to kiss the crown of your head. The tenderness of it, the giving in to your request, pulled another tear out of your eye that fell straight into the cotton of Dean’ t-shirt underneath you.

He sounded like he’d just woken up, that sleepy-syrupy sandpaper of a long night on his vocal cords. “You know, right? If it was going to be anyone for me, it would’ve been you?”

The weight of it turned the blankets on top of you into a hug. You were nodding into him before you could speak, the tears turning your voice creaky-soft. “Same to you, dummy.” He chuckled once nostalgically at the ribbing, and you felt the rumble of it under you. “Thank you, Dean.”

You felt the tension of the hiccupped breath before Dean got it under control to answer. “I love you, kid.”

“Love you too.” It was the only thing to say, and neither of you had to answer or explain this undercurrent that had never been acknowledged so plainly before, no matter how rock solid it might’ve been for years. You laid there together for a long time, beating of Dean’s heart underneath you something constant to hold onto, warmth off his body better than any hot water bottle. The last thing you remembered before passing out was hearing Sam walk through the front door.

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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thisisgonnafuxkinkillme · 3 years

Note

Now I'm not really sure if you're taking anything like requests but if you are... could you write a small angsty one shot with like all of All Might's toxic traits and you know treating his s/o like his furthest priority? I wanna be hurt for some reason.

Forgotten Memory

Toshinori Yagi x Gn! Reader

Warnings: Angst and a lil fluff

Toshinori worked hard. You know that.

But...

No. I'm being selfish.

Alot of people needed him. Still need him. People who aren'tF you.

So suck it up.

You sigh, scrubbing your plate at the kitchen sink. It's 9pm on a Wednesday. He came home late, once again, and dinner was cold.

"Don't worry," he assured, "I already ate something before I got home."

It was totally dark aside from a buzzing light above the stove.

It would've been totally quiet, too, if it weren't for the shower from down the hallway.

He took warm showers whenever he was stressed.

That being said, they became a part of his routine.

And yours, too.

As you dried your plate, you looked out the window. It wasn't that long ago when he was out there helping you garden, out on his hands and knees beside you, his fingernails full of dirt.

Just like yours.

Neither of you minded the grunge. You never even thought to bring it up, and neither did he. Not even when he gently cupped your cheek, lovingly looking into your eyes. Not even when you wrapped your fingers around his wrist.

The bathroom door opens. You hold your breath. Maybe he'll come behind you, softly wrapping his arms around your waist and whispering caring words into your ear. Maybe he'd brew some tea and ask to sit with you in the living room. Maybe-

The bedroom door opened, and soon after, was closed back again.

Your heart sank with a pang. A hairline fracture rapidly spread across your chest.

Nothing.

suck it up

suck. it. up.

You took a shakey breath. You'd already started the water for him to make his tea.

He used to make it a point to sip out of his favorite mug to allow the warm liquid to relax his tired muscles, his loving partner by his side, each and every night. He'd hold the cup with both hands, warming his chilled fingers.

You rubbed your fingers. They're nearly numb at this point from working under the icy tap water.

You eventually relented yourself to another lonely night, retiring into the bed that you shared, but you didn't share. He had his side and you had yours. Your side was pristine from being made that morning, not even touched, while his was winkled only from his body being under the sheet.

Toshinori was already well into sleep by the time you came into the blackened room. You didn't even bother to give him a gentle kiss before crawling beside him but not beside him.

The bed that you once shared was now miles long. It was as if there was a barbed wire fence dividing it down the middle.

You woke up the next morning like you usually did. Cold and alone.

The first time you woke up this way, your body was still comforted by the residual heat of his cuddles from the night before. On top of that, he'd left a note for you on the stove.

I had to leave early this morning, pumpkin. I am so sorry. I'll make up for it, I promise!

And he did. That night, he smothered you in hugs and kisses, leaving you a giggling mess.

This time, like the others, there was no note. It was just implied that he was sorry for not being there.

For not being there.

While you worked on your computer, you turned on the TV. You couldn't stand the silence anymore.

A news report about a villian who'd just been captured and subdued by the number one hero once again was playing.

See? There's more important things happening out there for him to be dealing with. Don't stress him out with your lonliness crap. Don't be selfish.

You vowed to not mention it to him. Surely, he'd come around for you. He always did. He loved you, right?

Right? Right.

The day came and went silently and uneventfully.

Toshi came home squarely at 6:54 pm. A little late, but not too late for dinner to be cold. In fact, it was still in the oven.

You cut some herbs at the counter. You didn't even stir as he walked in.

He dropped his bag onto the floor, slumping into the kitchen chair with a heavy sigh. You turned around, greeting him.

He was in his small form, which was typical for when he was at home. The yellow suit he wore to work hung off of his limbs, flowing off of his body like a sheet. He was drowning in the fabric that was now fraying and dingy.

Evidently, he'd gotten into a scuffle with a villian somewhere during his day.

He murmured your name as he noticed you staring. Your eyes met his for a breif moment.

Quickly, you reminded yourself to not bring it up.

Don't stress him out. He doesn't need it.

"What's bothering you?" He asked. Your breath hitched at the seemingly innocent question.

"Nothing," you sharply reply.

He took a moment to sit in the silence and collect his thoughts.

"...I know you. Something's not right, and I would like to know what it is. Please, tell me," insisted Toshinori. You shook your head.

"it's fine. You don't need-"

"I do. Tell me. Please, y/n."

His eyes pierced into yours. You wished that he could just see your heart, and that you didn't have to put it into words.

But you did.

"Do you still love me?" You choked out. You slapped your hand over your mouth instantly, cursing yourself for being so blunt. His eyes widened in shock and his body recoiled.

"W-what? You...you know I love you, pumpkin," he frowned.

That name. You instantly broke down at hearing that name.

You used to be his pumpkin, his sweetheart, his baby.

What happened?

Through the tears, you felt him wrap his arms around you. His fingertips grazed your scalp, bringing your head to his chest.

Your cheek rested just below this scar.

"Shhhh, calm down. Breathe, honey...there you go," he coached you through your breakdown. You soon was able to talk, not having to pause between sobs.

"I miss you, Toshi. You're never...you don't...you don't plant flowers with me like you used to, you know?" You sniffled, looking up to meet his concerned gaze.

"We can plant some this weekend-"

"it's not about the flowers. It's about how you never drink tea with me anymore. It's about how you don't leave me sweet notes like you used to, or how you don't give me butterfly kisses on my forehead. It's all of those things. I miss that part of you. I just hope that...maybe you miss me, too."

He listened carefully to everything you had to say, never interuppting or talking over you. He didn't try to give explanations or excuses. He just listened, nodding silently.

"You're...you're right," he conceded, "I guess it's just that I took you for granted, I suppose. I assumed that my love was inherent, something you would just realize was there. I was foolish in thinking that. I shouldn't have assumed you would always be a constant in my life. You deserve so much better."

He caressed your cheek gently.

"I...I hope you know that I haven't forgotten about you. You're one person that gets me through the day. I kept thinking that maybe the work would get easier, and I'd be able to handle it like I used to, but..."

His grip tightened on you. Thoughts ripped through his mind about life without you, filling him with an inescapable fear. Maybe by holding you a little tighter, you'd stay.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured. His apologies were muffled from his teary eyes and his face that he buried into your hair.

You both stood together, one holding the other, both scared to let go, both scared to be alone.

The kitchen light buzzed above you while the stove beeped, signaling that the food was ready.

...

The next morning, you woke up to a tiny kiss on your forehead. You sleepily reached for your boyfriend's hand, to which he gladly took it. It was still dark outside, probably still 6:30am or so. He was fully dressed and ready for another day.

Yet he lingered, his fingers entangled in yours.

After a mental battle, he let go of your comparitively small hand, slipping off his shoes and sliding back under the covers. You stirred, not putting the pieces together with your groggy mind.

All you knew, and all that mattered, was his arms around you, gently warming your core.

He whispered, "I love you, pumpkin."

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petitemistletoe · 4 years

Text

Tested

Pairing: Avengers x Reader (big nonromantic focus on Steve and Peter)

Warnings: angst...fluff at the end!

A/N: Get ready to be sad! This is one close to my heart, so please enjoy!!

Word Count: 1,350

*not my gifs*

You punched out a HYDRA operative before saying into your ear piece:

“American gothic writer who lost his whole family to tuberculosis?”

“Edgar Allen Poe!” Peter grunted. “American romantic author who secluded himself in the woods?”

“Emerson?” You responded, kicking a HYDRA operative in the face and grabbing his gun.

“Wrong. Thoreau.” Peter chuckled.

“Dammit. I always get them mixed up.”

“You know our mics are for communication about the mission, right?” Bucky groaned.

“Okay well not all of us are hundred year olds. Some of us have English exams tomorrow that we have to study for.” You said as you roundhouse kicked another HYDRA operative and grabbed the file he was protecting.

“What’s the status on the Eukremski files?” Steve barked.

“Got ‘em. Let’s get out of here.” You said and put your arms up for Peter to grab you and swing you back to the jet. When the two of you got into the jet you immediately sat in the back and continued to review.

“What is Walt Whitman’s most famous poem?”

“‘O Captain my Captain.”

“Who is it about?”

“Abraham Lincoln’s death. What piece is famously regarded as the beginning of American romanticism?”

“Uh…Rip Van Winkle.”

“Right. Who-”

“Can you two please pay attention to the briefing?” Steve asked with crossed arms.

“Do you want to take our English exam tomorrow?” You spat back.

“Whoa!” Bucky and Natasha exchanged a look.

“Excuse me?” Steve looked at you, incredulously. People generally didn’t talk back to him.

“You heard me. I’m the one who got the files and I wasn’t even supposed to be on this mission but you called me and asked for my help. I did you a favor and now I need to study for my exam. If you don’t like it, then don’t call me for missions anymore.” You snapped.

“I’m your superior. Watch yourself or I’m gonna do something you’re not gonna like.” Steve said, walking towards you.

“Maybe we should all just get some rest for the remaining part of the jet ride.” Natasha whispered, trying to defuse the situation.

“You know what, Cap? I fucking quit.” You said as the jet landed back at Stark towers.

“Wait!” Peter said, looking at you in alarm.

“You don’t quit.” Steve glared at you.

“Fuck you, Steve. I quit. Don’t call me again.” You stormed off the jet and practically ran home.

“Hey, how was the mission?” Your brother, David, asked as you stormed into the apartment.

“Fantastic!” You yelled sarcastically. You went straight to your room and slammed the door, causing your brother to look at your door in alarm.

“What the hell is going on with her?” Steve asked Peter.

“Why are you being so hard on her?” Peter looked at Steve with a sad expression.

“What do you mean?”

“You know, given everything that she’s been through lately.”

“Peter, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Steve looked confused, “What is she going through?”

“She didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Steve was getting more and more frustrated by the second.

“It really isn’t my place to say, sir. You’ll have to get that information from her.” Peter said before walking out of the tower to swing home.

When David woke you up the next morning, the first thing he saw was how red your eyes were.

“What is going on?” David asked, sitting at the foot of your bed.

“I quit the Avengers last night.” You said, pulling your knees up to your chest.

“Why’s that?” David asked.

“Steve was getting on my case while I was trying to review content with Peter and I just…snapped. I don’t feel like going to school today. Can I stay home?” You explained.

“What about that exam you’ve been studying so hard for?”

��I really can’t. I can take it tomorrow when I go back. Please. I need a break.”

“Yeah. I’ll call the school and let them know. Do you need anything? I have to head to work soon.”

“I’m okay. Just go.” You smiled sadly. After David left, you buried yourself into the corner of the couch and flipped through the channels till you found a channel playing ‘Beauty and the Beast’. You felt your bottom lip tremble and fresh tears spilled out of your eyes all over again. When there was a knock at your door you assumed it was your Chinese food, so you were understandably surprised to see Steve standing in the doorway of your apartment in Queens.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, arms crossed tightly over your chest.

“Can I come in?” Steve looked at you with apologetic expression. You stepped back from the door to allow him in. Steve sat down at the kitchen table and watched you as you walked to your fridge and grabbed two beers.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you too young to drink?” Steve took the beer from you.

“You love criticizing, don’t you?” You said with a sarcastic laugh.

“What happened?” Steve looked at you sadly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You stared at the beer bottle between your hands.

“Peter said that you’ve been through a lot recently. I want to help you. But you have to help me help you.” Steve said.

“My mom died a few weeks ago. She was sick for a while. It…it happened while we were on that mission in Melbourne. I’ve just been on edge lately because of it. I’m sorry I snapped.” You exhaled, looking at the table.

“I don’t know what to say.” Steve said, looking at you with wide eyes.

“Peter’s the only one on the team who knows. And that’s just because his aunt is…was close to my mom.”

“I’m really sorry. I had no idea. Are you living alone now?” Steve asked, concerned. Before you could answer, the front door opened and there was an excited chatter. Wriley and Peter walked in, holding a steamy bag of food and a stack of DVDs.

“Hey! Look who I found trying to steal our Chinese food!” David smiled, entering the kitchen. His smile dropped as he looked between you and Steve.

“Hi, I’m Steve Rogers.” Steve stood from the table and stuck out his hand. Wriley took it hesitantly.

“David. Your favorite teammate’s older brother.” David said sarcastically, “What are you doing here?” He walked around the table to where you were sitting and put his hand on your shoulder, protectively.

“I came to apologize and offer your sister a place back on the team. If she’ll take it, of course.” Steve looked at you with pleading eyes.

“Why don’t we have Chinese food and watch a DVD before we make any big decisions.” Peter suggested, bouncing the bag a little. David laughed and started pulling containers of food out and setting them on the table.

“Do you like sweet and sour chicken, Steve?” David asked as he broke apart a pair of chopsticks.

“Yeah.” Steve said, sitting back down at the table.

“Well don’t touch any of that, it’s mine.”

The next mission was retrieve some files from a HYDRA base in Koldat, Poland. You were snaking your way through the building, kicking and punching out enemy operatives at every corner.

“US President that was in office during the war of 1812?” Peter panted.

“Madison.” You grunted, smacking the head of an operative against one of the metal walls.

“Who was in office during the ‘Trail of Tears’?”

“Van Buren and Jackson.” You whispered, making your way over to the room with the files. You shot at the enemy operatives, gunning down six or seven in a matter of seconds.

“Only president who was in for more than two terms?” Steve asked.

“FDR. Got the files.” You said with a smile.

“You are gonna kick this test’s ass.” Steve said, “And if you get anything less than A, tell your teacher that you were quizzed by Steve Rogers himself.”

“You guys these mics are supposed to be for communication about the mission.” Bucky whined and you all laughed.

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #Chris Evans #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #Sebastian Stan #sebastian stan x reader #peter parker #peter parker x reader #tom holland #tom holland x reader #Natasha romanoff #Natasha Romanoff x reader #scarlett johansson #Scarlett Johansson x reader

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breakmebucky · 5 years

Text

Burning Love

Word Count: 5032 Warnings: Eventual Smut. Sex Pollen (I know, I’m not proud of it either.) Some descriptions of dead folks. Jealous Loki. Jotunn-esque Loki. Characters: Loki x Reader

“Yield.” Loki demanded as his knife rested against the thin flesh of her throat. He smirked as his gaze traveled from her throat down to where her chest was heaving from the intensity of their sparring.

“You first.” She replied, tapping her knife against the inside of Loki’s thigh, just over an artery.

Loki pulled his gaze from the exposed skin above her collar and looked down the length of their bodies to where her knife was resting and then tilted his head slightly.

“Clever.” He mused. “Very clever.” His fingers twisted in her hair and pulled her head back further, baring more of her neck to his knife. “But I would cut your throat before you’d ever have a chance to cut my femoral artery.” He grinned down at her and added, “So again…Yield.”

“You should pay more attention.” She replied, pressing the tip of her other knife into the soft flesh in dip of Loki’s hip just enough to make its presence known. “That’s an aorta. You’d be dead in less than seven seconds between the two, Loki.” She added. “So, again…you first.”

Loki inhaled sharply as the tip of the knife brushed against the sensitive skin over his aorta. The combined sensation of the cold metal on his skin and the vision of him pinning Y/N to his body stirred something in Loki and he released her before dropping his knife and raising his hands in surrender.

“I yield.” He acquiesced. “You win this time, Y/N.”

“Ha!” Came a thunderous laugh from the other side of the training facility. “She has bested you, brother!”

“Thor!” Y/N squealed, sheathing her knives and bolting across the mats towards him. She jumped as soon as she reached him and Thor caught her and supported her weight as she wrapped her legs around his middle and her arms around his neck in a full body hug. “I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow night!?”

“It is the third Thursday of the month.” He replied, as if that explained anything. “It is movie night.”

Y/N squealed as Thor spun her onto his back and grabbed her calves before giving her a piggy back out of the gym.

Loki looked away, partly in disgust though mostly in jealousy. He was used to his brother getting everything he wanted for himself. First their father’s love, then the throne, and now…you. Loki would have said goodbye, but he didn’t want to interrupt the obviously long awaited homecoming between his brother and Y/N. He watched them leave and departed the gym shortly after, heading towards his room.

He considered not joining the rest of the team for the monthly movie night, but eventually decided against it. His place on the team was still very much in flux and the undercurrent of tension between himself and some of the members was one suspicious activity away from explosive conflict. Loki flopped onto the end of the couch furthest from the others and offered a tight smile, which was returned before they returned to their previous conversation.

“Scooch over, Rudolph.” Y/N joked before sitting down close enough to Loki that their hips touched. “Unless you want your brother in your lap.”

“If I had to choose, it would not be him.” Loki responded dryly before sliding to the end of the couch as his brother crashed down on the other side of Y/N and dropped a bowl of extra buttery popcorn in her lap. She doesn’t evenlike that kind. Loki thought to himself as he rolled his eyes and tried to turn his attention to the movie and away from his oaf of a brother who had draped his arm over Y/N’s shoulder and was gently rubbing his thumb across her arm.

“Excited for the mission tomorrow?” Y/N asked halfway through the movie, leaning over so Loki could hear her whisper.

“Hmm?” Loki asked, turning away from the screen to look at Y/N. He flushed lightly when he realized how close her face was to his own. “Ah, I’m not on the mission for tomorrow?” He replied, his words equidistant a question and a statement.

“Oh, I guess they didn’t tell you yet.” Y/N whispered again. “Steve needs Bucky on a different mission, so you’re stuck with me and Bruce.” She offered him a small smile and then added, “It’s just a quick intel sweep. In and out. One day, max.”

“What are we whispering about?” Thor asked, leaning his full weight on Y/N as he tried to insert himself in the conversation. His action forced Y/N’s upper body into Loki’s lap, eliciting a groan from the smaller man.

“Ugh.” Y/N groaned, shoving against Thor with a laugh. “We’re talking about the mission tomorrow. Now get. Off. Of. Me.”

Thor laughed and pulled himself off of Y/N and pulling her into his side. Loki watched as Y/N rested her head on his brother’s chest and settled back in to watch the movie. Normally, the casual affection expressed between Thor and Y/N was simply irritating to Loki. Lately, however, he found himself getting more and more upset by it. Jealousy was not a foreign emotion to Loki, but he had never felt it quite like this before. He had never had the desire to have the attention of a singular person as deeply as he desired to have Y/N’s. He wasn’t sure quite why he craved her specifically or why his desire had recently gotten stronger, but Loki was sure that he couldn’t sit there and pretend to watch the movie anymore. Without making any excuses or saying goodnight, he left the common area and disappeared to his bedroom.

Loki didn’t remember falling asleep the night before, but he was awoken by the sound of someone knocking adamantly on his door.

“Go away or I will skin you alive!” He shouted with a sleep heavy voice.

“I’ll take my chances!” Y/N called back as the electronic lock beeped and she entered his room. “Come on, Rip Van Winkle, it’s mission time.”

Loki looked up from the small mountain of pillows on his bed and shook his head.

“No.”

“What do you mean, No?”

“I’m not going.”

“Honestly, mood. But also, you have to.”

“I am a God. I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to.”

“Loki Laufeyson, get up before I drag you out of that bed.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Loki challenged with a small grin. He barely had time to register the acceptance of his challenge before the covers were suddenly whipped off his bed, leaving him completely exposed. A laugh bubbled up from his chest and filled his room at the sound of Y/N’s surprised squeal and the sight of her slamming her eyes shut and turning her back.

“Damn it, Loki. You could’ve warned me!” She said with an embarrassed tone to her voice. Loki sat up and stretched before using his magic to put his clothes on.

“I thought you were going to drag me out of bed.” He teased, grabbing his boots from under his bedside table.

“You’re not funny.” Y/N shot back. “I will absolutely drag you out of that bed and make you go on the mission in your birthday suit.” She huffed and turned back around to face him. Loki noticed a small twinge of something that looked like disappointment cross her face and he grinned wickedly.

“Yes, I’m dressed now.” He pointed out. “Sorry to disappoint.” He stood and closed the gap between himself and Y/N and reached out to push her hair behind her shoulder. “But if you’d like another look, I’d be happy to oblige.” His voice dropped an octave and he sensed the uptick in her heartbeat as well as the soft gasp that left her lips at the contact between his fingertips and her clavicle. Loki looked down at the woman with playful confusion, unsure if she was really reacting to him the way he thought, or if he was just imagining it.

Y/N cleared her throat and took a step back before fixing her usual confidence on her face.

“I’m good. Let’s go.” She said, hitching her thumb towards the door. “Bruce is waiting in the Quinjet.”

“Of course he is.”

Loki spent the five hour trip in the Quinjet trying his absolute hardest not to either upset Bruce or lose his mind at the close quarter’s he found himself in.

“You know, we didn’t need to fly. I could have just gotten us there already.” He pointed out from his spot in the back of the jet.

“Full offense, Loki, but I don’t trust you or your magic.” Bruce replied as he brought the jet around and landed it gently on a strip of tarmac. “Besides, we need to establish an uplink between our system and whatever is left here.”

Loki watched as Bruce turned to Y/N and asked her something, which she appeared to brush off as she slung her light tactical harness over her hips and clipped it into place.

“You ready, Houdini?” Y/N asked with a grin as she opened the bay door of the jet and stepped out onto the hot asphalt. The difference in pressure pulled the hot air into the jet and sent Y/N’s scent directly into Loki’s face, causing the God to shift uncomfortably as his blood rushed from his head.

“Let’s just get this over with.” Loki shot back, gritting his teeth and stepping out of the jet. The door closed behind them and Loki surveyed the land before them.

“The scans say the building is empty. Well, empty of people anyhow.” Y/N explained as she began to cross towards the planted field that separated the tarmac from the abandoned base. “We’re picking up electrical readings, so hopefully there’s something in there that can give us an idea of why a team of twenty scientists and well trained soldiers suddenly and mysteriously abandoned the base.”

“Remind me why I’m here again?” Loki scoffed, stopping at the edge of the field and watching Y/N cross through the plants.

“Because I needed backup and I trust you.” Y/N replied, turning to shoot Loki an expectant look. “Now come on.”

“I’m waiting on you.” He replied, calling to her from the other side of the field as he used his magic to skip actually walking through the strange plants. He caught the sound of Y/N’s laughter and saw her shake her head before she began to jog towards him. She slugged him in the shoulder playfully before they finished the trek to the abandoned building and then went inside.

It took less than ten minutes to figure out why no one had ever been seen evacuating the building. There, sprawled out amongst rotting food and dusty furniture, lay the corpses of five people; their flesh seemingly melted from their bones.

“Oh god.” Y/N coughed, pulling her shirt up and over her nose in an attempt to mask the foul odor. “What happened to these people?”

“There’s been no fire, but they look as though they were burnt.” Loki pointed out, pulling his knives from the dimensional space where he stored them. Something deep within him was screaming that they were in danger and that they should leave immediately. “We should not be here.”

“Come on.” Y/N replied, pulling his wrist gently as she continued deeper into the building. “Let’s get the link established and get out.”

Loki nodded and followed her as they continued on towards the mainframe, passing more burnt corpses along the way. There were no signs of how these people had died, just their flesh melted from their bones. It made Loki uneasy and he very nearly called the mission off and transported himself and Y/N out of the cursed building; but they reached the mainframe before he had a chance.

“Please, do hurry.” Loki insisted as he watched the door for any signs of danger. Y/N immediately got in contact with Bruce and the two of them began to work on setting up the link.

They were nearly done when Y/N suddenly began to fan herself with one hand. She pulled down the zipper of her bodysuit and groaned.

“Loki…” She called, now gasping for air. “I don’t feel so good.” She turned to face Loki and he saw her forehead beading with sweat moments before she slid out of the chair and collapsed to the floor unconsious.

“Y/N!” Loki exclaimed, diving to the floor to check her. His hand slid over her head and he pulled back in shock at the intense heat that radiated from her skin. Bruce could be heard over the comms, demanding for either of them to answer him. Loki snatched the receiver out of Y/N’s ear and fitted it into his own.

“Bruce, I-I don’t know what’s happened.” He spoke, pulling Y/N’s head into his lap. “Y/N just collapsed. She’s burning up. We’ve got to get her back home.”

“I agree.” Bruce stated, “But you need to finish that uplink first.”

“Damn the link, you giant asparagus! Y/N is ill!” Loki shouted, not caring if he upset Bruce anymore.

“And I need the uplink in case it’s something in the building, Loki!” Bruce snapped back.

Loki growled in annoyance before removing his cape, balling it up, and gently moving Y/N’s head off of his lap to rest on it.

“Tell me what to do then!”

Loki and Bruce quickly got the link established and Loki gathered Y/N up in his arms gently before using his magic to transport the both of them back to the ship. Bruce was already waiting with all the cold packs from the first aid kit. He cracked them and both he and Loki packed them against Y/N’s major arteries.

“We don’t have enough to last five hours, but we’ve got to try.” Bruce mentioned before taking his seat and getting the jet back in the air.

Two hours into the return trip home and there were no more ice packs remaining. Loki watched as Y/N’s temperature crept higher and higher, noted by the insistent beeping of the machine tracking her vitals. He could hear Bruce explaining the situation over the comms and the sounds of the other teammates as they tried to figure out how to get everyone home safely. Loki looked down at Y/N and wiped the beading sweat off of her cheek with his hand. A shudder ran through her body and the vitals showed a momentary downtick in her temperature before it resumed its growth.

“Curious.” Loki muttered to himself, looking down at his own hand. It wasn’t until he really looked that he realized that his skin had taken on a bluish tint. Loki pulled his sleeve up and realized that the tint continued up his arm, disappearing under the cloth. He lifted the hem of his shirt and still more blue-tinted skin appeared. “Of course.” He said, exasperated with himself as he stripped himself of his shirt and began to remove Y/N’s extra layers.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bruce’s voice demanded from the front of the jet as Loki stripped Y/N down to the thin undershirt she wore under her tactical gear. “Why are you blue?!”

“I’m keeping her alive until you get us home.” Loki replied, scooping Y/N off the floor of the jet and cradling her in his lap against his cold chest. “Just focus on flying!”

Bruce looked ready to argue, but the machine tracking Y/N’s vitals began to register a steadily decreasing temperature. His mouth snapped closed and his attention returned to the task of flying the plane.

“Just hang on, Y/N.” Loki mumbled, pressing his lips to her temple. “Just hang on.”

Two and a half of the remaining three hours passed with Y/N’s temperature steadily lowering before Loki felt her stir in his arms. Her eyes cracked open and he immediately noticed that the pupils had overtaken the color that he so enjoyed looking at.

“You feel so good.” She murmured, tipping her head back to simultaneously rest on Loki’s shoulder and bare her throat. “I’m burning up.”

“I know.” Loki replied, pressing his cool cheek to her warm one and trying to fight the urge to nip at the soft flesh she was offering. “You were exposed to something in the building.”

“It’s so hot.” She whined, not listening to a word he said. “I’m going to burn up like the others.” Loki’s pupils widened as Y/N grabbed his hand and slid it under her shirt to rest over her heart. His fingers molded over the rounded flesh of her breast and he felt the nipple harden into a peak instantly, pressing firmly into his palm. “Can you feel it, Loki?” Y/N mewled pitifully. “I’m going to burn to death.”

“I’m not going to let that happen.” He told her in a strained voice as he fought to control himself. “We’re going to get you back to the compound and Stark will fix you.”

“I can’t last that long.” Y/N whimpered, pressing herself closer to Loki and causing friction in his pants. “I need you to fix me, Loki.” She whispered, pressing her feverish lips to the place just below his ear. “You can fix me, right?” Her hand dropped from his wrist and slid between their bodies before palming at Loki’s clothed cock. “I saw what you’ve got. I pretended not to, but…I saw.” Her voice filled with lust and her body began to warm again. “I bet you can fix me right up, can’t you?”

Loki growled deep in his chest and, with great self-restraint on his part, he pulled his hand from under Y/N’s shirt and then removed her hand from between his thighs.

“You just had to go into the field.” He scolded, realizing what Y/N had been exposed to. “Don’t worry, you will be back to my brother soon enough. He can fix you.”

“No,” Y/N whined, turning on Loki’s lap to face him. “He can’t fix me.” She shook her head adamantly. “He can’t give me what I need.”

“If his track record with maidens is anything to go by, I assure you he can.”

“You don’t understand.” Y/N argued, shaking her head again. She tucked her face into Loki’s neck and licked a stripe across the cool flesh, causing him to shudder. “I need you, Loki.”

Loki’s fingers gripped Y/N’s hips and he pulled her down flush into his lap. The warmth from between her thighs radiated through both of their pants as Y/N began to grind on Loki’s lap. His cock strained painfully in his trousers and his lip disappeared between his teeth as he struggled to keep himself from taking Y/N right there on the floor of the jet.

“You’re so fucking warm.” He murmured against her skin, burying his face in her shoulder to disguise his grunts.

“I’m warmer inside.” She teased, grabbing his hand and leading it to the top of her pants. “Go ahead and see.”

Before Loki could accept the invitation, Bruce was landing the plane and the medical team was there separating the two of them and taking them to the Quarantine wing.

“It’s been hours and we can’t bring her temperature down.” Tony explained. “The cradle isn’t going to last much longer and putting her on ice won’t work.” He turned to Loki, who was once again dressed, but was still turning blue and continued, “Between Y/N burning from the inside, and you turning into a Smurf, I think it’s safe to say the both of you were exposed to something.”

“I wasn’t exposed to anything.” Loki replied, rolling his eyes.

“I don’t know if you’ve notice, but you’re doing a solid impression of a blueberry, Reindeer Games.”

“I am well aware.” He shot back with a glare. “This happens on occasion.”

“And how often is on occasion?” Tony demanded.

“There is no need to worry. Once every year, Loki experiences his birthright.” Thor supplied as he strode into the medical facility, unaware of the serious situation that Y/N was in. “It is mating season for the Frost Giants!”

“Mating seas- you know what? I don’t have time to make a joke about that right now.” Tony said, shaking his head. “Thor, when you initially scouted the facility did you notice anything weird?”

“Weird? No. Nothing weird.” He replied. “Unless you count the fields.”

“What’s weird about the fields?” Tony asked, his jaw clenching in annoyance.

“Oh they are full of Libidine plants.” Thor said as though that explained anything. “It’s quite rare to see so many in one place and even more rare to see them on Midguard.”

“Libidine Plants?” Bruce interrupted. “But libidine means lust in Latin. Why would a plant be called…”

“Yes.” Thor confirmed the unspoken question. “Their pollen is a potent aphrodisiac. That is why I volunteered Loki to go with Y/N. So he could magic them past the fields. She would burn alive from her own body heat if she were exposed to the pollen.”

“She was.” Loki interrupted.

“I’m sorry, what?” Thor demanded, rounding on his brother. “You allowed her to be exposed to concentrated libidine?! How foolish are you, brother? Where is she?!”

As if on cue, the quarantine wing filled with the sound of Y/N pained scream and her pleas for someone to help her. Thor was down the hall in a matter of seconds with Loki on his heels.

“Thor, wait.” Loki said, trying to reach his brother before he opened the door. He was a second too slow and Thor threw open the door to Y/N’s room before immediately shutting his eyes and turning his back on the nearly naked woman. “I tried to warn you.” Loki pointed out.

“How long has she been like this?” Thor demanded.

“Eight hours, maybe nine.” Tony cut in, having finally caught up to the brothers.

“You have to help her.” Loki told his brother. “You know what has to be done. She’s not going to last much longer. She will spiral into madness if you don’t help her.”

“I cannot help her.” Thor confessed, looking at his brother in distress.

“You would let her die?!” Loki pressed. “You spend all your time fucking her already, but now, when she actually needs you…you won’t do it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. We don’t do that.”

“Save your lies, brother.” Loki hissed. “I have watched you with envy for months. I know you are lovers.”

“We are not lovers.” Thor insisted. “She is a comrade. Her heart belongs to another.”

Loki was about to call Thor out on his bullshit again when Y/N suddenly threw herself at him.

“I knew you would come back.” She moaned, as her hands slid up Loki’s chest. “I need you to fix me, Loki.” Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt as she danced from one foot to the other, burning with need. “Please, please, please, please…” She begged, abandoning the buttons and sliding her hands up either side of Loki’s face. “Please, Loki.” She murmured before pressing her lips to his.

Loki felt something surge in his chest and his fingers found purchase on the backs of Y/Ns thighs before he lifted her off her feet and wrapped her legs around his middle. He barely acknowledged the departure of the others as he allowed himself to fall into the rapture that was Y/N’s lips on his own. Loki’s arm swept across a nearby table, sending glass and paper crashing to the floor. He lay Y/N on the now bare surface, thus freeing his hands to pull at the remaining clothing on her body. The clothing fell away like wet tissue paper under his icy strength, leaving Y/N bared entirely for Loki’s consumption. A strained sound came from Loki’s throat and then his hands and lips were roving hungrily her body, drawing the most lascivious and beautiful sounds from her as he explored. He slid his hand between her open thighs and traced two fingers through her sopping folds, spreading the flesh there.

“By the Gods,” He breathed in amazement. “You’ve been suffering longer than I thought.” His fingers swirled around the sensitive bud at the peak of her heat and a hungry grin graced Loki’s lips as he witnessed the way Y/N began to come undone.

“Please, Loki.” Y/N mewled, bucking her hips against his hand, desperate for more friction. “I need…”

“What do you need, Y/N?” Loki pressed. “Tell me.”

“I need more. I’m burning.” She gasped, moving one of her hands to her own slickness to try and get more friction.

Loki pinned her errant hand to the table by the wrist and slid the fingers of his other hand deep into her in a fluid series of motions. Y/N cried out and gripped Loki’s forearm with her free hand as he began to pump his fingers into her. Loki’s hunger grew as he watched Y/N squirm on the table and felt her clench around his fingers. Just when he thought her cries couldn’t be any closer together, Loki curled his fingers up and pressed them into the sensitive place within Y/N. Her back arched and she called out his name, her walls clenching around his fingers as she rode out her orgasm.

Loki pulled his fingers from within Y/N and cast his eyes over to the screen that still displayed her vitals. Her body registered a large drop in temperature and Loki smirked.

“We can do better than that.” He growled before pulling his straining cock free from his pants and discarding the garments somewhere else in the room. He gripped his base and swiped his tip through the intense warmth of Y/N’s core before pushing forward and sheathing himself completely inside her. Loki attached his lips to Y/N’s and swallowed the gasp that his intrusion had summoned. He stilled inside her for the briefest moment, trying to allow her to adjust.

“Fuck me…” Y/N whispered against his lips. “I’ve been waiting forever.”

Her words spurred Loki on and his fingers grabbed her hips in a bruising grip before he began to piston his hips in and out of her. The table screeched in protest as their fucking caused it to scoot across the tiled floor. Y/N’s screams of bliss filled the room as Loki slammed into her over and over again. He lost himself in her warmth and the feeling of her wrapped tightly around him. He lost count of the number of times her fingers or her teeth dug into his skin and her cunt clenched around his cock. Their escapades moved from the table, to the wall, to the bed, and finally to the floor when the bed gave out. Loki littered Y/N’s flesh with hickies and bites, each more fervent and needy than the last. He felt his pleasure coil tightly in his belly and he bent down to kiss Y/N once again, but then felt her lips moving against his own in a whisper of words.

“What’s that, darling?” He asked between thrusts. Loki felt Y/N’s hands twist into his hair and she brought his ear to her lips before repeating herself.

“I love you.”

The coil in Loki snapped and his vision whited out as he spilled himself deep inside Y/N with a groan. Loki collapsed to the side of Y/N and drew her into his embrace as they both fought to catch their breath. Loki’s eyes searched the room for the screen with Y/N’s vitals on it, finally finding it overturned on the floor about five feet from their naked forms.

“We were successful.” Loki noted, pointing to the numbers that indicated Y/N’s temperature had fallen to a normal level.

“Mmm.” She hummed beside him. “You can say that again.” Her fingers crept across Loki’s chest and he turned his gaze to meet her own. He had never seen the look she held in anyone’s eyes before. Not directed at him, anyhow. There was something deep and consuming in her gaze that set Loki’s heart racing again. He opened his mouth to ask the question nagging at him, but changed his mind when he felt Y/N shiver against him.

“Are you cold now?” Loki asked. When she nodded, he simply waved his hand and they were suddenly in his darkened room buried in the mountain of pillows and thick blankets on his bed. “Is that better?”

“I can see why you don’t want to leave your bed in the morning.” Y/N replied, pulling the blankets up higher on them both and curling further into Loki’s embrace. “These are the softest sheets I’ve ever felt.” A yawn escaped her and she covered her mouth until it passed. “Sorry…so sleepy.” She hummed softly.

“No apology necessary, love.” Loki replied, feeling sleep tugging at his own mind. Before he let himself fall into a blissful slumber next to the woman he cherished beyond all others, he had to rid his mind of the continually nagging question.

“Y/N…”

“Mmm?” She hummed in response.

“Did you mean it?”

“About your sheets?” She asked sleepily. “Absolutely. These are the softest sheets I’ve ever felt.” There was a joking air to her words, but they still didn’t hit Loki right.

“No.” Loki sighed, his previous elation taking a stumble. “Never mind…” He felt Y/N shift and turned to see her staring at him with her chin propped up on her palm.

“Loki,” She said softly, reaching out to push his hair back off his face. “Yes, I mean it. I love you.”

Loki felt her lips brush his own and his heart swelled again at the soft contact. He cupped her jaw and deepened the kiss, licking along her bottom lip until she parted her lips and allowed him to delve deeper into her mouth. Their tongues explored each other’s mouths for another minute or two before breaking away in a series of smaller kisses. Y/N settled back into Loki’s embrace and he carded his fingers through her hair as she began to drift to sleep.

“I love you too.” Loki whispered when he thought she’d fallen asleep finally.

“I know.” Came her response before they both slipped into a heavy and much needed rest.

#breakmebucky #loki x reader #sex pollen #smut #fluff #angst

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sian22redux · 7 years

Text

Private Party

(gif from james-bucky-barnes)

Private Party: A Bucky Barnes one shot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: nsfw below the cut, smut. penquins. bad old man jokes. delayed party gratification

Synopsis: You and Bucky are stuck out on surveillance on an unexpected mission. Turns out there is an excellent way to distract your partner and boyfriend from missing his 100th birthday cake…

A/N: Written for @bucky-plums-barnes 100 Banging Kinks for Bucky’s 100th Birthday challenge. She still has a few kinks to fill so if you can write a drabble quick go help her out. This kink was Outdoors. Now how can a geologist resist that? Please be gentle. Have never written this format before. Hugs to @emilyevanston for holding my hand and making sure it didn’t suck too much.

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

“Helluva way to spend a birthday….”

Bucky shakes his head, grumbles low for just the two of you before sighting through his scope for the umpteenth time. Away in the middle distance nothing moves. Not a bird. Not a cavy. Not even one of Darwin’s blue grey foxes Tony was so enthused about. So far a bust. If Xisis was planning on making his final move he was taking his sweet time about it.

A low hiss of angry steaming sigh leaks out. Nothing—you’ve both got nothing--just like the last ten times you’ve checked. Reluctantly Bucky hunkers down, uses the jut of rock that forms your blind to shelter from the wind. The March air might be warm but the swirl whipping across the poa grass is strong. Grit flies with every gust.

It makes you itch to clean the barrel of your gun.

Instead you wipe the tawny film off your goggles and give him your best halfway sympathetic stare.

“Asshats wait for no man..”

“Or woman..”

He’s grinning. You’ve raised an eyebrow, and he’s grinning wider in that way. For a panicked moment you worry if the game is up, if he’s got wind somehow of the hastily postponed party plans. You narrow your gaze and look carefully askance. Lying like this… shoulder to shoulder, close enough that the wind lifts his sable and your blond locks to mingle freely, you can see those seafoam eyes have widened hopefully. He’s not certain but dang he knows what he wants. His friends. Some shots of a halfway decent overproof tequila. And you. Not necessarily in that order.

“Sorry dude.. Sucks..”

You pull your ponytail back down across your shoulder and hide the relief that floods your face. Operation Rip van Winkle still secure. For when Operation Catch-Asshat-No-62 comes to its end.

You pop up and take a sight of your own, reduce your aperture to it-the target- while your finger flirts with the trigger. Your concentration focuses. Ripples run backward in a pool toward a breaching rock, tighter and tighter, the chaos of your body’s white noise condensing into a tiny pinpoint of exquisite clarity. Your toes dig into the moss, ready to spring should senses cry out fire.

You don’t.

Nothing is moving. No one is coming in or out. The rundown jumble of weathered planks looks just as it did before. Deserted.

You lay back down, set systems back to alert. “Fuuuck…”

“Yeah.”

You’re not sure if Bucky’s monosyllable means the heightened boredom of waiting for the fight or the craptastic coincidence of the day. Or both. It’s his birthday. His hundredth birthday to be exact. A year ahead of Steve and damn but isn’t it an anniversary to celebrate. Hydra’s meticulously chilling records showed all too clearly that the Asset had spent 80.25% of his birthdays locked into the tank. It’s Bucky’s first since being free. He deserves an awesome day and you and the rest of the Avengers team had been primed to give it to him.

You’d all been bummed when the mission flashed on Jarvis’s warning screen.

Amidst the semi-chaos of pelting full tilt for the jet (Xisis! Hot damn, a chance to take him down. Dude was slipperier than Loki in cherry lube), you and Wanda had just enough presence of mind to quickly stow the cake into a red med case normally used for emergency supplies. It’s waiting, along with forks and noisemakers and even a few balloons, back at the rendezvous. The rest--- formal bash, the 100 guests and all the presents-- will have to wait ‘til you are back at the tower, patched and safe.

“What is it with volcanoes and evil baddies?”

You laugh as Bucky almost growls this out. Man sometimes it does seem true. Sauron. Mirage. Dr. Evil. And now Xisis. The ramshackle ‘shepherd’s hut’ that covers the entrance to the villain’s liar is perched in a caldera of one of the Andes’ high volcanos. You look around nervously again. The jumbled blocks of tephra look weathered, crumbled and a bit forlorn. Bruce has assured you it is extinct. Thank god. You had no interest in adding Pompeii-reenactment to your bucket list.

You bump Buck’s shoulder, almost imperceptibly, with your own. “Why? It’s the back ass of nowhere and there are ready minions.”

“Minions?”

“The penguins,“ you explain, jerking your chin toward the sea, downslope toward the crazy small flightless, guileless inhabitants of Melimoyu’s lower slopes. There are thousands of them. Following each other in orderly single file. “Just like ultra loyal, ultra stupid Hydra agents.”

Buck cracks a lopsided grin and reaches backward to pat comfortingly at his favourite knife.

Bingo. #Squadgoal accomplished. You’ve cheered him up. Well, a little anyway. For a heartbeat you bask in the sheen of happiness before adjusting your position once again. Concentrate Y/N, concentrate. You have a mission to complete but god you love his smile. Snarky when it’s out in the world with Earth’s 7 billion inhabitants. Soft and sultry when it’s at home with just him and you.

You love both of them. Both are an indicator of just how far he’s come.

The knife turns a flip before finding its sheath again. “Easier to pick off that way,” he drawls.

You stare wide-eyed in shock. Is he bloody f’ing serious? You glare. For the love of little green apples you are not going to stand by and watch Bucky start another diplomatic incident. The Accords have only just been finally amended. Steve and Buck, Wanda and Sam, and Clint are back, home within the Tower. No way the Chilean government is going to be chill about the Avengers picking off a protected, helpless waterbird.

You open your mouth to argue but then you catch the helpless shaking of his ribs. “Bucky!” The teasing shit. Just for kicks you rip the prickly little stubborn thing that has poked your wrist all morning out by its roots, shoot it to the right, planning for just barely above his nose, but failing to consider its faulty ballistic tendencies.

“Hey.” It drops onto his collar and into his long hair. Where it clings. Temptingly.

You have to grip the barrel of your Mod 1 SPR a little tighter to keep your fingers where they belong.

Merde.. you had told yourself being a team would not pose a problem.

That was before you knew what you were getting into.

While Buck brushes the flora off you think about the whirlwind past four months. You’d jumped at the chance to be reassigned from SHIELD. Escort and protect missions had become routine-- the idea of guarding a national hero, James Barnes no less, newly back from the hearings that exonerated him, had been just too good to be true. You were the one tasked with keeping his broad (and hunky) back protected. First secretly from a distance; now close in. Because of course he can’t be counted on to take a personal threat too seriously.

t’s weird to be hanging with the Avengers. They treat you as an equal. Tony likes your take no shit attitude. Steve likes your eidetic memory for baseball stats. Clint likes having someone who can almost take him at the weekly darts. You figure if an ex-carnie can survive amongst all that serumed or tech’d enhancement then an ex-scout sniper can too. You’re not a supersoldier but you are a supershot (President’s Hundred Tab thank you) and though the fight training had been more intense than any you had before, brutal and brutally efficient, you wouldn’t trade your current assignment for the world. Helping Bucky, well that was the icing on the cake. For some utterly inexplicable reason around you he manages to control the last few bits of the Asset’s resting murder face that Wanda and T’challa could not remove.

It’s a win for everyone.

Out on the plain there’s no movement but Tony’s voice crackles in your earwig. “Capsicle? Freezer boy?“ Bucky rolls his eyes expressively but neither of you move a hair, unfazed by the sudden burst of static. “Hang on australopithecenes. Stand down. We wait for nightfall. Our contact just got out that Xisis is out on patrol.”

You drop your head onto your hands for just a second. Fuuuck. The brief green flash that took off 3 hours ago? That had been him? You relax your left index finger and briefly consider setting safety on. Naw. You are surveillance but also cover for Steve and Sam when they get going. And Nat and Clint. Might as well be settled but not overly… This op is the culmination of months of intel. Two agents from Team Gamma had been immortalized on the wall for the lat/long of this location.

Bucky sets his rifle aside and flips over, down onto his back and smacking his metal hand against the tuff. It leaves ridges where the joints are flexed.

“Goddammit to hell, y/n, that was hours ago.”

It was. No way now any of you are getting home before the end of March 10th.

Hating to see him upset, you rise up onto your knees and try to put a note of hopefulness in your voice. “May be he’ll be back soon.”

“Yeah and maybe Steve’ll learn to use a parachute.

No chance of that. Your shoulders droop watching the deep crease settle between his brows. It’s back. Two whole weeks you’d managed to banish it, two whole weeks of no nightmares and no brooding days. The dismay must show in your face because suddenly he looks up, runs a metal finger ever so gently along your jaw. “Sorry babe. Sorry. I’m shitty company.”

“Never..”

“I’d just.. kinda set my heart on celebrating this time around. You know?”

You catch his fingers and squeeze them. “We will. Soon. If not today. Tomorrow. Or the next. I promise.”

This seems to jolly him a little because Bucky squeezes gently back, tilts his head back and quietly sighs, consciously letting his shoulders down. A few curt words of Russian trip from his tongue. He’s counting, running through a centering routine, relaxing tight muscles willfully and it’s a good sign.

From what he’s said, a year ago in Bucharest he couldn’t have done that if he’d wanted to.

You lie down, not quite touching him, hip to hip and thigh to thigh, willing some of your own calm centredness to seep across. At least the hiding space is protected. Might as well find something to pass the time.

You’re just about to ask him if he wants to try ‘I Spy’ (it does keep both of you focused on the terrain) when another round of chatter interrupts to the faint whistling of wind through rock.

It’s Clint. Sounding blasé as ever. “I’m taking a nap. Wake me up when the shooting starts.”

Nap? What the hell? Barton’s a disaster yes, but sleeping on the job??

“The flaming idiot isn’t really going to sleep?!” you exclaim. A quick worried glance across shows Bucky’s handsome face singularly unperturbed.

“S’fine.”

“Really? Come on.” You poke Bucky in the side, pulling yourself to sitting. “This is serious. It’s not safe. A lone patrol might sneak up on him. Or an animal.” Beside the foxes there are skunks, and possums. And hairy armadillos that scream really, really loud.

You frown, concerned. If something isn’t done to redress this problem you might, horror of horrors, have to get on the comms.

You see the realization of this flit across Bucky’s handsome features. He bites his lip. And stammers. “Ah…nope…. It’s um.. ” The faintest of pink blushes creeps up his cheeks, darkening in his hairline to a shade just south of flaming red. “It’s uh..a code..”

“A code?” You blink, owl-like, in surprise.

“To let the others know. Nat’s with him.”

Nat? The penny finally drops. “They’re gonna makeout?!! Out here…?!”

Bucky is now full on grinning at the expression on your face. “Mhmmm..”

How? Your head whips around, eastward, scanning for their cover and a sign. They are not that stupid. Aren’t standing up in eye line sight, of course, but..really. Clint and Nat are just going to fuck the afternoon away? Outside?

All of a sudden another penny clanks into the jar. “But all of them have been taking ‘naps’ for weeks!”

“Babe …” Bucky struggles to hold the laughter in. ”With Sam it likely really is.. Steve’ll watch him. But Tony, that time Pepper when came, that was a code. And Clint and Nat in Navotua. And Wanda and Vis …”

“I knew it,“ you crow, thumping Bucky on the arm. “It made no sense. Vis isn’t even human. There’s no need for him to sleep.” Nope. And if anything is clear, it’s that he and Wanda are a thing. It’s sweet.

Bucky has now given up on restraining his sense of humour, breaking down, laughing at you but you don’t care. If there is one thing you both share it’s a finely honed self-deprecation. You giggle. So much for secrecy with this team. As you are pausing, rearranging your thoughts around this new realization, you notice an intenseness has come over Bucky’s resting form. There’s a new glitter to a pair of ocean eyes and a quirk to a pair of bow-shaped lips.

Oh gods. Your insides know that smile.

Working together you both had simply clicked. Massive understatement—you had not just clicked, you had locked. Stock and barrel. Your takedown of the hydra assassin poised to blow his head off had left Bucky with his mouth hanging open and naked longing on his face. It had been a rad wicked shot. You’d shrugged, saluted and been amused.

Turns out the longing wasn’t entirely for the hit.

James Barnes, 32557038, has a competency kink the width of a superhighway. And you have a thing for sleekly deadly sexy arms. It’s a match made in…well….if not heaven then where ever both of you are heading too.

Since the first crazy, crazed night together you’d kept your liason need-to-know-- as in nobody needs to know. Steve’s wildly hopeful, shit-eating grin when you walk-of-shamed (blinking blearily in poured-on black velvet from the post-medal-party) out into their kitchen space was more than enough to take. It isn’t that the team wouldn’t be happy for Buck, they’d be ecstatic, beyond thrilled to find him with someone but you both have an eensy teensy problem with trust. He was just beginning to know the normal human race again and in your experience 99% of the male species were jerks. Gorgeous but gorgeously disastrous jerks. And although you really, really think Bucky wasn’t that, your relationship is a little flame in a small and fiercely smouldering campfire.

Fan it too hard and it might go out.

(You’ve already had weeks of a giant golden retriever jumping all over it when you are both trying to take it a little slow.

Yeah slow. Excepting the making out.)

“Wait.. Buck..umm..” You don’t pull back but you do sit straighter up, trying to ignore the amazingly deft metal fingers that are walking up your arm. He slowly and circumspectly lays his gun aside. Now both hands are getting into the coaxing act. You swallow hard and lick at lips gone suddenly far too dry. His gaze is so full of heat it could ignite the scrub. You want to give in, let him take you right there, right now, hot and fast and hard, but the blind feels a little insecure. Exciting and frightening all at once.

You bite your lip. “What if something comes..?”

“Y/N,” he smiles and shakes his head, leans forward to plant a light kiss on your nose. “We ain’t seen a friggin’ bird…If it’s bigger than a rodent Jarvis will let us know.”

True, there’s not been much wildlife, not up on the plateau at least. You hesitate and think of the fun things waiting back in your room. The jade halter dress for the birthday party that picks out the green in your hazel eyes. The silver Louboutin heels that Pepper had insisted on. The bare scrap of embroidered black lace in the new Fleur bra.

You had been planning on going without the thong.

What’s all that next to making your man happy on his actual birthday? You had been looking forward to seeing him in a tux. Bucky has style. Cobalt and black Azar cut to show off his shoulders and his thighs. Sigh. Maybe you can convince him to roleplay it if the shindig is called off.

Wait. What are you thinking? No way Tony is going to pass up a chance to light the Tower up.

“Come here doll..” His voice growls softly, warm and tempting, as his fingers pull you close. You stop just a hairsbreath away. So close that the leather of his tac vest is no barrier to the furnace blast of heat and scent from his supple skin.

The moss and scrub underneath your knee is yielding. Perhaps this is good idea after all.

“Yes.”

One word and gun-calloused hands reach out to hold your cheeks, pull your mouth closer, lips devouring your mouth in one swift press. Bucky’s thumbs caress the soft hollow below your cheekbones, reach around to tug in your hair with just the right amount of rough.

You let your own fingers ran questioningly up his sleeve and across his shoulder to his throat. His pulse is beating wildly, kick groove to your baijon. So it begins again. Just a touch-a feather kiss and the spark has been set to tinder. You’re panting, lips parted, and Buck’s raining hot kisses down your neck.

Gods. Will you ever stop wanting this?

He pulls you farther up his lap. Your folds are pressed against his hardened length. It makes you dizzy and you grab for purchase, raise your hands wind your thin elegant fingers into his long strands. A helpless groan escapes your lips when cool metal brushes against your lower lip.

The undressing is awkward and hilariously wild and inchoate. You rise onto your knees and gasp and laugh at Maria’s foresight to order easy access suits for outside patrol-the velcro opening of yours is meant for the call of nature but yields instantly to Bucky’s grip. You fumble with the buckles of his vest, intent on feeling skin and squeal (softly) in surprise when strong hands pull your own tac zipper roughly down. Buck lifts his hips just long enough for you to tug his pants farther down. Dark hair and a hard cock spring free.

You both still have your boots on and it hits you that that is a turn on too… Jesus, what a pair of nerds. You think of dark brown army serge and laugh. Just wait ‘til Buck sees the boring unisex SHIELD dress duds. Nothing to twinge a uniform kink there.

Before Bucky can move you trail your fingers teasingly along his straining length, marveling at how he can have such a pretty cock. Mouthwatering, but there really is not time for languorous foreplay. Buck tilts his head back in rapture, let his hands finally raise to brush your waist--two warm brands just inches from your cunt. You are wet and dripping, desperate to feel him there. From beneath his fine dark lashes he’s watching your face, gauging your reaction. There is nothing tentative to his gaze or the first strokes as he wriggles fingers beneath the teflon-coated cloth toward your clit. You close your eyes and dare not watch, flushed with the memory of their feel within you last. They had been hard and warm and you want them slick and urgent far inside but that is not so easy here.

Buck hums, seeming to know exactly how you feel, that you need more..

He half sits up, abdominals clenching in a way that makes your insides shake. You clutch at his shoulders and pulled them closer still. Now your kiss is wilder, fueled by need and haste and throwing some (but not all) caution to the local wind. Tongues touch and twine, now pressing forward to claim one mouth, and then the other. You bleat, dismayed when his lips leave yours but then warm breath gusts across your nipples.

He dips his mouth and suckles hard.

Sweet mercy… this is torture. With a muffled cry you arch your back and Buck pulls you closer, your soft breasts pressed against the hard planes of his chest. A sudden jolt of greater need courses through. His hips grind madly against your swollen folds.

“Baby, touch it. Touch me please.” Buck is hissing. Your soft and supple fingers obliging stroke up and down his oh so very full and leaking cock.

Your green eyes glitter playfully. "Are you ready for me yet old man or do you need more time? I wouldn't want to rush a guy who is still recovering?"

Recovering. He snorts. Officially taking a bullet to the shoulder gets an agent off duty for several months. For a supersoldier it’s more like two days. “I’ll give you old. Come here!”

Buck’s words are nearly lost in a growl of lust so feral it echoes in your chest. You gasp. You are lifted bodily, up above his hips and a white hot molten pleasure shots through your core.

“Fuck, you are so wet…” He pulls you down until your buttocks rest upon his thighs. Below you he is all hot hardness and whispering leather, the rock is solid but the moss cushions his bare buttocks and your knees. The contrast, and the straining lust in Bucky’s voice, are practically intoxicating.

“You good, beautiful?” Bucky’s eyes shine brightly as his smile, runs his hands longingly up your arms, leaving shivers in their wake.

“Mmmm.” You are concentrating, eyes closed, moving forward and back a little to see where you fit together best. You slump a little farther forward---there--his eyes widen as he feels the pleasure of the shift. Slim hips can no longer wait, they begin to thrust and you rock down, enveloped by soft pants and moans.

He is the one who is beautiful. You have always thought this, but right then, vulnerable, head thrown back, chest heaving with maddened need, he is something else again. Slowly you bend down to kiss the hollow of his throat, draw your tongue down lower, taste his salt and muskiness, push aside his shirt to swirl your tongue through the dark hair clustered round a pink and rosy nipple.

“Y/N” Your name is a breathy plea.

Both your hands now rest on either side of his head, touching the rock, fingers splayed for purchase. He must miss your touch for suddenly he raises up, the muscles of his stomach rippling as he places hard hands upon your hip, claims your mouth, hungry lips devouring all your breath as his surging cock devours the aching void.

This was delirium. His hands move to grasp steadily at your waist, pull you downward to meet each towering thrust, press down your core rhythmically against his lower belly. Every time your swollen clit is brushed again you keen, a frantic mix of exultation and purest lust that sends shivers up Buck’s spine. Jesus you should be quieter, but you are both far gone, so ravaged by the fire you do not think it possible to stop. Unbearable pleasure is shooting through your veins. Bucky’s whole body is vibrating with the need to come but he is holding off.. fighting to keep from unraveling before you reach the edge.

It’s near. Oh so near and the muscles cord in his neck..straining to hold on. “Let go…” you whisper hot and high into his ear and feel the sudden breakdown of control, a last wild thrust and it is enough.. You gush, wet and hot, rippling deep inside and with a strangled roar he comes, emptying up into you.

It’s utter bliss. He holds you tight, thrusting with his slowly softening cock, as you tremble yet again, teeth clenched and lost, the waves of another release rolling on and on.

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

For many minutes afterward you do not know if you lie on him or him on you. You’re floating endlessly, drunk on the tide of release, wondering how did this become your life? How did you get to be connected with this incredible, gorgeous, caring man? You love him. You know it but those are words that can’t be said quite yet. They are too big.. too likely to extinguish all the oxygen.

And you are afraid he won’t say them back

A drop of sweat rolls off your nose to splash upon Bucky’s chest. It reflects the metallic sheen of your SPR.

“Bucky?”

. “Hmmmm.” He shifts a little. There is a faint whir of servomotors as he strokes your hair and a happy sigh as his flesh arm winds around your hips. His warm cock is still inside you but the skin on your lower back is cooling rapidly. You need to move. Your braid is coming out and your chronometer shows that an hour has quickly passed. You suddenly really, really want to hold your gun.

A whine of repulsor engines hits both your feeds just as you are about speak.

It’s Tony. “Ah..sleeping beauties..Prince Charming here. Hate to tell you but it’s time to kiss a frog and split.”

“What?” Sam’s voice sounds groggily in your ear. He has slept. Per Bucky’s accurate guess. “Are we not waiting for nasty dude?”

“Nope. New info. Xisis will not be back… “

“Shit.” Steve sounds seriously disappointed but you cannot breach the hold. Not without spoiling your source inside. And your best chances of success. “So we wait for another day and rack up frequent flier points?”

“Yup.. you too can make it to Disneyland some day. And language Cap. This is a delicate ecosystem. Ok Barnes since you didn’t nap we’ll come and get you first.”

What?! That has both of you bolting upright..pulling apart and scrabbling madly to do up clothes. Buck swearing sotto vocce before he hastily literally and verbally waves Stark off. “Ummm negative… We have a situation here.”

You can almost hear the repulsors whine to a stop somewhere across the ridge. “What? Bogeys..”

“No!” You are doing your best not to laugh out loud as Bucky’s brows waggle, searching for an excuse. “Ah.. my safety’s jammed. Can take it on board until it’s loose. Just..go get the others first.”

“Amateurs..” Tony huffs, just as Clint cries “Fuck no.”

By the time the quinjet lands beside you both have not a hair or buckle out of place. You follow Bucky up the ramp, holding your rifle in safety mode, taking one last look around, keeping to your usual quiet self while accepts the good natured ribbing with grace. You take your seat and buckle in. It’s startling to find that no one seems to be able to see that you are still throbbing down below, sated and a little weakly boneless and you jump as Buck sits down beside.

He smiles and taps a knee to yours. Unlike you he’s all keyed up. Excited that you could, if the headwinds behave, be back in time after all. “Stark, “ he hollers froward, “can you make this thing go warp?”

“Why ever Barnes?” asks Tony, innocently. “You turn pumpkin at the stroke of midnight?”

“No…but I turn past one hundred so that’s got to count for something.”

The hold lights up with quickly stilled little smiles but Bucky catches none of it. He’s hunched down, hiding behind the curtain of his hair. Not quite pouting, but obviously believing there is nothing going on. You nod to Wanda when she looks pointedly toward the med bay. You can’t leave your seats so you mime plates and implements. Beside Steve, Sam nods and pats a bulkhead at his head.

O.K. you’re set. Now you need to wait for cruising altitude.

You stretch out across the aisle and tap Steve’s boot with yours, thinking if anyone can perk Bucky up it’s best friend and roomate. He looks up and flashes that golden grin, eyes dancing. Hoo boy. You just know some major teasing’s coming up.

“Jeez Buck,” Steve drawls, cracking his knuckles to get attention, “from what we saw today, old guys like you gotta be careful with their equipment. Shoulda taken a nap when you had the chance.”

You almost choke as the jet erupts. Bucky blushes beet red and Steve winks at you. Oh my fucking god you think-- the sassing idiot has guessed. He’s going to blow your cover. You’re freaking and thrilled a tiny bit and just dying at the same time at the idea of being found out like this but then the repulsors whine rises to a full on roar and you lift off.

Later when Clint and Tony leave the cockpit to the autopilot you all gather round a flipped down cot and surprise Bucky with the cake. It’s not his mom’s famous recipe but it’s the best chocolate cake to be found in a modern Brooklyn bakery. He is thrilled. You all sing, Clint wildly off key and Wanda in a gorgeous clear soprano, before Tony tells him about the grand party just waiting for when you land. Bucky, overcome and little teary, makes a speech about it being the best birthday he’s ever had.\

He is looking straight at you when he says the words.

There are butterflies pulling somersaults in your stomach. OK. OK maybe you are getting used to this dating thing. To this Avenger thing. Bucky is amazing. He’s not going anywhere and maybe you both do deserve to have a little happiness. Maybe you’ll tell Maria to stamp your transfer permanent. You take a sip of rehydration juice willing the butterflies to land en mass and consider coming out that night. A long slow handsy dance in the middle of Tony’s disco zone should give everyone the clue.

You nod and with the almost telepathic partner link between you both Buck gets the hint, dark brows flying up and a sunrise smile rising on his face.

You flush and hurriedly dip your face down to lick chocolate from the side of your fork, thinking of the night to come. You’ve just relaxed, hatched a halfway sound strategic plan when Nat slides over, looking at you with that intent and always intimidating gaze.

Her next words make you freeze.

“How was your nap?”

Oh fuck. If Nat knows what you were up to does that mean Clint does too? “How? How... did...you?” you stammer, realizing there is no point in bullshiting. Not now. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She raises an auburn eyebrow and lays a steadying hand upon your shoulder, glancing back to peer at Bucky, standing happy and excited amidst the group. “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything until you’re ready.”

Of course. Nat gets it. She’s been there. Understands in her bones that it robs Bucky of something essential when choice, to act or not, is withheld.

“How did you know?” you ask, relieved, but still curious to know. It had been ridiculous, thinking you could keep things hidden from a team of supersoldiers and assassins.

She laughs delightedly. “We’re in the southern hemisphere y/n. Seasons are reserved. It may be spring Stateside..but here is berry time.”

Hunh? Nat flashes a quick glance down your front and then across to Buck.

His back is to you. In the flickering blue lights Tony has set to party mode you can see quite clearly.

Your knees, his hips, back and shoulders are all covered in purple stains.

Oh my god. So much for subterfuge.

#private party #bucky barnes #100 Banging Kinks for Bucky’s 100th Birthday challenge #outdoors #reader #sian22redux

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